"Go back to your room, bar the doors, and do not open them for anyone you don't know."

Septa Mordane's words rattled around in Sansa's head as the fled back up the cobblestone walk and into her room. Closing the heavy wooden door behind her, Sansa leaned against it for a moment, trying to catch her breath while looking for something to push in from of her door as Septa had ordered. The closest large object was her vanity. A pretty chunk of wood, carved delicately with gilded swirls and thin, spindly legs. It was fragile, but I would have to do.

Sansa was quick about it, disregarding the cosmetics, perfumes, and oils that used to be so important to her. She hardly even noticed the racket they made when the spun glass vials clattered loudly to the stone floor. Once the furniture was pressed tightly against the entrance to her room, Sansa crouched beside her bed, her back to the wall, facing the door.

For the first time since the ruckus began Sansa's breath slowed, allowing her to relax enough to hear again. And all too soon she desperately wished she couldn't. The clank of armor, clashing swords, and the screams of men assaulted her ears harshly. The sounds coming closer and closer, signaling the approach of soldiers of unknown origin. Sansa briefly wondered about Arya's safety, but at least her sister was under the care of an adult, which was more than could be said for Sansa.

Sansa languished in her thoughts for a while longer before a rattle startled her. Sansa's head whipped toward the door. Someone was trying to get in.

"Come out, come out little bird." A voice crooned from the other side of the polished oak. Sansa fought down the bile that rose in her throat, cowering farther and farther into the floor with each slamming fist on her door. The vanity held for a few more moments before splitting in half, smaller pieces flying through the air as the door burst open. A soldier's body launched through the entryway, the extra inertia from trying to break the door down causing him to overshoot the force needed to complete his task. Sansa covered her eyes as little wooden splitters fell in a flurry around her. By the time she had opened them again, the soldier was pulling her to her feet.

Sansa struggled with earnest. "Release me at once! My father is Hand of the King! He will not stand for your treatment of me!" Sansa looked up into the face of her captor for the first time. It was none other than the Hound, Ser Sandor Clegane.

"Ser Clegane, please let me go," Sansa beseeched him; "Joffrey will not like this." The Hound smirked as his grip on her arm tightened, dragging the flailing girl from her room.

"Foolish child, who do you think sent me?" Sansa looked up at him in shock. Surely not her Joffrey! He cared for her, looked out for her well being. For, not but a day ago he came to her chambers, bearing a necklace to mark her as his fiancé. He even kissed her. Sansa got lost in the memory, Joffrey's warm, slender hands caressing the sides of her face, before coming to rest on her neck. His soft, dry lips brushing lightly against her own-

"Faster girl!" The Hound's voice pulled her from her reverie as his arm dragged her down the hall. Sansa tripped trying to keep up with him, her eyes taking in the presence of the knights of the house Lannister following in their wake. Blood spotted their pretty silver armor, already becoming invisible on their crimson Lannister tunics.

Sansa stopped struggling, and the Hound's hold on her lighted somewhat, but he still made sure he had a firm grip on her arm, just in case she decided to make a break for it. Sansa was quiet as they led her from her house at King's Landing through the streets of the capital, past the market places with people busting through their morning activities. She was led farther, past Petyr Littlefinger's house of ill repute, to the very foot of the main castle of the city.

The Hound led her faster up the stone steps, the pace hurrying. Sansa struggled to keep up, stumbling along behind the burned man. They walked into the very heart of the castle, up to the huge, carved doors of the throne room. Sandor Clegane pulled her to a stop there, looking down to address her directly.

"Now." He began. "You can either come inside quietly, like a lady," Sansa flinched at the title, the grievous murder of her direwolf still fresh. "Or I can make a show of throwing you over my shoulder, embarrassing you in front of the court. Your choice."

Sansa regarded him for a moment, knowing full well it was not beneath the Hound's dignity to do just as he promised. Sansa lowered her eyes and nodded meekly, choosing the Hound's second option.

"Smart girl." The doors seemed to open at his words, the ancient wood groaning in displeasure. Sansa kept her head down as the hound guided her into the throne room, trying to ignore the hushed whispers of the ladies and gentlemen of the court.

A pressure on her shoulder forced Sansa onto her knees, her head still bowed.

"Now Lady Sansa of House Stark, pledge your fealty to your new king." Sansa's head whipped up at his words, the heavy braid of her southern upswept style complaining at the speed.

What Sansa saw made her blood run cold. I was just as Sandor had said. Atop the large iron throne, perched on an elevated dais sat Joffrey, wearing a wicked smile, and the crown of a king.

Ok guys, so this is my first chapter fanfic, so please be gentle with me. I encourage and appreciate constructive criticism, and anything else anyone has to say. This idea just popped into my head, so I haven't had much time to thumb through my book or check out the show so the circumstances of this fic might be a little off, but if you notice anything specific please let me know. I'll try to update regularly, so until next time, Happy Holidays! :D