They had been betrothed almost from the day of her birth. Her father's friend, King Robert, had wanted to reward his loyalty during Greyjoy's rebellion. The man many called the Hound refused to be knighted, and so he had been elevated to head of a house higher than his bloodthirsty brother and betrothed to Lord Eddard Stark's first born daughter. After he moved into his new holdfast in the north, Sandor Clegane visited Winterfell at least once a year to meet with her.

Some of Sansa's earliest memories of her future husband were of a giant of a man scowling at everyone but treating her gently. At each meeting, she would curtsey and tell him she was pleased to see him again. He would say little to her, but she never felt he was displeased. And he always brought her a gift. Sometimes it would be ribbons or bits of silk from the south. For her fifth nameday, he gave her a mirror and told her it had been his mother's. She had cried for days when she accidentally dropped and broke it. He said nothing when he found out, but by the time he left for his holdfast, the glass was repaired.

On her sixth nameday, Sansa asked for a picnic with her family. The celebration coincided with Sandor's visit so he had joined. As much as she enjoyed the day with her family, seeing her betrothed sit apart and watch had made her sad. As the older boys had gone off to play at knights, she wandered the meadow, picking wildflowers for him. A large shadow fell over her and she turned to find her betrothed behind her.

"Do you like winter roses, ser?" she'd asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. "From you? Aye, I might."

Six years later, he presented Sansa with a bouquet of dried flowers the night before their wedding.

"You gave these to me six years ago tomorrow, m'lady," he explained.

Impulsively, Sansa kissed his cheek, then bashfully dashed for her bedchambers, not seeing the smile across his face.