"Lord ... Baelish." A great deal suddenly began to make sense to him - pieces that he could fit together more easily. For example, how precisely his dagger had fallen out in Winterfell.

He walks in behind her, looking around with keen interest, before he puts his sharp eyes back on her. He felt something in his gut twist. "I know the Boltons have about as much honor as a bag of Lannister gold can buy." How could he marry Sansa Stark to a damned Bolton bastard? Baelish, I am coming for you. "And I know that until they had my corpse to stick on a wall -- they could not legally or spiritually marry you to anyone else."