I climbed up the rolling hillside, taking in the never-ending sky that stretched out before me; white clouds dancing across the frosty blue welkin, bright golden streams of light blazing across the eastern sky.

All morning long, I had watched the sun rise. A great golden globe of light rose over the sunlit hills, bringing crimson-like clouds in its wake. For a while, I watched the full moon battle with the sun, each shedding its own light across the hemisphere, but the proudful sun rose higher into the sky, as if it knew the end was near. The wailful moon suddenly dipped behind the clouds, bowing its mighty head in shame. When I finally lost interest in the pursuing battle and looked away to glance at the far distant sea, the moon slipped from the clouds and sunk into the ground until it could be seen no more.

As I stood over the hill-top edge, I could see the green grass glow beyond the never-ending heath, and in the far distance I could see the stony walls of Petyr's home. I thought I saw movement on the other side of a nearby hill, but it was only a black bird; there were so many of them on The Fingers, squalling across the sky since the break of dawn. I wearily sat down at the edge of the hill-top, feet dangling over the edge for what felt like ages till I saw a blackened figure appear from around the bend of a far-off hill. Petyr, I thought, and without a second thought I got up and ran down the hill to greet him.

Slipping and sliding down the dewy grass I made my way down the bottom of the hill where a flock of birds were warbling to themselves. I happily perturbed their genial-like company by running through the sea of birds, until they flapped their great wings towards the heavens. My sprightly feet ran down the last of the hill and sprinted across the plashy fields until I reached my basket full of food and Marg's tartan blanket propped up atop a boulder. I threw them into my arms and then breathlessly ran around the base of the hill until I could the see the blackened figure fast approaching from the other side. He was not alone, a great multitude of people trailed closely behind him; nipping at his heels was Ser Dale, his distinctive blue cloak flapping in the wind behind him.

I could not wait for them to come to me, however, so I slowly walked and then ran towards the pair. Once Petyr espied me sprinting across the heath, he immediately knocked the sides of his horse with his heels until the horse had no choice but to race towards me. In no time at all, the metal hoofs of his horse scrapped the decrepit earth in front of me, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Petyr jumped into the swirling dust cloud, imperceptible for a moment, until the dust dwindled away, and it was only him that stood before me- tall, proud, and handsome as ever. "Hello, sweetling," he breathed, before he wrapped his arms around me, enrapturing me in a tight embrace.

Reluctant tears began to stream down my face, as he held me close. Petyr had come at last; it sent a shiver down my spine, and a spasm in my innermost heart. He leaned back, so he could cup my cheeks with his hands, and only then did he consider my tearful eyes. "You missed me."

"Yes."

Petyr let out a low chuckle, it clearly amused him to see me this way. "I wasn't gone that long."

"I haven't had a word from you for five days!"

"Were you worried?" he teased. He kissed the top of my forehead affectionately, letting it last a bit longer than it should.

"I thought you were avoiding me," I confessed, while his lips were still pressed firmly on my brow.

"Now, why would I do that," he said slyly.

"It might have something to do with me leaving you with an uncomfortably hardened cock."

"Yes, about that-"

"Lord Baelish!" Ser Dale called out from behind. Luckily, he wasn't close enough to hear the last of our conversation. Ser Dale leaned over his horse to get a good look at us, his eyes lingering on me longer than I would have liked. "The boys are asking where they'll be sleeping tonight. They're afraid they'll be sleeping in the barn."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," Petyr replied smoothly. I could not tell whether he was being earnest, or if his sarcastic tone implied something far more sinister gnawing away at his mind.

"My Lord?"

"They'll be sleeping out in the barn. I'm take no chances. The last thing I need is for someone to harm my daughter," he replied. Petyr slipped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer to his frame. "Assure them that they will be given every possible comfort: food, shelter, money for their hardships, the whole lot. Tomorrow you will lead them back to the ship."

