Game of Thrones Reflections

This was supposed to be posted around Halloween, but since I have never attempted anything like it before, I chickened out and put it on the back burner. After doing some edits, I feel a little more confident about posting it for you all to read.

I hope it comes out creepy enough. The idea sounded interesting in my head, and I hope I was able to convey in writing what I have pictured and how I want the story to feel.

This is going to be pretty violent and gory, etc., but I will place the appropriate warnings as needed.

Enjoy!

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_J__une 1994 _

Sansa gazed wistfully out of the downstairs parlor window, watching her older brothers playing football. She longed to join them…well, maybe not join them in football, per se, but she just wanted to play with them. The boys told her though that she might get hurt or slow them down. "You're scared of everything, anyways," Theon had said. "That's not true!" Sansa had pouted, stamping her foot.

"Is so!"

"Is not!"

But it was, unfortunately, true. Sansa was scared of bugs, of shadows in the forests surrounding the summer home, of getting her clothes dirty. At six years old, she was a clean and proper little girl, preferring to have tea parties with her dolls or read. Her clothes and hair were always in place, while the boys would sometimes look like they were beggars off the street when they returned from their daily outings.

Sansa tried to tell herself she didn't care where they went or what they did, but curiosity kept pulling her back to the windows. And she was lonely.

Sansa had no one to play with. The boys had their games, Arya was just a baby, too young to do much with, and there weren't any other children for miles. She had been excited about visiting the summer home, but now that they were there she found herself bored and alone most of the time. Mommy was busy with Baby Arya and the garden, Daddy was always in his office working, and Cook and Becky did not want to be bothered in the kitchen.

With a sigh, Sansa slipped off the velvet sofa and wandered aimlessly into the hall. The Stark summer home had been an object of great mystery for the children, as none of them had been there until this year. It was located a few hours south from Winterfell, their large brick and stone estate, and had been used by their ancestors as a change of scenery and a quiet escape. The large manor was very old, and most of the rooms were still shut up, the furniture and windows covered by long white sheets to protect them from the dust. Around the back of the house grew a large garden, surrounded by the woods. It was a very pleasant, quiet place, even a little romantic, Sansa had thought when they first arrived. At night it could be a little spooky, for old houses often creaked and groaned under their weight, but Sansa had her princess night-light and she knew nothing could harm her as long as it was on.

From outside, the boys' voices drifted towards her, discussing a trip down to the river. Sansa felt her lower lip tremble and she clenched her fists. Boys! Who needed them? She could have an adventure too, if she wanted. Filled with firm resolution, Sansa stomped towards the stairs. She was going to explore the house.

The playroom on the second floor was where Sansa had been spending most of her days, but she had soon grown bored and restless with toys she had brought along with her, and the ones already in the house were so ugly. The upper floors were uninhabited; no one went up there, at least that Sansa saw. Smiling, she decided to go there herself. Perhaps she would discover some great treasure. Wouldn't the boys be jealous then!

Eagerly, she passed the third floor and continued to the fourth. It was mostly closets and extra bedrooms, nothing of any interest to her. Disappointed, Sansa hurried up the fifth floor, only to discover the same kinds of rooms. The only interesting thing she found was a large room filled with rolled up carpets from Dorne.

The attic was the only level left, and Sansa debated wandering up there. Surely it would be dark and dusty, with spiders too, no doubt. But the thought that her brothers might explore the attic before she did spurred her onwards. The stairs wound into a spiral and brought her to a long hallway with wooden planks for the floor. There were two doors, one on her left and one at the very end of the hall. She opened the door on the left first.

It was cluttered with all kinds of things, like every attic is. Old furniture, boxes of books and clothes, photographs, and trunks filled with odds and ends. It was dusty and smelled of must, so Sansa left the door open to air it out. Then she turned to the last door.

She pulled a red rubber ball out of her pocket and started bouncing it as she walked to the end of the hallway. It was game she often played, to see how many times she could bounce it in a row. The ball made soft thumps along the floor until she reached the door. The handle was cool on her fingers, and Sansa turned it; the door creaked open and she peeked in.

The room was dim and completely empty except for something very large covered in a white sheet at the far end. Sansa opened the door more and glanced around for a light switch, but saw none. Her attention was drawn back towards the sheet. What was under it? And was it in the only thing in this room? There was only one way to find out.

