The "Landale" accent sounds Irish, and the "Helmsdale" accent sounds Scottish. Don't forget to comment. Happy holidays!

Sansa woke before the day began. She sat up in bed and ran her hands through her long red tangled curls, trying to remember her dream. That man... She thought. He was in my dream...

She slid her arched feet into her slippers, and didn't bother with her robe. It was too early for anyone else to be awake, so she wasn't worried about being caught in her white nightgown. Sansa tip toed to her window. She could see the great sea, but not the little cabin on the beach. She pressed her finger tip to the glass, getting an idea of how cold the morning was. Hopefully he was warm enough.

Sansa brushed through her tangles and tied her hair in a long fishtail braid. She like the way it made her curls bounce when she undid it. She looked through the wooden wardrobe with wolves, her houses sigil, carved on the doors, for the most simple dress she could find. She chose a deep purple cotton dress. Luckily, the back was easy enough to tie on her own and when she finished dressing she looked at herself in the vanity. The sleeves were long and hung down to her knees, the neckline was lower than her nicer gowns and pushed her breasts up, but she didn't mind. The cloak would cover her there. The bodice slimmed her already small waist, giving her a feminine silhouette. The richness of the color brought out the red in her hair. Sansa pinched her cheeks and bit down on her bottom lip, instantly making her looked more awake. She did not wear any jewels in case the man was a thief. Pleased with her appearance, Sansa grabbed her satchel and cloak and headed down to the kitchens.

The halls, which were usually warm with candle light and full of laughter were quiet and grey. Sansa walked slowly through the halls, the silence giving it an eerie feel. She imagined the ghosts of her ancestors watching her and picked up her pace.

Sansa peaked her head in before entering the kitchen. Molly, the head cook was already down there, flour dusted her blonde ringlets, Her large belly pressed against the table as she rolled dough. She was sweetly humming an old Landale hymn, which told Sansa she was in a good mood today. Molly was either very happy and chipper, or cranky and mean.

"Good morning, Molly." Sansa entered, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

Molly bowed. "Good morning m'lady." She said with a thick Helmsdalish accent. Molly was only ten when her family sent her to Landale in hopes of a better life than one in Helmsdale, ruled by the Baratheon family. The Stark's took her in, and she became like family. "What are you doing up at this hour?"

Sansa made up her story as she drifted off to sleep the night before. She would tell anyone who asked that she wanted to get an early start because she had her blood and wanted to be alone. "I have my flower and couldn't sleep with the pain. I want to be alone today. Can I please have a breakfast and lunch packed to take with me?" Sansa asked with big eyes.

Molly stopped rolling and went to the stove to pour Sansa a cup of tea. "Of course sweet girl." She placed the cup in front of Sansa, the steam floated up to her face with aromas of herbs and cinnamon. "Drink that and by the time you're done I'll have it ready for ye'"

"Thank you, Molly." Sansa smiled, wrapping her hands around the mug, warming herself before taking a sip.

Molly had indeed packed quite a meal. and the weight of the basket slowed Sansa's pace. It was still early, but she was concerned about the burned man's condition and wanted to hurry. The morning winds blew South which worked in her favor. The hymn Molly sang this morning was stuck in her head and she began singing as she walked along the cliffs. Getting down the stairs with the basket of food was tricky, but she had done it before. Practice made perfect and Sansa made it down with out so much as a slip or tumble.

The cabin was in view, and smoke came out of the chimney which meant the fire was still going strong. Thank the Gods, she thought. At least he is warm. As she got closer to the cabin, she started to get a little nervous. She did not know this man. What if she was in danger? What if he was a murderer, or tried to take her maiden hood. Sansa shuddered at that. Father stocked the cabin full of weapons. He taught me how to used them, I'll be safe. She inhaled the salty air, the same air her ancestors breathed, giving her courage. She was a Northern wolf. She would be brave. This man needed her help, and her father may have taught her to be cautious, but her mother taught her to help others in need.

The cabin grew in size as Sansa walked closer and another thought danced in her mind. His burns. She had never seen such wounds before. They didn't look recent, she's sure he would have been screaming in pain if they were. They frightened her, but surely less then he must have been when whatever caused them happened. She would not show her fear.

She approached the door, not sure if she should knock. She decided against it and opened it slowly. It creaked, and she winced at the noise hoping it wouldn't wake him. She closed it as quietly as she could. She walked over to the small table, hung her cloak over the chair and undid her plait. She turned and looked at the man. He laid facing the fire, still asleep, breathing heavily. Sansa set the basket of food down near the fire and nestled into the blankets, shivering. She usually walked here in the late morning, or early afternoons, the warmest time of day. The air this early was brisk and she needed to warm herself. She sat crossed legged and held her palms out to the flames.

She chose not to wake the man. He needed rest, and was sleeping soundly. Sansa took her book out of her satchel, and set the skin of freshly brewed tea from Molly out in front of her. This was one of her favorite stories. She read for hours, but as the man tossed and turned, she found herself reading the same paragraph over and over. The crackling of the flames and the man's heavy breathing distracted her. It wasn't proper for a lady to be alone with a man, but the circumstances called for it. If her mother and father knew, they would help him of course, but Sansa was oddly curious about him, and the privacy of getting to know someone, not as Lady Sansa Stark, but just Sansa was exciting.

