Alayne watched as the fire licked up the wood in the heath. It reminded her of something from a past life. She shivered as when she recognized the fire crackle just as the Hound chuckled over Sansa's sweet, practiced words. Shaking her head, she looked down at the book in her lap. It was a History of the Seven Kingdoms. She kept reading the minor houses of the North sworn to protect the Starks. Mormont, a sable bear guarding an island, Ryswells, a black horse with golden mane trotting in fields, and Reed, an alligator resting in the swamps. She was fascinated by the savagery of the North, the ones who had conquered winter time and again. Sansa had been a part of the North as a Stark.
The Vale despite the fertile valleys could only see winter for three more years before the food diminished. Petyr led others to believe otherwise, but he told her the truth. She was his bastard daughter and only heir, after Robert Arryn. Three years have gone by since she arrived at the Eyrie. In that time Littlefinger had betrothed her to Harry the Heir as common folk called him. Alayne met him once. He was fair youth with golden hair and wandering blue eyes. A summer child would have adored him especially Sansa. She had danced with him and jested with him, but he was only another pawn to Littlefinger. Her marriage was within a month.
She gripped the book and her light eyes drifted across a grey wolf with a white field. Her hands trailed over the embossed wolf, noticing the harsh lines on the muzzle and legs, marking it as a defender and protector. Lady... A voice whispered. She looked up expecting to see a red haired girl, but then she noticed the door open and Lord Baelish walked in.
His hair was beginning to grey even more. He still had his pointed beard and angular features. "Father," She greeted the short man and closed her book before putting it on the table beside her chair. "Daughter," He mused with slight smirk. He offered her his hand and she took it. There was nothing to fear from this man, her father. She stood up and he slipped her hand in the crook of his arm. "I would like to discuss a certain matter with you." He said, his voice laced with something she should not quite figure out.
He led her into the corridor. All the servants would be asleep at this time, so they would slip by unnoticed. "The Gods have solved our problems. The Imp is dead. Someone finally chopped off his head and gave it to Cersei." He whispered in her ear. "This means you are finally free to marry the Heir without an annulment." His hot breath trailed down her neck. Sansa cringed, but Alayne did nothing, but nod. He took a left turn and headed towards the High Hall. In the middle of the night, no one would be there.
"Your marriage is coming up fairly soon, but I do not believe you are quite ready for all your wifely duties." His voice lingered in her ear. "What do you mean? I know the requirements. Rule his castle, honor his lords, and make the servants respect me." She answered as he pushed open the door to the High Hall. There was a chill in the air and took notice that the Moon Door was open. The singer, Marillion, had pushed Lysa out the Moon Door. It was Littlefinger. A small voice told the truth. "Smile and be his lady love."She recalled an armored man telling her how to keep a man happy. He wants you to smile and smell sweet and be his lady love. He wants to hear you recite all your pretty little words the way the septa taught you. She even remembered the rasp to his voice.
Those words made her father smirk. She knew her role to play. "This is true, dear Alayne, but there is more than pretty words and a ruling hand over a man's castle." Petyr told her and took her towards the middle of the room only a few feet away from the Moon Door. "Your mother did as much with your father. She gave him five children and I expect you do the same for Harry." Now he was referring to Sansa Stark. She shivered thinking about the red headed girl. The one that died for Alayne to live.
"You know I loved your mother and you look so much like her." His breath ran down her throat. "Her Tully blue eyes..." He whispered. "Her auburn hair..." His left hair took a lock of her dark brown hair. "Even her sweet lips..." His right hand trailed down her neck before she felt his lips crush against her's. Alayne did not respond to his lips or searching tongue. It would be over soon. She thought. It always was... When a lord stepped in, but everyone slept at this hour. Then he gripped her breast and she gasped.
"Father," She mumbled against his mouth, not sure of what else to say. "Ned Stark is your father. A mockingbird whispered in both ears and the lion took the wolf's head." Littlefinger licked his lips and smiled at her. Littlefinger planted the idea in Joffrey's mind. Sansa realized, but Alayne shook it off. Petyr would not do that, but he said to keep my hands clean when I murdered and... Alayne's thoughts trailed off as Sansa picked them up. Joffrey took father's head, therefore, Littlefinger's hands would be bloodless. "I shall be the your mentor and lover." Alayne shook her head. Petyr was her father and she did not want him. His mouth was persistent against her squirming. She pushed her hands against his chest as he held her head to his. "Please, my lord, stop this. I am your daughter, Alayne, not Sansa." She protested as he chuckled briefly.
"Such a sweet child." His breath smelled of mint. This time he began pulling up her skirts and she tensed. He began savagely biting her neck and sucking every now and then. Randa had told her men would do this in the marriage bed. She tried pushing him off of her, but it was useless. It was disgusting to feel his long fingers ran across the top of her small clothes. She cringed as his hands traced her rounded hips.