Her eyes were slowly adjusting to the dark thanks to small slivers of light peering from some wooden blinds covering the single window. Sansa walked to the sheet, bouncing the ball. Whatever was under there, it was bigger than she was.

She gathered as much of the cloth as she could in one hand and pulled hard.

The white sheet fell to the floor, bunching at her feet, and revealed a very large, very tall, very peculiar mirror.

The frame was silver, blackened from age and lack of polishing. The bottom corners curled into clawed feet, like the ones on old bathtubs, and centered at the top was carved three hound heads, all looking down while their muzzles were pulled back into vicious snarls. Sansa gazed at them in awe, wondering who would carve such a fearsome sight on a mirror.

She then fixed her eyes on the glass. It too needed a good cleaning, despite the sheet. Sansa could see herself, yet the image was somewhat cloudy, hazy. Raising her arm, she wiped it over the glass, her sweater taking away some of the dust and she could see more clearly.

"You're a very odd mirror," Sansa told it, and her voice sounded very small in the room. "Why are you in here?" It was silly to talk to something that couldn't answer back, but the silence in the room was beginning to feel heavy and Sansa, as she always did when she was nervous, felt moved to speak.

Eager for more light, Sansa pried at the window shutters until one opened, allowing the afternoon sun to partially illuminate her surroundings. Satisfied, she turned back towards the mirror. With the help of the light, she could stand back farther and make out her whole figure. Staring back at her was a small girl with wavy red hair in a blue dress and black Mary-Jane's.

"I've never seen a mirror so big before," she giggled, and twirled, looking over her shoulder so she could see the way her skirt swung in the air.

Dizzy, she paused in her twirling and came closer to the mirror, sitting down with her legs crossed and elbows resting on her knees. She bounced the ball gently against the floor as she contemplated the glass. "I wish you could talk," she said to her reflection. "Perhaps I could get inside, like Alice and her Looking-Glass." She shook her head at the thought; that was silly.

"Oh, Mirror," she sang softly, and pressed her little palm against the glass.

A sudden jolt ran through her, much like an electric shock, and she pulled back quickly, but what made her cry out in surprise was that her reflection momentarily disappeared, and for a flash it was replaced by a man.

A man with long dark hair and piercing grey eyes.

Sansa was on her feet and running out of the attic and down the flights of stairs, not stopping until she was in her bedroom with the door locked and she had crawled under the bed. There she stayed until Becky came knocking on the door, announcing supper.

_The Present_

Sansa stared out the window of the SUV, trying to remain as small and unnoticeable as possible. The rain pounded heavily against the vehicle, threatening to turn into ice as the temperature continued to drop. Behind them, in another SUV, traveled the rest of the Lannister entourage, their headlights shining weakly against the onslaught of fog and rain.

Meryn Trant was driving, cursing occasionally under his breath as he leaned forward to try to see through the nearly blinding storm. Cersei sat in the front passenger seat, her face stony and calm, but her grip on the door handle betrayed her worry. Next to Sansa sat Joffrey, who was lounging back against the cream leather seats with his phone, either stupidly careless of the weather pounding against them or just trying to cover up any concern with his usual haughtiness. Behind them sat Boros Blout and another man Sansa couldn't name.

She was surrounded by Lannisters. Surrounded by enemies.

"Are we almost there?" Joffrey whined, sounding like a child. His face curled into a sneer and Sansa shied even farther away from him, her stomach lurching in disgust. "We won't get there for a very long time if this storm keeps up," Meryn answered. "Mrs. Baratheon, we might need to pull over for the night."

Cersei looked displeased and tapped her manicured fingernails against the door handle. "Stop where? There probably isn't a hotel for miles in this waste." Sansa glanced out the window again and read a sign that slowly passed them by, barely making out the worn letters. At once, faded memories assaulted her mind.

"What did you say?" Joffrey's voice permeated the momentary clouding of her mind. Sansa shook her head, startled, and realized she must have spoken out loud. She licked her lips nervously as Cersei glanced back at her, eyebrow arched. "Um…we are near my family's summer home," she began hesitantly. "It's down the road a ways. I saw a sign. We could…stop there…" She let her sentence trail off, cringing at the two pairs of cruel green eyes that studied her.

"A summer home in the icy wilderness, how original," Joffrey scoffed. Cersei pursed her lips for a moment before speaking. "Do you remember the way?" she asked. Sansa nodded; strangely enough she _did_ remember, though it had been many years since she had visited the house. Not since she was six…

"Fine then, that's where we will go. Tell Trant where to turn." Ignoring Joffrey's grumbling protests, Sansa leaned forward so she could give Trant directions. Cersei phoned the other SUV of the change in plans.

