Watching Joffrey compete in archery with the Stark children in the great practice yard of Winterfell, he can hardly believe a month has passed since the royal caravan arrived at Lord Eddard Stark's seat in the north. The entire trip Sandor looked forward to sparring with the brutal Northman he heard so much about his entire life.
He intended to drink as much of their honeyed ale as he could handle and fuck a few whores who weren't afraid of his gruesome scars. Mayhaps he would win some of the northman's money in games of chance, or perhaps participate in a tourney Robert would likely hold once he bored of Winterfell's barren surroundings.
Instead he has spent most of his time in Winterfell guarding Robert's oldest boy. Sandor has served King Robert as the sworn shield of his son Crown Prince Joffrey since he was a babe. He finds it difficult to believe the shrewd king he has loyally served and fought beside is oblivious that his golden boy with blue eyes and hesitant, almost delicate countenance is everything his father is not. Anyone who isn't blind can see the boy belongs to Cersei's brother, Jaime-in looks although most certainly not in disposition.
From outward appearances he seems the perfect handsome prince all the young girls dream about, the young hero of the fabled stories of old. The same girls who loved such fairy tales had always ran away from Sandor at the same age, and later grew into woman who did the same. As much as the young girls swoon over his charge, Sandor knows the unpleasant truth: the lad has inherited the sadistic Lannister nature which makes Sandor's blood run cold, reminding him of his own brother Gregor at the same age. Observing Joffrey's descent into cruelty as he nears adulthood, Sandor now thinks he would have much preferred a life of battle to the shit he endures daily from the whiny little bastard.
The young prince seems to have taken quite a fancy to the oldest Stark girl named Sansa. A maid of three and ten, she is already more beautiful than any woman Sandor Clegane has ever seen. He was taken with her the moment he rode into Winterfell and laid eyes on her standing in the reception line, her beautiful figure swathed in the traditional Stark colors. Her fiery waist length hair and deep blue eyes stood in sharp contrast to her porcelain skin and Sandor had to force himself to turn away from her.
Sandor has found her beauty goes far beyond her appearance: Sansa is the perfect little lady, always polite and proper with a kind word for everyone, even Joff's scarred but loyal dog. She is everything he had wished for in his younger years. A lovely highborn maid like her was not meant for the second son of a minor house of kennel masters, he reminds himself bitterly even as she shyly smiles his way.
He notices Sansa never participates with the others, though her brothers always try to include her in their activities, always offering help and encouragement. She prefers standing off to the side watching everything Joffrey does as though he is her real life Florian made flesh and Sandor can tell she tries very hard to live up to the expectations of her mother and septa. Poor little bird, she has no clue Joffrey is a vicious bloodthirsty lion stalking her as his prey, ready to tear her to pieces at the slightest provocation.
The exact opposite of her older sister, the younger dark haired girl Arya excels in their sports whether it is sword fighting, archery or darts, much to Sandor's amusement. Robert cruelly scolds every one of his son's defeats, even whipping him for allowing the girl to take his sword in one of their mock fights. Sandor thinks it stupid for the fat king to begrudge the girl her victories over his son and silently admires Lord Eddard for allowing her to continue playing with the others in spite of his king's protests. Always underfoot, Arya is a favorite among the soldiers and guards alike and he and Jaime often watch the children solely to see what the young girl will do next.
Aiming carefully, the girl sends her arrow straight through Joffrey's, splitting it in two and securing her win. Laughing and jumping up and down, she ignores her septa's glares as she slaps hands with her brothers and sister. Joffrey quickly loses his temper, pushing through the others he shoves her to the ground. While the youngest boy Rickon helps Arya up, the older boy Bran holds her back, fearful she will strike the prince.
Turning to Sansa he bitterly shouts,"How could you root for her against me, you fickle girl?!" Sansa blinks back tears, stunned by his outburst. "It is only for sport, my lord...we always play like this. I thought," she begins, then her voice fades, frightened by the fury in Joff's eyes. Hearing Joff's shrill voice echoing in the courtyard, Jaime Lannister comes out of the stables and watches, shaking his head at Sandor.
Heading over to the group, he stands a respectful distance while eying Joffrey. "I'm not afraid of you Joffrey-prince or not! And I'm not afraid of your Hound, either!You best be glad my brothers have me-just wait til my father hears about this!" Arya shouts before racing inside the castle. She's feisty, that one, Sandor grins in spite of himself. Smiling, Jaime walks up beside him, "So much like Cersei at that age. I wish Father had let her alone the way Ned lets this one be."
Not to be outdone, Joffrey continues,"Stupid, backward Northern wenches...it isn't decent what your father allows here, you know! Your sister acts like a Wilding!" he sputters. "Hey, watch how you speak to Lord Stark's daughters!" Jaime shouts and before Sandor can react Joffrey strikes Sansa squarely in the stomach. Joffrey's violent outburst takes Sandor by surprise; he did not expect the prince would hurt the girl over such a trivial matter or else he would have placed himself between them. "Fuck, boy-what is the matter with you?!" he snarls, pushing him away from the girl.
"You want to start an incident here in the north over sport, nephew? You best be glad her older brothers are inside or you'd get a beating; I would have gutted anyone that struck your mother at your age," Jaime yanks Joffrey away from the girl and drags him off to his father. Sansa lands sprawled out on the ground at Sandor's feet, tears pouring down her reddened cheeks.
Kneeling down to help her, Sansa tentatively places her small hand into his much larger calloused one, hesitantly accepting his help with a tremulous smile. Sandor notices how tiny and delicate she is, and that she she is looking him right in the face as she smiles up at him. Aside from her tears the Little Bird seems alright; on closer inspection Sandor notices she is bleeding from a small cut on the head.
Carefully he lifts her to her feet, gently holding her by the waist to steady her as he examines her cut. Sandor knows full well this will only be the first of many times an argument with Joffrey will end in Sansa bleeding."You're all right now Little Bird, you're alright," he rasps softly, taking out a handkerchief and dabbing the blood from her temple with a tenderness that surprises the girl.
"You are ever so kind my lord, thank you for your help," she whispers softly. He pats her lightly on the back and gives her a slight grin before offering his arm, leading her back to her rooms.
Sandor and Jaime are not the only men in Winterfell watching the interaction between the children. Frowning, Ned Stark peers down onto the training yard below his solar, observing Sansa and Joffrey's exchange. Infuriated, he starts out the door after the boy, then pauses to look outside one more time.
Amazed, Ned watches as Sandor Clegane, the fiercest and most dangerous man in King Robert's retinue, helps his beloved Sansa off the ground, tenderly cleaning the small cut above her eyebrow.
A week has passed since Robert asked for her hand in marriage for his son, though Sansa has just celebrated her thirteenth nameday. Robert's request was really just a formality; he knew his childhood friend expected his assent and in doing so they would join houses through marriage. Once Cersei had given he approval on the match the matter was settled.
Though he could not say why, Ned has felt uncomfortable with the boy ever since he arrived and only reluctantly agreed to the match on the condition that the wedding would not take place until the children were older. Observing Joffrey's temper tantrum, he regrets giving away his daughter so easily, even to his dear friend and king on the iron throne.
While Ned silently watches Sandor help Sansa, Arya bursts in shouting with her septa hot on her heels. "Joffrey is mean, he pushed me and Sansa down, father-and she didn't do nothing!" Ned listens intently and promises to take care of it. After Arya is appeased with the promise of fresh lemoncakes for her and Sansa, he calls Jory Cassel into his solar. "The prince's sword shield Sandor Clegane-I would like a word with him as soon as possible."