"Understood," Ser Dale said, before he tugged at his horse's bridle and rode away.

Petyr turned to me with soft grey-green eyes and whispered, "It's your name day."

"You remembered!" I said cheerfully, while tugging at the hem of his sleeve.

"Of course, sweetling, I remember everything."

Something about the way he looked at me made me blush. "Petyr, stop," I hushed.

"Never."

"You truly are a wicked man," I replied, while cutting my eyes at him.

Petyr chose to ignore my insolent words, and gave me instructions to gather my stuff so he could take me home. Once I had the straw basket and blanket in hand, Petyr grabbed his horse's bridle and steered it towards me, it gave him enough time to steal a kiss, before the others could see exactly what we were doing. Why is he so clever, I wondered, noticing the way the horse blocked out our view, so he could kiss me again. "Time to go home," he uttered, once he was satisfied with the taste of my lips.

Petyr lead me into a sightless realm where darkness presided, deeper and deeper into the shadowless catacombs where no light could hide. His hands enclasped my waist, fingers digging into my skin as he pulled me in. A waft of mint hit me, invigorating my senses as I breathed him in. Every nerve in my body wanted him: to feel him, to touch him, to savour every inch of his skin.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Petyr asked. The tantalizing scent of mint left me in a haze, my mind was afloat, drifting away with every whimsical thought that came flooding through my mind. He began to caress me, letting his hands wander up my side, feeling the deep ridges of my bones and the soft swell of my breasts. Petyr's lips lightly touched mine, soft as water droplets from the sky, as refreshing as the morning mist on my icy skin. In less than a whisper, Petyr pleaded, "Stay with me."

"You know I can't do that."

"Can't you?" he asked in a low tenor. I could feel him breathing against my skin, a soft breeze blowing past my cheek before he laid a kiss on my swan-like neck.

"You're practically a married man," I reminded him.

"I don't recall taking any vows," he said, and pressed his lips against the smooth ridges of my jawline. "I remember no priests, no ring, no wedding night."

Petyr pulled me in tighter. Firm hands shifted down the bottom of my waist until it nuzzled itself around my hips. He drew me into him, until I could feel his hardness- his need that only I could soothe. In a hoarse voice he said, "Don't make me beg."

I glided my fingers through his hair, smoothing it upwards till his tight curls unfold between my fingers. Just like his hair, I had the power to unravel him. But when did gods beg for mercy? When did they have to beg and plead for the things they wanted most? If Petyr was a god, did that make a goddess? A goddess of darkness and despair, I thought, as I joined my lips with his; our bodies intertwined together until they were nearly indistinguishable in the darkness.

All at once, everything dovetailed together in my mind, as Petyr hoisted up my floor length satin gown. "Petyr, wait," I pleaded, and brought my hands down to meet his. "I'm so sorry, but I can't do this."

Petyr was silent, his movements were deliberate and stiff as he backed away from me. He must have felt estranged by my sudden coldness, if only he could understand that it was merely my conscious that intervened. I can only assume he was fulminating in the darkness, as the minutes stretched by between us in deadly silence.

"What is it?" I finally asked. "What are you thinking?"

"You want it as much as I do," Petyr mused. "Why do you let her stand between us?"

"Because you put her there!"

"I did," he said woodenly. "But this wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to-"

"To what?" I asked into the darkness.

"To develop feelings for you."

"There is still time. You don't have to marry her," I said with a sense of urgency. "Come away with me! Or stay here... I don't care, just don't marry that woman."

"I have too."

"No- you- don't!"

"Don't you think I want to marry you? Don't you think I want to spend the rest of my life with the woman I love?" he asked, his voice filled with a strange fever. "But there's no such thing as a happy ending… your time in King's Landing should have taught you that."

"It did, but-"

"Then you understand why I must marry Lysa," Petyr said in a severe tone, it had an air of finality to it.

"Yes," I concurred. "But only if you understand my reasonings too."

