A/N: Dialog in the flashback is taken from the Season 1 episode "The Kings Road"

Disclaimer: Game of Thrones and its characters are the products of George R.R. Martin's imagination and HBO's backing. None of it's mine.

He'd noticed her the moment King Robert's party arrived at Winterfell. She stood out amongst her family, servants, and smallfolk all gathered to welcome their king and his people to their castle. Even her mother, born a Tully of the Riverlands, blended in with the others more. The eldest Stark girl was tall for her age, willow-thin, with the fairest skin he'd ever seen and long coppery hair of a lighter shade than her mother's. Her dress was plain compared to what the highborn women wore in Kings Landing, but suited her well in this Northern place. Her bright blue eyes were immediately drawn to Prince Joffrey and she blushed prettily when he smiled at her. No doubt all sorts of romantic notions were flitting through her pretty head.

Little does she know, the Hound thought sourly.

He kept his distance at first, mainly watching her from the corner of his eye whenever she walked past. He saw her far more often when her father brought her and her younger sister along on the journey back to King's Landing, walking about camp with that half-grown direwolf at her side. Sandor found it amusing the way she led the animal around by a length of soft leather cord looped around its neck. The queen had insisted on this, saying such a beast was too dangerous to allow to run around loose with her children present. As if the animal couldn't easily snap that cord like a thread if it so chose.

It was on a rare sunny day that Sandor watched the Stark girl walking with her direwolf. She seemed distracted by the lovely turn of the weather, for she didn't notice Ser Ilyn Payne cross her path until she nearly walked right into him. The girl gave a start and stammered a hasty apology to the royal executioner. Naturally, Ser Ilyn did not respond, but merely glared at the flustered girl with those unsettling, nearly colorless eyes.

Sandor was never quite certain why he decided to step in at that tense moment. The Stark girl spun around to find him standing directly behind her. If anything, her eyes became even wider at the sight of the Hound's grotesque features. Her direwolf, however, only sniffed the newcomer curiously, showing none of the tension the animal had displayed at encountering Ser Ilyn. The girl was too distracted to notice Lady's behavior, but Sandor did. It made him question the supposed intuition animals were said to possess regarding threatening men.

"Do I frighten you so much, girl?" Sandor asked with a grin, then nodded towards Ser Ilyn, "Or is it him there making you shake?"

The executioner glared at the Hound. There was no love lost between them. "He frightens me, too," Sandor went on, "Look at that face." He gave a false shudder and almost laughed at the rising anger he saw in the mute's hard gaze.

The girl turned back to the executioner and managed a more formal apology. Ilyn Payne gave no reaction, merely marched past, glowering at her and Sandor all the while.

The Stark girl actually looked hurt. "Why won't he speak to me?"

"He hasn't been very talkative these last twenty years," Sandor explained, "Not since the Mad King had his tongue removed with hot pincers."

Who knew how the conversation might have gone had Prince Joffrey not chosen that moment to approach. He misinterpreted the girl's shyness as fear, and dismissed his bodyguard with a brusque, "Away with you, dog," that brought the tiniest hint of a frown to the Stark girl's face. It was there and gone in an instant, and therefore unnoticed.

Sandor bowed to his master and walked away. Only when his back was turned did he allow the scowl to twist his already mangled features. Someone should warn that girl about Joffrey. Sandor knew the prince better than anyone, having spent years in the boy's presence unblinded by extreme devotion as the queen was. The Hound knew that though his face - and often deeds - was horrific, it was the prince who was the true monstrosity. For a brief moment, he considered warning the girl himself, but quickly dismissed the notion. Not your business, dog, he told himself. She wouldn't believe him anyway, ugly thing that he was.

"Why does she get to go?" Eddard whined after his parents made the announcement at the dinner table, "I'm big enough. I want to go, too!"

Morden, ever quick to follow his brother's lead, shouted, "Me too! Me too!"