Despite the weather's increasing fury, they managed to pull off onto a side road that was covered by an archway of trees. The road was surprisingly calmer and even eerie as the leaves and branches shook under the weight of the storm. Sansa's heart pounded as they grew closer to the summer home. Even if it was just for the night, she could be just a little closer to her family once more.

The road finally ended into a gravel driveway that led to the front of the great, old mansion. It was hard to see because of the pouring rain, but the outside of the building looked dark and dreary. "Will there even be anyone there?" Joffrey asked, staring at the old house with disdain. "How will we get in?"

All eyes turned to Sansa once more, and she squirmed in her seat. "F-Father kept a key under the stone wolf," she whispered.

Cersei instructed Meryn to go first and unlock the door for them. He quickly jumped out, slamming the door behind him and rushing up the stairs. They watched as he lifted aside a wolf statue the size of a potted plant and retrieved the key. He stood at the door for a moment, apparently struggling to unlock it. Joffrey let out a long-suffering sigh.

Meryn finally opened it and waved to them. Sansa zipped up her jacket and slipped her hood over her head, carefully tucking her curls inside, and leaped out into the icy rain, not bothering to wait for the others to let her go. Where would she run off to anyways?

She bounded up the steps and brushed by Meryn, stopping in the hallway to wipe her boots on the faded mat. The others trooped in behind her, shaking out their umbrellas.

The house was not in the worst shape, since Ned Stark had a few caretakers commissioned and they had only stopped working a couple of months before, but it definitely looked and felt uninhabited. The pantry was probably still stocked with some provisions though.

It wasn't Winterfell, but Sansa could feel a sense of comfort in the vague familiarity the house provided. _There are ghosts here._

"This place is like a tomb," Joffrey said, leaving puddles on the floor as he walked forward. "If this is a summer home, I bet Winterfell itself is like a cavern." He laughed maliciously, and a few of the men chuckled behind him. Cersei simply glided over to a lamp and flipped the switch. A soft yellow light flooded the hallway, and she smiled faintly. "Well, at least the electricity works." She headed down a side hall, presumably to investigate the kitchen, taking some of the bodyguards with her and flicking light switches as they went.

Eager to spend as little time around Joffrey as possible, Sansa headed for the stairs, resting her hand on the banister as her mind filled with more memories.

_J__une 1994_

It took Sansa two days before she finally mustered the courage to go back up to the mysterious attic. She had thought of telling her mother about the mirror, but decided that she would only brush it off as a part of Sansa's imagination. Her brothers would certainly think that as well.

And maybe she had imagined it. Perhaps a trick of the light…whatever that meant. Sansa was determined to prove herself wrong or right, and so one rainy morning she journeyed up the winding stairs. Catelyn was downstairs with Arya and Nan, and Ned had taken the boys fishing. The house was quiet and calm, perfect for her investigation. This time she brought a flashlight from the kitchen and her blanky.

The attic corridor was undisturbed, as before. Sansa passed the first door and walked directly to the one at the end, which was shut, though she did not remember closing it when she had run out the last time. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and entered the room.

She expected the room to be lit from the shutter she had opened before, but it was closed again. Confused, Sansa turned on the flashlight, and wondered if someone had come up here. Perhaps her father? Hesitantly she turned to the mirror, where the white sheet still lay in a heap at its base.

Sansa stood in front of it and peered curiously at her reflection, but she saw nothing unusual. Maybe she hadn't seen anyone else after all. "But…I was so sure," she whispered, sitting down and wrapping her blanky around her shoulders. Her eyes trailed over every inch of the mirror until they landed at the spot where she had pressed her hand to the glass. To her surprise, an imprint of her palm remained, though she had barely touched it.

Was that the key? Would touching the mirror bring back the man? Eagerly, Sansa rose to her knees and leaned forward, pressing her hand over the imprint.

Once more a jolt ran through her, but not as harsh as before. The glass began to cloud, darkening into a swirling haze. Her reflection and the rest of the room disappeared. Sansa stood and watched carefully, almost shrieking when a figure started to emerge.

He was as tall as the mirror, so tall she had to crane her neck up to see his face. The man was dressed all in black, strange-looking clothes covering a muscular body, and he had black shoulder-length hair parted over one side of his face. As the form grew clearer, Sansa was shocked to see horrific burn scars covering that side of his face.

