A/N: This smacked me in the head last night and wouldn't leave me alone, so I wrote it at work. Set in the 1860s, at the beginning of the Civil War, with a lot of Gone with the Wind themes, but in the North instead of the South. Most of the names will be GoT, but some places and lines and people will be from GwtW as well. Sansa, I hope, will be much in character and more likeable than Scarlett O'Hara. For Sandor, I will try to keep him in character as much as possible, with just a dash of Rhett Butler here and there. I like a forward Sandor, so he'll be a bit more outspoken. Hope you enjoy this!

(If you haven't seen/read Gone with the Wind, you should!)

Chapter One

Sansa had planned to be up at the crack of dawn to be ready for the party, but tossing and turning all night had driven her into an exhausted sleep from which she only awoke after her Septa banged on her door and threw it open. "You better get up now, Miss Sansa, or your family is like to leave for the party without you." Sansa groaned and sat up as Septa threw open the curtains to let the morning light in. Then she remembered. "Oh!"

She leaped out of bed and ran to the closet where her new dress was hanging, fresh and pressed. It was a beautiful white covered with green leaves and vines, and a full skirt that swayed like a bell when she walked. Hurriedly Sansa pulled off her nightgown and began to slip on her undergarments, fussing with her corset until Septa Mordane came to her aid. "Now you just hold tight to the bedpost, dear." Sansa did, and she gulped as Mordane pulled the strings of the corset tighter and tighter, and tied them. It was a nuisance to have to wear such a contraption, but it was what ladies wore, and Sansa was proud of her figure.

At last the corset was done, and Sansa turned eagerly to the dress. "Not yet, Miss. Let's do your hair first," Mordane said firmly, leading her to the little vanity table. While the Septa combed out Sansa's long red curls, she busied herself by applying some powder to her face and pinching her cheeks for color. She had to look her absolute best for this party. Joffrey was going to be there.

The families of Stark and Baratheon were close, although they lived in separate areas of the States, and Sansa and Joffrey had been somewhat of a proposed match between them. Though nothing had been officially said, Joffrey had been everything a gentleman should be like during his last visit, and he had even written to her, his letters filled with sweet words and promises. It had been months and months since she had last seen him, but Sansa had quite convinced herself that they were in love, and that this party could finalize an understanding between them. Engaged, she thought dreamily. Joffrey was handsome and stylish, a perfect gentleman. There would be no finer match in the county, she was sure of it.

The party was to be head at Twelve Oaks, the Baratheon family's Northern estate. It was beautiful and elegant, and Sansa hoped that it could become her and Joffery's permanent residence, should they become married. His family lived in the South, in Georgia, but there was had been talk of moving some their business North. And they would someone to over-see it. It only made sense for Joffrey to be in charge.

Sansa was so excited she barely heard Mordane tell her she should eat something. "Oh, nonsense. I shall eat when I get to the party." She stood and practically danced to the dress. Finally. Mordane huffed, but she helped her mistress slip the dress over her head and smooth all the billows of fabric. The front was low, lower than what Sansa usually wore, and it left her shoulders bare, but she needed to look grown-up for this party, so she pulled the front a little lower, and fluffed up the cinched flowers and ribbons, making her bosom look fuller, all the while ignoring her Septa's disapproving glare. "Your mother will say something," Mordane insisted, and she pulled the front back up. "Oh very well," Sansa conceded, and decided she would fix it later. How wicked! I'm starting to sound like Arya! She thought and held back a giggle.

Finally ready, she grabbed her hat and parasol and began to make for the door. "Oh, no you don't. You come right back here and eat some of these biscuits and sausage," Mordane commanded, twirling her back around. "I don't have time!" Sansa protested. "You have time enough," Mordane said patiently. "Unless you'd rather look unlady-like later, stuffing your mouth at the barbecue." That settled the argument, and Sansa sat on the steps to her bedroom, picking up a biscuit and buttering it hastily. "And don't eat so fast! You'll make yourself sick," Mordane chided. "I'm sorry," Sansa replied, repentant. "It's just that I will be seeing Joffrey for the first time in ages, and- Her door burst open and Arya whirled in, dressed haphazardly. "Papa says you're to hurry, Sansa." Sansa practically threw the tray of food away from her and stood, grabbing on to the wall to avoid falling over from her large skirt. "Do I look alright?" she asked, nervously smoothing herself and glancing into the full-length mirror near her closet. She saw a bright-eyed, pink-cheeked girl, and wished the freckles on her nose had disappeared in the night. "You look lovely," Mordane said. "You look fine," Arya snorted. "Now hurry!" Her younger sister grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room. "Miss Sansa! Your gloves!" Mordane called. "Keep them!" Sansa hollered back as Arya tugged her down the long staircase.

