Narrowing his eyes at her, Petyr dismounts from his horse, hissing, "This treachery is most unexpected, Sansa. My sentimentality blinded me once; it will not happen a second time. I would like to think I had some part in your…education in such matters, however, and I intend on finishing your lessons here and now. Take her."
One of Baelish's men steps toward Sansa, roughly grabbing her by the arm. Crying out, Sansa wrenches away from him, "Get away from us! How dare you violate this holy place! The gods will punish you for this!" Anger floods Sansa's senses as she pummels the man with her fists. Startled, the man quickly retreats, only to be swiftly caught in the throat by Sandor's fighting knife.
A fearsome bellow fills the godswood, leaving no doubt that the Hound is very much alive. With eyes fixed in a blind fury, Sandor singularly slashes through the men nearest Sansa while Carrig and his men engage the other sellswords in heated battle. Scrambling over Elder brother, she covers him with her own body, trying to shield him from the mêlée surrounding them. Angry shouts, screams of pain and the sharp clashing of steel against steel rings in Sansa's ears as she holds him close to her, whispering her prayers to the gods for protection.
Encircled by enormous guards, Petyr cautiously recoils from the battle, moving deeper into the godswood while motioning another large Stone Crow toward Sansa. In one swift motion the filthy man violently snatches her by the arm, wrenching her out from under the injured Elder brother, the intense pain causing her to shriek in agony. Sandor roars in response to their shared suffering, brutally thrusting his sword into the nearest man before tossing him aside. Mercilessly the Hound hacks through Baelish's guards as he advances toward his terrified wife.
Heat floods Sandor's body, the man physically experiencing his wife's fear suddenly give way to fury. Smirking, he watches her slap the sellsword with all the strength she can muster. Her efforts barely register with the meaty man, however, and once more another man engages Sandor before he can reach her.
Grinning, the Stone Crow turns his head and spits out a mouthful of blood. "So the wolf bitch has claws, does she?" he chuckles low, eying her as he contemplates his next move. "How dare you! Get away from us!"
The lumbering man has little time for further deliberation, for when he raises his eyes he sees Sandor charging towards him full speed with a frightening animalistic fury gleaming from his eyes while shouting curses at the top of his voice. Frozen by fear, the man blankly stares at the ferocious Hound and backs away, too distracted to prevent Elder brother from grabbing the knife strapped to his leg and plunging the blade into the man's gut. "Seems you don't have the stomach for snatching young women," the Hound sneers, leaning down to watch the screaming man's intestines slowly pour out onto the ground. "Mercy, Hound, mercy," the sellsword whispers in response, helplessly watching Elder brother crawl away from them.
Sandor snorts. "Mercy? A knife in the gut is the only mercy you're like to see." Leaning in closer still Sandor growls, "Go to the seven hells learning this lesson: no one touches my wife," before raising his short sword and slitting his throat. With surprising speed, Sandor draws Sansa up on her feet and clutches her against his chest, all the while guardedly eying the men around him. "Littlefinger, you buggering bastard, quit your hiding and face me, gods damn you!"
Baelish steps out from the shadowy weirwood trees while one of the sellswords leads a large bay behind him with a bundle tied to its back. Glimpsing around her, Sansa gasps, "Gods be good…Petyr, is that…is that Sweetrobin?" Smirking at her, Petyr strokes his beard and waves off the sellswords. "Indeed it is, Sweetling. You didn't really expect me to have him buried tomorrow here in the godswood, did you? With the Royces scrambling for the seat here in the Vale, they would insist on removing his body from the crypt to discern the cause of his demise, no doubt using their barbaric sorcery. You and I both know I could never allow that to happen."
Paling, Sansa doubles over once more in agony and Sandor instinctively pulls her closer to him, never taking his eyes of Baelish. "So, you tamed yourself a Hound, did you? You think if you throw him a few scraps he'll follow you wherever you go? Remember how he treated Joffrey, a boy he guarded from infancy? That's your future too," Chuckling, Petyr shakes his head. "Poor Sansa. Do you actually think he can help you here in the Vale, even with his Stone Crow friends?"
"He already has done more for me that you will ever do!" Sansa gasps out, gritting her teeth through the pain searing through her stomach. Wincing, Sandor props her up under his arm, murderously watching Littlefinger, torn between slitting the mockingbird's throat and helping his anguished wife.
"So the Hound has become an honorable man, eh? The monster arrives to save the fair maiden; how quaint." Sandor moves forward one step, gripping Sansa tightly to his chest. "Have you forgotten that I lived among your Tully relations, Sweetling? Family. Duty. Honor," Littlefinger chuckles bitterly at this. "Let's look at all the good so-called honor has done the Tullys, shall we? Lysa, hmm not so good," he tisks, clicking his tongue against his teeth and shaking his head. Sansa gasps at his words and Petyr chuckles. "Sweetrobin is dead. Your mother has been left a living corpse."
"How dare you speak of honor! How could you commit such treachery after my grandfather took you into his home as raised you as a son?!"
"A son? Hardly. Hoster Tully would not consent to giving me your mother's hand, for all his "fatherly" treatment, as you say. Too low-born, he said. A matter of honor, he said, when I took Lysa's maidenhead to spite him. It was then I learnt that I'll never win. Not that way. That's their game, their rules. I'm not going to fight them: I'm going to fuck them. That's what I know, that's what I am, and that is how I get what I want. Don't overlook the Tullys moral ambiguity, Sansa. I certainly have not. I know exactly how this game is played."
