Lord Baelish leads Elder Brother through the winding hallway leading to his solar, pausing to share the origin of several pieces of craftsmanship the holy man admires. His page opened the great oak door and led them inside then proceeded to pour two glasses of Dornish red. "So what do you think of the magnificent Eyrie, Elder Brother?" Baelish asks, his voice and manners smooth as honey.
"It is both foreboding and very beautiful. It may surprise you to learn I am quite familiar with this area Lord Baelish; I traveled the Vale extensively in my service as a knight." Turning sharply, Petyr eyes him closely. "I was unaware you ever served as a knight; indeed I have had the distinct impression there must be a great deal I need to learn about you ever since you arrived."
Stepping closer, Elder Brother closely studies Littlefinger at length. "I find it most unusual that I should have the same feeling about my host. Mayhaps the gods are at work here in the Eyrie after all." Smiling weakly, Baelish gives him a sideways glance before nodding in assent. "As it pleases you, Elder Brother. Let us speak plainly, for we are both men of action, are we not?"
Regarding his overconfident host carefully, the Elder Brother slowly agrees. "I believe so, Lord Baelish." The whispers around the castle have piqued the holy man's curiosity about a great deal many things during his short stay. "You have done much here for your people and I admire your devotion to your departed wife's ill son." Narrowing his eyes, Baelish gives him a hard look. "Indeed. The dear boy will not linger much longer, I'm afraid." Shaking his head, the holy man continues, "I am so very sorry. To lose a wife and a child in sudden succession is the worst of tragedies. Perhaps I may look at the boy; I am a learned healer and it would be my pleasure."
Waving his hand, Petyr dismissively replies, "No, dear man, that won't be necessary. I have had the best maesters my coin and influences can procure examine him and I am certain it would do no good at this late stage to prolong his suffering." Elder Brother, in obvious shock, tries again. "Perhaps I may pray over him then." Petry shakes his head. "Whatever the gods may have done, it is too little too late now."
Deeply disturbed, Elder Brother moves on. "Lord Baelish, please free your mind of what troubles you." His patience with the man is wearing thin; despite his vow to help others he wishes he would get on with it. "Quite simply this, you may or may not be aware that Lady Alayne is not my daughter, nor is that her true identity." Tilting his head, Elder Brother shakes his head. "No your page did not inform me of such, though I must say it relieves my mind greatly; observing your behavior I was concerned there was an unusual arrangement here, one I have only seen among select Free Folk north of the Wall."
"That makes two facts about you of which I was unaware," Baelish softly laughs. "Are you then familiar with the Starks of Winterfell?" Recalling Sandor's account of Sansa's mother and Lord Baelish's unrequited affection, a certain understanding of the man fills the holy brother; smiling, Elder Brother nods. "Oh, yes I was very familiar with Lord Eddard many years hence during Robert's Rebellion. Lord Stark secured the Iron throne for King Robert Baratheon, as I recall."
His eyes seething with jealousy, Petyr begrudgingly agrees, "Yes, well since then the so-called Warden of the North has been exposed for being the traitor he was and executed accordingly." Baelish's bravado does not impress Elder Brother; he has known many men just like him, though none quite so relentless in the pursuit of power. Gazing out at the blizzard outside, Elder Brother softly asks, "Lady Alayne is Lord Eddard's eldest daughter, is she not?"
Gritting his teeth, Baelish demands, "Did the gods tell you that in some uncanny vision holy brother?" Laughing Elder Brother turns toward him once more. "No, ser; I spent enough time in the Riverlands and the Vale to know a Tully when I see one; she has the look of her mother and make no mistake. What do you plan on doing with Lady Stark, or should I say Lady Lannister?"