Stormy grey eyes opened and turned down, glaring at her sharply and the man crossed his arms. Sansa could now see that he was wearing some sort of armor, like the kind knights wore in her brother's books.

"You came back," the man spoke, his voice rough and grating like metal over stone. Sansa realized she was trembling, and clutched her blanket. "Y-yes…I had to see if you were real."

The man arched a dark eyebrow and studied her sternly. "And?" he asked. Sansa shifted her feet nervously. "Well…I suppose you are."

The man snorted at her response, and even though Sansa was terribly afraid and intimidated, her curiosity was peaked. "Who are you?" she asked. "Why are you in a mirror?"

His lip curled and he bent down closer to her eye level. "Answer my question first. Who are _you_?" Well, this went against all manners of proper introduction. Sansa raised her chin and looked at him, trying not to stare at his scars. "I am Sansa Stark. My father is Eddard Stark."

The grey eyes darkened for a moment, and the man straightened, keeping his arms folded. "I see. So you are." Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes but _she_ had good manners, unlike this man. "Who are you?" she asked again.

"I'm the Hound," he spoke, and a cold breeze brushed over Sansa's face. "I am the guardian of this house, set to protect it and whoever owns it against intruders." That didn't make sense. How could a mirror protect anyone?

"Why are you in a mirror?"

"I was cursed centuries ago to be held in such. I have been in this house since it was built. Any more questions?" the Hound growled, clearly irritated. Sansa had a million of them, and she decided to risk his wrath.

"Yes. Why did you appear? Was it my hand?" The Hound's mouth twitched. "I appeared because you wanted me to. Touching the glass made the connection. The second time was because you believed I was there, hence I am able to take form." He spoke irritably, as if Sansa should already know this, and that made her annoyed. "Well _excuse me_ for not knowing anything about magic mirrors," she pouted.

A glimmer of amusement flashed through his eyes, but he remained silent. Sansa chewed her lip, wondering if she should ask another question. "Can you come out of the mirror?" she ventured. He frowned and shook his head. "I cannot. My magic has grown weak over the many years of being up here and unused. I am not able to take full form yet." Sansa grew excited. Magic! Just like a Disney movie.

"What magic can you do? Show me!" she exclaimed. The Hound rolled his eyes and looked behind her. Sansa followed his line of sight and watched in surprise as the door to the room slammed shut on its own. "My magic isn't sparkles and rainbows, girl," the Hound growled. "I control anything that's a part of this house. I can make the windows shut. I can move the furniture. I can cause the pipes to overflow." He suddenly smiled wickedly at her, his scars twisting grotesquely. "I can lock doors and you'll never get out."

Startled, Sansa glanced back at the door behind her. Now she knew why it and the shutters had been closed. "Is...that all?" she asked weakly. The Hound's eyes narrowed. "For now, it is. I can't do more unless I reach full form." Sansa wondered what his full form could be, but decided against inquiring after it. "Oh."

A faint voice echoed from downstairs. "Sansa! Sansa, where are you?" "Oh! That's Mama!" Sansa gathered up the flashlight and walked backwards slowly, staring at the Hound. "You'll be back, won't you?" he asked as she reached the door. "I will," Sansa promised, though she was confused as to why he wanted her to return. He had seemed annoyed with her most of the time.

From that day on, however, Sansa spent her days no longer in the playroom, but in the attic. No matter how rude or mean the Hound was, his black mood was strangely preferable to remaining by herself in the large house. Sansa brought her tea set up one day, and though he couldn't partake, she set a teacup near his mirror. The Hound grumbled and huffed, saying she was such a silly little girl and why didn't she go play with someone else?

"There is no one else," Sansa sniffed, hurt at his words. "My brothers don't let me play with them, and Mama is busy with Arya. I'm alone." The Hound only muttered something under his breath.

After a few days Sansa noticed that the image of the Hound was growing clearer, even appearing by himself without the need for her to touch the glass, and she remarked upon it. "It's because you keep coming here," was all he said. Sansa wasn't sure what that meant, so she shrugged it off.

One day she brought some of her toys up to show him. The Hound sat sometimes now; all around him inside the mirror was black, but Sansa supposed there must be some sort of floor for him to sit down on. She was bouncing the red ball, faster and faster, catching it in each hand, when the ball bounced at an angle and she missed. It bounced away, flying through the air at the mirror, and Sansa gasped, fearful that it might break the glass. To her surprise, the ball bounced _through_ the mirror and the Hound caught it.

