"Take off your underclothes and lie down on the bed," the septa commanded her, and Alayne blushed at the intrusiveness of it all. Lord Petyr had warned her about all of this; what the septa would do, what was expected of her and why it was all so very important, but the immodesty of it all made Alayne a bit sick in her stomach. Ever obedient, she silently did as she was told, not daring to look at the septa, who regarded her impassively. As the septa reached for her, lifting her skirts and spreading her legs, exposing her most private areas to the cold air and the septa's appraisal, Alayne felt herself cringe but fought the urge to recoil. She held her eyes shut tightly and tried to think of different things, wishing she was back home again...

Of course it was never easy to wish for home? Where was home? Did she truly miss the Vale and wish to return to her castle in the sky and it's invalid lordling? Or did she dare think of Sansa's burned Winterfell and all its ghosts? No-Alayne could not think of Sansa and Winterfell at a time like this, it felt so wrong. It all felt wrong.

When Lord Petyr had first told her about his plans for her new marriage, she allowed herself to hope, believe even, that Harrold Hardyng would be the true knight she had waited for. He would love her, and protect her, dote on her and bring back Sansa and Winterfell. In return she would be as dutiful and gracious a ladywife had ever been, filling his house with strong sons to rule over Winterfell and the Vale in their stead.

She should have known better than to hope for such songs of course, and her stomach turned in knots as she remembered how Lord Petyr and Ser Harrold had wrangled the terms of their marriage agreement, compromising and bidding as though she were no more than a prized steed.

"Do not let yourself be offended, sweetling," Petyr had warned her, "he does not know who you truly are, and men are much less chivalrous to daughters born on the wrong side of the sheets. Even beautiful bastards are still bastards."

Lord Petyr had gone to great lengths to make sure her future husband desired her, despite her baseborn status. A new gown had been ordered, nicer than any Alayne had owned, it reminded her of something Sansa would have worn, with the exception of the low neckline and too-tight bodice that Lord Petyr had insisted upon. It caused her ever expanding teats to spill over the top of the gown, causing Alayne to blush feverishly at every hungry stare from men, she was aware of her every movement as she had to be constantly careful not to bend or twist the wrong way and spill out of the top of her gown. Lord Petyr had been quite pleased with the result, even going so far as to tell the seamstress to make other gowns in different shades of the same fashion. He told Alayne that he wanted his only daughter to have nice things, but Alayne felt the bawdy gowns for more for his amusement than her own.

The gown had pleased Harry the Heir, and he so scarcely tore his gaze from her chest that Alayne was not certain he even recalled what her face looked like. As he and Lord Petyr spoke, Alayne studied her future husband. Any woman could see that he was handsome, in a wind-swept way, with a healthy flush in his cheeks and hair the color of sand. He carried himself gallantly, with a young knight's flair, and was so witty and quick he kept up with Lord Petyr easily.

Alayne could not let herself be wooed by his smile, for just as soon as she convinced herself how much Sansa would love her new husband, Ser Harrold had taken Alayne's hand into his own and kissed it softly before turning to Lord Petyr: "Your daughter is very beautiful, my Lord, and you have made me very hopeful about the outcome of this arrangement..." he winked at her, and Alayne was glad to know she had done well and Ser Harrold would agree to the betrothal, "...However," Harrold continued, "I am a business man. You bring me a horse and promise me that it will carry me far, that it is strong and loyal and will not disappoint me, but you and I are both well aware of what words from stable boys are worth. I do not buy horses without first taking them for a ride to, uh, test the saddle if you will, my Lord." Ser Harrold turned to her with a devious glint in his eye, and her entirety blushed when she caught his meaning. She waited for Lord Petyr to punish him for his insolence, to call in Ser Lothor Brune to escort him out of the Vale and into a sky cell for implying that he should be allowed to...to...ride her...Sansa was infuriated, indignant even...but Sansa was not there, it was Alayne's honor they were bargaining over, a bastard's honor.

Lord Petyr was not phased by the innuendo, "I understand your hesitance, Ser, as many would say I am selling my horse for much more than it is worth, but I would not impose such a high price if there was not a claim to back it up." He emphasized the word claim, knowing Ser Harrold would catch his meaning as well. "As for your request to 'test the saddle,' well, I cannot allow that, as the saddle has never been ridden in, and I would not allow it to be broken in by someone who does not intend to purchase it."

Lord Petyr waited for Ser Harrold to absorb his meaning; to understand that baseborn Lady Alayne had brought her maidenhead to the bargaining table, but Ser Harrold looked instead to the heaving teats pressing to escape the top of her dress, and then turned to Lord Petyr with narrowed eyes that seemed to imply he believed he had outsmarted Littlefinger,

"If she is still a maiden then she need not prove herself to me until after the wedding, but she will need to prove her worth to a septa instead"

"And if she proves herself to be as promised?"

"Then I accept your betrothal, Lord Baelish, if everything is as you claim it to be." Ser Harrold emphasized the word claim as well, so Lord Petyr understood exactly what he expected to get out of this marriage: a beautiful maiden with an even more beautiful claim.

And with that, Alayne found herself leaving home again, with Lord Petyr Baelish and Ser Harrold Hardyng in tow, following Mya Stone down the mountains and through the Eyrie to the nearest stronghold of the Seven, the Quiet Isle, seeking out a septa to declare Alayne Stone a maiden, and a septon to return to the Vale with them to marry Lady Sansa Stark to Ser Harrold Hardyng.

Alayne's stomach turned when the septa touched her, probing a place that even she didn't dare to explore more than necessary. Her eyes stung with the hint of tears, but she ground her teeth together and didn't dare look like a silly little girl in front of the septa. If she couldn't bear to be touched innocently by a septa, how did she intend to bear it when Ser Harrold reached for her on their wedding night? Alayne tried not to let her thoughts stray to Sansa's first wedding night, with the grotesque dwarf and the things he had wanted to do. Instead she thought of the beautiful maiden's cloak Lord Petyr had promised her: a snow white cloak emblazened with the fiercest direwolf the seamstress could design, and her hair would be rinsed clean of the awful dye and it would shine like her mother's against the Tully blue gown she would wear in her mother's honor...

And then it was finished.

"You are as you say you are," the septa said impassively, pulling Alayne's skirts back down in place, "I will let Lord Baelish and the Elder Brother know." She told Alayne to dress, and with that she was gone. Alayne told herself she should be relieved, and excited about her upcoming marriage, but she could not bring herself to feel anything. Perhaps it is for the better, she thought as she pulled her small clothes on and decided it was best to wait to have hope for anything more.