"An excellent question, to be sure. I, good ser, plan on seizing her home seat of Winterfell and keeping it in her stead." Baelish announces haughtily, puffing out his chest, his demeanor reminding Elder Brother of the pea hens he keeps for fresh eggs at the monastery. "Seizing Winterfell? As a man not unfamiliar with war I can assure you it will be no easy feat. It would require fighting through Howland Reed and the crannogmen as well as the Boltons and sonce you were once Master of Coin for the Lannisters, it should be particularly challenging for you."
Chuckling knowingly, Petyr pats him on the back. "That, dear Elder Brother is where you and your penitent come in. I know full well no armies or battles can win Winterfell; the northman are known to be brutal, unreasoning men, incapable of comprehending the finer points of conquest. My plan is to secure their loyalty through a deeper, infinitely more enjoyable connection; no Stark bannerman would dare defy the husband of Lord Eddard's eldest daughter. I wish you to free her from her marriage to Tyrion Lannister and perform the ceremony for me. I will pay you handsomely for your…compliance and discretion in the matter.""
"And what of Lady Sansa's brothers-surely even the Night's Watchman will not stand by and allow you to take their family home. As I understand it Theon Greyjoy has already taken in and the area is now filled with Ironborn. I fear there is much more to this than a simple marriage will conquer." Sharply turning around, Elder Brother barely restrain his revulsion. "Lord Baelish, Lady Sansa's marriage vows were made before the eyes of the gods, both old and new, and between her and her lord husband; it is not for me or you or anyone for that matter to interfere with her choice."
"I see she has already confided in you. Perhaps you do not appreciate the level of depravity she endured from her Lord husband, my dear man." Petyr hisses, his smile stretched tight across his face. "I don't think you fully comprehend what the poor young woman has experienced; she is such a devoted woman I'm sure you would agree she deserves mercy."
"She confided her worries about the situation in the north and mentioned she had brothers, one of which serves on the wall, however she did not specifically mention Lord Eddard. In any event it is well known that her husband was unfaithful even to the young lady herself and yet she has decided not to pursue terminating the union. Why do you suppose that is?" Elder Brother counters, carefully concealing his derision.
Incensed, the lord and the holy man regard each other for several long moments before Baelish breaks the silence. "Knowledge is power, my dear man. I never ask favors from those I know nothing about; do as you're bid and we will leave it at that, do I make myself clear?" Shaking his head, Elder Brother tilts his head, his anger turning to pity in an instant. "Lord Baelish, I have made my peace with the Seven; my wife and child await me in the Seven heavens. There is nothing in this world that has a hold on me, least of all you. However, I will speak to Lady Sansa in private on the matter; then we shall see what transpires afterward." If it wasn't for Baelish's dangerous air, Elder Brother would laugh at the irony, knowing that while they are scheming about Sansa's future she is enjoying her wedding night with her new husband.
Lord Baelish's satisfied sneer changes into a seldom seen expression Elder Brother recognizes from his days in battle; it is the look soldiers often wore in abject fear when faced with the rare man that has nothing to lose, the man for whom death holds no dread. During the long sleepless nights he tended the Hound's wounds he felt the battered man's survival must have often depended on using such tactics and felt inexplicable kinship with helpless injured man before him. Undergoing the same struggles and using similar means of survival had been a common thread between them, and each man took their respective turn fearfully looking the Stranger in the face on the banks of the Trident. A man like Baelish could never understand men like Sandor and myself and never would, Elder Brother realizes as he sedately watches the man fidget anxiously.
Fearfully Baelish gazes at Elder Brother, wholly unnerved by the utter failure of his threat. Quietly Petyr absorbs his calm yet powerful words, then finally settles into cautious optimism. "Yes…after considering it I believe this will be the best course after all. Very wise indeed Elder Brother." Gulping his glass of wine, Petyr waits for his reply. "As you wish my Lord," the holy man bows, then after bidding him goodnight Elder Brother takes his leave, relieved to be rid of the egotistical man.
