AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'll update Secrets as soon as my muse comes back! For now, I'm not sure where this idea came from really, but hopefully you guys like it! Read and review as always. I look forward to hearing your thoughts. This is also an AU, just so you folks know. It's set in the medieval times, I suppose I haven't thought much else to do with the setting aside from that. Hope you like it. Ask me any questions! This is just a trial chapter!

DISCLAIMER: Still don't own any characters mentioned in the following story. No copyright infringement intended.


It had been her future for as long as she could possibly remember, knowing that one day she would be the dutiful wife to Lord Clegane. An agreement that had been settled after he had saved her own father, the King. She knew this and accepted this, obedient child that she was. She never rose her voice, never threw a tantrum unlike her younger siblings, but she was the eldest princess and so there were certain expectations that were pushed on her.

She knew very few things about her husband-to-be, had only met with him a handful of times before their official betrothal was announced publicly. Sansa knew that he wasn't an attractive man, not really, because of the burns that marred one side of his face. He did his best to hide those scars under matted unruly hair that barely did the job. She pitied him as much as she feared him. But it wasn't really him who scared her, despite his brusque nature with everyone he encountered and his raspy voice, it was the anger that burned deep in his eyes. Anger that Sansa herself hoped she would never ever experience.

But, there were stories about him of course, and when the maids didn't think she was listening, they'd speak about him. How brave he was. How he taught the young boys living near his land to fight properly, how he from time to time was found giving alms to the poor. She also knew he had a wicked temper, but had never raised a hand nor harmed a hair on a woman. He liked wine far too much and was often in his cups in the early evening, but if the stories of how he received his scars were true, could she really blame him?

She decided that to be his wife, she would have to know his story. He was at least ten years older than her, that much she knew, but now that she was of marrying age, ten and six to be exact, the difference hardly mattered. In just a few short hours, dawn would break through the mist in the sky and the sun would warm the land surrounding the castle. Her maids would rush into her room to ready her for her wedding.

Today, Sansa Stark woke up a girl. Tonight, she'd go to bed as a wife and a woman. The thought made her tremble. She would have to leave behind her family and friends, and the castle and lands she knew so well. But his lands were not so far away, maybe two days' ride if one rode fast enough, so she wasn't going to be so very far away. Her light blue eyes met their reflections in the looking glass leaning against the wall and she examined herself neutrally.

She had always been a pretty little thing, but as she grew older, her legs grew longer and her height had been a slight problem with some men. Not that that mattered, Sansa had been promised for years. Her lovely red hair nearly always hung around her shoulders in loose waves, but she would wear it down only once more. Tomorrow, her hair would be bound back in a modest way, a true sign of a wife.

She had a shapely enough body, she supposed, but the only other women she really had to compare herself to were some of the doughy maids and her gorgeous and slender mother. She took after her in that aspect. In fact, she was a near mirror image of her mother, with barely a trace of her father in her. Her little sister however, was her father through and through.

Sansa's attention flickered over to the chest outside of which hung a lovely creamy colored gown with gold trim around the bells of the sleeves that would hang over her fingers and the lower neckline that would cover her chest. It was lovely and the colors signified her nobility and willingness to be Lord Clegane's for life. And she meant it with every being of her soul, had never ever questioned it, not even now, the morning of her wedding. The only thing she feared was not the walk to her husband or the thought of leaving home (though that made her sad to think of) it was the duties a wife had to perform to please her husband. Duties that started the night after the wedding. She was lucky, her mother told her, that she wasn't marrying a man of a higher station, though she certainly deserved one. She was lucky because the higher the man was in ranking, the more important it was that the marriage be consummated and there had to be witnesses.

A flush colored Sansa's cheeks as she looked back at herself in the mirror. Witnesses to something as private as a man and his wife's bedding? The thought horrified her and she sent a silent prayer to the Heavens that her sister would be so lucky as she. She was frightened, yes, but not of him, only of his anger, the fire she saw that burned in his eyes.

She knew in her heart, he would never hurt her.