All at once I was pushed against the door, and Petyr's lips swooped in to devour me. His hands lifted up my long dress, bunching it together, and hot hands glided up my smooth leg. He was hitting the right spots, letting his hands feverishly stroke my inner thigh. I moaned into his mouth, unable to contain myself further. I could feel him smiling on my lips, it lasted for a moment before he broke away. "Fuck! I'm going to miss this."

"Then stay," I shot back. "Don't go to the Vale."

"Hmm," Petyr replied, while he pulled his hands out of my dress. He stretched out his long arms and leaned them against the door, enclosing the space around us. I leaned my back against the door, arching it slightly, letting him know I was ready for more. Petyr tilted his head slightly to the side, barely containing the smug that threatened to come across his lips. "You forget I just dyed your hair, Sansa," he said slyly. "There's no turning back now."

"Is that what you think?"

"it's what I know," he said dryly. Petyr leaned away from me, and made his way to my wooden desk where both of our coats were cast aside. Petyr picked them up and then returned to my side once more. "We have a long journey. We should go now, while the sun is still up. I know you don't like the idea of going to the Vale, but think of it as a necessary evil to get our way."

"Is Lysa the necessary evil?"

"She's the greatest one of all," he droned. I noticed the darkness in his eyes as he said, "But that won't last for long."

Petyr offered me his hand as we climbed up the craggy seaside cliff. The incline was incredibly steep, so much so that I could not see the top it where Petyr's manor apparently resided. With each step I took the rocks beneath my feet wobbled, threatening to come undone and cascade down the perilous cliff. No wonder they call it The Devil's Cliff, I pondered, as I watched another rock roll of the side and plummet into the sea. The morning fog continued to blind our vision, making our journey next to impossible, but somehow Petyr knew exactly where we were going; his steps were slow and steady as we winded up the narrow cliff.

Where is he taking me, I wondered, as Petyr instructed me to push myself flat on the rocky wall and shuffle my feet side to side in a careful manner. Beneath me I could hear the raging sea crashing against the rocks and the squeals of birds rushing towards the western wind. I could have sworn I heard a voice in the fog, a woman calling out my name, for a sudden moment before it died down with the wind.

"Did you hear that?" I asked, tilting my head slightly to the side to see Petyr's stern profile.

"Hear what?"

"That voice," I whispered, fearful of further discovery from that haunting voice.

"Oh!" He piped up. He paused for a moment, and leaned towards me while he hushed, "They say this place is haunted. Long ago a woman threw herself over the cliffs after she discovered her husband was cheating on her. There are other wild stories, but that's the one I like to believe."

"Is that why they call it Devil's Cliff?"

"Oh, no," Petyr said, before he continued on his perilous trek. "It's because this is the most dangerous place in all of The Fingers. To take this route means you are risking your life."

"And you took me here because?"

"Because we will be at my house in little over an hour. If we went with everyone else it would take us more than a day's journey," he said matter of factly. "And I don't want you near the sailors, anymore than necessary."

"You don't trust them?" I asked, as I pushed myself off the wall and stretched my long legs over a narrow gap of rocks. I stopped behind Petyr, who was now looking above him for some strange reason. He lifted his hand and glided it across the ashen rocks until he found what he was looking for, a small nook in between the rocks marked with saffron circle drawn underneath.

"I don't like the way they look at you," he blurted out over his shoulder "I've found what I was looking for, Sansa, do you trust me?"

"Of course!"

"Good, because you're going to need it," he exclaimed, before his hands nuzzled itself around my waist and lifted me into the air. "Now, place your feet on top of the boulder- that one over there. Yes! Now climb atop of it until you feel grass beneath your feet, or in this case mud. Go ahead! I'm right behind you."

I did as I was instructed, scuffing my feet across the loose gravel until I felt the soft grassy turf, it stayed this way for sometime until I stumbled into a pit of mud. "Petyr?"

"It's alright, sweetling, the worst is over," he said soothingly. I felt his large hand enrapture mine, it was warm to the touch, something I was thankful for as he led the way.