"Inside voices," Sansa chided. The boys sheepishly quieted. "We need you to stay here, Ned," she went on to explain, "Someone has to be the man of the house while your father's away."

The five-year-old straightened in his chair. "An' it's me? I'm the man?"

His mother smiled. "You are the eldest son," she reminded him.

The boy visibly puffed up and turned to his sister to boast, "I'm the man!"

"The man!" Morden agreed with equal enthusiasm.

Catelyn chewed her lip to avoid laughing at her little brothers. "You sure are, Eddie."

Thus mollified, Eddard offered no more complaints. For the next few days he strutted about, proclaiming to anyone he encountered that, "I'm the man while Papa's away!" Much to everyone's amusement.

Meanwhile, Cat's agitation grew as the day of the convoy's departure drew near. She'd already packed, unpacked, and re-packed several times and was anxious to go already! But the days would not cooperate by passing any quicker.

Sandor, by contrast, seemed to grow more reluctant as time progressed. Still, he practiced at his swordplay diligently and helped the others chosen for the convoy to prepare.

Finally, the day of departure had arrived. There were numerous huge wagons loaded with rough-hewn logs of various types of wood, each pulled by teams of massive oxen all chewing placidly on their cuds as they waited for their drivers to urge them on. A couple of smaller wagons carried all their supplies as well as items contributed by various men and women to offer for sale in Ironoak's market square: wood carvings, woven baskets, some of Sansa's finer embroidery, and other such miscellany.

Those who were not riding in the wagons or walking alongside would be on horseback. Sandor was among those few. His black destrier, Stranger, had died six years ago, but not before the stallion managed to mate with a neighbor's workhorse to produce a large russet filly every bit as ill-tempered as her sire. The neighbor immediately foisted the animal off on Sandor, saying that he was the only one mad enough to handle such a demon. And he was not wrong. By some miracle Sandor managed to break the aptly-named Demon to the saddle and would now be riding her on the weeks-long journey. He was the only person Demon tolerated, aside from Catelyn. For whatever reason, she and the overly-spirited mount actually got along. The fact that the girl occasionally sneaked pieces of winter apple to the horse probably had something to do with it.

The entire village had turned out to see the convoy off. Sandor and Cat said their farewells to Sansa and the boys. Catelyn was surprised to discover a lump in her throat as she hugged everyone goodbye. This would be the first time in her life she'd ever been away from home and family, and even though she wanted to go, she found it hard to actually leave when the moment came. The fact that Sansa was visibly fighting tears didn't make it any easier.

Sandor kissed his wife, an intimacy he rarely displayed in sight of others. Their foreheads touched when the kiss ended and Sansa whispered, "Come back safely, husband." She did not need to remind him to protect their firstborn. She knew he would guard Catelyn with his life.

"Aye, Little Bird, I will," he promised. He then picked up baby Zander from her arms and lifted the child over his head one last time. The baby giggled, tiny hands patting his father's scarred face. Sandor marveled, as always, at his youngest child's natural cheeriness. How could such a happy boy come from him? Yet the resemblance between father and son was unquestionable (not that Sandor ever doubted his wife's fidelity). It was simply one of life's little miracles.

Sandor kissed his youngest son's downy head and handed him back to Sansa. He then knelt to embrace the other two boys. He solemnly admonished them to be good to their mother, and reminded Eddard of his new responsibilities. "Look out for your mother and brothers. I am trusting you to take care of them while I'm gone."

His eldest son nodded gravely. "I will, Papa."

Sandor lifted Catelyn to Demon's back, then mounted behind her. His longsword was worn at his back, the handle within easy reach of his right hand. With a final look at his family, he urged the horse to trot over to the procession of wagons which was already beginning its slow journey.