The rest of the Starks were waiting by the front door. Ned Stark was dressed in a plain suit, but he looked impressive nevertheless. Beside him Catelyn Stark was dressed in a beautiful blue gown, fussing with Rickon's untucked shirt. Sansa's heart swelled as she took in her mother. She was exactly the kind of lady Sansa wanted to be: strong, clever, kind, and gracious. Sansa had heard many times that she was very image of her mother, and it made her push her shoulders back proudly.

Robb, the oldest Stark, wore a crisp blue suit and looked very handsome. He smiled when he saw Sansa and took her arm. "Sister, I'm afraid I'll have to stay close by today." "Whatever for?" she asked. "To beat off the all the wretched young men that will try to talk to you," he answered with a laugh. Sansa blushed but giggled. "I couldn't ask for a better protector," she said, letting him lead her out the front door to where the coach was waiting. "You might need more than one," came a voice by her other arm, and she looked to see Jon smiling at her. Jon was her half-brother, near Robb's age. Sansa did not know the full story, only that her father had returned with him in hand, and raised him as one of the other children. She had not liked him, out of respect for her mother, until last summer when her horse had run away with her, and Jon had saved her from falling into the river. Then she felt foolish and regretted treating him badly, and now they were friends.

"Two protectors? But then I won't get to speak to any young men," she protested teasingly. The brothers looked at each other over her head. "Exactly!" they said in unison. Laughing, they helped her into the coach, then turned to Arya. "I can get in on my own," she huffed, climbing up, successful in spite of her long skirts, and settled next to Sansa. "You look very nice," Sansa complimented her. She was in a good mood, and wanted to be in pleasant terms with her sister. Normally they bickered a great deal. Arya turned and raised her eyebrows. "I do?" "Yes. Only…wait." Sansa licked her thumb then used it wipe off a mysterious smudge on her sister's cheek. "There. Perfect." Arya seemed surprised by her sister's praise, but smiled and mumbled a thank-you.

The rest of the family loaded in, and the coach set off to take them to Twelve Oaks.

It was a perfect day. The sky was clear and the weather warm, with just a hint of wind. Winterfell was a large estate settled in the heart of Pennsylvania, and as they passed the fields and wooded lanes Sansa thought that no estate, anywhere, could be as grand and lovely. Not even the Baratheon estate in Georgia, or the Lannister estate of Casterly Rock. Nothing could ever compare to the winding hills and rivers and fields of Winterfell.

They reached Twelve Oaks and had to wait in line behind several other coaches that arrived before them, depositing richly dressed gentlemen and women decked in their finest summer dresses. Sansa could barely keep her seat in anticipation, her eyes scanning the crowded front lawn for her friend, Jeyne. Their coach finally pulled up to the front, and Sansa almost tripped on Arya's skirt in her hastiness. The family almost immediately scattered: Jon and Robb wandered off to join a group of young men laughing around an oak tree and smoking; Arya dashed off to who-knew-where; Bran and Rickon joined a pack of boys running by; and Mr. and Mrs. Stark were hailed by a neighbor. Sansa was left to face the mansion alone, but she held her head up and swept through the open front door.

Inside was bustling with people, gathered in large groups and talking noisily about horses and crops and clothing and tobacco and the possible war. Sansa began to weave through them, pausing every time someone greeted her. "Miss Sansa, don't you look beautiful!" "Miss sansa, I haven't seen you all summer! Why haven't you called?" "Miss Sansa, that's an absolutely divine dress!" Sansa made all the polite answers, laughing merrily, all the while searching for Jeyne. She finally spotted her near the polished winding staircase. "Jeyne!" "Oh, Sansa! I've been looking everywhere for you!" The girls hugged, then stood back to admire each other's dresses. "Have you seen Joffrey?" Sansa asked, biting her lip. "Not yet, but he's probably outside." Jeyne squeezed her friend's hand. "I'm sure you'll see him soon." Three more girls joined them, and Sansa soon forgot her anxiety as she slipped into hearing and discussing the latest gossip and fashions.