We wandered for sometime across the plashy fields, our boots splashing in deep pools of mud and occasionally slipping across the wet grass. The fog began to lift, much to my relief, but a light shower of rain soon came down from the sky. The rain made my long black tresses glimmer in the faint morning light. More than once Petyr looked back at me with wonder, hardly recognizing me at all. And how could he when I was draped in all black from head to toe with a crown of water droplets adorning my wild head. Petyr paused only once during our journey to push my hair behind my ear, and endow me with a kiss on my bright rosy cheek. "You are so beautiful," he breathed, before he intertwined our fingers together and led me across the mossy fields.

Our path was windy, almost non-nonsensical in a way, as we jumped over narrow crystal streams and walked through tall stalks of grass. Petyr stopped at a large boulder to brush the mud off his boots and then instructed me to do the same. "It get's easier from here," he noted. Petyr pointed up a long country hill to prove his point; an ancient stone gate, sable and glossed over with moss could be seen in the distance. The high-pitched cries of birds suddenly broke our silence, as they fluttered over our head towards Petyr's manor; they almost sounded in unison with the faint roaring of the sea, which thundered endlessly upon the rocky shoreline of The Fingers- this lonely, desolate place that belonged to Petyr.

I noticed Petyr almost looked lugubrious as he swung open the iron gate, which led to his mighty threshold. He seemed to be dreading the sight of his long-forgotten home: that dark grey tower which stood ominously before us. Outside his house was unusually silent, only the low moans of wandering sheep could be heard in the far distance. Looking around the empty stables at the back of the house I asked, "Where is everyone?"

"Probably dead," Petyr said in jest. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer to his figure. "You don't like the silence?"

"It's so different from Winterfell."

"It is," he said honestly. "I belong to a small house, remember? What you see before me is my humble beginnings. A boy with nothing to his name, no titles, no lands- and look at him now! I am the Lord of Harrenhall, The Fingers and soon the Vale. I am the richest man in Westeros, aside from Lord Tywin, of course. And now I have your love, your mind, your body-" Petyr paused to kiss the back of my hand affectionately. "What more can a man ask for?"

"Well, aren't you a lucky man," I teased.

"I don't believe in luck," he said soberly. "I believe everyone of us must make our way in the world. For some the journey is harder than others, as you will soon find out."

"What do you mean?"

"All of your life you've been treated a certain way because you are Ned and Catelyn's daughter. You were blessed with a great name and powerful house, but now you must learn what it means to be a bastard. I am sorry for the pain I must put you through."

"What do you mean?" I asked in a shaky voice.

"You will soon find out," he muttered. Petyr ascended the stony steps with long strides and stopped at the front door with a silver key in hand. The rusted edges could be seen before he penetrated the lock and turned it with enough force to break the damn thing.

"Come see my home, Alayne," was the last thing he said to me, before he slipped into darkness.

"Ah! There he is!" a voice cried out in the darkness. It was thickly laced with an unfamiliar accent and rough in manner, although I could have sworn I've heard that same accent before- Petyr. "You've come back at last, eh? Well, that's just grand! Just in time for luncheon too."

"Nice to see you too, Freyes." Petyr answered back, his sonorous voice eching down the hall like thunder.

"Well, why don't you look dapper? The ladies must be clawing all over you."

"No, my bachelor days are over."

"Now you can tell this old man the truth. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

As I crept further into the room my eyes began to adjust to the dim lighting, a dusty lamp upon the wall guided my way down the narrow hallway. I turned the corner to see the back of Petyr's handsome head and a shadowy figure in the far right corner.

"Aye, you crafty old devil!" said the blackened figure. "Bringing a pretty thing like that home."

I stood next to Petyr and slipped my arm inside of his, a subtle act to express my discomfort, as this strange looking man hobbled over to me with a terrifying look in his eyes. He stood before me now, burrowing his large black eyes at me in silence. A few heartbeats passed before a great smile spread across his wrinkled face. "She's a bit young for you, isn't she?" he rapped out unexpectedly.

"She's my daughter, Freyes," Petyr said coolly.

"Aye, your daughter? Lucky bastard!"

"Freyes, please, language," Petyr said protectively. He is playing his role well.

"She's old enough to hear that word! Look at her, Petyr, she's a grown woman. And your telling an old man to quiet up," Freyes grumbled. He hobbled over to me with a merry gait, hardly taking in Petyr's disgruntled look. "Freyes, the name! It's mighty nice to meet ya. I have you know that I knew your father since he was a wee lad. Always getting into trouble he was, a miracle he is standing here in one piece. You're not like that, I hope."