"How did that happen?" she squealed, running over. The Hound gazed at the ball for a moment before smirking and tossing it back through the mirror. "Magic is getting stronger," he answered, crossing his arms smugly. His scars always looked scarier when he smiled, but Sansa had begun to grow used to them.

After dinner she brought up her radio and dancing CD. "What are you doing now?" the Hound asked, sounding disinterested in spite of the way his dark eyes followed her everywhere she went. "I have to practice my ballet, so I don't fall behind in class when we go back," Sansa answered, primly performing her stretches. "Do you have to do it up here?" he growled. "Yes," Sansa said sweetly, and clicked the play button.

She went through her exercises and forms, the Hound watching her quietly from within the mirror. The first few songs were just music, but at the end was one with singing. Sansa loved it and sang the words under her breath as she twirled and moved about the room, losing herself in the beautiful melody.

When it was over she sat down, panting and pulling off her ballet shoes. The Hound was silent for a few moments before he said, "You're like a little bird, chirping and dancing around. Maybe that's what I'll call you." His mouth pulled into a sneer. Sansa didn't know how to respond, but she didn't think she was at all like a bird.

"Is 'Hound' your real name?" she asked, wriggling her toes. "No." He set his jaw firmly, and Sansa knew better than to pry further. Really, the man could be so touchy sometimes. And _she _was supposed to be the child.

A couple of days later the family went on a picnic. Sansa wondered what her parents would think if she told them about the man who lived inside the mirror upstairs. Her brothers actually let her tag along for once, and she forgot all about him until she was picking flowers for a crown. "I should make him a bouquet; it's so dreadfully dull in that room," she murmured, and hurried about gathering a bunch of the brightest flowers she could find.

When they returned to the house, she hurried up to the attic and threw the door open. "Hound!" she sang, skipping over to the mirror. "Look what I picked for you!" The mirror's glass clouded and swirled into the Hound. "Flowers? What am I supposed to do with those?" he grunted. Sansa shrugged, searching for a place to put them in the room. She settled for laying them on the windowsill so they could at least get some sunlight through the cracks. "Because, you're my friend, and I thought, since you can't go outside, I could bring some of outside to you," she explained.

A strange expression came over the Hound's face for a moment, but he quickly schooled his features back into one of nonchalance. "Hmph," was all he answered.

The Hound never said much, but as the weeks went on, Sansa felt like they really were becoming friends. He always asked where she went and what she did when she hadn't visited the attic for a while, and once when Sansa showed him her scraped knee he had actually acted concerned. "Did you clean it? Why is there no bandage?" he demanded pressing his hand against the glass that separated them.

It was only a matter of time before Sansa's parents realized that something was off. "Sansa, honey, where have you been going all day?" Catelyn asked one night as she brushed Sansa's long red hair. "I've been playing in the attic, Mama," Sansa answered, not realizing that wasn't the best answer. Catelyn Stark froze for a moment. "The attic? Why, Sansa, you should know better than to go up there! What if you got hurt? No one has been up there recently to make sure it's safe."

Worried, Sansa squirmed under her mother's gaze in the mirror. "It's okay, Mama. There's nothing bad up there." Catelyn shook her head as she began braiding Sansa's hair into a neat plait. "It's an old part of the house. There could be rusty nails and loose floorboards. I don't want you to play up there anymore, Sansa." Biting her lip, Sansa nodded, fighting back tears as she thought of the Hound. If she didn't go back anymore, what would he think? Would he be angry?

Sansa glanced back up at the mirror and clapped a hand to her mouth when she saw the Hound staring back at her. Catelyn had turned the other way, putting away Sansa's coat in the closet.

The Hound grinned at her, then vanished as her mother turned around again.

"Sansa, it's for your own good, sweetie. Go back to the playroom or go outside." Catelyn tucked her in bed and kissed her goodnight, then left, closing the door behind her.

Sansa immediately sat up and pushed the covers off, hurrying to the mirror. "Hound?" she whispered. He did not appear, but her bedroom door creaked open slightly on its own, revealing the dark and empty hallway.

Did he want her to come to the attic?

She quickly put on her slippers and robe and grabbed a flashlight. Sneaking out into the hallway, she passed her parents' and brothers' rooms and made her way to the stairs, walking carefully until she reached the attic.

