Summary: A Game of Thrones take on the classic tale Beauty and the Beast by Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont. This was written for zsra187.

Disclaimer: All this belongs to GRRM and Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont. Am just playing with the characters/theme. I promise to return them safe and sound when I'm done. ;)
Word Count: 1807
Beta Readers: Where to begin? I have been so fortunate to have not one, but three wonderful and skilled (not to mention knowledgeable) beta readers to read over this fic. A huge thank you goes to onborrowedwings natadecoco147 and valyriansteel1for making this tale more than a piece of tripe. I owe you gals so much!

There are no winds like the gales of winter.

His Father's voice whispered in the wind as Eddard struggled to guide his courser through the cutting white wall of snow. The wind had transformed the soft flakes of snow into blades of ice that pierced through his heavy furs, chilling his flesh to the bone. He knew not which way he was headed, for in the eye of a winter storm, direction had no place. Knowing that only death awaited those who sought to rest, Eddard forwent setting up camp. The warrior and his horse continued their fight to gain ground against the bitter winds. Silently, he prayed to the old gods for strength, and for the safety of his family who waited many miles away for his return.

Winter had come six years prior and with it came its constant companions: disease, famine and death. His son, Bran, had been the first in his house to be consumed by the chill. His beloved, Catelyn, and their youngest, Rickon, had fared better, but in the end their fires too were snuffed out by winter's cold touch. Arya, a squire to Brienne of Tarth many miles away, had been spared, along with his eldest children, Sansa and Robb.

Mourning the dead would not bring them back.

Eddard's thoughts turned to his sister's only son, Jon Snow. The young man still fought on the battlefronts of the north, leading the Nightswatch against the demonic white walkers. Having not heard word of him in a few moons Eddard uttered a prayer for his nephew as well, hoping he would survive the long night and see the coming of spring.

Dwelling on the unknown did not change the future either.

"I don't have many supplies Ned, but you're welcome to whatever we can spare, and if that yellow haired idiot Jaime gives you any grief, you have my permission and my blessing to shut him up!"

The memory his best friend's boisterous words did little to lighten Eddard's mood. Robert Baratheon was no small man by any means, yet he looked so frail and old upon their reunion. Winter had not been kind to his friend either. His children had fared better, but as with Eddard's own village, the struggle to stay alive was evident in everyone's eyes. There was little Robert could spare, but it had been enough, that was until the snowstorm had robbed Eddard of his cache.

There was also the matter of Sansa's betrothal to Joffrey Baratheon. Eddard had not travelled so far at the height of winter with the intent of marrying off his eldest daughter to his friend's eldest son. He only intended to continue the exchange of supplies between their two villages. Only at the insistence of Robert's wife, Cersei Lannister, had their agreement taken the drastic turn. Supplies would be provided to Winterfell on the condition that her boy would have Sansa's hand in marriage with the coming of spring.

Sansa was well known for her beauty and kind heart throughout Westeros. Despite being almost twenty years of age, Sansa would always remain his little girl. He did not relish the idea of giving her away, especially to the spoiled young man he saw upon his visit. But the arrangement was unavoidable, and he could only hope that his daughter would forgive him. Sansa had fancied the idea of marrying the boy before, and Eddard could only hope those feelings still remained.

"No matter how noble the suitors, no men will ever be good enough for your girls Ned."

Just beyond the blustering winds, Eddard heard the whisper of Catelyn's voice, just as he felt her hands, so gentle and warm, grasp the heavy leather glove on his free hand. Risking the icy blades of blowing snow, Eddard looked up and found himself staring into the eyes of his beloved Catelyn. He opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by her warm gentle kiss.

Gods be good Ned, it has been far too long,she said as she guided him onwards with a smile. In silence the elder warrior followed her, and ahead of them Bran and Rickon laughed and played in the snow. No longer did the storm trouble him.

And as quickly as they arrived, they left, leaving Eddard Stark alone at the entrance of an aged, yet well-kept stable. The stables were empty, save for a rather large black destrier, who snorted and stomped his hooves in agitation at the sight of Ned's courser. Steering clear of the great war horse, Eddard tied and fed his horse with what rations he carried. He knew not where he was, but hoped the lord of the keep would forgive his boldness. The elder lord entered the halls of the grand keep in silence. There he sought ought servants or guards, anyone who could take him to the lord of the manor. There was not a soul to be found.

