Author's Notes: Okay, this was meant to be drabble, written for a prompt on tumblr. But somehow it took over my mind and has turned itself into a multi-chapter. At the moment, I foresee it being about 3/4 chapters long.

Warnings for grooming.

Please forgive any mistakes as this has not been beta'd.

Disclaimer: I am not GRRM.

"Alayne, sweetling, we are to have company this evening. A delegation from Stannis Baratheon are coming," her father said, as she walked in to break her fast.

"Stannis Baratheon?" Alayne asked. The name brought back long suppressed memories of a night tinged with green, of fear and a bloody cloak, and a rough kiss. She had been naught but a frightened girl then, held hostage by her family's enemies.

Sansa no longer exists, Alayne thought, she was too weak to survive. Alayne is not that person.

"Yes, the rider that arrived yesterday brought the news. It was quite a shock. I thought Stannis must have perished in the North."

Nothing had been heard about Stannis for over a year. Nothing had been heard from the North for just as long. Alayne knew the lack of news had perplexed her father just as the slow pace of his plans since Sweetrobin's death had frustrated him.

Don't think on that. It was not your fault, she thought as the confusing tide of guilt and anger began to swell inside.

"They are requesting aid," Petyr said, dabbing the cloth that had been resting on his lap during his meal at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you plan on aiding them?" Alayne had asked, surprise in her voice.

"It does no harm to hear what is happening past the Neck. We have had no news for moons now," Petyr had said, a small smile playing on his lips. "Lord Yohn Royce met them at Gulltown and we are to expect him also."

Lord Royce was the last remaining Vale Lord to hold out against Petyr. His distrust of Lord Baelish was known throughout the Vale, and whilst her father had managed to bribe and coerce all the other Lord Declarant to his side, Lord Royce stubbornly resisted any overtures. Mayhaps he was ready to finally accept Petyr's position. Or ferment trouble.

"Yes, sweetling," Petyr said, rising and flicking her nose. "I suspect Lord Royce is gracing us with his presence in order to try and undermine me once more. You must not worry though, he is easily read and will not outplay me at this game. Just make sure you keep that pretty face of yours guarded. Now run along and see what help you can offer Myranda Royce. You know just how I like things."

Alayne nodded and walked towards the door before Petyr called her back. "Where's my good morning kiss?" he asked.

Alayne suppressed the shudder that ran through her. "I am sorry, Father," she said before he pressed a long kiss on her lips.

It had been so long since Jon had last seen a land not ravaged by war that he could not help but gaze upon the Vale that opened up before them when they passed through the Vale towards the Gates of the Moon with awed eyes. The snow here was shallow compared to that which lay in the North, just a few feet deep.

Thinking of the North made Jon frown. There was nothing there at the moment but ice and death. As the Night's Watch had fled from the fallen Wall, Jon had tried to gather as many smallfolk as possible to bring south with them, but it had been a hard march and not many had survived. Jon feared that if the Others were ever defeated then there would be nobody left to repopulate the North.

Ghost padded up to his side and Jon twined his hand into the fur at Ghost's neck. "Good hunting, my friend?" he asked, and laughed as Ghost's tongue flicked out to lick the fur around his mouth. His mouth was stained red from the deer he had killed. Jon had tasted the sweet tang of venison as he had briefly checked in with Ghost.

It was easy for Jon to slip into his wolf's skin now, the time he has spent inside of Ghost strengthening their bond further. And even though he had been back in his own body for many moons now, he still sometimes felt ill at ease as if something were missing. A warmth that came with not knowing the bitter sting of betrayal and death. The reality of fighting the Others had not helped, the ruthless needed had leached into all aspects of his life and he found he forgot what it was like to love or be loved. His memories of life beginning to fade into grey.

The Red Woman had said this was normal, that coming back took a toll. "Life is not free, Jon Snow," she had said. "There is always a price to pay."

He could not help but wonder if his humanity was that price.

"We will be at the Gates of the Moon by nightfall, Lord Commander," Lord Royce said, reining his horse in.

Jon had been surprised when Lord Royce had met them at Gulltown, with all intention of travelling with them to meet the Lord Protector of the Vale, a Petyr Baelish.

"The man is a slippery as an eel," Lord Royce had declared to Lord Seaworth and himself. "You have to watch every word and make sure your men are not susceptible to bribery."

"You do not like him?" Jon had asked.