The Hound was pacing back in forth in the mirror when she arrived. "How did you do that?" Sansa asked, standing before the glass.

He smirked down at her, seemingly pleased about something. "My powers have been returning. I'm going to be able to travel through all the mirrors in the house soon enough." Sansa smiled back, supposing that it was a good thing he had a little more freedom.

Then she grew sad, thinking of her mother's words. "What's the matter?" he growled, dropping to one knee so he could look her in the eye.

"Mama doesn't want me to come up here anymore. She said I have to stay downstairs in the playroom or go outside." The Hound's face was immediately covered by a scowl.

"What?" he barked angrily and began to mutter curses under his breath. The house shook slightly, as if thunder had echoed through the foundations, and her flashlight flickered.

"I'm sorry," Sansa whispered. "I…I could try to come up…sometimes." Disobeying her parents was not something Sansa did often. She was a good girl and did as she was told.

But the Hound was her friend, wasn't he? She didn't want to leave him up here by himself.

His eyes gleamed in the dim glow of the flashlight as he studied her, his lips slowly curling back up at the ends. "Yes, my little bird. You can sneak back up here, can't you?" Sansa nodded, happy that he didn't seem upset anymore.

"Good girl."

_The Present_

The manor creaked and groaned as the rain continued to pound against it. The Lannisters had sorted themselves into the living room, grumbling over cans of soup that Sansa had been forced to heat up for them on the stove, which surprisingly still worked. _They shouldn't be here. They shouldn't be here eating our food, sitting where my brothers and parents sat_. Sansa blinked back tears as she turned the burner off and stuck a spoon in her own can. She did not want to be in the same room as any of them. From the kitchen she could Joffrey laughing about something, and for a moment she imagined throwing the soup at his head.

Inching her way to the stairs, Sansa climbed them quietly, intending to seek refuge in one of the upper rooms. A flame had been lit in the fireplace of the living room, but it was cold elsewhere in the house. Shivering, Sansa pulled her coat tighter and sipped at the warm soup.

She stopped at each bedroom that her siblings and parents had occupied, once upon a time. Her childhood recollections were hazy at best, and there wasn't much in the rooms to look at anyway. The beds had been stripped down long ago, and everything was empty and properly put away.

Sansa came lastly to her old bedroom. The walls were a faded pink, and the white wooden vanity still sat in the corner. A small flashlight stood on the bedside table, and to her surprise, it still worked, so she pocketed it. With a sigh, she plopped down on the bed, and set the soup aside, her appetite failing.

Perhaps coming back here had been a mistake. Maybe it would have been better to let them drive on in the storm. If the car flipped over from the icy roads and they died, at least it would be some form of karma against the Lannisters for what they had done. Sansa's life was over, anyways. It was only a matter of time before she was of no use to them, and they would kill her, too.

Sniffing, she wiped her sleeve against her nose and stood, deciding to go to the bathroom. The hallway was empty and still; apparently no one else had ventured up there yet, and for that Sansa was grateful. She found the bathroom and used it, then took her time washing her hands and gazing at her reflection in the mirror. A tall, gangly girl stared back, her curly hair in disarray and dark circles were blossoming under her once bright blue eyes. Now they were only dull and teary. She hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a long time, and it was beginning to show.

Quietly she stepped back out into the hall and paused, listening. The sounds of voices drifted closer to the stairs, Joffrey's among them. Sansa crept along the wall to the second flight of stairs. If she could make it to the next floor, she could peak down and see what they were doing.

The carpeted stairs made no sound as she moved up them, clinging to the dusty railing. Once at the balcony, she looked over and saw the men moving back forth between the kitchen and the sitting room. They were talking about the storm.

"Saaaansaaa!" Joffrey's voice drawled loudly. A lump formed in her throat and Sansa quickly hurried to the next stairway. She needed to hide from them, from him, until his mood passed and it was safe to reappear; maybe the storm would pass by then, or they would go to sleep. The bruises on her arms and back still hurt, and Sansa had no desire for new ones.

She took the stairs two at a time, using her dancing skills to step lightly, all the while listening for sounds of pursuit. This was a mansion, her family's mansion, and even though Sansa had only been there once, she knew it better than they did.

The fourth floor truly showed signs of abandonment. It was much darker, and Sansa fumbled for a light switch. A wall lamp slowly flared up, burning dimly against the faded brown wallpaper. She hugged her coat tighter and edged passed the closed doors, feeling nervous, as if she didn't belong here. Something banged loudly on a lower floor, sending her skittering towards the stairs that led to the attic.