There were plenty of shouted farewells and more than a few tears as the convoy made its way down the newly cleared road that would eventually lead them to Ironoak. Cat leaned to the side so she could peer back at the slowly retreating village. She watched until a crick in her neck forced her to straighten. She looked at the long line of wagons and mounted men stretching out before her, and the twin ruts of the road stretching farther still until it vanished behind a rise. Ironoak Holdfast was less than a fortnight away as the raven flies. Unfortunately, they weren't ravens. The road followed the terrain's lead, curving and twisting around and between rocky peaks and crags. Treacherous in places, so she heard. It would take the better part of a month to reach their destination, which meant another month to return. Two months away from home. Catelyn was both excited and anxious at the prospect. She hoped it would be a great adventure, and that they would all return safely home to share the tale.

It was bitter cold the first night they made camp. Nothing compared to the Long Night, of course, but still unpleasant. None in the convoy expected any different, though. They were well prepared to cope with the harsh weather. The huge oxen were well adapted to such conditions. The horses only required some thick blankets to cover them. Everyone pitched their tents and built several fires within the circle of the wagons. Hot food was prepared and flagons were passed among the adults. A few men brought along instruments - a couple of lutes and a woodharp - and soon others' voices were raised in discordant song. It was a fun, companionable evening. Catelyn and the other children laughed and sneaked the occasional drink from a passing flagon while the adults pretended not to notice. Her father shunned the revelries, however. Choosing instead to join those outside the circle of wagons standing guard. No one was surprised at this. He always seemed to prefer his own company, when he wasn't with his family.

Cat left the warmth of the fires and ducked under the nearest wagon, coming up on the opposite side. She shivered in the night's chill and took a bite of the still-warm meat leftover from dinner. The pilfered wine she sipped earlier left her slightly lightheaded, though her stride remained steady as she walked down the line of wagons in search of her father. He was easy to spot, a towering silhouette in the darkness. "Papa," she whispered, coming up to him.

Sandor glanced down and wordlessly held out his arm for the girl to step under. He then lowered his hand to rest on her shoulder while she leaned on him.

"D'you want some of my sweetbread?" she asked while still chewing a mouthful.

Sandor shook his head. They stood in easy silence for a moment before Catelyn asked, "Why do they call it sweetbread when it's meat?"

"I don't know," he replied. His eyes continued to rove the darkness beyond the campsite, alert for any hint of movement.

"They should call it sweetmeat instead," his daughter continued.

"There already is something called sweetmeat. A sort of candy," Sandor told her.

"Does it have meat in it?"

"No."

Catelyn pondered this, then snorted. "That's stupid."

Sandor smirked in agreement. "It's getting late," he told her, "You should ready yourself for bed."

The girl made a noise of protest. "Can't I stay up a little longer?"

"We'll break camp early tomorrow," Sandor warned.

"How early?"

"Before sunup, most likely."

Cat sighed. "Alright, I'll go to bed."

"There'll be other nights for sport, Little Cat."

"I know. Goodnight, Papa."

"Goodnight."

His side felt cold when she pulled away.

Later that night after his replacement came to relieve him at guard duty, Sandor crawled into the tent he and Cat shared. Catelyn was nothing but a shapeless lump beneath layers of blankets and furs, the faint sounds of her breathing the only noise to be heard. Sandor removed his boots and bundled himself into the bedroll beside her, his broad back pressed to hers. When he woke at predawn the next day, he discovered that he'd rolled onto his other side and found himself hugging his daughter's much smaller form to him. It brought back memories of when she was much younger and would often crawl into bed between him and Sansa. He kissed the top of her mussed head. "Time to wake up, Little Cat."

Catelyn whined and snuggled deeper into her cocoon of blankets. Sandor smiled, sat up, and abruptly yanked the covers away from her. The girl squealed at the sudden exposure to the cold air and curled into a tight ball. "Papa!"

"Get up, child. The world will not wait for you."

