Hello, everyone! This is my very first fanfic. It's admittedly not the greatest writing in the world, but I had fun doing it, which is what writing is all about!

I'm not going to beg you for ratings and reviews. To be frank, I'm just not interested in that stuff. I got into facfiction writing for me, not everyone else. I figured I would share what I've come up with, just in case anyone else might enjoy it. If you don't like it, that's perfectly understandable. I will happily respect your opinions as long as you respect mine.

This particular fiction is very AU, as it veers off from the canon almost immediately. Some of the characters might be a little OOC, but I've tried to keep them fairly close to the originals.

This is just the beginning snippet of a story arc that has been floating around in my head for ages. I'm not certain if I will ever write a continuation of the story. Maybe one day in the future, but not right now.

So anyways, I do hope you enjoy it! And if not, I wish you a very good day!

Sansa awoke early that morning. She had barely been able to fall asleep the night before. Today was the day that the royal family would be arriving. She would finally be able to lay her eyes upon the golden-haired prince she had heard so much about.

She called her handmaidens to her room immediately, wanting to take extra time and care in her appearance that day. She desperately wanted to impress the royal family.

After being scrubbed clean in her bath, her maids dressed her in the lovely new gown her mother had given her, just for this special occasion. While it was still a Northern style dress, her mother had allowed for a few embellishments to be made. She couldn't help spinning around before her looking glass, her new skirts flaring out around her. She felt beautiful. Her maids brushed her hair out until it shined. They braided a small section near each of her temples, meeting the two braids at the back of her head and fastening them together with an elegant clip her father had given to her on her eighth nameday. She felt that keeping her hair in the Northern style would be the best option. Her maids had told her about the elaborate styles of the South, and had assured her they knew how to do them, but she felt that honoring her home's traditions was better.

She was joined by Arya as she made her way down the stairs of their tower, and they whispered about what to expect to see that day. Arya was excited to see the guards of King's Landing, and was ecstatic to see the infamous Knights of the King's Guard. She was determined to see them in the practice yard, and hopeful that she might even get to join them at some point (not that their mother would ever actually allow such a thing!) Sansa could not care less about them. She was excited to see the queen, whose beauty was known even all the way up here in the North. Rumor had it that her children had inherited her looks, and Sansa could not wait to see the crown prince. She had heard of his golden hair and charming looks, and was excited to finally see him with her own eyes.

As she and Arya walked down to their family's private dining hall, she could see that the castle was all in chaos that morning. Everyone was scurrying around with the final preparations for the royal visit.

As they sat down together to break their fast, the rest of the family joined in their excitement about the arrival that day.

She and Arya giggled as they snuck pieces of bacon and sausage under the table to feed their direwolf pups. Their Septa looked at them with disapproval, but all of the children did this, and she had long ago given up on trying to put a stop to it.

She grinned as she remembered the day her brothers had brought the pups home to them. It had been perfect. There were two female direwolf pups for the two Stark daughters and three male direwolf pups for the three Stark sons. There was even a male pup for their half-brother Jon, though it was clear that this pup was the runt of the litter. Jon didn't seem to mind though, and they had laughed over how fitting the arrangement seemed.

They all had to think long and hard about names for the wolves. Eventually, Sansa decided on the name Lady, Arya decided on Nymeria, Robb decided on Grey Wind, and little Rickon decided on Shaggy Dog. Jon decided on Ghost because his wolf didn't seem to make any sounds. Bran had yet to name his wolf. He wanted the name to be perfect, but he just couldn't settle his mind.

After their fast had been broken, the children went out to the yard to await the royal family's arrival. To their lady mother's dismay, they played with each other and their wolves while they were waiting. After all, they were children. It was hard for children to simply sit still and wait. They had just taught their pups to bring a stick back to them after they threw it, and so they were playing that game. They liked to see who could throw the stick the farthest, and whose pup could bring it back the quickest. Catelyn threatened punishment on any child who got themselves dirty, though they didn't seem to listen. In the end, their cheeks were flush and they were all out of breath from running around after each other and their pups, but all of them remained clean.

At last, a rider came to announce the arrival of the King. Everyone took their places in the greeting line.

Sansa couldn't help the huge grin that had settled on her face.

The guards were the first to ride through the gates of Winterfell. The Hound came in right behind them. Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings. After making note of where all the buildings were, he turned his attention to the greeting line.

He briefly scanned the line of guards and staff, deciding that none of them posed as any type of a threat. He did note that the general attitude of the line of Winterfell workers seemed to be much more cheerful than that of the workers in King's Landing. The women were a little plumper, and the men were a little stronger. They looked clearly like they were well taken care of, and that they liked working here. He had heard this about the Starks before.