She took a break from reading and watched him sleep. The blanket hung loosely over his waist. Sansa had never seen a naked man before. She took advantage of his slumber and studied the male form. He was so large. Dark hair covered his chest and forearms. His muscled arms were crossed, covering most of his stomach, but from what Sansa could see, it was hardened and scarred from training and battles. She'd seen her brothers with out tunics before, they were fit, but their bodies didn't look quite as impressive as this man's. A trail of dark hair went down his stomach and led somewhere covered by the blankets. He looked so warm and Sansa felt the strange urge to lay next to him, wrapped in his arms. She took every inch of him in and moved her gaze back up his body to his face. She gasped and pressed her hand to her heart. His eyes were open.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to stare." She breathed.

"Most people look away when they see my face. Stare all you like." He replied with a Helmsdalish accent.

"You're from Helmsdale?" Sansa gasped, ignoring his comment about his face. Landale and Helmsdale had been at odds with the threat of war for many years. Passage from one to the other was almost impossible.

"Aye." The man answered. "By your accent I take it I'm in Landale?"

"That's right.

He slowly sat up, but began coughing. He clutched his waist in pain. Sansa rushed to his. The area below his chest was bruised. She gave water and he drank until the coughing subsided. "Thank you."

"What can I do to help?" Sansa asked worriedly.

"For a broken rib? Time is the only healer unfortunately. The only thing that can help ease the pain is ale." He winced.

"I'm afraid I don't have any." She silently vowed to bring some with her on the morrow. "How long were you out there?" She asked.

"I counted six moons." He rasped.

"Six?" Sansa was horrified. "You must have been so cold. What happened?"

The man looked at his hands as if trying to remember. "I was on a ship. When the storm hit the waves tore the it apart like it was a piece of parchment..." He kept his eyes on his hands, replaying the terrors in his mind.

Unsure of how to comfort him, Sansa reached for the basket on placed it in between them. "I brought food." She said, hopeful it would take his mind off the storm.

The basket was full of honey bread, fresh grapes and apples, cheese, a spiced roast, lemon cakes, and a bottle of cider. The man ate ravenously. His mouth full, he offered some to Sansa but she declined. She was hungry, but this man hadn't eaten for seven days. She could wait a little longer. Sansa noticed a huge gash in his shoulder.

"May I?" She eyed his wound. He nodded and she crawled closer to him. The gash was deep, but didn't look infected. The salt water must have helped. She placed her hands on his arm. His skin was warm, and she could feel his large muscles. She swallowed hard. "I'll need to give you stitches."

"I've had worse." He mumbled.

She knew he was talking about his burns, but it wouldn't be polite to ask about them. If he wanted to tell her how they came to be, he would in his own time. "Oh!" Sansa remembered his tunic. She reached in her satchel and handed it to him. "It was torn, I took it home to mend it."

The man held it to the fire and saw her little stitches in the fabric. "I suppose I'll have to trust you with my shoulder." He smiled, the scars on his face twisted. Sansa noticed in that moment his eyes changed. The sadness went away and she saw a glimmer of happiness that softened his face. He put the tunic over his head and it was gone. "Thank you, lass."

She smiled at him. They sat together in silence for a few minutes, thought it was not uncomfortable.

"Is this your home?" He asked.

Home? How could anyone call this a home? It was smaller than the kitchens in the castle. "No, it does not belong to anyone. No one comes here but me."

"And all of those..." He pointed at her stone collection. "...are yours?"

"They are." She answered, somewhat embarrassed at such a childish thing. She tucked her long curls behind her ear awkwardly.

"Then it belongs to you." He let out a small smile.

"I never thought of it like that." She smiled, looking around with a new appreciation.

"My home was about this size." He started . "It was but a room."

"A room?" Sansa gasped with wide eyes.

"Aye, I was the sworn shield for the brat prince in the South." He admitted. Sansa had learned of the Baratheon's, and all other houses in her lessons, but did not know much about the prince personally. "He's not right in the head. Cruel. I couldn't take guarding him anymore, so I left."

"You just left?" Sansa asked.

"Not before telling him to fuck off." He spat. "Apologies, lass. I boarded the ship with other men who agreed with me. We did not believe in the way the Baratheon's ruled, so we decided to come here and join the Landalish cause."

Sandor's voice turned dark as he finished. The men he spoke of must have died in the ship wreck. "I'm sorry for your loses. The North will be happy to welcome you."

"Let's hope so, lass."

Sansa was so used to being called, my lady, that the casualty of "lass" caught her off guard. She liked it. She looked out the window, it was beginning to get dark. The days were shorter when the weather changed. Winter was coming...

"The day is almost gone, I must be getting back." Sansa stood and re braided her long hair. "I shall return with more food and medicines on the morrow." She smiled.

"Thank you for your kindness. What might I call you?" The burned man inquired.