"What do you hope to gain from it?" Petyr asked, his footsteps clamouring against the floor as he made his way towards me. "Condemning me, as well as yourself does not solve the problem- it only exasperates it. I know you want it… I know I want it. I know Lysa doesn't ever have to know, it could be our little secret… you like secrets, don't you Sansa?"

"Petyr," I warned. "I can't go against my conscience."

"Rise above it!" he uttered. "Step outside of the boundary, and you will find there is more to life than you originally perceived."

"And this is coming from the Whoremonger," I quipped.

"I have no morals," Petyr agreed. His hands clamped the sides of my arms in the dark, ever so slowly he moved his hands up and down my arm in a soothing manner. He whispered, "In time you will be the same."

"You seem so sure of it."

Petyr chuckled low, a sweet melodious sound escaped his lips as he slipped into another one of his pensive moods. His hands slipped upwards, until it spread across my shoulders and only then did he draw me in. "My sweet Sansa, there is so much still to learn… so much still to do."

"Like what?"

"Well," he said slyly, his voice was dripping like honey as he leaned his lips closer to my ear. "I am curious what you taste like."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "You've kissed me more than enough times to know…"

Petyr's hand flew downwards and stopped in the exact area of which he was implying.

"Oh," I noted with slight bewilderment. My cheeks were burning fiercely as I could feel the warmth spreading from his formidable hand.

"Yes, sweetling," he teased, as he edged his face closer to mine.

"You truly are a wicked man!" I stammered, as the most sacred places of my body began to ache.

"So, you've told me before."

"I- I think I should be going now," I blurted out, and then fled down the hall in search of some sort of light to lead me out of the darkened hallway. Petyr's laugh echoed down the hallway, as I found myself at the foot of a staircase. He must have taken me to the lower levels, I thought, as I ascended the wooden steps.

My mind was still spinning when I bumped into a tall gentleman at the top of the stairs. He turned around, and the familiar face of Ser Dale was there to greet me.

"Alayne!" he cried out. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"I was with my father," I replied honestly, while staring at the bouquet of wild flowers in his hand.

"You noticed them already," he noted. He stretched out his arms and placed it in my hands gingerly. "There for you. Something to bright up your name day. I hope you like it."

"Yes, I do. That was very kind of you, Ser Dale."

"Then you are pleased?" he asked with a boyish grin.

"Yes, I am. Thank you," I replied gently, and then made my way around him to leave.

"Your father told me there shall be a dance tonight. I shall be one of the few honoured guests," he remarked. "Will you give me the honour of the first dance?"

At that moment, Petyr ascended the last of the steps- he looked darker than ever. I burrowed my eyes at him while I answered his rival's question. "Yes, of course, Ser Dale, I love too," and without another word I took my leave.

I walked into the dining room to see Robert strumming his guitar in the corner of the room. He must have heard me, for he looked up from his silver strings and said, "Ah, there you are! So, you have come at last!"

I laughed at him, truly happy to see Robert Freyes again. He stroked his finger across the strings, while his eyes drank me in. I was hardly surprised by it, after all I was dressed in a flattering crimson red dress with jewels dipping low between my breasts. I let my raven tresses hang low down my back tonight, all wild and untamed. Bastard's hair, I thought, as I stroked my fingers through the thick curly locks.

"You'll give the men quite a start," he teased, while fingering the strings. "Especially that young knight- what's his name again?"

"Ser Dale."

"What about him?" Petyr interrupted in the severest of tones.

"He'll be real happy to see Alayne in that dress," answered Robert, with a whimsical smile. "Aren't I right, Alayne?" he added, and raised his thick jetty eyebrows at me in a taunting manner.

Petyr's movements were smooth as he walked around me, his eyes trailed down the length of my dress with approval. His tongue jutted out of his mouth, and licked the length of his lips as he looked down at my exposed breasts.