As he makes his way through the huge castle, the holy man falls into meditative prayer; silently he thanks the Crone for the wisdom in handling Lord Baelish and the Father for good judgment. To the Maid he prays for protection and blessings for the newly wedded couple, and lastly to the Warrior that he would give Sandor the victory in any future conflict while enabling him to maintain the progress he has made. Passing Sansa's room brings a sentimental smile to his face, remembering his own first night with his beloved lady. It did his heart good to see such love come into Sandor's life, for in his mind there was never a man in the seven kingdoms who needed it more. Sansa's love saved him once and now his love for her has brought Sandor here to save her in return, Elder Brother muses with a smile, chiding himself for his sentimentaility.
A blast of glacial air rattles the shutters while frozen sleet hammers against the windowpanes of Sansa's room, the din rousing the couple sometime after the second phase of the moon. Feeling Sandor's arms cradling her securely, Sansa can scarcely believe he is here with her, in her bed, holding her close after the many times she awakened to find herself alone and despondent.
Smiling happily, she rests her chin on the crown of Sandor's head, running her fingers through his long black hair; he responds by tightening his embrace and snuggling down closer between her breasts. "Little Bird," he murmurs sleepily, his warm breath against her skin eliciting sweet shivers through her body. "Gods you're cold woman," he chuckles. Rolling onto his back, he carefully moves her with him, until she is snuggled down next to his warm muscular chest with his arms wrapped around her.
"Much better my love," she smiles against his skin, the black hair on his chest tickling her cheek; she feels his laughter rumble deep in his body. "You got some weather up here in the Vale. Should we make for somewhere warmer?" Stroking his chest, she shakes her head. "No I like the snow; North, maybe Sandor?" Sighing, he nods. "Aye, love, we'll go north. I should have known you'd want to stay in the more wintry part of Westeros. I hope you bloody well know it's too bleeding cold for a Westerman though," he grumbles and she smiles feeling his teasing mood. "It's alright; I'll keep you warm," she giggles, snuggling against him.
"You feel alright Little Bird?" he asks softly with a hint of worry; he knew he was carried away with her and afraid he hurt her. "I am more than fine, love; I am happy and contented at last," she answers, kissing his chest tenderly. Ever so lightly she runs her fingers down to his stomach and feels his arousal surge once more. "Careful wife," Sandor grumbles low. "Or I may just take you again; there's plenty of night ahead of us."
"Must this only happen at night, husband?" she giggles and begins kissing the trail of hair down to his waist, causing him to bark out a harsh laugh. "Looks like a few hours of marriage to your scarred dog already corrupted your prim highborn ways Lady Sansa. Seven Hells, what would your septa say?"
"Do you disapprove my lord?" Sansa's eyes glitter with amusement; then turning her attention back to his body, she delicately traces her fingers over his manhood, fascinated by the effect her touch has on him. Delicately she leans down and kisses his member tentatively. Growling, he scoops her up in his arms and raises himself up in a sitting position against the bed frame with Sansa in his lap. "You asked for it, wife," he whispers in her ear, kissing her neck as she faces him then wraps her legs around his waist. "Seven Hells when you do that I can hardly control myself; I'll fucking kill the man that suggested such to you."
Covering his mouth with her lips, she swirls her tongue over his own, eliciting a deep groan from her husband. "Do not be jealous my love; my friend Randa told me men very much enjoy such intimate kisses." Kissing down her shoulder he hoarsely rasps against her skin, "Did she now?" Nodding, Sansa innocently smiles. "Oh yes; she even demonstrated on a wine bottle for the kitchen maids, and-" Doubling over her shoulder, Sandor buries his face in her hair and holds her against him while he laughs long and hard, his shoulders shaking violently in his merriment. "Oh, bugger me little bird! I would've paid a gold dragon to see that."
"Did I do it wrong or…did you like it?" Sandor does not want to mock her innocent desire to please him; no woman has ever shown him such trust and willingness and he would not spoil her newfound openness with him. "More than you can imagine," he moans against her mouth, placing his hands under her hips and lifting her thighs over his manhood. "We have plenty of time for such ahead of us love. I want you to learn what you like first."