A prickle suddenly ran up her neck, and Sansa had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her. Half-listening to the conversations, she glanced about the room, trying to discern where the feeling was coming from. No one particular stood out, so she eased her attention back to her friends. Must be nerves.

Jeyne was telling them all where she had bought her hair ribbons when she felt the prickle again, and it shot down all the way to her spine. Slowly Sansa turned her head and caught sight of a figure standing in one of the doorways, an obvious distance placed between himself and the groups of people. He was a tall man and powerfully built. Sansa thought she had never seen a man with such wide shoulders, so heavy muscles, almost too heavy for gentility, and so tall! Underneath his plain black coat was a crisp white shirt and a waistcoat, also plain, and the size of his chest was evident, matching the rest of the strength he exuded in his bearing. Her eyes fell on his tan face, half-hidden by the dim light of the doorway, but she was able to make out a firm and square jaw with dark stubble, strong and prominent cheekbones, and nose that was slightly hooked, perhaps broken at some point. He had longer dark hair that was swept over one half of his face, and Sansa thought she saw some kind of scarring. But what sent a jolt through her were his eyes. Bold and piercing black, and staring straight at her, unabashedly taking her in and appraising her with a cool recklessness. Sansa felt her skin burn and her cheeks flushed. He was watching her in a way that a proper gentleman shouldn't watch a lady; a way that seemed animalistic. And yet Sansa felt mesmerized, drawn to his gaze.

The man lifted a cigar to his mouth and drew from it, never taking his eyes from her as he released the smoke slowly. The movement made Sansa snap out of it, and she turned quickly back to her friends, feeling shaken. Was it suddenly so very hot in the room?

Trying to act nonchalant, Sansa attempted to join the conversation again, but she could feel the man's eyes on her still, burning her through. It was uncomfortable, yet it made her heart thud maniacally. She knew she was pretty, and was used to young men flirting or complimenting her, but this…this was something entirely different. He looked like he wanted to devour her. And Sansa hadn't the slightest idea of how to handle such a situation.

Eventually the other girls began to drift away towards the backyard, where the barbecue was taking place, or upstairs to check their dresses. Sansa waited until they were gone before she grabbed Jeyne's arm. "Jeyne," she whispered. "Who's that man behind us, standing at the dooryway? The tall, dark one." Her friend glanced casually over her shoulder, pretending to look for someone. She giggled and leaned in to whisper. "That's Sandor Clegane. He's a friend of the Baratheons. Used to do some business with them, I believe. They call him the Hound, but I'm not sure why." Sansa didn't know what to think of that. "He's staring at you, Sansa." "Stop looking!" Sansa pulled her friend away, eager to escape the smothering heat of the man's eyes.

It was a relief to go outside, and the fresh air mingled with the barbecue soon made Sansa forget all about Sandor Clegane, and she joined the rest of the young ladies under a shady tree, where they sipped lemonade and gossiped. Most of the girls tended to be flighty and Sansa often felt exasperated by them, but a lady of her status was expected to socialize and please, so that was what she did. Clusters of young men trickled by, paying compliments to the ladies and offering to bring them food. Sansa accepted a plate from Willas Tyrell, a shy young man with a limp. He was kind and Sansa spoke with him warmly, yet she wished it was Joffrey attending to her. She still hadn't seen him, though she had seen his mother Cersei Baratheon, and even his younger siblings, Tommen and Myrcella. Perhaps he had not come North with the rest of the family? Surely not. Sansa hated feeling so uncertain and it ruined her appetite.

The eating drew an end as the early afternoon approached, and the ladies began to retire to the many bedrooms upstairs to rest before the dancing later that day. Sansa followed them, feeling melancholy, when she felt someone touch her arm. "Miss Sansa, there you are." She turned and met the beautiful green eyes of Joffrey Baratheon. He smiled, showing off perfect white teeth. Sansa gaped at him for a moment before hurriedly offering a smile and polite greeting back, her heart pounding. "I know you are heading upstairs, but I was wondering if I might have a word with you beforehand?" he asked pleasantly. Sansa nodded and let him lead her away, feeling giddy. At last, she could speak with him! And they would be alone!