Sansa hesitated, staring at the bottom of the dark, yawning staircase that wound upwards. Something itched at the corner of her mind like a mosquito bite, some lost and buried memory of her days playing here as a child.

There was a soft thumping sound coming from above her, and Sansa stood perfectly still, her breath caught in her throat as she waited. Had someone else come up here after all?

The soft thumping grew closer, and barely suppressing a scream, she watched a small red ball bounce gently down the stairs and land on the carpet, rolling until it reached her feet.

Sansa's heart pounded against her ribs as she bent down and picked it up. The ball fit easily in the palm of her hand, and its red color shown brightly, if not a bit worn.

And she remembered it.

Slowly glancing back at the silent stairway, Sansa let out a shaky breath. "Impossible," she whispered. Clenching the ball tightly, she strode to the stairs and climbed them, climbing to what she was not sure, but it couldn't be any worse than facing abuse from Joffrey and the others.

The stairs creaked, but other than that her journey to the attic level was uneventful. The light was burned out in that hallway, so she pulled out the little flashlight and shone it. To the left was the door to the normal attic storage room, and farther ahead, at the very end, was another door Sansa had not walked through since she was six.

It was closed.

"I'm crazy," she whispered to herself, then walked forward, sliding the ball into a pocket so she had a free hand. She paused when she reached the door handle, its dustiness revealing that no one had touched the cold copper metal in years. Balking, Sansa closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. A whisper of memories clouded her mind, telling her this was all her imagination, that she was just conjuring up a fantasy for attention.

_Then where did the ball come from? _another voice, distant but still strong, asked her. Setting her jaw, Sansa took hold of the knob and turned it, pushing the door open with a rusty creak.

The room was dark, too, as expected. Flashes of lighting escaped through the slats in the shutters, but otherwise Sansa would have to use her flashlight. She directed it around the room slowly, watching as the beam fell on a chair, then an empty expanse of floorboards, dotted here and there with some old toys: a doll, a tiny piano, a tea cup, some books, a music box, and scattered coloring pages. All dusty and aged and untouched.

Puzzled, Sansa directed the flashlight beam until it landed, finally, at the other end of the room, and she beheld a large mirror.

She barely registered the shaking of her hand as she crossed the room carefully, leaving the door open. Her reflection was visible thanks to the flashlight, and Sansa stared into the glass and the darkness that surrounded the edges of her image.

More memories, long-hidden, buried, began to resurface, and Sansa vaguely remembered practicing her ballet in front of the mirror, and singing.

Her eyes drifted over the frame and the glass, which was somehow not dusty like the rest of the furniture, and stopped at the imprint of a small hand on the lower right corner.

An uncomfortable, eerie feeling began to take hold of her. She knew she had played up here as a child, but the reasons why had been suppressed for years.

And now that they were struggling to resurface, Sansa was afraid to remember. Afraid of what it might mean.

She didn't realize her hand had drifted down to the imprint until her finger brushed against the cool glass, and with a jolt she stepped back. When nothing happened, she let out a mix between a sigh and laugh. "It's just my imagination playing tricks on me," she muttered. "Of course I'm spooked, I'm in a creepy old mansion in the dark."

Deciding to head back and search for somewhere else to hide, preferably a room with electricity, Sansa turned to walk away from the mirror.

The beam from her flashlight fell on the door, and before her eyes, it slammed shut. Sansa stopped, staring at it in bewilderment. Lighting flashed for a few seconds, followed by a deep roll of thunder that shook the house.

The attic continued to rumble after the thunder dissipated.

Sansa felt a cold sweat break out over her skin, and she took another step towards the door when her flashlight flicked and went out, completely enveloping her in darkness.

At once, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, goose bumps trailed up her arms, and Sansa froze, holding her breath.

Warm air suddenly stirred the hair on top of her head, then lower down near her ear. Sansa wanted to run, but found her legs would simply not move.

"Little Bird," something whispered behind her, the voice low and deep and rasping. She gathered a breath to scream when a hand clapped over her mouth.

"Shhhh," the voice spoke by her ear, not in a threatening way, but as if it was trying to sooth her. Sansa felt that she might pass out, when her flashlight flickered back on.

