Contains both excerpts from books and show. bold/italics are excerpts.
Sansa went down the steps and out into the night. A light rain was falling on the remains of the feast, but the air smelled fresh and clean. The memory of her own wedding night with Tyrion was much with her. In the dark, I am the Knight of Flowers, he had said. I could be good to you. But that was only another Lannister lie. A dog can smell a lie, you know, the Hound had told her once. She could almost hear the rough rasp of his voice. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here, and every one better than you. She wondered what had become of Sandor Clegane. Did he know that they'd killed Joffrey? Would he care? He had been the prince's sworn shield for years.
She stayed outside for a long time. When at last she sought her own bed, wet and chilled, only the dim glow of a peat fire lit the darkened hall. There was no sound from above. The young singer sat in a corner, playing a slow song to himself. One of her aunt's maids was kissing a knight in Lord Petyr's chair, their hands busy beneath each other's clothing. Several men had drunk themselves to sleep, and one was in the privy, being noisily sick. Sansa found Bryen's old blind dog in her little alcove beneath the steps, and lay down next to him. He woke and licked her face. "You sad old hound," she said, ruffling his fur.
"Alayne." Her aunt's singer stood over her. "Sweet Alayne. I am Marillion. I saw you come in from the rain. The night is chill and wet. Let me warm you."
The old dog raised his head and growled, but the singer gave him a cuff and sent him slinking off, whimpering.
"Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are … kind to think of me, but … pray forgive me. I am very tired."
"And very beautiful. All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead."
She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk."
"I never get drunk. Mead only makes me merry. I am on fire." His hand slipped up to her thigh. "And you as well."
"Unhand me. You forget yourself."
"Mercy. I have been singing love songs for hours. My blood is stirred. And yours, I know … there's no wench half so lusty as one bastard born. Are you wet for me?"
"I'm a maiden," she protested.
"Truly? Oh, Alayne, Alayne, my fair maid, give me the gift of your innocence. You will thank the gods you did. I'll have you singing louder than the Lady Lysa."
Sansa jerked away from him, frightened. "If you don't leave me, my au — my father will hang you. Lord Petyr."
"Littlefinger?" He chuckled. "Lady Lysa loves me well, and I am Lord Robert's favorite. If your father offends me, I will destroy him with a verse." He put a hand on her breast, and squeezed. "Let's get you out of these wet clothes. You wouldn't want them ripped, I know. Come, sweet lady, heed your heart — "
A rush of panic ran through Sansa with haste she moved from the bed and towards the exit of the alcove in hopes to leave Marillion staggering behind her. However Marillion's reflexes were not as slowed as Sansa would have hoped and Marillion grabbed her arm jerking her back from the door outside. Sansa and Marillion now stood in the center of the alcove, Sansa hand came up defensively hitting Marillion across the jaw. In response he back his hand hard across her face, sending her falling backward onto the ground. Sansa's head hit the floor with a hard thud, Marillion was quickly there kneeling over her. Marillion's hands came up to hold the sides of her head lifting and smacking it hard against the floor in one fluid motion. The room around her became fuzzy, and Sansa was struggling hard to make sense of her surroundings. A sharp pain ran through Sansa's skull before the room went dark around her.