"Ah, no," I said hesitantly.

"Ya much to pretty to be getting in all kinds of trouble. Look like an angel, I tell ya."

"Freyes," Petyr droned in boredom. "My daughter and I have had a very long journey. Could we at least take off these wet coats before you bombard us with…"

"I'm not bombarding anyone!" Freyes shot his cane into the air, pointing it at Petyr threateningly. "Now, your letter said nothing about bringing ya daughter home! Don't even have the decency to tell this old man that you went out and got yourself a family."

"Really, Freyes?" Petyr said in disbelief. They must know each other well, I thought, Petyr would never allow anyone to speak to him that way.

Freyes continued, "You know, Marg and I have been worried sick about you! Thinking the day you die this home will fall apart cause you failed to produce an heir. Well, dang it, there she is!"

"There she is," Petyr drawled. "Are you quite finished?"

"Ten years you've been gone! Haven't seen you since ya father's funeral. God bless his soul! Well, its been a might long time since I've seen ya, Petyr, so I'm gonna keep talking to ya and your pretty little daughter for as long as I can stand."

"Aye, but not until Alayne and I get out of these wet clothes," Petyr said in a mocking tone, mimicking Freyes' accent and manner of speaking word for word. He really is a mockingbird, I thought, as I looked up at Petyr with admiration.

"Ah, bless me! Good to hear your voice again, instead of that god-awful southern accent of yours. Alright, give me ya coats. Don't worry I'll take good care of them," Freyes exclaimed. As I handed him my coat to him, Freyes winked at me in a playful manner. "Alayne, eh? That was Petyr's mother's name. I suppose he told you that."

"He did," I said softly, knowing it was a touchy subject for Petyr.

"Never the same after his mother died," Freyes whispered. "Poor lad… they were so close you know. Always clinging to his mother's knees. It was the cold that took her, and these drafty rooms in the winter. Best be dressing warm or you'll have the same fate."

The old man patted me on the arm affectionately, and then hobbled off with his booty. Instinctively I took Petyr's hand and looked up at him worriedly. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Petyr said in a strained voice. He purposely avoided my gaze, intent on staring at the soiled rug instead. Let him be. He doesn't want to talk about.

"Come, Alayne," Petyr murmured. He lightly tugged at my head and lead me up the creaky wooden stairs towards the bedrooms. He stopped in front of a door that was closest to the staircase and took out another set of keys. "You'll have to use my room for now. Yours isn't ready yet. Take off your wet clothing and I'll be back in a moment. You need something warm and dry to put on."

He left without another word. I creaked open the door and stepped into Petyr's room, hardly expecting to see it furnished so modestly, it was a pale contrast to Petyr's elaborate cabin room back on the ship. The colours were dull: tan coloured wallpaper, musty grey drapes and bed sheets. It was hardly a room befitting for Petyr, he needed something with more splendor and grace. I walked into the center of the room and began undressing, feeling my goosebumps tingle off my skin with each layer. The howling wind outside pressed against the window, shaking the rugged windowpane outside. Fortunately, a knock on the door disrupted my gloomy thoughts. Petyr sauntered into the bedroom cheerily, all of his attention focused solely on my half naked body. I blushed under his lustful gaze, noting the darkness of his eyes as he looked over my pale figure, still glistening from the morning dew.

"This is all I could find, I'm afraid," he said, while holding up a dark plum coloured dress with a plunging neck line. "Marg isn't exactly your size and our luggage won't arrive until tomorrow morning."

Petyr's hands accidentally brushed against my icy knuckles as he handed me the dress. "Your cold," he observed. He rubbed the back of my hands slowly, letting his warmth travel up my arm. I miss this, I thought, as I looked up into his soft grey-green eyes.

"Wait," I hushed. I released my hand from his and let it trail along his sharp jaw-line, and then around the curve of his ear before I finally settled for his damp curly locks. Weaving my way into his tighten curls, I drew his head forward until it was but a breath away. Petyr stared at me, waiting for the inevitable, for his lips to connect with mine. His moist lips was inches away now, any second they were about to connect- a heavy knock on the door suddenly startled us. Did he lock the door, I wondered, as Petyr's face grew pale. The creaking of the door knob told me he didn't lock the door behind him. Seven Hells, I thought, as the door began to open.