"Do you approve?" I asked, the moment his hands grazed my breasts to caress the obsidian stones. It was a gift from Petyr, along with many other garments that found its way into my bedroom this afternoon- this dress was one of them.

"I do," he said coolly. Desire, desire, desire, shot through me the moment his eyes locked onto mine. Fortunately, anything Petyr would have been done was thwarted by Marg's blusterous voice announcing dinner was ready. She stepped in between us to show the newly imported bottle of Dornish wine and a jug full of ale. Petyr looked at it with vague disinterest, slightly annoyed that he had to remove his hand away from my voluptuous breasts. He nodded his head with approval, until Marg was satisfied enough to make her way to the table.

"Shall we begin?" I said teasingly, and took his hand in my own. Petyr's eyes sparkled, a great wave of feeling was seen in his orb before he shut it completely.

"I thought you'd never ask." He led me to my chair near the head of the table, holding it out and pushing it in before he unexpectantedly took a seat next to my own. He had hardly been sitting there for a minute, before his hand crept under the table and found its way on my lap; his hand began to wander across my inner thigh relentlessly much to my displeasure.

"More wine, Lord Baelish?" Marg asked.

"Yes," he said, and used his left hand to move the cup closer to her. Smart man, I thought, while I continued to feel his fingers torment me with its rhythmic movements. Suddenly his words spoken in the darkened lower levels of house seemed far more appealing than when he first uttered it: I know what you want… I know what I want. I know Lysa doesn't ever have to know…

"Alayne, do you want any?" Marg asked, shattering the last of my sinful thoughts, much to my relief.

"Yes, thank you," I said far too quickly.

"No!" Petyr interjected. "It's much too strong for her. Have Robert's ale instead."

"But its my name day," I wailed.

"I don't care what day it is," Petyr shot back.

"But it's not fair!" I whined, like a child that wasn't getting their way.

"This isn't a discussion." He removed his hand from my thigh, and placed it atop of the table next to his newly replenished wine.

"I'm sorry child," Marg whispered into my ear as she poured out the draft of ale.

I'm not a child, I wanted to say, except Petyr was most certainly treating me like one right now.

"How about some music, eh?" Robert piped up. He plucked at his strings joyously, letting a soft melodious melody fill the the entire room. It sounded like folk music, native to the land, instead of the ostentatious noise that was often heard in King's Landing. Robert hummed along to the music; he had a deep baritone voice, strong and forceful, yet, soothing to the ears.

Petyr seemed to relax, he leaned back in his chair and took long sips of the Dornish wine. Occasionally, he would look at me from the corner of his eyes when the thought I was too busy watching Robert Freyes play his guitar. Petyr finished his goblet of wine in no time at all, thus, freed from his present occupation he returned to his former one, and began to stroke my inner thigh aimlessly. The wine was most certainly putting him in a mood, a curious glimmer could be seen in his grey-green eyes, and his purple-stained lips formed into something like a smile.

"More wine?" Marg asked, as she placed our dinner plates down on the table in front of us.

Petyr wordlessly handed his cup to her. A thin, wiry smile played upon his lips as she drained the last of the bottle. Once the last few drops splashed into his cup, Petyr turned his attention to his dinner plate, the succulent lamp chop and piping hot vegetables was enough to wet his appetite. I watched him carve his knife through the leg of lamp, juices swimming round the plate, lapping at the orange carrots and dainty green peas scattered across his plate. The sauce was also dripping down Petyr's lips, but he quickly licked it away with his tongue. I instinctively licked my own at the sight of it. Petyr must have been watching me from the corner of his eye, for he smiled to himself while looking down at his plate.

Look away, yelled my conscience, don't let him see! It was too late, Petyr looked up from his plate and said, "Marg, give my daughter some wine, will you? I've changed my mind."

"Are you sure?" I asked, as Marg uncorked another bottle.

"Very," he said smoothly, while he watched Marg poured the sweet summer wine into each of our goblets. "Drink as much as you like."