Arya would not have taken this. Her sister would stab him. "Stop this." Sansa demanded and pushed all her weight against him. She felt her skirts fall back into place and Littlefinger looked bewildered as he stood only two feet from the Moon Door. Now there was a distinct chill in the air from the opened Moon Door. "I am not Catelyn. Your Tully love, nor am I your lover." She growled and stepped forward. "So you are a wolf now?" He smirked and took one step towards her. Instead of flying off like a bird, she would hold her ground. She had had an opportunity to shove one sadistic bastard before, Sansa would not lose her chance this time. Without thinking, she pushed the short man through the hole in the floor.
Littlefinger fell from the Moon Door. His cloak flapped around him before he disappeared in the white mist. Sansa had pushed him through the door. Littlefinger had taken Sansa's father, he had been the one to slip into Joffrey's head and plant the idea of Ned Stark's death. She smiled when she did so, but Alayne grieved for the loss of Petyr, her father and mentor. Alayne fell to the ground and stared through the hole. It was pure white and snow flickered softly. It was almost like Petyr had never been there.
I must go. My hands are clean, but they will never believe I did not throw him out. Although as functioning as his bastard, there would be little motive for killing him. Sansa's voice whispered. Alayne cradled her head. Sansa had been left in the Eyrie with her snow castle and Winterfell just before Littlefinger pushed her aunt, Lysa, through the same door. Then again there had never been an Alayne Stone either. The reality shattered her, but she had to leave. Lords of the Vale might thank her for throwing Lord Baelish away, but she would kill her all the same. She rose from the ground and strode out of the High Hall.
She walked to her room as swiftly as she could without awakening the servants. She had not hand maidens, so they would be waiting for her. Sometimes Mya Stone would be in her room, but as of late Mya had been sleeping in Lothor Brune's quarters. Alayne briefly smiled thinking of the knight and bastard living in relative peace. She entered her room and headed towards her chest. The one that arrived from King's Landing only a year ago. She had not opened it. Now though Sansa revealed its' contents. She burrowed under the summer silks and felt the course woolen weave against her fingers. The Stark girl took the cloak and wrapped it around herself. She breathed in the ashy scent before grabbing and putting on gloves and other essential items for the ride down the Eyrie. Before deserting the room she grabbed a sack before dashing away.
I could go to the Saltpans. Go to Braavos and away from this winter.
"With this ice, no one can get out of the port." Another captain snarled at her. "Get out of here, girl." It was the third one tonight . He took a huge gulp of beer as a way to dismiss her. She licked her chapped lips, desiring a sip of the drink. There were no handouts in winter though. She wandered away from the man and checked to make sure the dragon coins were still tied to her chest. They were there. She braced the white cloak against her narrow frame before exiting the tavern.
She had been in the Saltpans for thirteen days and since then she had been asking any captain to take her away. It was useless in this winter storm though. It was started when she first arrived and no one had been able to leave port. She had spent most of her money on food and a place next to the fire at one of the inns. Her supply had dwindled to two dragons and those were meant for her passage to Braavos. She had not eaten for three days, but she had taken handfuls of fresh snow. It filled her empty stomach, but her mind and resolve was beginning to weaken. She had to wander around the empty streets in the snow and ice.
Her thoughts were only on her escape from Westeros. Once she left she could enjoy the warmth she read about in Braavos. She did not bother with Sansa or Alayne. One would come in her thoughts then the other would scare her off. She took a deep breath and the frost bit into her lungs. Both Sansa and Alayne were dead though. She was no one, only a stupid girl asking for hope where there was none. Instead of taking the right turn towards the rundown inn she had first stayed at, she took the left towards the harbor. She could see shadows shifting in the alleys as she passed by. They would not bother her. A breeze blew her hood down and she did not bother to pull it up again. What was the point? Her resolve was breaking and winter would steal her mortal body in a day or two.
Her wet feet took her towards a wooden dock. She watched the thin ice reaching around the wooden stakes supporting the dock. Underneath was the chill of salt water. Perhaps she could not escape Westeros, but she could determine her life. If she jumped into the water she would be free. Free from this hunger. Free from Sansa and Alayne. Never to worry about Petyr or Littlefinger haunting her dreams. The lady gripped the stained cloak for strength to jump. She took a step forward, letting her foot hover over the thin sheet. Her weight would break it and the sea would take her into its' embrace. The Drowned God could take her just as he did the Ironmen.
A shadow shifted in the darkness and a hand gripped her arm. It was firm and steady, lending her strength. "Let me go." She growled, but there was only silence. She did not look back and stared into the depths of the harbor. All she had to do was fall in and let the water take her. She was no one. Sansa was dead and Alayne never existed. She was no one, only a breathing body with no purpose, family, or strength. "Let me go." She repeated and struggled to get away. More silence. The grip tightened around her arm and pulled her further from the harbor. Her blue eyes stayed on the waves. No...Let me go. She thought. I am nobody.