It was the scent of cooked food that drew him to the great hall. It had been two days since he had last ate a meal and his stomach growled in response to the rich smell of a feast. Ever proper, he waited in silence for the arrival of the lord or the lady of the keep. When the hour grew late and they still had not arrived, Eddard surrendered to his hunger. With great care he began to eat a little of the feast set before him. Mindful of his weakened state, he drank only water and left the rich sour red wine untouched. Upon having his fill, the elder lord departed to a nearby chamber where he immediately fell into a deep sleep.

In his dreams, it was spring and his family was whole again.

The storm had passed when Eddard awoke some hours later. Not wishing to impose any longer, the warrior gathered his cloak in preparation to depart when his eyes caught sight of a beautiful garden just beyond the windows of his chamber. It was a winter garden, filled with pale blue and white blossoms of the ever-rare ice roses. His eldest daughter, Sansa, had always been fascinated with the legends that surrounded the blooms. Her name day was rapidly approaching, and Ned had no gold or gifts to give her. It had been all but lost on his journey here. Longing to see his daughter's joy, he thought to grant her childhood wish to behold an ice rose. Eddard knew Sansa would cherish it more than any amount of extravagant name day gifts.

Surely a single rose would not be missed, he thought to himself as he slipped into the small garden beyond the courtyard. No sooner had his dagger severed a rose from its branch, then a deafening voice was heard from behind him.

'I saved your life by letting you into my keep and this is how you repay me?'

The being that towered over the warrior lord appeared to Eddard to be more beast than man. Clad entirely in black armour, and standing at almost seven feet, the creature was a sight to behold. Eddard, a seasoned warrior, was not a man easily disturbed, yet when he gazed upon the man's face, he could not ignore the sinking feeling of dread.

With eyes of grey, a nose that had clearly been broken and a dark beard, the giant man could have passed as a decent, if not a rough looking northerner, had it not been for the fact that only half of his face remained whole. While the right side of his face appeared as a man's face ought to, his left side was a horror about which tales were written. There was a twisted hole in place of one ear and around his eyes, the flesh was raw and puckered, carved with blood red cracks while craters of burn scars trailed down the side of his face to his lips. Not even his long black hair, haphazardly parted to cover the bare parts of his burned scalp, could conceal the severe damage fire had done. It was as though someone or something from the seven hells had touched his face.

Upon seeing the man's visage, only one name came to mind and with it, Eddard felt his heart stop. Standing before him was the legendary kinslayer Sandor Clegane, better known as The Hound to those fortunate enough to have met him, and lived to tell about it.

"Gather your sword and prepare yourself to die," the Hound growled.

Eddard lowered his dagger, but did not draw his blade. "My lord," Eddard said. "I beg your forgiveness, I did not mean to cause offense, nor did I seek to insult your generosity. The rose was meant only as a gift for my eldest daughter Sansa, whose name day is almost upon me."

"I am no Ser, nor am I a lord. Call me the Hound if you must, and spare me your empty flatteries," the man rasped. Eddard did not have a chance to respond before the scarred man broke the silence again. "Your child, how old will she be?"

"She will be twenty on her name day," Eddard answered in a guarded tone. The Hound considered his words.

"I'll spare you your life, but only if you bring me your daughter a month from this day. I want to see this girl you are so willing to sacrifice your precious honour, and life for. Refuse me, and we will end this properly. Play me for a fool and I will hunt you down, and cut you from gut to gullet,' the Hound warned.

Eddard had no intention of letting the kinslayer near his daughter. If this was to be his punishment, he would face it without hesitation, for a soldier was bred to die. Nevertheless, he was grateful to be able to see his children one last time before he was to face the Hound's blade. Swearing an oath on his honour, Eddard Stark promised to return within the month. Sensing that the minor lord spoke only the truth, the Hound took him at his word and permitted him leave. "In your chamber there is a large chest. Fill it with whatever you need, be it food or supplies and it will be sent to your village," the great beast said before departing in silence, leaving a troubled Eddard Stark in his wake. Eddard knew no amount of food, or coin would protect his daughter should the Hound turn back on his word.

Author's Note: In this universe the three great houses mentioned (House Stark, Lannister and Baratheon) are now merely minor lords whom have no claim/chance at the throne, so as to fit into the concept of Beauty and Beast. Outside of that little else is different in Westeros =D