Warning: Without spoiling what will happen, just know to watch out for something dastardly. If none of the previous chapters did it for anyone, I don't imagine this one doing it either, but still... en garde.

Also, lots of slapping too. :)

Ser Adam Marbrand: honorable knight, loyal man, a commander easily followed, comely looking, and unwedded: the perfect bachelor. He took a deep swallow of his ale, looking around the hall for his next fantasy.

Most of his waking hours were more militaristic, political, or businesslike, but he was a man, same as the next, with the same needs as any other red blooded male. Every now and then, especially in peaceful times, he would entertain thoughts of a wife.

Not that it was a peaceful time; he amends, gesturing for a serving wench to refill his mug. However, ever since he was given command of the guards surrounding Tyrion and his wife, there had been more down time then not in the course of their journey west. He started to drain his second mug, looking at said lady, sitting at the high table with protective hands over a stomach that carried the Lannister heir. Well, one of them.

Running a hand over his mouth, he recalls the other heir, long time friend and fellow knight, Jamie Lannister, slain by some disreputable knight and left to rot without recompense, so far anyway. He had not heard anything, yet, but Addam was sure Lord Tywin had plans in mind, and he was sure he would leave this boring existence behind.

But not before he had a woman. It had been a while, probably since one of the nicer "inns" they had passed along the way. Watching Sansa blossom into woman hood, and glowing with motherhood, caused him an ache, a jealousy, a need.

And fellow man, Sandor, promised to help out. Marbrand had not known the Hound to ever entertain thoughts of gentleness or kindness towards the fairer sex, but it was understandable. The Hound was now a lord, expected to wed and gain sons somehow, and he also suffered the presence of a beautiful maiden. Everyone was suffering that vision... Marbrand chuckles, what a sweet torture!

He remembers sharing a laugh with Sandor, probably one of the more raucous times he ever spent in the Hounds presence, laughing over his good fortune to get the proverbial bone: Ros, the Lady Lannister lookalike. Sandor even promised to share. But what really impressed Marbrand was the Hound's kindness towards the whore turned servant; saving her from rape, caring for her wounds, bringing her along, and laying with her. Laying with her, as if she were more then something to fuck.

The Hound even protected her modesty when Addam barged into her room looking for the lord of the keep. All Marbrand had caught was her bright red hair and naked arms before Clegane had jumped from the bed, an imposing figure that would capture anyone's attention, even away from a naked woman.

Said woman was not in the hall, Marbrand notes, smirking. Probably resting after being bedded by the fierce Hound, even day and night later! For her to please such a man, Marbrand could not wait to ride her himself. He would be gentle, kind, and give her pleasure; he was not a brute after all, and it played into his own fantasies. The finally wedded man, loving his wife and gaining pleasure in return, having a home to come to, symbolized by her arms around him, and his head cushioned upon her breast...

Gods know he would hate being married for life, leaving her behind, expected to remain celibate every time he went on campaigns because he would never stop his way of life, not for any woman. But he could pretend, for a short while, that he could accept that quaint lifestyle, and be happy with it.

Given the choice, he'd rather marry the sword, but alas, his body craves the touch of women more then he can ignore, or would want to. There's too much joy in the romp to truly, seriously, without laughing, think of remaining chaste.

The hour came.

He watched Lady Sansa demurely get up from the high table, smiling benevolently throughout the all, even sharing a nod with him, before donning her rich ermine cloak to walk outdoors. Addam watched, amused, calculating, as Tyrion escorted his wife with an air of grace unbelievable with differing heights and gaits. But it worked.

Once they were out of sight, Addam and Sandor walked together through the rougher halls, shouting orders to servants, soldiers, and the quartermaster. At one point, Marbrand asked Sandor, "Is it set? Are you sure we are alright?"

Surely, the man, dog-like though he might be, would still harbor some possessiveness towards a woman he had for more then was seen before with him, and showed kind deference towards the same. Addam considered Sandor an acquaintance, if not friend, and would not push that boundary further than was necessary. There were plenty of ale wenches for him, that he could forgo yet another fantasy with a lady's handmaiden.

