Lord Baelish returned Alayne to her rooms, clucking at her for being so foolish and leering at the way her dress clung to her cold breasts. The way he looked at her then made her feel naked and dirtier than she already was, so she politely asked her father to leave her and send a maid in with a bath for her. "At once, sweet daughter, but first we must get you out of that wet thing," he said, gesturing to her dress, and turned her to face away from him, deftly unlacing her gown and tugging it down off her shoulders.

Standing there in her drenched small clothes, she crossed her arms over her chest to protect herself from his roaming eyes. "I suppose will have to find you a new suitor," he said softly before drawing her into an embrace, "I know how you loved Ser Harrold, but I know you will learn to love the next as well," he whispered into her eye. The feel of his hard manhood pressed against her bare belly shocked her into silence, frozen and unable to move. Lord Baelish kept one hand at the small of her back, pressing her to him and reached up with the other to stroke her wet hair, "There, there, child. I will keep you warm," and began to nuzzle his face into her shoulder, while his hands started to explore her body.

She clenched her eyes shut and told herself that it was just the concerned touches of a father trying to warm up his daughter and that he would be done soon. She found herself counting the seconds in her head, when she felt his hand breech her smallclothes and began to rub her breast. She let out a surprised chirp, which he took for encouragement and reached for her woman's parts with his other hand.

"Father!" she cried, finally finding her voice. He looked at her dumbly for a moment, as if he was not seeing her but someone else. Then his face went dark, and he barely contained his scowl,

"Forgive me, Alayne, I had only hoped to bring you some comfort," he said darkly, "I will send a maid in with a bath at once." And with that he was gone, and Alayne was unsure if he was angry or humiliated or both.

She held her tears in until the bath was readied and the maid had left her be. Alone in her rooms once more, she settled into the warm water and let herself sob for the first time in a long time.

He had followed the little bird and her fatherly escort back to the small cabin she called her quarters. He had lingered outside in the shadows, fingering the hilt of his sword and trying not to imagine the possibilities of what was happening inside. He had not forgotten about the bruises he'd spotted on her neck before.

A cry rang out from inside and just as he was about to barge through the door with his sword drawn, a hurried Littlefinger came storming out into the rain.

Sandor lingered a moment, indecisive about who to go after, the girl or the fleeing Baelish. With a sigh, he turned away from her door and slinked behind Littlefinger along the muddy path. He heard the man bark orders at some wench to bring a bath up for the little bird, before hurrying on into his own quarters.

He lingered outside of Petyr Baelish's door, fidgeting with his sword. Was he really going to do this? If he did, it would certainly mean the return of the Hound and the end of his peaceful life at the Quiet Isle. He was certain that the Elder Brother would banish him as soon as he learned of Sandor's impulsiveness, but he simply could not let the Baelish bastard continue to carry on, doing godknowswhat to his little bird.

Silently, he drew his sword and held it down to his side, while he pushed open the door to Petyr Baelish's chambers as quietly as he could and slinked inside. Even though it was a dreary day, the curtains were drawn as if to block out even the hint of sun, and the room was dimly lit with nearly a dozen candles and a fire burning high in the hearth.

In the dim it took him a moment to make out Littlefinger's form, lounging almost regally by the hearth and swirling a goblet of wine in his hand. If the mockingbird was surprised to see him, he did not let on, and merely nodded to his visitor, "Hello, Brother," he said cordially and gestured to the chair across from him. "I know it is not proper to have strongwine this early in the day," Littlefinger chuckled, "but I felt like a bit of indulgence today. Pray, put your sword away and have a glass with me?" Sandor was confused by the man's calm demeanor and lack of surprise at having a large Silent Brother slink into his room with a drawn sword.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had sheathed his blade and was seated across from Petyr Baelish, who was pouring him strongwine. He accepted the cup and waited, careful not to take a sip until he saw Littlefinger do the same, but rather than gingerly sip the strong drink, Littlefinger tilted his head back and poured the entire thing down his throat. Sandor watched as the man barely flinched at the strongwine's burn before pouring himself another large glass. With his second glass in hand, Littlefinger broke the silence,

"So who's payroll are you on these days, Sandor Clegane?" Sandor felt himself nearly choke in surprise, though he quickly chastised himself for being so dumb as to believe that someone as cunning as the mockingbird would not discover his identity. He did not know how to respond so he maintained his silence.

"Not going to tell me?" Littlefinger continued, "Tell me his price and I'll double it." He set his glass of strongwine down, only to pull a small ledger out of his pocket and begin perusing the pages, ready to write Sandor a note right then and there if necessary.

"I am on no one's payroll" Sandor finally growled at the man, finding his voice finally.

"Then who sent you here to kill me?" Littlefinger asked nonchalantly, as though he were not talking to a potential assassin but a friend during a cyvasse game, "That's why you're here after all isn't it?"

"No" Sandor rasped, his voice harsher than usual from disuse.

"So it's the girl then? Are you here to kill her too? Take her back to Cersei perhaps in exchange for a pardon and a bone or two?"

"No."

Baelish leaned forward in his chair, regarding the large man carefully, as if trying to study him.

"No? You must have some interest in the girl, considering you killed her betrothed and all." Lord Baelish took another sip of the strongwine, never breaking eye contact with Sandor the whole time. "I'll tell you what, Clegane," Baelish was done with questions, "I could use a man in my service like you." Sandor could tell the man's confidence was growing, "Brune has his uses and his loyalties I suppose, but I need a true warrior by my side, and you're a real brute aren't you? Of course there would be the issue of payment, and I assure you whatever price you name I can match it. Besides the company can't be beat…Maybe I'll even make you the Stark girl's sworn shield, let you pant after her all day and use your proven skills at cutting down any suitors that come to call."

For a moment Sandor imagined a life with Lord Baelish, serving as his sellsword and becoming a rich man, all while serving alongside her as her sworn shield. It was a better deal than he would get from whoever he decided to take her too, he was certain. He thought about the life she would face with him: hiding her identity and fending off unwanted advances, which was not unlike the life she had now with Baelish, except that by his side she would be running penniless to an unknown destination, through a warzone with a man who had once held a knife to her throat.

Sandor took another sip of the strongwine and regarded the mockingbird across from him-an evil man, a traitor and liar for certain, but a powerful ally that could prove helpful to the little bird if she ever wanted her Northern home back-certainly a more powerful ally than he would ever be. As her sworn shield he could protect her from further abuses at the mockingbird's hands…

And then Sandor was reminded of the last powerful ally Sansa Stark had: a golden haired Prince who promised to make her his Queen, only to make her his prisoner and beat her bloody. He had told himself he would try to protect her from that evil man as well, only to have failed her and lost her.

He took a long drink of the strongwine, and with the boldness of the harsh liquor still in his throat, he stood, drew his sword and plunged it swiftly through the chest of Petyr Baelish. Baelish's face contorted in shock, then fear, before fading into acceptance, his glass falling from his hands and shattering on the stone floor.

Sandor Clegane was done leaving Sansa Stark in the hands of evil men.