He pulled her back onto the dock and held her a few inches from his body. She could feel the warmth radiating off his body. Why even try to struggle against this person? There was no point. She had no energy or will to fight another man off. With Littlefinger it had been easy, but from the grip of his hand she could tell this man was stronger than her father. Then the young brown haired woman felt the burly man drop his hand to her wrist and gentlely pulled her towards the city. Why was he doing this? No one bothered with each other anymore and only cared for family if they had any. He walked with a slight limp. She watched the tall man's back as he took her past a pair of women huddling against an alleyway. They briefly looked up to see a man pulling a youth through the streets.
His snow dusted wool robes were a tan shade which meant he was of no importance. He did not have money either if he dressed in such a fashion. She kept her eyes near shut against the snow blowing in her face. It's so cold. She shivered as he pulled open a door and took her into the warmth. She looked around and saw an innkeeper stare at the burly man. "Do you have coin to pay for her, Brother?" The short man asked slightly irritated by her appearance.
Instead of replying the man holding her wrist tossed the innkeeper a coin. So he was a septon? He looked more of a warrior than a man of the gods, but who was she to judge. She had no name nor identity. From this angle she managed to see his face was covered in the hood and a scarf wrapped itself around his features. He took a piece of bread in his other hand and led her towards the inn's stairs. He pushed her in front of him now as he made her walk up the stairs.
Once they reached the top he pointed towards the second door on the right. It was a simple room with one bed, a wooden chair, and a burning heath which was warming the room. She did not know what to say. Sansa would have said her courtesies and Alayne would say a simple word. This brown haired lady said nothing as the giant man took off his drenched gloves and placed them on the night table. He still did not speak or explain when he brought her here. She could assume to be raped, but he was not forceful, just persist in leading her away from the frozen harbor and into his heated boarding room. She took off her gloves.
Why would he stop a lady from killing herself? In winter one less person meant more food for the rest, but then he was a holy man. Perhaps it was just his duty. He placed the bread on the night table as well before he motioned her to take it. She stared up at him with a questioning look. He had calm, sullen grey eyes, but the rest of his features were shadowed by the scarf. "Thank you, Brother." The willowy lady whispered and grabbed the bread in both hands and hungrily ripped into it. It was hard and stale, but it was food. Her stomach gurgled at the weight of bread.
Within a minute or three she finished the bread and looked at the septon. He had disappeared without telling her he was. She blinked, slightly confused. He had been urgent to get her to his room, but now he left without warning. She grimaced and made her way out of the room and to the stairs in search of the man who saved her life. When she had been Sansa she had been saved by the Hound, yet she never thanked him...
By the time she reached the bottom stair she could feel the chill bite of winter from the outside. She paused. Her blue eyes ventured around the commons and spotted the inn keeper glaring and complaining to the septon. "Why did you bring that woman here?" He snarled. "She will steal your coin, food, and hospitality. You might be devoted to the Seven, but you are the Fool's son." The balding man hissed. She was hidden behind the stairwell wall. Littlefinger had taught Alayne to do such things. It provided information that she would otherwise not know. Like how a lord's groom found his way into Randa's gown or how Harry the Heir planned on allying himself with King Stannis once the winter was over. That is if Stannis still lived.
"She will not be a bother." She heard the burly man rasp. Her hands came to her mouth so she would not gasp. It was so familiar, yet she had not heard the gentle tone before. "She is only a little bird." He said again in that rasp. Sansa had dreamed of him and Alayne remembered his harsh kiss in the green filled sky. She clutched the white cloak her frame. He had been the one to give her this stained cloak the night Sansa sung the "Mother's Hymn" for him. She had kept it safe under her summer silks, never believing she would see him again.
Blue eyes stared intently at the burly septon. The Seven had answered Sansa's prayers to gentle the rage inside him. His grey eyes were cool and calm against the snowstorm. Once they had been so vengeful, Sansa had feared him. He seemed more composed than he was the last time she had seen him.
The inn keeper snorted. "Die early then. Winter will not be done for years and your soft soul will perish along with the cunt." He chuckled. "But I suppose everyone needs a good fuck, even the Holy men." In an instant, he hit the ignorant man's shoulder. "One more word and you will be fucked as you so readily believe." The brown robed man said with measured ferocity. He was still rough, but he never handled her in such matter. The man faltered before spitting, "Leave this inn, you and that woman."
She realized as he stepped away from the innkeeper he was heading towards the stairs. Instead of fleeing, the little bird stood at her perch on the bottom stair waiting for the hound. He made it a few feet away from the stairs before he noticed her. His grey eyes met her blue ones. He had not seen her in four years since the Battle of Blackwater. Sansa recalled the night with a kiss, sing, and cloak. She was a woman now where before she had been a trembling girl.
She let her hand reach towards him, allowing him to take her away where Sansa had rejected him. There was a split second hesitation before he gingerly took her ungloved hand in his calloused one. No words were spoken, only acceptance and understanding. She stepped down, still matching his honest, Northern gaze. Yes, he had changed. He still had the ferocity of the Hound, but it was subtle and used only when needed. Now that she knew he was, she noticed the scar tissue around his left eye. It looked no better than it had.
"Little Bird," He breathed and she nodded accepting the old title. He took her back into the chilling winter streets where the snow had stopped.