He then saw the noble family.

He regarded Eddard Stark for a moment. He looked every bit of the noble and honorable man his reputation claimed him to be. The Hound had been a squire during Robert's Rebellion, but, working for the Lannisters, he had never really seen much of the Northern men.

The woman standing next to him could only be his wife, the Lady Catelyn. Though she was not known for her beauty, she was known for her strength and grace. She had a more subtle type of beauty to her. She had the red hair and blue eyes of the Tullys, and the kind of dignity that could only be obtained through growing up in a noble family. If he remembered correctly, her family's words were Family, Duty, Honor, and she was every bit of that.

His gaze moved along to the Stark children. His eyes were first drawn to something that made his blood freeze and his heart stutter – there, in front of the noble children, were five real life direwolves. 'The rumors were truth, then...' he thought, much to his displeasure. Surely these wild beasts could only be a threat to the family he serves and protects. He couldn't really feel comfortable with such a danger lurking nearby.

But then again, the wolves were clearly still very young. They were still very small and honestly didn't appear to be very threatening at all. Sandor had to reassure himself with these thoughts. The wolves were mere pups, and he was certain he could handle them with ease.

His eyes then fell upon the three Stark boys. Though the boys all had the Tully look about them, the look of their eyes, faces, and stature was clearly that of the North. Their blue eyes had the same severity and honor in them that their father possessed. The eldest held a stern expression, the expression of the heir of the North. The other two sons were still quite young; the youngest couldn't have seen more than a few namedays. They still had the eager expressions of children.

He next saw a scrawny little dark-haired girl. He surmised that she must be the younger of the Stark daughters. She certainly was a tiny little thing, looking more in proportion with her little wolf pup than her eldest brother. She looked more like Ned Stark than any of the others. She had the dark hair and dark eyes of the North. Her face was fierce, and there was a certain toughness in her demeanor.

His eyes then fell upon the older Stark girl. His breath caught in his throat and he felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. 'Seven hells!' Before him stood the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes upon. Her skin was as pale as the moon, her hair as bright as fire, and her eyes as blue as the winter rose. She looked so small to him; she was so incredibly slim, though she did seem tall for her age. Her fiery hair was flowing gently in the breeze.

She had the Tully look, and was clearly more refined and graceful than her sister. But it was clear that she had a kind of strength that he would never see in the girls of the South. She was a Stark of Winterfell.

He had heard that she was the only Stark child to be born in winter. He didn't quite know what that meant, but it clearly meant something.

The mere sight of her stirred something deep within him. Something he could not identify. He felt a strange emotion that was completely foreign to him, and yet it had a distant familiarity to it. It was almost similar to the feelings he remembered all the way from his childhood. Feelings he had not felt since he had lost his mother and sister.

His world seemed to stop and come crashing down all in that single moment.

He knew he had to collect himself, though. He needed to get out of the way and keep an eye on the royal family as they entered the yard. He wasn't being paid to gawk at a little noble girl, after all.

It took all of the strength and discipline he had learned throughout his years to pull his gaze away from the lovely Sansa Stark.

Sansa watched as a man with the most horribly scarred face she had ever seen entered the courtyard.

Arya leaned over to her and whispered "That must be the Hound. They call him the 'Lannister Dog,' and he is one of the best fighters in all of Westeros. I've heard the only man who can truly challenge him in combat is his older brother, The Mountain."

"Why do they call him the mountain?" Sansa asked.

"Do you see how large the Hound is? The Mountain is even larger."

Sansa was shocked. The man riding into the courtyard was easily the largest man she had ever seen. She couldn't believe that he had a brother who was even bigger. He had stopped momentarily and was assessing her family. His eyes turned to her, and she saw more anger in those eyes than she had seen in any other person before. He quickly moved his eyes past her, though, and trotted over to the side.

Nervously, not wanting anyone to hear her, lest someone get offended, Sansa leaned close to Arya and whispered "What happened to his face?"

"I don't actually know. I've only heard of the scar, not the story behind it."

"Whatever the story is, it must have been awful," Sansa whispered sadly. Her heart reached out to this deformed man in front of her. No one should have to suffer whatever it was that left him with that scar. As she thought about it, she thought she could see a sort of pain and sorrow behind his anger when his eyes had met hers.

Her thoughts soon moved past the Hound as the royal family came into view. She was so excited, she had to force herself not to jump up and down with glee. She needed to act as a proper lady. 'And ladies do not jump up and down with excitement,' she thought.

First came King Robert – a fat, red faced man whom she found rather repulsive.

A grossly disfigured man came in next.