"No, I want him gone from here. However, he has managed to whittle down any opposition to his rule in the Vale to just me. Now I am left having to play a waiting game of my own."

Lord Seaworth had nodded his agreement. "His grace has already warned me about Baelish. I am to tread carefully with him."

"I will do my best to gain you the support you need," Lord Royce had said.

His freely given support for the Night's Watch had been welcome for Jon, who found that Southron lords were even more sceptical about the idea of Others than their Northern counterparts. Even with the North fleeing south, they had met with disbelief and in some cases scorn.

However, Lord Royce's son had died for the Night's Watch. Jon had been there when the brother he had lead out on a ranging had been beheaded by his father. No, not my father!

It seemed like a lifetime ago. It probably was considering Jon had died once. Memories of his father and brothers shrouded in the grey mists of time when things had been simpler and happy. Before the Others had defeated the Wall and he had just been the bastard son of Winterfell.

Now he knew better. Had seen the truth, first uncomprehendingly through Ghost's eyes, and then later when he had met Howland Reed when passing through the Neck. He had demanded answers to the questions his visions had given him and with Ned Stark dead, Lord Reed had no promises left to keep.

Not that it matters anyway, Jon thought, There are no more Starks left. Only a Snow who the world believes to be Eddard Stark's bastard.

Alayne tracked Randa down in the store rooms where she was assessing the supplies the Gates of the Moon still had. It had been a long winter already and even the Vale, which had not been touched by war was monitoring its rations carefully.

"It will be nice to have some new faces," Randa said, when they had finished giving orders to the kitchen.

Randa ran a lively household but the death of Sweetrobin and then winter's grip taking hold of the Vale had stymied Randa's pursuit of pleasure.

"Mayhaps we will even find someone to warm your fastidious bed," Randa said, a laugh in her voice.

"Hush!" Alayne said, turning to see if anyone had heard. "You know I am to be wed to Ser Harold."

Randa snorted. "It hasn't stopped him if the rumours from Ironoaks are to be believed."

Alayne turned away, keen to hide the annoyance that flicked over her face at Randa's words. It was said that Harry Hardyng had fathered yet another bastard despite his betrothal. It brought the total to three.

"Oh, do not worry, Alayne, we all know he was very taken with your pretty face."

But not enough to wash away the stigma of my birth, Alayne thought. Petyr had been furious at how Ser Harold kept stalling any final plans for a wedding. It had not stopped him trying to take liberties with Alayne, but it was very clear that he thought he could do better than the Lord Protector's bastard daughter. Petyr continued to put pressure on Lady Waynwood, the kind that caused Sansa to feel a sense of pity for the old woman who was trying all she could to bring Harry the Heir to the sticking point.

"What time do you think the delegation will arrive?" Alayne asked, keen to change the subject.

Wary eyes watched Jon and Ghost, setting Jon a little on edge. Stannis' men had become so used to Ghost's presence that Jon had forgotten just how much he startled those not used to him. A year ago, Jon might well have sent him to hunt in the countryside around the castle, to make those around him easy, but now he liked to keep his direwolf close until he was sure of a situation.

Not even the appearance of the bread and salt made Jon relaxed enough for Ghost to stand down from his side. He vividly remembered passing the Twins on their flight south and the shiver that had run through him when Ghost had bristled, baring his fangs at the castle in the distance. For the first time in a long while, Jon had felt the call to abandon his duty, and to pull forth his sword and ride at the castle. Memories of Robb had played behind his eyelids every time he had closed his eyes in the days after.

The hesitation before the platter of bread and salt was offered to him was not due to Ghost's presence, however. The stifled gasp had him looking up at their massive host, who was staring at him.

"I'm sorry, Lord Commander," Lord Nestor said in apology. "You are very like your father was at your age that it threw me for a moment."

"He's the spit of Eddard Stark, that's for sure," Lord Royce has said, slapping his cousin on his back as the bread made its way to him.

Jon nodded and quickly brought the bread to his mouth. He took a moment to look around and saw the curiosity on the faces of those gathered. He knew from the time he had spent in Lord Royce's presence that Ned Stark was remembered with fondness by most in the Vale. He hoped to use this to his advantage.

"Lord Commander, if you would take my arm, I would be happy to show you to the main hall," a female voice said, and he looked down to see a short buxom lady smiling up at him flirtatiously, her bodice cut lower than anything he had seen in a long while.