"Hey, Petyr!" Robert called out. "How about I play you a made-up songs, just like old times?"

"The floor's yours," Petyr assured him, from over the rim of his cup.

"Well, that's just grand!" Robert stood up from his chair and began to strum his guitar. He swayed to and fro to the rhythmic beat, dancing along to his own cheerful melody, until a sudden inspiration hit him, and he sang:

Welcome to the land of rocks and crags,

With grey old men, and ugly hags,

With ale so heavy, it makes you sleep,

And wine so bitter, it makes me weep...

"Hey! Who are you calling an old hag?" Marg spat out, as she reached for a bottle of Arbour Gold from the wine rack.

"It's just a song, love," Robert teased. He strummed the silver strings again, and continued:

Welcome to the land of fog and mist,

Where the sun never shines,

Unless you've had a drink…

Petyr' slurred speech took me by surprise, as he yelled out, "Come on, Robert, sing something better."

"I liked it," I quickly defended.

"Oh, of course you liked it." Petyr head bobbed slightly over as he uttered, "Trust me, he could do better."

He's drunk, I realized, once Petyr's head bobbed slightly forwards. He hardly seemed aware of his drunken state. He shot me a lazy smile, it was accompanied by dull, leaden eyes that continually opened and closed as he looked at me.

"Petyr are you all right?" I asked.

"Hmmmm," he muttered under his breath. He stretched out his arm around the back of my chair, and leaned towards me. "Come closer, Sa- Alayne."

I did as he bidded, scaping the chair closer to his own until he nodded his head with approval. I leaned into his chest, feeling the warmth seeping through his thin silken doublet. He smelled of wine and mint. I bet he would taste even better, a dangerous voice said at the back of my mind. It must be the wine, I thought worriedly, and pushed my goblet away.

"Drink, drink," Petyr mumbled. He pushed his brow into my raven locks, breathing in the perfumed smell. I could hear him take sharp intakes, reminiscing over the exotic scent of lemon and lime.

"Sing that song Petyr used to love as a child," Robert's wife advised. "He used to sing it all the time, remember?"

"Is it this one?" he asked, while strumming the strings. The tune picked up quickly, a fast-paced beat rang throughout the room before Robert sang:

The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,

and her kisses were warmer than spring.

But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,

and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,

in a voice that was sweet as a peach,

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,

and the taste of his blood on his tongue,

His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,

and he smiled and he laughed and he sung…

Petyr's suddenly joined the reprise, and sang along with Robert Freyes. Their deep baritone voices mingled together as they sang:

Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,

the Dornishman's taken my life,

But what does it matter, for all men must die,

and I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!

"Bless me!" Robert cried out. He slammed a flat hand against the strings, as he uttered, "The very devil came at last."

Petyr and I turned away from the speaker and looked at the intended audience, Ser Dale, stood in front of the open doorway looking directly at me.

"Have a drink, lad! Imagine you've had quite a long day. You don't drink that daft Dornish wine, do you?"

"I don't," he replied quietly. Ser Dale's hair was tied up, and he was dressed in a sturdy brown leather doublet; it was a stark contrast for Petyr's smooth golden speckled doublet. "Lord Baelish. Alayne," he said respectfully, as he took a seat opposite me.

"Have some of me homemade ale," Robert sang. "Made it myself."

"I shall," answered the knight. He's a man of few words, I thought, he's so different from the silver-tongued gentleman beside me.

"Would you like to dance?" Ser Dale asked me, his clear brown eyes watched me with some level of anxiety.

A death grip was suddenly pierced my tender shoulder blade. Ser Dale's question seemed to bring back Petyr's possessive nature, and his drunken state only exasperated the situation. Jealousy was written all over his face, as Petyr grinded his teeth with frustration. He doesn't want you to go.

"Alayne?" the anxious knight asked.