He had to shudder when Sandor nodded with his own brand of a wolfish grin, ugly scars doing it no favors. Recovering quickly enough (he was used to Sandor's looks), he then smirked in turn.

A small number of Lannister guards were, yet again, traveling with the Imp; this time, making their way back to King's Landing. They would go quicker this time, without a Lady among them, without a wheelhouse and without a large supply train. Of course, they would have to be mindful of the wagon with the reposed body of Ser Jaime, but still, their journey southeast would be quick.

Marbrand and Clegane stood side by side as they watched the lord and lady Lannister share a few moments. Even Addam had to applaud their growing friendship. He could not see love between them, yet, but throughout their travels west, and their time at Clegane's Keep; the new Lannister couple had slowly but surely grew more and more attached, friendly, even smiling at one another. Addam was a Lannister man through and through, but even he was glad that Lady Sansa would not have to be shamed and violated uselessly. More so, he was glad he would not have to witness Tyrion loose a second wife.

Lady Sansa's hood was up, with a few wisps of red hair peeking out. Her lord husband caught a strand in his hand, rubbing it between his fingers as he spoke to his wife. Sandor snorts next to Addam as they watch the little husband take out a knife to cut the strand of hair he had been fingering, and they both turn away as the imp gently prods the beauty to lean down for a chaste kiss. Perhaps they were well on their way to love after all, Addam muses.

A few goodbyes and commands later, a few horses and carts less, and the small outer ward of Clegane's Keep was relatively quiet. Clearing his throat, Lord Sandor, as host, offered his arm to Lady Sansa and escorted her inside.

Addam followed. Noted them entering the lady's rooms, noted the Hound exiting once more. The men shared a nod, and then Addam was alone in the corridor.

And he waited.

Finally, he saw the handmaiden exit the rooms. She glided, effortlessly, as if in a daze, down the hall. She was not headed towards the servant's quarters, but he followed nevertheless.

He whispered her name, but she did not turn, only continued on serenely, starting to hum as well. Smirking, he allowed her the game, grinning more broadly when he realized where they were going: the stables. He did not even curse the coldness of the outdoors; it added to the allure, in his mind.

She had to know he was there, but he stalked her anyway, keeping quiet. He only made his move just as she stopped in front of one of the stalls, Stranger's stall had he paid any attention.

Forgoing introductions, he wrapped his arms around the slim figure, landing one hand on a breast. He heard her gasp, and laughed in her ear, "Yes, I am going to bed you nicely." He ground his growing erection against her bottom, earning him another gasp.

"No!" She screamed. "Get off me!" she yelled, squirming in his arms.

Confused, Addam let her go, briefly noting the agitated horse as well. His eyes widen upon seeing the rearing horse, and he blindly grabbed for Ros' arm. "Come, wench," he said, slowly backing away from the stall, "you are right, another area will be better."

He received a slap for his efforts. Glowering now, he whipped to face Ros, only to blanch in horror: Lady Sansa stood in front of him. "How dare you!" She fumed, throwing all her authority into her ire, "I am a lady, NOT your wench!" She slapped him again, and he automatically let go of her.

Stuttering, his brain wouldn't work; his mouth opened and closed in confusion. Did Clegane not promise Ros? Did he mishear? He had honestly though... "My lady...!" He stammered, trying to figure out a way to get out of this inadvertent mess, "I ... I ..."

But no more came out of his mouth, for suddenly Stranger trampled him to the ground, striking shoulder, neck, and head.

"Well," Sandor quipped, "that turned out better then I thought it would."

He received a slap for his efforts. "How dare you!" his lady seethed, "Why did you not tell me what you had planned? I trusted you!" She turned away from him, looking down at the floor, no doubt hiding her tears. "I feel so... violated..."

He walked up to her, determined to soothe her, but she shrugged off his hands violently as he laid them upon her shaking shoulders. He pulled at his hair as she stalked a few steps away, now standing in front of her mare's stall.