"You may think me wanton but I do like it, very much," she scandalously whispers while blushing deeply, causing Sandor to rasp out another sharp surprised laugh. "Little bird, be as wanton as you wish in our bed," he sighs as she gingerly moves over him, gripping his shoulders and tentatively lowering her hips over him. "It will hurt more this way wife," he warms, trembling with desire. "That may be but...I wish to look into your eyes as I love you." Sansa whispers in his ear, her cheeks ablaze. Settling over his manhood she finally completely sheathes him inside her. Holding her close to his chest, he rasps, "Are you in pain little bird?"
"Just a little sore," she mutters, wincing as she adjusts herself. "You don't have to do it this way," he reassured her. "But I want to my love; I would look upon your face so that you may see how deeply I love you." Swallowing hard, her words touch his very soul, for he has never known love or affection until his lovely Little bird. Rubbing his hands over her back tenderly, he chokingly whispers, "Aye I would like that very much. Take it slow love."
Sandor soothingly runs his hands over her sides and down to her hips, then gently begins guiding her movements; Sansa follows his lead, tentatively rocking her hips over him as her own pleasure builds. Fighting to control his passion, Sandor grips her tightly while urging her on, thrusting his own hips in time with her movements. Sansa tightens her arms around him, pressing her body flush against his chest, her thrusts becoming erratic as their lovemaking reaches a culmination of pleasure.
Her release brings uninhibited cries of pleasure from her throat. "Shhh little bird," Sandor whispers against her lips, chuckling low. "We must stay quiet; I thought I'd be the one having trouble." Smiling into his kiss, she answers, "You make me lose myself, love; I cannot help it, try as I might."
Her passionate confession sends a surge of lust pulsing through his body and Sandor clings to her, his hands digging into the tender flesh of her thighs. "My sweet Little bird hold nothing back, you won't hurt me," he grunts breathlessly as she starts moving over him at a frenzied pace, her body quickly sending him into his own release and Sansa soon finds her release for the second time, surprising both herself and Sandor.
Living with his scars his entire life, Sandor had long forgotten what it felt like to have a woman smile at him, if he ever knew it to begin with. His wife is the most beautiful woman he has ever known and during their lovemaking she gazes into eyes with love and passion, fulfilling a need he did not realize existed within him. With her love his beloved little bird has managed to break down the last of his defenses and tears slowly fall from his eyes, releasing the pent-up agony he has suffered his entire life. Resting his head against her forehead, Sandor is engulfed with emotion as they cling to each other. Sansa's desire to please him and tender lovemaking overwhelm his heart with so many new and deep feelings he wonders how he ever lived without her touch, without her love.
Sensing his tumultuous frame of mind, Sansa places her hands on his face and lifts her lips to his, slowly kisses his mouth then moves to his cheeks, tenderly kissing his tears away. Softly she repeats her vow to him, hoping he will feel the depth of her commitment in his heart. "Sandor I love you. I am yours as you are mine." Embarassed he slowly nods and clears his throat. "I don't know what in buggering hells has come over me. This...connection is so intense I can hardly contain myself." Smiling, she tilts his face up to hers. "You must hold nothing back with me Sandor, I love you." Drawing her close to his chest, he lays his cheek on her shoulder, burying his face in her hair.
While stroking her back his fingers meet with long raised stripes of thickened flesh crisscrossing her small frame. In one move Sandor gently lifts her in his arms and turns her back to the firelight and carefully examines her scarred flesh. At first confused, then Sansa realizing what has caught his attention when she hears him swearing low as he traces the length of the marks with his index finger. Shame burns through Sansa as she meekly submits to his inspection. "Shae used an ointment from Maester Pycelle but I don't think it helped much. I know it looks ba-", she begins before Sandor abruptly cuts her off, black rage flooding through his mind and body.