He led her down a quiet hallway and into a small library. Across the hall was a room filled with men drinking scotch and smoking and giving their opinions on the possible war, but they paid them no mind. Joffrey shut the library door behind them, and Sansa smoothed her skirts and clasped her hands eagerly.

"You look wonderful, Sansa. It's been a long time," Joffrey began. She swallowed, feeling butterflies fill her stomach. "You look very well, yourself, Joffrey. I…I have been looking forward to seeing you again." He smiled, and Sansa wondered wildly if this was the moment. Was he going to propose?

"Yes, so have I. You see, I wanted to talk to you about something, and I very well couldn't do it over a letter. You understand, I'm sure." "Of course. Some things just can't be expressed completely in a letter," Sansa managed to answer. This is it! Joffrey walked towards the window and looked out. "You see, Sansa, I'm going to have a large responsibility for the family business soon," he began. Sansa nodded, her exterior much calmer than what she felt inside. "And, as member of importance in our community and the business world, it is important that I marry well." Sansa's hands began to shake.

He turned towards her, putting his hands in his pockets. "I know that our families have talked about us…the possibility of a union. However, it has been decided that another union would be far more beneficial." Sansa felt her windpipe shut. What was he saying? "You see," Joffrey continued, as if he was discussing the weather. "I'm to marry Margaery Tyrell."

The room was silent, except for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and the distant shouting of the men in the other room. Sansa's insides felt scrambled and cold. "Wh-what?" she managed. "I thought I should be the one to tell you," Joffrey continued, "Since…it seemed that you were hoarding ideas of our possible marriage. I wanted to let you know that it is, in fact, now impossible." Sansa felt like she was grasping for air. "But..but…I thought…" No! This couldn't be happening! "But your letters…you said…" Joffrey waved his hand flippantly, as if to ward off a fly. "I wrote what was expected, Miss Sansa." His lips pulled into a sneer. "Surely you understand. Margaery Tyrell comes from a family just as rich and powerful as the Starks, and with their trade routes, this marriage will be much more advantageous."

Her stomach hurt. Sansa grasped the back of a chair. "But..our fathers…" Joffrey only laughed. "You are a stupid girl, aren't you? My mother said you were. It's a good thing that we will no longer be matched, otherwise I'd worry for our children's sanity." Sansa gaped at him, unable to form words. "Well, I must be getting back to my guests. Enjoy the rest of the party, Miss Sansa." Joffrey crossed the room, opened the door, and left without so much as a backwards glance.

The door shut softly behind him, and Sansa stood, frozen in place. How could this be? How had things changed so quickly? She thought he loved her…and he had treated her with hardly any respect! Unbidden, tears came to her eyes, and the cold shock developed in anger. Her eyes spotted a small statue of a lion, the symbol for the Lannister family, and before she knew she had snatched it up and hurled it at the wall behind the fireplace. It smashed into a thousand pieces with a satisfying crack, and Sansa might have sat down and began to weep if not for a loud whistle, and a man sat up from the couch. He looked at Sansa, then at the smashed statue, then back at her. "Has the war started?" Sansa gasped. It was the man from the doorway, the one who had been staring at her. And he had...heard…oh…!

"You…you should have made yourself known, sir." A flush of embarrassment crept into her face as the man stood to his full height and walked around the couch. "And interrupt that heart-breaking scene? I couldn't." His voice was deep and rasping, like a saw scraping across stones. The library was not well lit, and Sansa did not like how the shadows mingled with his features. As he passed by the window, she saw that the one side of his face was, indeed, covered with scars; burn scars, at a closer look. His dark eyes glittered as he observed her, but Sansa felt too embarrassed and stunned to feel shy. "Eavesdroppers," she began. "Eavesdroppers often hear highly entertaining and instructive things," he grinned, flashing sharp white teeth at her. "You are no gentleman," she proclaimed indignantly. "You're right, I'm not," the man said as he approached her, reaching into his pocket. Sansa was suddenly gripped by fear, and losing her momentum she backed away. The man stopped, but retrieved a white handkerchief from his pocket and reached it out to her. Sansa realized she was crying. Feeling more foolish, she took it and whispered a thank-you, dabbing at her eyes and cheeks.