The recent incident involving Ser Addam Marbrand and his untimely demise had shaken Sansa more then Sandor had anticipated, even more so since Addam had apparently fondled Sansa as well. While Sandor found it fortuitous that his planted spy, the stable hand, would have irrefutable evidence to share with others that Marbrand had done a grave insult, worthy of a beheading Sandor hoped, Sansa did NOT find the situation acceptable.

He had told Marbrand to wait for Ros to leave Sansa's quarters, but not that she was always the first to leave. Sansa would, at times, take a walk before sleeping. Sandor waited within the shadows, always nearby, in case things did not go according to plan.

Servants had been told to work late, as punishment for some ill deed or another. He planted them throughout the keep, places Sansa would at times go at night: the kitchens, the servant quarters, the gardens, the dilapidated Sept, and, yes, the stables as well. Truly, it was a miracle that everything happened as it did: that Marbrand had no chance to admit to a mistake for the servant to overhear, that he died then and there, that Sansa played her part beautifully (if unknowingly), and that Stranger had come to her rescue as well. Sandor could kiss his horse.

That Stranger had delivered the death blow was also a point of contention between them. Sandor was proud, Sansa was distraught.

Of course, she had held her composure all the while soldiers and stable hands made sense of what happened, while a Lannister guard was given the unfortunate duty to clean and dress their commander for burial, while Stranger harmed five other men before Sandor himself hauled him away to a more private stall. The hustle and bustle distracted others from the fact that their lady was having trouble breathing, or focusing, but no doubt someone would have commented had she started bawling.

Only after the two were left alone, Lord Clegane ordering the others to leave, did her anger and tears truly show, and she took it out on Sandor.

"How could you?" She whispered to the floor, "When you told me you would take care of him, I thought..." She shook her head, "I don't know what I thought, but I did not think he would die, or that I would have to witness it!" And her shoulders shook more violently.

Sandor wanted to tell her he hadn't thought she would have to witness Marbrand's brutal death either. At most, he thought they'd be lucky for Marbrand to be charged by his peers, stripped of rank and knighthood, and beheaded, or, at the least, sent away.

He would kiss his lady, if he could, hold her and soothe her and shield her from all harm. Guilt pooled in his stomach that he actually planned to put her in harm's way just to frame another. He hated games, and look what he had just done. The alternative was losing his lordship for killing Marbrand without good reason, or loosing Sansa if they allowed Marbrand to live. Swallowing bile, Sandor had no doubt the ploy between Sansa and Ros would have been found out sooner or later if things were left as is.

"I told you once, Little Bird, how this world runs; by killers." He says instead, kindness swept away by his own fury at having to resort to such plans instead of killing Marbrand himself. "How do you expect you will rule? The way things are? Without strong arms, without bloodshed, it will be you who will, once again, find herself in a cage. Is that what you want? Did I take you away from King's Landing for naught?"

"Stop it!" She cried, turning to him with fury, "Stop it!" She walked up to him, and abruptly stopped before him, shaking in fury and rage, holding back her desire to bodily harm him, he could see. "I will make them love me! I won't be like Queen Cersei, or like Joffrey! I'll be kind, and generous, and... and... you'll see! We won't need to kill everyone because..."

"Because not one in thousands will ever have a different thought, an ill intention?" He interrupts. "Stop painting such a pretty picture, Little Bird, it won't last in this world of shit."

She slaps him again, and he takes it, staring at her with compassion not found in his words. Her lip then trembles, "Why can't it be like that?" She asks, her anger at Sandor fading. He watches resignation bloom, causing her to wilt, shoulders hunching and gaze lowering away again. "He was not a cruel man," She said, hugging herself, "he was loyal, brave, fierce; but he was an enemy all the same." She turned away and started walking back to the dark keep. Once she reached the door, the moon hitting her features and the wind pulling at her nightgown's hem, she turned halfway to face Sandor once more, "If you ever do something like that to me again, I will have you thrown in the dungeons." Then she continues on her way, never looking back as he roared his own anger, and laid waste to the stables.