I own nothing. Everything about GOT belongs to George R. R. Martin.

I only follow the HBO show for now. Thus, this story might sway towards the HBO elements instead of those found in the actual books more often than not. Although I have Wikipedia-ed all the novel summaries and read sooo many online forums about them...so yes, I still get the gist of the either media plot all the same.

The opening dialogue here was inspired by the Balto animated film.

The red leaves of Winterfell grew restless in the wind as Eddard Stark, with features less affected by age knelt before his small trembling daughter of eight and cupped his strong hands under her elbows. "Siblings tend to mock each other from time to time, Sansa, so do not worry yourself sick over this."

"But, Robb and the other boys won't let me follow them and play. Robb said I'm not like other Starks and he locked me out." She then hiccupped lightly. "I am not worthy enough to do anything!"

"You possess the blood of the Wolf just as much as the rest of us," the snow lord reassured her, his voice ever so deep and mild. Soothing and wise. He brushed a few blazing red curls back from her watery gaze. "I can see it waiting to bloom behind those bright eyes of yours...even if it sleeps within you for now, Sansa, it will awaken when you need it most. Besides, we all know your brother loves you in spite of his words. When you were born, he guarded your cradle himself for hours at a time each day until you learned how to walk. We are a pack, forever bonded by the call of the North. And whenever we feel distant from one another, the Wolves shall always reunite as one."

However, presently, her intended husband was pointing an accusing finger in her direction for vile emphasis. "...After I raise my armies, and kill your traitor-brother, I'm going to give you his head as well!"

While her father's impaled head rested on the steaks above them, his advice from that day, of her earlier childhood, echoed throughout her core suddenly. "Remember, Sansa, a mere girl may not be able to survive this life's journey alone—though perhaps a Wolf can."

Instinctively she responded with, "Or maybe he'll bring me yours."

Awestruck, the Young King hesitated for a moment, looking straight at her. Joffrey privately noted how she no longer appeared forgiving and childish. Her jaw was hardened, and her lips were pursed as if to conceal a hidden set of gnashing teeth. Her cold blue Tully eyes were also practically gleaming under the golden afternoon sun. He'd seen eyes like that look before, too...but they hadn't belonged to a girl.

"My mother tells me a King should never strike his Lady," he continued, eagerly handing the task over to his chief knight instead, "Ser Meryn?"

Ser Meryn, who already had a cruel grip upon her shoulder, rotated Sansa right round on cue, whacking her across the cheek twice over. His amour clanked loudly as he did so.m

The deed was finished, and both Joffery and Meryn seemed satisfied.

Sansa meanwhile tasted her own blood. She wanted to scream her heart out and flee from King's Landing altogether. She'd give anything to collapse in mother's caring arms again, to have her father still alive, to feel Robb's matured protective hand reach out and pat her head...to hear her sister's mischievous laughter, to see her baby brothers chasing each other, to lay in the comfort of her own bed beneath the full moon, listening to Lady howl in harmony beside her fellow Dires.

Her feet wouldn't allowed it nonetheless. She faced the wall of steaks once more, where Joffrey remained, smugly admiring his achievements.

And Sansa instantly took interest in how high up they really were from the rocks waiting below. If he should slip, it would certainly be a shameful long fall down.

Move! Her instincts cried. Find the will to move!

Then, Joffrey happened to turn and was prepared to make his way back to Court, only to notice Sansa was now leisurely walking, no, more like stalking towards him.

He refocused on her eyes. Yes, strangely enough, they resembled those steely eyes of that bloody creature that had ripped his arm apart down by the river.

Indeed, her eyes appeared far too—wolfish.

Joffrey, amazed, stood there frozen, his heart beating faster beyond consent. He was prey. He knew it too; somehow he just knew something bad was happening. Realization quivered in his bones. He actually felt a great wave of relief hit him when the Hound intruded shortly, pushing Meryn back to re-seize Sansa from behind and ultimately shattering whatever incident she was planning.

At his forceful touch, Sansa's eyes immediately dulled again and fell to the flooring, her girlish pout returning to their sights.

Although with each passing night—when the corridor torches were put out and Sansa would rest under her palace fur quilts, completely encased by the darkness—peculiar thoughts in which no one would ever expect her to have, visited her curious mind in endless loops.

"Remember, Sansa...remember a mere girl may not be able to survive this life's journey alone—though perhaps a Wolf can."

Wolves did not succumb to fear easily. They did not dread the frosty arrival of Winter. They welcomed it. They had their own power, their rare union with the Northern realm. They were born predators, and they bounded through snow mounds like ice droplet-covered gods.

Sansa vowed that she would her hold her tongue day upon day, trapped inside the Lannisters' lair. She wouldn't make a large fuss if she could help it. She'd make them think she was bent and beaten and broken. She'd even allow both the Lion Queen and the Hound to call her their so-called Little Bird...since she could sense it wouldn't last forever.