Sansa rushed down the corridor, too upset to even realize where she was going. She could hear Septa Mordane calling after her, but only quickened her footsteps until the woman's voice faded away. She knew that Mother would not be pleased with her behavior once she heard about it, but for the moment Sansa couldn't care. Her face felt hot, and her hands ached, where she had tightened her fists so hard that her fingernails pressed into the soft flesh of her palms.

She felt her breath shortening as she continued through the maze of stone passageways, walking as fast as she could without running (only Arya would run inside, like some crude wildling girl), but without any destination. Gradually her steps shortened, and her pace slowed. The hallways narrowed and the air felt suddenly much warmer, and Sansa realized she had wandered nearly all the way to the kitchens.

As she wondered whether Gage would let her steal a lemoncake, Sansa felt suddenly calmer. The peace washed over her as abruptly as vexation had a few minutes earlier. She was used to Arya being insufferable, but she could never remember feeling so angry at her before today. Arya was just a little girl, after all, and had no interest in proper things like sewing and playing the high harp and doing the things a lady should do. Father said it was the wolf's blood in her. Whatever it was, normally Sansa could ignore her, but for some reason, today Arya's antics enraged her.

She continued to wander the corridors, knowing if she went back to her chambers Mother and Septa Mordane would be waiting there to scold her. She kept walking instead, calming her breathing as she went, forcing herself to take the slow, measured steps of a lady. She trailed a hand on the wall as she went, feeling the hot springs Winterfell was built on warm the stone from within.

Eventually she found herself at her father's solar. It was here nearly two months ago that he and Mother had told her about her soul bonded mate. His name was Sandor Clegane, and Father said he was a fierce warrior from the Westerlands, in service to House Lannister. When Father said her bonded was only the second son of a minor house, Sansa immediately felt disappointed. She had assumed her soul mate would be a great lord, or even a prince!

Father seemed disappointed as well, and when Sansa asked why, he only said a Lannister bannerman was not who he would choose as a match for her. This Sandor Clegane was sworn shield to the crown prince, however, and Sansa felt sure that meant he must be brave and strong, to be trusted with such a charge. Being a Lannister bannerman couldn't be so terrible, either, after all the queen was of House Lannister!

Sansa felt her cheeks burn as she recalled her initial reaction. The thought of hoping to marry a lord or a prince had barely finished forming in her mind when she felt an unpleasant weight settle in her chest; it was the same feeling she had on the rare occasions Maester Luwin said he was disappointed in her studies. It was shame. Sansa felt she had already somehow betrayed her bonded mate, and they weren't even married! They had yet to even meet!

The more she thought about it, the more it seemed childish to be disappointed that her soon-to-be-betrothed was not quite so highborn as she first imagined. He was far from a commoner, after all, and Old Nan had told her that the bond cared naught for birthrights and family trees. Anyway Jeyne Poole wasn't highborn at all, and she was Sansa's dearest friend.

Sandor. Sansa found herself saying his name over and over again in her head. She knew next to nothing about this man, but knew that she liked the sound of his name. She wondered what he was like. Mother had warned her not to expect him to be like the heroes in the songs she loved, and that although he wasn't exactly lowborn, Sandor was likely to be closer to a common soldier than a great lord. Sansa was surprised to feel a sharp stab of offense at her mother's words, but held her tongue. How else did knights become legends but through great deeds in battle? Sansa was sure that a valiant warrior would make a fine lord husband indeed.

The door to her father's solar stood slightly ajar, and when she peered inside, her father caught her eye and smiled.

"Come, Sansa. What troubles you, sweet one? I know you are hiding from your septa and your mother." Father's eyes were warm and smiling, and Sansa knew he would not scold her for being impatient with Arya.

Sansa entered the room and sat in a chair near the window. "It's Arya, Father. She...oh I don't even remember now. I was angry and spoke discourteously, and then I ran away. Septa Mordane was scolding me and I didn't even stop to listen!"

"You were angry? Normally you are more patient with Arya. Why was today different?"

The feelings that plagued her earlier were coming back to her in force. She felt the anger well up inside her again, even if she couldn't remember what Arya had even said to her to set her off. She was afraid her father would be upset with her; even though he never raised his voice at any of them and although he didn't even seem upset right now...Sansa's insides felt twisted and bit wobbly, like when Hullen picked a horse for her that was rather too spirited.