The man sat down in a leather chair and leaned back, his large frame filling it completely. "You look pale. You should sit down," he said motioning at the chair across from him. Sansa, still feeling humiliated, retorted, "It's not proper for a young woman to be alone in a room with a strange man." "Is that so?" he asked, sounding amused. "Well then, I'll introduce myself. Sandor Clegane," he poked himself in the chest with a long finger, "And you are Miss Sansa Stark? There, now we are no longer strangers, but acquaintances. Will you sit?" Too overwhelmed to argue further, Sansa hesitated, then sat down dejectedly.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked, fishing a cigar from a box on the table near him. Sansa shook her head, watching idly as he struck a match and lit the cigar, waving the match out quickly before depositing it in the ashtray. Part of her wondered why she was still even in the room, but she knew she wasn't ready to go back upstairs and face all the questions from her friends, who had, no doubt, seen Joffrey pull her away. And Margaery Tyrell would be up there…

She sniffed, twisting the hankie in her lap. "Don't feel too bad," Sandor Clegane advised as he puffed out some smoke. "Think of what Miss Tyrell has to put up with now. If anything, you should be relieved." Sansa narrowed her eyes at him. "I am not relieved! It's…humiliating! Everyone will know!" He shrugged. "So? Some other scandal will blow their way soon enough, and they'll forget all about it." Sansa knew he was right, but it didn't ease the pain she felt. "I'll feel bad if I like," she said, jutting her chin out. The man chuckled, a harsh, vibrating sound, shaking Sansa's resolve. "Well in any case, your tears make your pretty blue eyes stand out. And the flush is coming back to your cheeks," he observed. Sansa's mouth dropped open. "You are…too familiar," she sputtered. "I don't see how complimenting a woman is being too familiar," he replied, looking her up and down, the hungry look from earlier returning to his eyes. "And why else would you wear such a dress, if you were not fishing for compliments?" "My-my dress?" Sansa felt so taken aback she could barely form a sentence, her mind struggling to cope with Joffrey's insults and this man's forwardness. "Yes, your dress. I like it. It shows off your pretty white shoulders. I noticed them earlier, when you were chirping away with your friends, and pretending that you didn't know I was looking at you," he smirked, taking another long pull at the cigar as he waited her reaction.

"Why of all the..." Sansa stood up abruptly. Who did this man think he was? Deep down Sansa felt pleased and flattered by his words, but she was too upset to handle them at the moment. "I don't desire to continue this conversation any longer," she said, trying to muster her dignity while she really felt like melting under his gaze. Sandor gave a long-suffering sigh. "It's getting so hard to please the ladies these days." Sansa felt her face burn. "You, sir, are an insufferable man!" He gave a barking laugh. "So the girl has spirit! A rarity, and I take my hat off to you. Not many people can even look me in the eye you know." He appraised her again, standing, and Sansa drew up a mental image of a pirate advancing upon a maiden to be ravished. He came closer, and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. "Too bad you didn't show some of that spirit to young Baratheon back there." "I'd thank you not to bring up a subject that you have no business knowing about," Sansa responded, annoyed at how he seemed to throw her off-balance. "Are you still upset about that? Come, come, my dear, that boy didn't care for you any more than he would a nice brood mare." Sansa gasped. "Really! How dare you speak to me that way!" She had a horrible feeling that he was right, but still! "It's true, though. Boys like him are all the same. And one by one they'll snatch up the girl that they feel they'll profit most from." He stamped out his cigar, then cocked his head at her. "Now you…a woman of your beauty and spirit doesn't want one of those boys, do you?" A wicked grin spread over his face, twisting the scars on one side. "What you need is a man." Sansa could not have been more surprised if a parade suddenly marched into the room. Blushing furiously, she grasped the door handle.

"Enjoy the rest of the party. Good day, sir." She turned and swept to the door. If she didn't escape this enclosed room and this man soon she might fall apart. "Good day, Miss Sansa," he drawled, his rough voice deepening as she turned to look back him. "I have a feeling we'll met again soon." Now he was being presumptuous! "I highly doubt that," she said haughtily, before jerking the door open and making her way down the hall, using all of her strength to not glance back as she heard his laughing resonate behind her.

A/N: FYI, some of the description of Sandor is the same as the description of Rhett in the book, as well as a couple lines from both book and movie in his and Sansa's conversation. Hoped you liked it!