"Did you…did you kill my uncle, Jon Arryn?" Sansa whispers, clutching her stomach tightly, steeling herself for his response.
Smirking, Baelish winks at her. "How else could I get your family to come to King's Landing? And your father, well, that was all too easy once your mother left." Anger clouds his face once again as he strokes his beard. "None of the so-called honorable Tullys or Starks came for you in King's Landing, not even your own mother and brother. They left you for me and so, I took what was mine by right."
"You…you are a madman!" Sansa sputters in fury, her voice echoing through the trees. No one but Sandor seems to notice the birds and squirrels suddenly stop chattering, effecting an eerie silence upon the godswood.
"Enough!" Sandor growls, stepping forward. "Talking shit will not buy you time, Littlefucker. Enough of your mockingbird rants. Let's end this." Stepping forward, Sansa takes hold of Sandor's arm. "Wait, my love, please. Petyr, what do you mean 'yours by right'?"
"Your grandfather made Lysa drink moontea after our coupling and denied me an heir. The man who you claim treated me as a son would rather end the possibility of having a grandchild sired by me than give me his daughter. So I took his granddaughter, Sweetling. You were my daughter and now you will be wife to me. I have not forgotten what I am owed."
Sansa stares on in stunned disbelief while holding her stomach, her pains coming faster and more intense with each passing moment. Carrig takes his place beside Sandor, motioning for the rest of his men to surround the godswood. Baelish turns his eyes to the agonized expression frozen on the dead man at Sandor's feet.
Smirking, Petyr's face twists into a tight smile. "Why Elder brother," he mocks, "It would seem you violated your vow to do no harm. Such a pity, too, now that you are so close to death."
"I took a vow as a knight to protect the weak and defenseless long before I became a holy man," Elder brother gasps out. "You've violated the sanctuary of the old gods, taken captive and abused young Sansa. Which vows seemed most relevant to you Lord Baelish?"
Smirking, Baelish steps forward. "Well said, holy man. Tell me, have you wed my betrothed to the Hound or is she simply fucking him into loyalty?" Sandor advances toward Petyr while two of Carrig's men help Elder brother and Sansa to move a safe distance away. "I love Sandor and I have married him in front of the old gods, Petyr. You will never have what you have sought for all your threats."
"Wedded and bedded, Littlefucker. Once again you've been outsmarted by a Tully when it comes to your marriage plans." Sandor laughs, sounding like the snarling of dogs in a pit. Enduring Sansa's agony both weakens him physically and yet at the same time strengthens the Hound's fury. Even as she languishes alongside Elder brother, her anger and suffering fuels his wrath; with another frightening roar Sandor charges toward Baelish, who hastily retreats back toward the horse.
Quickly, Petyr leaps onto the bay carrying Sweetrobin, the startled animal rearing and snorting as Petyr digs in his heels into its flanks. "No! Fuck, you cowardly buggering bastard! Get back here and face me, damn you!" Sandor roars, running along side Baelish until out of breath. "Ioan, Padrick, don't let him get away!" Carrig shouts while mounting his horse.
"Sandor, oh gods, Petyr cannot escape!" Sansa cries, slumping over and writhing in pain. "Fuck!" Sandor mutters under his breath as he races over to her, lifting her into his arms. "Little Bird, that bay won't take him far. That horse isn't made to run in this steep terrain and besides, Baelish is not used to riding the way Carrig and his men are. Calm yourself, now," he whispers to her quietly, glancing nervously at Elder brother. "Sandor," the holy man hoarsely whispers, "The gods will help you. Put away the Hound and pray for help as I taught you. The Father will stop him."
"Your holy man friend here will make it, Hound, no worries there," the healer chuckles, patting Elder brother's shoulder. "Carrig will fetch Baelish. I've seen him relentlessly pursue many a man who did a lot less than that one. Go on and pray to the gods with your wife."
"Aye, let's all pray then." Kneeling down with Sansa wrapped tightly in his arms, Sandor makes the sign of the Seven, closes his eyes, and silently begs the Father to give justice to Sansa for all that has befallen her. Focusing on calming down, he slowly draws deep breaths all the while asking the Mother to strengthen her health. Next he asks the Crone for wisdom and finally entreats the Warrior to allow him to catch Petyr and exact vengeance for Sansa's suffering and for all Baelish has done against the gods and men. When he raises his eyes, he sees both Elder brother and Sansa deep in prayer. Sensing Sandor is finished with his prayer, she concludes her own and then touches his cheek before giving him a small smile. Sandor gently kisses her in return and then turns to Elder brother who nods slightly in response, "Have faith now, the both of you."
A great refrain of wolf song echoes through the godswood, breaking the silence of the forest. "We'd better move, those beasts smell blood," The healer remarks while he and another man begin to lift Elder brother on to the packhorse. Suddenly the animal rears and then dances sideways from the men pulling on the reigns, all the while rolling his eyes in fear.
Suddenly raising up, Sansa tilts her head to the side, seemingly intent on listening. "What is it Littlebird? Hear something?" Before Sandor finishes speaking a bloodcurdling screeching shatters the godswood, causing the group to collectively jump as the horrific sound continues ahead of them on the trail.
"Nymeria," Sansa whispers.