The girl let out an indignant huff and sat up, still clutching her doll. Her hair was a rat's nest perched comically atop her head. The way she glared up at him reminded him so much of her mother he wanted to laugh at her and embrace her all at once. Instead, he smoothed down her tangled black hair as best he could and told her to get dressed. They broke their fast with bread and cheese while packing away their things. Soon the convoy was mobile again.

The weeks of travel passed by largely without incident. Once a ragged band of poorly armed men was spotted in the distance, but they never tried to approach the large convoy. Once a pack of starveling wolves kept pace with them for the better part of a league before finally vanishing into the woods. The greatest hardship came when a period of warmer days caused the ground to thaw and the heavily laden wagons to become bogged in the softened earth. Long rows of planks were laid down in the ruts, allowing the wagons to plod along. Men were put to the task of retrieving the planks at the trailing end and rush ahead to lay them in front of the foremost wagon. It was a long and tiring task, but at least the wagons didn't go much slower than normal.

The two leaders of the convoy were a married couple named Bertra and Syman, both hard as nails with thick corded arms acquired from over twenty years of swinging axes. Rumor had it they used to be Wildlings. They certainly fit the part with their heavily scarred bodies and rough speech. They drove the frontmost wagon with their bevy of children riding in the back. They also had a cage of ravens given to them by Maester Tolbert. Every few days their eldest son, who'd been taught by the maester to write, would take down a message and send it out on one of the ravens to let Oldtree know about their progress. So far, the messages were fairly short.

Sometimes Cat rode with her father on Demon, sometimes she rode on the back of one of the wagons with some of the other children, and sometimes she walked alongside to stretch her legs. The terrain was both familiar, yet different from what she'd known her entire short life. She was rarely bored. There was always some chore to do, some new thing to investigate (well within view of her father, of course), or some unfamiliar sight to point out. The pockets of her roughspun dress and leggings bulged with interesting stones and discarded feathers found along the ground. Once she even found an owl pellet, a prize that made her the envy of all the other children.

Sandor's concerns waned as he watched his daughter continue to thrive during their journey. She never strayed far from the wagons, always remained in his sight, and found numerous ways to enjoy herself even when put to work. In the evenings when they made camp she babbled on about whatever adventures she had that day. So much like her mother, his Little Bird, chirping away at him. It made him homesick at times, thinking of his wife and sons waiting back in Oldtree, but he was glad to be sharing this experience with his firstborn.

They reached the mountain pass towards the end of the third week of travel. It was the most hazardous part of the journey, filled with switchbacks and steep cliffs, where avalanches and rockslides were a constant threat. The road hugged the mountainside and at times was so narrow there was barely an inch between the edge and the wagons' outermost wheels. They could not stop to make camp until they reached the other side, however long it took.

They encountered several rockfalls along the way, forcing them to stop and clear the road. Most were fairly small and only required a few minutes to clear. Once it took a couple of hours to clear a path. Catelyn watched in fascination as the boulders were rolled over the edge and went crashing down the mountainside, causing small avalanches as they fell. It was past sunset when they finally reached the other side and were able to make camp for the night. Everyone was exhausted to some degree. No one bothered to cook that night, just grabbed some bread and cheese and cold meat and fell into bed after. For once, Sandor did not take first watch. He slept heavily for a few hours before he was woken for the next shift. Catelyn did not so much as stir when he left the tent.

The next day, Sandor halted their horse and lifted his daughter onto his shoulders to give her a first view of Ironoak Holdfast. It looked tiny from this distance, situated in a valley near the foot of the mountain. Cat was able to make out the wall surrounding the keep and some of the larger buildings of the town scattered around it. She could also make out the arch of the water wheel which powered the sawmill.

"How big is it?" she asked.

"Bigger than Oldtree," her father answered, "Almost two thousand people live there."

The thought of so many people in one place boggled her mind. Oldtree only had, at most, a little over five hundred residents. "Will we get there soon?"

"A few more days," Sandor said. Catelyn couldn't wait to see it all up close.