"That must be the Imp!" Arya said excitedly.

"Shh! Don't be rude, Arya!" Sansa scolded.

Arya scoffed. "He's too far away to hear anything. Quit worrying so much!"

"It is still not a very nice thing to say," Sansa said, but let the issue drop.

The man behind him made up for both the Imp's grotesque stature and the king's repulsive looks, though. The truly hansom Jaime Lannister rode in, and Sansa could not help the sigh that flew past her lips. She could almost feel Arya roll her eyes next to her. He was just so beautiful with the golden hair of the Lannisters and the muscular look of a knight.

A huge rolling house was pulled in next. When it stopped, the queen and the three royal children stepped out.

"Oh!" exclaimed Sansa, "She is even more beautiful than they say. She is simply perfect! And just look at those golden-haired children. That one must be my dear Prince Joffrey!"

She knew Arya didn't care about any of it, but she couldn't help gushing about it anyways.

She had heard the staff of Winterfell talk about it; had heard all the rumors. Everyone thought that during the royal family's stay, she would be betrothed to Prince Joffrey. She couldn't even believe it. Being betrothed to Joffrey would mean that she would be queen one day!

She caught Joffrey's eye then, and gave him her biggest, most dazzling smile. He gave a small smile in return, then turned to talk to his mother. Though she was a little disappointed from his lack of returned affection, she figured he must just be tired from the rode. She knew they had been travelling for nearly a month now. Maybe he didn't know about the probable betrothal, either. Surely, once he learned that she would be his queen, he would develop and express his affections more.

Once the whole family was in the yard, Lord Eddard kneeled. Everyone was quick to follow him.

Sansa didn't know how long they remained kneeling, but it felt like forever. She just wanted to be able to look upon her Joffrey again.

King Robert's booming voice broke through the silence, allowing everyone to finally straighten up.

Robert greeted Ned warmly, and then all the proper introductions were made. Again, Sansa tried to give Joffrey her best smile. She prayed that her father would make a betrothal between them.

Her father and the king went off to the crypts so Robert could pay respect to Lyanna – Sansa's late aunt. She knew they were betrothed before Lyanna was stolen by Prince Rhaegar.

As Sansa finally got into her warm feather bed that night, she let out a big sigh.

Dinner had not gone the way she wanted.

She knew that Arya was riled up because of the royal visit, but really! Did she have to be so obnoxious!?

Sansa had been on her best behavior all evening. She wanted desperately to prove to everyone that she was good enough to be betrothed to the prince.

To absolutely no one's surprise, the betrothal between her and Prince Joffrey had been announced before the first course was served. She had been so overjoyed. It was hard to make herself keep her lady-like composure. She kept reminding herself that proper ladies keep themselves calm and collected during times of great excitement.

She was pleased with how things were going by the time the second course was served. She and her siblings were eating with the royal children. They all seemed to get along so well!

The two younger children, Myrcella and Tommen, were perfectly delightful people. Her beloved Joffrey was somewhat quiet and reserved, though he was perfectly polite. They were all talking and having a grand time.

Then, stupid Arya had to go and ruin everything.

Her rebellious and mischievous sister decided it would be funny to throw the tomato slices from her salad at Sansa.

The tomato slices hit her on the cheek and neck, creating a loud, wet smack. They slid down her skin, and began to stain the top of her dress.

The whole table stared at her in a shocked silence. Sansa herself was shocked. She sat frozen in place, trying to process what had just happened.

After a couple of breaths, Sansa shouted "ARYA!" and this seemed to slap everyone back into reality.

Arya started to crack up, along with her youngest brother Rickon. Her other brothers were trying to stifle their own laughter, but still had pity in their eyes.

It was her beloved Joffrey who came to her rescue. He carefully picked off the tomato slices, and began to pat her skin with his fine cloth napkin. He gave her soothing words of comfort.

As mad as she was at Arya, Sansa couldn't help but revel in the touch and kindness of her betrothed.

Soon, her Septa was at her side, and took the napkin from Joffrey. They both thanked him profusely for his help and kindness.

Septa Mordane helped Sansa out of her seat, instructed Robb to take Arya to her room, and led Sansa to the kitchens so they could clean her up.

When she was clean, she could hardly bring herself to return to the table. She was so embarrassed by what had just occurred. 'You are a Lady, Sansa Stark!' she told herself. 'Ladies fill out their duties no matter how bad they feel.' And with that, she squared her shoulders and returned to the table.

Even though the rest of the evening had gone well, thinking back on what her stupid sister did caused a fresh wave of anger and humiliation to wash over Sansa. She could only take comfort in the fact that her dear Joffrey had helped her, the queen had given her sympathies at the end of the meal, and Arya was greatly punished by their lord father.