Jon had never been very good at charm. The northern ladies had never been very interested in courting his favour back at Winterfell. A bastard son had nothing to offer, especially not when compared to the heir of Winterfell, and Robb had been as handsome as he was trueborn.

"It would be my pleasure, Lady-" Jon said.

"Lady Myranda. Lord Nestor's daughter," she said, twining her arm through his and squeezing it a little closely to her chest.

Jon raised his head from his companion to catch Lord Seaworth's eyes. The man's amused expression brought a smile to Jon's face. The more time he spent in Lord Seaworth's presence, the more he liked him. Despite his history of smuggling, Jon thought his father would have admired Stannis' honest Hand of the King. Lord Seaworth was certainly not afraid of speaking the truth.

"Although mayhaps you might prefer to leave your pet outside?" Lady Myranda said, a tremor of fear in her voice as she looked at the large white wolf.

"Ghost is not a pet, he's a direwolf," Jon said. "And he stays with me."

"You are the bastard brother of the Young Wolf are you not?" she asked.

The anxiety in her voice was not lost on Jon. He knew the rumours of what was said about Robb and the Red Wedding. The filthy lies spread by the Freys of his brother turning into a wolf and savaging the guests. He tamped down his temper. "Do not fear, Lady Myranda, Ghost is very well behaved and you should not believe everything you hear of Robb. He was no monster."

The reproach was evident in his voice causing Lady Myranda to lower her eyes whilst she murmured an agreement.

They moved through into a modest sized feasting hall that was alive with the sound of music and blazed with hundreds of candles. Platters of meat lined the trestle tables laid out and Jon's mouth watered.

Lady Myranda led him passed them to the top table, which sat on a small dais. Jon's eyes skimmed over the inhabitants before resting on the small man who stood behind the chair at the centre. If Jon had not been studying him, then he would have missed the flash of dislike and something that looked surprisingly like panic that passed through the green-grey eyes when they rested on him.

"Lord Seaworth, Lord Commander Snow, welcome to the Vale," the man who must be Lord Baelish said.

They were introduced to the rest of Baelish's party, Jon's eyebrow rising slightly at the inclusion of Baelish's bastard daughter at the top table. That was unusual indeed but before he could spend any time studying the girl, his attention was claimed by Baelish once more.

"I was not expecting anyone from the Night's Watch to be present. I thought you did not interfere in the affairs of men."

Something about Baelish set Jon's back up. Mayhaps it was the smile that played around his lips, making it seem as if he knew something Jon did not. Or mayhaps it was the false tone of friendliness that Jon detected in his voice. Either way, Jon did not need to heed how Ghost stiffened to know not to trust this man.

"I come with grievous news from the North, my lord," Jon said. "The Wall has fallen. What remains of the Night's Watch has travelled south with King Stannis."

Those able to hear, gasped at Jon's news and a ripple of whispers passed to the back of the hall. There was the sound of feet scuffling on stone flags as people pressed closer to try and hear all they could.

Jon briefly read annoyance on Baelish's face. "Alarming news indeed, Lord Commander but mayhaps we should leave this discussion for later," Lord Baelish said. "I would be honoured if you would partake of the feast that the hospital Lord Nestor has prepared for you."

Jon nodded, knowing that to push news of the Others would be detrimental to his cause. Besides, a larger audience usually meant more disbelief. As Lord Baelish's attention moved to Lord Seaworth, it allowed Jon to study the rest of the company more closely. Lord Royce had warned the party that Lord Baelish surrounded himself with sellswords, and Jon picked them out easily, their attire giving them away.

But it was the bastard girl who drew his attention the most. Standing at the end of the table, she stared at him, eyes wide and a hand clutching her throat. She had nondescript brown hair that somehow clashed with her complexion. But it was her eyes that drew him, the colour a vivid blue that he had seen only on his half-brothers and sister – cousins – and Lady Stark. Could she be a bastard fathered on a Tully? Jon frowned. He had never paid too much attention to Lady Stark's family. They were no kin of his but he knew that Lady Stark only had one sister, who had been married off to Jon Arryn.

It was Ghost who gave her away, moving across to her side and sniffing her. There was fear in her expression, but not the fear that Jon would expect from a maid confronted by a large beast. Instead it was fear of Ghost's actions, of what they could mean. She looked around her before she hesitantly put a hand out to fondle his head, tears in her eyes, before sending him back to Jon with a quick gesture.

"Sansa!" he whispered as her eyes met his, pleading with him to remain silent.