"Father?" I asked, ignoring Ser Dale's quiet plea. "Do you mind?"

"Do as you like."

That's not an answer. "Pety-"

"You heard what I said," he growled, his brogue suddenly coming out in full strength.

I huffed at him, and flung his arm off my shoulder. The chair scraped across the hardwood floor as I pushed it back, irritating my drug-addled brain and nettled nerves.

"If you don't want to-" Ser Dale began, but I interrupted him by taking his hand and leading him out onto the floor. Robert played a happy melody, the kind that made you want to dance whether you wished to or not. Ser Dale placed his hand gently on the small groove of my waist and the other in my right hand; he led the way, swaying me to and fro until the room began to spin. Ser Dale was not a skilled dancer, however, for he kept stepping on my toes; I couldn't help but laugh at him after the fifth incursion.

"You haven't even had anything to drink," I pointed out, after he stepped on my toe for the sixth time.

"I'm a terrible dancer, I know." He smiled at me shyly, that familiar boyish grin which inevitably lighted up his handsome features.

"Do you love birds want another song?" Robert jeered.

"Does he know something we don't," Ser Dale teased, as he led me around for the second dance.

I couldn't help but laugh at Ser Dale's remark, although I instantly regretted it once I heard a wine bottle slam against the wooden table behind me. "I want another one, Marg!" Petyr bellowed, an iron grasp chocked the life out of the bottle.

"But you've just had the last one."

"I don't care! Get me anything," he barked.

"There it is… that beautiful accent of yours!" Robert interjected. "Nice to hear the Fingerish brogue again. Makes me proud!"

"I don't give a fuck what you think!" His voice was full of malice as he said, "I don't give a fuck what anyone thinks!"

Seven Hells! What have I done? I slipped out of Ser Dale's embrace, and ran towards Petyr. "Father, come dance with me," I entreated, and took both of his hands in mine. "I've neglected you for far too long."

"Oh, Sansa," Petyr said in a sullen tone. His dark expression and mournful tone proved to me that the wine had finally ceded the last of Petyr's self-control. He can hardly tell Alayne and I apart now, I realized, as he let my true identity slip from his tongue.

"Why did he call you that?" Robert asked.

"He thinks-" Don't mess this up. "He thinks I'm my mother, Sansa. That was her name."

"Well, I'll be damned. You must look just like her."

"I do…I did. Father might think I am Sansa for a little while, so you must excuse his strange behaviour."

As if on cue, Petyr muttered, "Sansa, please don't do this to me. I can't- I can't take anymore of it."

"Come, come," I said coaxingly. "You mustn't say such silly things. How about you dance with me? That will make you feel better?"

"You don't understand," He wailed, while he slowly rose to his feet. "Sansa, I lov-"

I placed a finger to his mouth, desirous to smother out the last of his words. He'll ruin everything if he keeps this up. "Dance with me, Petyr," I said in the softest of tones. I steered him towards the open floor, and said, "Let's see if you're a better dancer than Ser Dale."

The utterance of his rival's name seemed to cease his swimming thoughts. He was eager to grab a hold of me the minute the music started to play, pressing his body against mine till I could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Despite his drunken state, Petyr danced fairly well, spinning me around in an effortless manner, but soon the sudden movements took its toll for Petyr suddenly winced in pain. His feet began to buckle over and then he tumbled into my arms. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"I don't feel well," he mumbled into the crook of my neck.

I rubbed his back soothingly, and answered, "If that's the case, then its time you go to bed. Ser Dale, please help me carry my father upstairs."

Petyr grunted at the prospect of Ser Dale carrying him, but I ignored him and let Ser Dale take Petyr under one arm while I took the other. In no time at all, we carried him up the stairs until we stood before his door. I patted Petyr down until I found the keys, and then unlocked his sturdy door.

"Thank you, Ser Dale, for everything."

"If you need me I'll be downstairs," he reminded me.

"I know."