She smirked, thinking about how Arya would have to spend the next three days in her room. She wasn't even allowed to have Nymeria with her. She was to take her meals in her room as well. This kind of isolated punishment was one of the worst punishments for a person like Arya. She was so energetic and rambunctious, staying put in her room all day would easily drive her mad.

Sansa took comfort in that as she drifted off to sleep.

The castle had finally gone to bed, and Sandor found himself wandering the empty halls.

As usual, he had a wine skin in hand. It would soon be one of many he had finished off that night.

The Hound liked walking around when everyone was asleep. The air had a certain peaceful quality to it.

He had never required much sleep, so over the years he had developed the ritual of roaming around throughout the night with a wineskin in hand.

He was glad to finally get the chance to explore the infamous Winterfell. He knew it was one of the oldest castles in all the realm. It dated all the way back to the Age of Heroes, when Bran the Builder founded House Stark after the War for the Dawn had been won.

He could hardly believe that these walls had withstood eight thousand years. He wasn't a sentimental man by any stretch of the imagination, but he could still appreciate the history and strength of such a fortress.

As he staggered deeper into the Keep, down a less traveled corridor, his mind wandered back to the Lady Sansa.

He had watched her throughout dinner earlier that evening. He marveled at how graceful and dainty she was.

He was shocked when those slices of tomatoes had hit her face. He was completely torn. Half of him wanted to comfort and pity her. The other half of him wanted to throw back his head and laugh at the expression on Sansa's face when the food hit her.

Of course, he settled for remaining stony-faced and just watched the scene play out from afar.

He was impressed when the little lady returned after going to clean herself up. She held her head up with dignity and returned to her table to continue playing her role as host.

His thoughts of Sansa were suddenly interrupted by a high-pitched scream that pierced through the cold night air.

Instinctually, he whipped out his sword, and ran towards the sound of the screaming.

He followed the sound up to the top of a nearby tower.

He burst through the door and found himself in a parlor. The screams were coming from behind a door to his left, so he stormed through that door as well.

Confusingly, he didn't see anything that looked like a threat. As he looked around, he realized he was in a bedroom. The screams were coming from whoever was laying in the big bed.

As he moved closer, he realized it was Sansa laying in the bed and that he must be in her private chambers.

He froze, not knowing what to do.

There was clearly no threat, and yet there was a screaming girl in front of him. He looked at the wolf pup who was next to the bed, but she seemed to be just as confused as he was.

He whipped around when he heard people entering the room behind him.

He lowered his sword when he recognized the younger Stark girl, followed by her Septa and a couple of guards. He stood aside as Arya and Septa Mordane rushed to Sansa's side and shook her awake.

Sansa awoke, panting and covered in sweat. She sat upright and looked around, fear and confusion filling her eyes.

"It's alright, my dear," said the Septa. "You're safe in your bed, inside the castle. They can't get you here. Hush now, child."

Arya began to soothingly rub her sister's back. Sansa burst into tears and pulled Arya into a tight hug.

"Don't leave me!" she panted.

"I won't. I promise," replied Arya. She helped Sansa scoot to the other side of the bed, and joined her under the furs. "I'll sleep in here for the rest of the night," Arya said to their Septa.

Septa Mordane nodded, but didn't move to leave. She turned to Sandor and the guards and said "Thank you all for your protection. Lady Arya and I can handle things from here."

The guards gave a small bow in reply and turned to leave. Sandor looked over to Sansa one last time, and followed them. When he closed the door to Sansa's sitting room, he looked at the guards.

"What the bloody hells was that?" he demanded as they descended the tower stairs.

"Lady Sansa has been having nightmares all week," explained one of the guards. "A week past, she and her siblings went riding outside of the castle walls. At some point, she got separated from the rest. She was attacked by a group of wildlings. They were able to pull her from her horse and rough her up a little bit before her brothers arrived. She wasn't seriously hurt, but the experience has really left her frightened."

Sandor found himself feeling very angry upon hearing this. This confused him... He didn't know why he should care about some highborn's run in with the Free Folk. He was only paid to protect Joffrey, not to care about other noble children.

The other guard then spoke up, "It's been really strange lately. There have been dozens of Wildling sightings in the past few years. Before, we never had a problem with them coming south of the Wall. Now, all of a sudden, they all seem eager to get away from the North. They've really been causing problems for the Northern peoples."

Sandor nodded at that, and then walked away from the guards – back down the hallway he had come from.

He suddenly found himself very tired. He made his way back to his shabby room, and fell asleep thinking of Sansa and Wildlings.