"Seven Hells Sansa, where did you get such scars? Answer me…was it Littlefinger?" he rasps out, fury transforming his voice into the familiar timbre of the Hound she so often heard in King's Landing. Sadly she stammers, "No...no love, not him. You were there when it happened; have you forgotten?" she whispers. His mind racing, Sandor quickly thinks back to his days with her in the royal court. "Was it the day of the riots? I don't remember any of those half-starved bastards having any kind of weapon that would make those marks." Slowly Sansa shakes her head, "No love it was Ser Meryn's sword, the day Joffrey beat me to answer for Robb's victory."
"Fuck me," he mutters under his breath; he will never forget that day as long as he lives. His inability to protect her has haunted him ever since that day. Sitting down beside her on the bed, Sandor takes her into his arms and sits her on his lap. "Sansa, I swear to every single one of the gods and on our marriage that will never happen again as long as I draw breath. I will kill anyone that raises a hand to you in the worst possible way, you best believe that. You will always be safe my love, I promise you."
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugs him close. "I know, my love...I have always felt safe with you." Getting up he searches through his robes and retrieves the sash with his sigil while she pulls his tunic over her head and adds more wood to the fire. Sandor quickly grabs her and abruptly pulls her away from the fireplace. Startled, she looks up at him then grasps he is afraid she will be burned. "It's alright my love, I'm always very careful-you need not worry." she whispers, patting his hand. Swallowing hard he only nods, then turns and fumbles with the sash out of her line of sight.
Noticing he is hiding something, her eyes light up with curiosity. "Come here Little bird," he motions for her to sit on the bed. Kneeling beside her, Sandor offers his gift anxiously, hoping she will like it. Remembering the elegant ring Joffrey had given her, Sandor regrets he has so little to offer. "I don't have any proper ring for my bride but I do have this, if you would wear it." Gasping, she giggles excitedly and reverently runs her fingers over the material. "It is so beautiful!" she squeals happily, throwing her arms around his neck and covering his mouth in a long hungry kiss. "Sandor, I love it. I will wear it proudly my husband." she declares, settling him back onto the bed.
"Keep it concealed until we are safe, Sansa." Sandor's face twitches into a smile, pleased she is so happy with his modest offering. "As you wish. I will wear it under my clothes next to my heart-it will be our secret." Running her fingers over his chest, she suggestively whispers in his ear, "There's still plenty of night ahead of us an altogetherly irrisistable man said to me earlier." Scoffing, he nevertheless pulls the tunic off of her and covers her with furs, snuggling her close in his arms.
And so the wedded night continues for the happy newly married couple, alternating between sleep and lovemaking, fully indulging in passionately expressing their long suppressed love for one another until the early light of dawn creeps through Sansa's shuttered windows. Sandor reverently caresses her skin and deeply inhales her sweet scent, desperately trying to capture the very essence of his bride and their sacred connection in his heart and mind, for he knows not how long it may be before they come together again in such a manner. "I love you little bird, more than I ever thought possible," he whispers into her hair. "But I must leave you now."
Nodding sadly, she holds his face in her hands and gives him a final long slow kiss, parting her lips and caressing his tongue with her own. "As I love you, husband. Come to me as soon as you can my love-I will ache for you. Thank you for such a beautiful night." Sansa is lovely and warm and beautiful and her words so heartfelt that it takes his breath away. Sandor can barely manage to tear himself away from her; if he could he would stay with her in this way for a week or more. Hurriedly he throws on his clothes and robes, then kisses her once more before leaving her, not daring to look back at her.
Rolling over onto the side of the bed Sandor had slept, Sansa closes her eyes, reveling in his scent and the warmth lingering on the covers. Watching the light move in through the slats of the shutters, this is the first time since reaching the Eeyrie that she has not dreaded facing another day. She is now Sansa Clegane and her heart is filled with hope, knowing she will never be parted from Sandor again.