"Well, goodnight, Alayne," he whispered. He reached over my hand and kissed the back of it, before he made his way downstairs.

The minute he was gone I huffed at Petyr, and then shoved him through the door. "Really, Petyr?" I scolded him, after I locked the chamber door behind me. "If you can't handle a couple of drinks, then don't have any at all."

Petyr stumbled towards his bed, and that's when I noticed the room's sudden transformation. It could only be described as something beyond splendor: expensive silk sheets in a dark emerald colour, plush pillows, and soft, furry blankets festooned at the foot of his bed. Damn, I thought, as I watched Petyr fall face forward on his bed. Even his room smells good, I realized, as I noticed the faint musky smell of earthy pine and mint.

I heard Petyr groan into his silken sheets, so I went over to him to scold him further. "You can't sleep in that! Petyr, get up and change."

He grunted in reply, clearly determined to stay this way for the rest of the night. I grabbed him by the waist and shoulders, so I could roll him over on his back. Leaden eyes watched me dimly, as I hoisted him up off the bed and forced him to stand on his own two feet. I let out a long sigh, and flicked my hair away from my face before I told him to take off his shirt. Petyr did as he was told, but his fingers were clumsier than ever, fumbling over the clasp over and over till I had enough. "Let me do it!" I hissed, and undid his doublet till his entire chest was exposed. I could feel the heat of his rays, as I folded up his doublet and placed it neatly on the bed. "Now take off your shoes."

Petyr stumbled backwards and plopped down on the soft bed. It took him a while, but eventually his boots were neatly placed at the side of his bed. He was still staring up at me when I said, "Your pants, too."

"I'll need your help for that one," he mumbled.

"Of course, you do," I shot back. I bent down on my knees in front of him, and instructed: "Stand up! Now lean on my shoulders… shoulders, not head, Petyr!" Slowly I unclasped his breeches, squinting at the minuscule buttons, while I wondered why Petyr always had to make things difficult. It wasn't until I began to pull down his pants down that I realized there was nothing underneath it. His hardened cock was the first thing I saw- inches away from face, dripping with his need; I looked up to see the darkest expression written across Petyr's face.

"Sansa," he slurred, as he stroked his hands through my tousled curls.

"I- I think I should go," I said through panted breathes.

"Please, stay."

"This isn't a good idea," I breathed, and quickly pulled down the last of his pants so I could leave. Look what you did to him- look what you've made him become.

"Don't do this," Petyr begged, once he realized I was heading towards the door. He sounded so weak, so vulnerable when he added, "Sansa… I love you, more than anyone."

"I'm sorry," I muttered, before I quickly closed the door behind me.

I rolled over in my bed again, desirous of sleep, but how could I when all I pictured was Petyr's hardened cock? When all I could hear was the words he said in the lower levels of the house? When his final words continued to haunt me, ringing through my mind like a toilsome bell. He said he loved me, I thought, but don't we all say such foolish things when we were drunk? The wine must be getting to me, I pondered, as I sat up on my bed. Why else is my resolve breaking?

Lysa doesn't have to know, said a sinister-like voice at the back of my head. Suddenly, my resolve broke, I rolled out of my bed and snatched my silken robe at the foot of my bed. I draped it on, and headed out the door, tip-toeing my way down the darkened hall until I reached Petyr's chamber. I knocked slightly on the door and waited- he did not come, a sigh of relief escaped me as I turned around, but his door suddenly opened, and Petyr's blackened eyes caught mine.

"I- I-" was the only thing I could stammer out.

"What do you want?" he said sharply. He's angry with me, I realized, as he kept the door ajar, so I couldn't sneak through.

The longer he looked at me with those bitterly cold eyes, the more my courage was rising until I shoved the door open and replied, "You." Petyr hardly had any time to reply before I slipped off my silken robe in front of him, dropped it into his arms, and then took his hard, calloused fingers in my own, so I could drag him to bed.