The hand left her mouth to land on her shoulder, and it pulled, turning her slowly around. Holding the flashlight in her trembling hand, Sansa gasped when she came face-to-face with a broad chest covered in black. She slowly raised the light to the man's face, and felt the blood in her veins freeze as she took in a face that was at once familiar and opened the gates to her childhood memories.

His face was still scarred on one side, the black hair still combed over, the stormy grey eyes piercing as they studied her intently.

"You remember me, don't you?" he asked. Sansa stared at him open-mouthed, then glanced at the faint outline of the mirror behind him. "How…how…but…" was all she managed to say.

The man crossed his arms, looking a little displeased. "You weren't so afraid as a child," he commented. The pieces were quickly fitting together, and Sansa brought her eyes back to his.

"Hound?" she whispered, her voice sounding small and weak. He chuckled and raised a hand to caress the side of her face with his fingers. "The little bird still chirps." He placed his other hand on her waist and drew her closer.

"You're not so little anymore, though, hmmm?" Sansa's brain scrambled to find an answer for him, but she could do was shake her head.

The smirk on his face faded for a moment. "I've frightened you, haven't I? I suppose that entrance was rather theatrical." Sansa took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"You're…you're real," she stated. The Hound's eyebrow arched as he studied her with amusement. "Yes…"

She took another breath, closing her eyes for a moment. "They told me I just made it all up," she whispered, more to herself than him.

He frowned, eyes narrowing. "You haven't been here in a long time, Little Bird. I started to think you wouldn't come back." The growling timbre of his voice was slowly becoming more comforting than frightening, and Sansa relaxed her shoulders as she mulled over his words.

"I know…things got busy with my family, I guess." Thinking of her parents and brothers and sister made her heart hurt.

"Did they come with you?" the Hound asked. She shook her head, and tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

"They're…they're dead," she choked out, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. The look on his face was grave, even angry.

"How?" he asked, tightening his hold on her waist. It had been so long since Sansa had been able to speak freely, to tell the truth, to anyone, that when the moment finally came, she had trouble forming the words.

"The people here in the house…they killed them." She wiped her eyes again, and the Hound suddenly caught her wrist, bringing it closer to his face. In the yellow beam of the flashlight, Sansa saw his eyes turn black and fury covered his features.

"Did they do this to you?" he hissed, turning her wrist so she could see the purple bruises.

Her lip trembled as she fought to keep back more tears, and she nodded. His jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might snap. "They hurt you," he growled out as the house shook again from thunder…or maybe from his anger, Sansa was not sure.

She nodded, then began crying. Instantly the Hound wrapped his arms around her and held against his chest so she was crying into his shirt and the strange armor he wore. "Shhhh, there, there, Little Bird."

Sansa had not been hugged or treated with affection since the murder of her family, and she was so alone, so afraid, so full of hopelessness that she clung to the Hound as if he was a lifeline, desperate as she was for someone to care even a little about what happened to her.

Even if that someone was this strange, formidable man who had been cursed with a mirror and magic. Even if that someone could still be, possibly, a figment of her imagination.

The Hound's hand petted her hair, smoothing the tangled curls as her sobs turned to sniffles. "You're going to be alright, Little Bird. I'll take care of everything." He pulled her away from him so he could look into her face.

His eyes had turned black, shining with a gleam that Sansa could not comprehend, but it sent chills up her spine all the same. The warmth of his arms clashed with her sudden spike of fear.

"What…what do you mean?" she whispered. The corner of his mouth curled up as he lifted a finger to wipe away the drying tears on her cheek.

"I think it is time I exercised my powers. I have lain dormant for far too long." He took her chin in his hand, staring at her intently. "These people…who are they?"

"The Lannisters," Sansa answered distractedly, her frazzled mind wondering what he meant by "powers".

The Hound's eyes widened for a second, and the scars on his face twitched.

"Lannisters?" he breathed. Then a deep, bitter chuckle erupted from his throat. "Well, well, looks like we will both have our revenge this night, Little Bird."

The situation was growing increasingly less comprehensible to Sansa as she gazed up at him, feeling a bit dazed. "What? Revenge?"

His lips pulled back, baring his teeth in a wicked grin as he pulled her closer again, moving his mouth to croon into her ear.

"I promise you, my sweet Little Bird, the Lannisters won't live to see the morning light after what they've done. They will never leave this house again."

* * *

A/N: I hope you liked it *gulps* More will be revealed about the Hound and what he is capable of, about what happened to Sansa, and how the Lannisters are involved.


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