He had been honest with her, and she did not wish to lie. She decided to give him her first name, but not her last. "Sansa." She cooed.

"Sansa..." He repeated like it was the most beautiful word he'd ever heard.

"And yours?" She asked.

He took a moment, as if the same worries she had troubled him. "Sandor." He finally answered. She could see in his grey eyes that it was his true name.

"Until tomorrow, Sandor." She smiled before opening the door, she left quickly so as not to let the cold sea air in.

Sansa could not believe she'd spent the afternoon alone with a man! Highborn girls were not permitted to. A man must court a lady with many chaperoned outings before they're allowed a minute alone. She had even touched his bare skin. A blush crept across her neck at the thought. She had never kept secrets from her parents, especially her mother, but no one could know he was here. If they found out she was hiding a Helmsdalian man, they would see to it that he returned from where he came, and would never trust Sansa again. She lived a life of order and rules. She did what was expected of her, and although she had attended countless parties and balls, every conversation she had was full of empty courtesies and nothing more. With Sandor, it felt different. It felt honest. The prospect of speaking to a person who did not know she was highborn, and who did not bow to her every move was, exciting. Sansa smiled to herself as she quickened her pace to the castle.

Sansa entered the castle through the back kitchen doors. Her boots were covered in mud and dirty footprints trailed behind her, but she didn't realize it until she turned around..

"Oh no, Molly I'm so sorry!" Sansa started, seeing her footprints. "Let me help you."

"Nonsense! It's good to see you getting a little dirty, and this is nothing compared to the mess your brothers make. Or worse, your sister!" They snickered at that. "I'll have the new girl take care of it. Are you feeling better my lady?"

Sansa had almost forgotten playing sick before leaving that morning. "Yes, much better. I believe it's all thanks to your tea. I quite enjoyed it, do you think you could prepare me another basket for tomorrow? I should like to take my meals there again very much." She smiled as sweetly as she could.

"Of course my lady. Shall I make enough for the other Stark's as well?" Molly asked excited at the prospect of cooking a large feast.

"That won't be necessary, it'll just be me." Sansa hoped she would not press further.

"Very well, but I'll still be making a lot for ye'. You need to pack a little meat on those bones, girl." The ladies chuckled and Sansa left the kitchens, thankful she did not have to worry about play sick again tomorrow.

Sansa called for a warm bath before dinner. The walk back to the castle left her bones cold. Four hand maidens entered her chambers carrying a steaming bath and set it down by her window. They lit her fireplace and undressed her before leaving. Sansa slowly submerged herself in the hot water. Once her skin got used to the warmth she rested her head back on the edge of the tub and closed her eyes. She took deeps breaths and thought about the man's tale. How frightening that must have been to be lost at sea for almost a weeks time. Sansa remembered the storm. She loved cold rainy weather, but it t was much to dangerous to go to the small cabin on the beach during storms. If the waves were big enough they could wash it away. Instead, she curled up in bed with a book, listening to the sound of raindrops hitting her window. Sansa began scrubbing her body with calming vanilla scented soap. How funny, she thought, on the same day I was in here, with the comforts of my bed, he was out there trying not to drown, while all those around him disappeared beneath the depths. She shuddered at the thought and suddenly felt the need to get out of the water.

She dried off and her hand maidens came back into her chambers. They dressed her in a light blue silk gown and brushed her hair until it curled, braiding two small pieces around her head.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in" Sansa called.

Her half brother, Jon entered. He was dressed in his usual all black smart attire for dinner. "You look more grown up every day, Sansa." He smiled.

Sansa was about to return the compliment but when she looked at him she couldn't help laughing. "And you would look like a proper Lord if it wasn't for that mop on top of your head." She eyed the mass of black curls that hung just above his shoulders.

The hand maidens left her chambers, and Jon walked closer to her. "I heard you were feeling ill this morning. I came to see if you needed anything, but you weren't here. Molly said you went to your hide away."

"I did. I felt like being on my own and didn't want to be a bother." Sansa lied.

Jon nodded, taking her words in. He held out his hand for her and she stood from her vanity. "I've known you since you were a baby, and every time winter's cold visited you, you made sure everyone knew by your moaning and groaning." Jon gave her a knowing smile. "I don't know what you're up to sister, but you need not lie, surely if you just wanted alone time, you need only ask."

Sansa felt terrible for lying to Molly, and now she had to pretend to her whole family that she was ill this morning. Jon was the quietest of the Stark children, and in Sansa's opinion, the kindest. She knew she could trust him with anything. "Jon..." She started. "Have you ever kept a secret?"

Jon looked puzzled by her question, and took his time in answering. "You have a smart head on your shoulders, Sansa. You know what's right and what's wrong. Sometimes in order to do what's right, we have to keep secrets." He gave a sorrowful smile and held out his arm. "Come on. Molly's prepared roasted duck tonight."

Sansa took his arm and thought about his words. She felt in her heart that saving Sandor was the right thing to do. It didn't make a difference to her if he was from Landale or Helmsdale. She smiled on the way to dinner, thinking if Jon knew, he would be proud.