It was confusing and unpleasant, feeling so many things at once. Fear and anger swirled with her frustration and Sansa wanted it to stop. She twisted her hands in her lap and willed herself not to shout at her father.

"Oh Father I don't know why today was different! I can't understand it and I don't think...I mean it doesn't...I don't care that Arya hates embroidery! Her stitches are terrible! She doesn't even like pretty things so why should she spend all day embroidering?" Her heart was racing and she felt her cheeks warm up again. She was rambling about embroidery and it made no sense, and she didn't care. Her father's furrowed brow and concerned look were not at all comforting; for some reason that annoyed Sansa as well.

"Sansa...is this really about your sister? Are you...is it worry over your bonded mate? I know I told you that he..."

"Oh I don't care about that!" Sansa gasped and covered her mouth, staring at her father with wide eyes, horrified that she would interrupt him so rudely. He looked shocked, which only made her feel worse. To her utter dismay, she suddenly felt her eyes sting with unshed tears and prayed they wouldn't fall. It was so childish to cry over nothing. She was nearly a woman grown and soon to be betrothed!

"I beg your pardon, Father, I spoke out of turn." Sansa whispered her apology and took a deep breath, blinking away the wetness from her eyes and placing her hands back in her lap as Septa Mordane taught her.

"I am not worried about meeting my bonded mate." As soon as the words left her mouth, Sansa heard the ring of untruth. She was worried, but it was somehow not a bad feeling. She was looking forward to it, too. "I...well, I suppose I am a bit worried...but not terribly so, as I am excited as well. I am anxious to meet him, and I feel as though...it's as if I...I mean that – that – I'm hopeful that he will..." Sansa felt her words and feelings getting twisted and confused again, and her throat began to close as she felt the strangest desire to burst into tears. Her hand flew to her mouth again, as if to keep her stuttering words inside.

Her father nodded seriously, and stood from his chair. He walked over to the window where she sat and crouched down in front of her, taking her hands in his own, and smiled gently up at her. The patient look in his gray eyes helped Sansa calm somewhat, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

"Sansa, I believe you are upset today because you are beginning to feel the effects of the bond. You know that as your bond strengthens, you'll begin to feel the emotions of your bonded mate as well as your own? He is on his way to Winterfell as we speak; as he gets closer, you may start to feel his feelings more intensely."

Sansa was stricken with this news. Did this mean her betrothed was angry with her? Angry at the idea of coming to Winterfell to be bonded with her and eventually marry her?

"But Father, why should he be angry?"

Her father squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Sandor Clegane is a Westerman, Sansa, the idea of soul bonding and the ways of the First Men are unknown to him. His whole life he has served the Lannisters at Casterly Rock and then at King's Landing. He is probably feeling...confused perhaps, at not knowing what awaits him here, and perhaps a bit angry at having to leave his homeland behind for the North. Winter is coming, and southron soldiers know naught of the Northern winter."

Sansa contemplated this. It had never occurred to her that Sandor would have to leave his life behind for her. He had to abandon family and friends and all that was familiar to him for a journey into the unknown North. Sansa tried to imagine how she would feel if she had to leave Father and Mother and Jeyne and Winterfell to go to some unknown place to wed a stranger. It would be exciting, but she would miss everyone terribly. And what if she knew nothing about the place that would be her new home? Sansa felt sure that would be unpleasant.

"I never thought about that, Father...I will say a prayer for him. And I promise to be more patient with Arya as well." He smiled at her and gave her leave to pray.

Sansa went first to the Godswood, and prayed to the heart tree to protect her bonded mate on his journey to Winterfell, and to help him come to love the North and find a home here, even if his family was so far away. Then she went to the Sept, figuring that as a Westerman he likely kept to the Seven. She lit a candle for the Warrior, remembering that Father said he had been a soldier his whole life, and knowing that as her future husband he would fight among her father's bannermen. She then lit a candle for the Mother, asking her to gentle his rage and help him know peace.

Sansa resolved to do everything she could to help Sandor feel welcome at Winterfell. She wondered that if she could feel his emotions, perhaps he could feel hers as well? As she knelt in the Sept, she tried hard to think pleasing, happy thoughts and hoped that her soon-to-be-betrothed could feel her love and concern for him, and that he would one day feel the same for her.