AN: Post 03X06. I just binge watched Game of Thrones in 5 days and have become most obsessed with the characters in the story - especially the subtle competition between Baelish and Varyas. But yeah...this is a thing. Almost a crack-fic. In this, The Hound is still in King's Landing in S3 for magical reasons.

He lightly flicked the edge of his collar with his index finger. The moans of whores filled the air around him, mixed in guttural grunts and the clicking of jewelry from all the sexes. The almost blood red walls surrounded him. Once jarring when he had first set up the establishment, they were now dull and musky. The collar he wore was worth more than the full cost of a kingsguard armor - a price he had made sure to exceed since he did, in fact, know the exact number. He had a young, reckless king to commit treason acts behind.

And he was bored.

Terribly bored.

Petyr didn't have hobbies, or known want for many things. To display what he liked was weakness. Something that can become a tool for others. So there he would usually sit, surrounded by the crown's numbers and whores in training. The smell of stale semen would float in the air as he did paces but nothing of this kind shook him. No, it would be only around this time, a cool one in the morning when some climaxes were at their ends, some talking may had started, some whispers perhaps. This is when he took time to indulge.

He started from the far side of the building, making a show to walking through so his girls would have time to gather their wits. And then he start his watching. Every room had two peering holes along the walls. For quality assurance and for hearing whispers, as most of the employees of his brothel knew. But only one knew of the occasional pleasure from it. And Ros was dead with six arrows in her.

What could he say. He liked to watch.

Mostly men and women but the even rarer women to whore occasion in King's Landing, also did wonders.

A seventy something year old lord was taking a small, four foot raven haired girl from the floor when the approaching whore had the decency of cough loudly from behind him. He removed his clenched hand from his shaft and took a sharp breath in. Only thinking the lord was irritated with the interruption instead of the lack of release, she did a brief clumsy bow to please him. It didn't work though he pretended that it had.

"Sorry to interrupt but we've got a situation." She was a blonde, the assistant of Olyvar, and her eyes were cautiously looking into the still open peering hole. Peytr slowly resealed the hole with the usual tuff of cloth before starting the walk back to his room. He didn't walk for her and was not surprised as she caught up with his long strides.

"How much of a situation?"

There were not that many situations in King's Landing. Rich old men were predictable and young rich men just as well. The strangest request around here were the occasional ropes and whips. And the King's requests of course.

"The Hound is here." She replied, looking down at the ground as they walked.

They had reached his room and Petyr angrily inhaled. "You interrupted because the Hound is here?" He doubted the dog had much gold and didn't see the reason for a personal greeting for the customer.

"No because the girls...they're scared."

Baelish pinched his nose bridge, his eyes turning to the idiot woman'. "Tell them to do their job, then."

"I have. Strange but some value their body in intact compared to their jobs. Please just give him a greeting or something to relax the girls in some sense. I've got two cowering in the kitchen at this point."

He didn't ask why she herself couldn't take him because she was already booked in the Red Keep in twenty. He didn't think the Hound would just settle for twenty.

He nodded once to her and she started toward the front of the brothel. He noticed that some girls walking deeper into the back rooms paused as they paused. Their eyes, black, blue, green, hazel all had the same quality of fear in them when he looked into them.

The pair passed through the final doorway to the main room and Petyr was immediately struck by the smell of the Hound. Dried blood, piss and the faintness of perfumes that was associated with staying the Red Keep from long periods of time. The towering man's back was to him, the handing blade of this sword shining in the darkened room. Olyvar, his new second in command, was off to the side, speaking confidently despite the tone of worry in his voice. Towards the back of the room, there was another client in pale orange dress picking women but the Hound seemed to be the center of attention.

"If you prefer more curvy, I am happy to find you a more suitable match."

Olyvar took another breath to spew more reassuring tones but Petyr interrupted him.

"Sandor Clegane."

At the sound of the new voice, the Hound's hand fell from groping the breast of the whore in front of him to turn and face Baelish.

"Wow. Didn't think I would get the royal treatment." The soldier's eyes narrowed.

"Nonsense. Any servant of the King is welcomed here with open arms." Baelish's voice was so schooled that it almost didn't sound patronizing. He clasped his hands under his chin and smirked at the half melted frown the other man had plastered to his face. "How can we serve you, Clegane?"

"You got any short ones?"

"I do believe that Eve and Lehna would be suitable for you. They can also get into belts and paddles, if it pleases you." Eve, a shorter brunette, stepped out of the circle and slowly walked toward Baelish. While her hips swayed almost violently as she walked, Petyr could easily read the annoyance in her body language. There was a shuffle out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see Lehna walk away from the other client, having heard her name. And the client followed her.

The client was an average height woman of Dorne. The pale orange that Petyr had seen earlier had focused to reveal a corseted dress with very visible tanned breasts on display. Her hair was pulled back in some sort of bun of black tresses and she hand onto a coin purse hanging from her hip. Her breasts were average and her hips almost non-existent but she was slim. Not one that really seemed to need a whore.

She was pouting, looking between the Hound and Baelish.

"I thought I got that one."

This night is just getting more and more testing, Petyr couldn't help thinking.

"I do so apologize for the intrusion. I'm sure we can find you another suitable girl, I promise." He bowed slightly towards the apparent noblewoman. He had no idea where she was from but he didn't care. She at least would have more gold than the Hound.

Her hands grasped her hips as she came more forward. Her eyes, however, were looking at the Hound up and down. A clear sign of inspection.

"Do I look like I'm on sale to you, cunt?"

His roar of an insult did not phase the Dorne woman, though Petyr was not surprised. Dornish women were another breed entirely.

"No. Which is why I like you." She simply replied before pointing at the armored man's own coin purse. "How much would I need to offer to join you?"

"Not interested in joining." He gruffly responded.

Idiot.

"Fine. I'll pay for two whores for you, two for me, same room." Olyvar had long since been trained to keep his face neutral through such odd requests but his blonde assistant needed some work. From the corner of his right eye, Petyr could see her mouth wide open in shock. Quickly, his left boot stepped over her bare left toes and the blonde's mouth shut.

The dog's head tilted a little and there was a pause. It seemed as if he was deciding whether or not to kill the foreigner.

She winked and it was then that the Lord decided the Dornish woman was slightly unhinged. "I promise not to touch unless you want me to."

"Different beds?"

This, the Hound directed towards the establishment's keeper. Petyr nodded.

"We do have a room with two beds." He gave the blonde assistant a look and she immediately left the room in preparation.

"Then it's done?" The woman asked, stepping closer to the Hound. Her nose seemed not to be offended by the stench.

"I want ale before."

"Done." She turned back to Baelish and smiled. Her teeth shined a little too much; most likely fake. "Could we also get a bath in the room? Oh and a fire and ashtray."

From her demeanor alone, he knew better than attempt to name the price of any of these request. It seemed regardless she would pay.

"It would be my pleasure," he said instead of what he really wanted to say which was the simple question of why.

AN: I don't know why I'm doing this but it's happening. I have a certain ending for this in mind but don't think it could fit in a one shot. Any comments or critics are welcome.