(Hey there! This takes place when Sansa is at the Eyrie, after Lysa's death. As always, I don't own anything. Trigger warning: attempted rape. Thank you for your time!)
Sansa awoke suddenly. She was sitting up in her bed, breathing hard and clutching her throat with both hands. It took her a moment to remember where she was. She had dreamt something terrible, something bloody and frightening.
She had dreamt that she was back in King's Landing, at Joffrey's wedding. She had been there again, watching Joffrey claw at his throat helplessly, as his mother wailed and his face turned purple, then black. In her dream, instead of turning and running and escaping with Ser Dontos, she stood there as though frozen, until Queen Cersei had pointed at her and screamed that she had done it, she had poisoned the king, and ordered the members of the Kingsguard to seize her.
Sansa had turned to run then, but it had been too late; she had felt the strong hands of Ser Meryn Trant and Osmund Kettleblack grabbing her shoulders, her hair, her waist. They had thrown her to the ground and hit her, over and over until she could taste blood, and as her world went black she could hear Queen Cersei laughing, and Joffrey's voice saying, "leave her face, I like her when she's pretty"...
Sansa shivered. She was safe now, she told herself; she was at the Eyrie, with Lord Baelish, far away from the Lannisters. Although he wasn't Lord Baelish, she reminded herself; he was her father, and she was no longer Sansa Stark of Winterfell, but a bastard girl of the Vale, Alayne Stone.
She was no longer frightened, but she knew sleep would not come again that night. When she closed her eyes, she still saw Joffrey's blackened face, leering at her. Restless, she rose from her bed and dressed in her robe and slippers to keep out the night's chill. The Eyrie was a beautiful castle, but it was cold and lonely. Alayne lit a candle and left her bedchamber.
She wasn't sure where to go. The castle was quiet; Sweetrobin and the few remaining servants were in bed. Alayne supposed she would go to the main solar, where she might find a book to read to pass the time until daybreak. In any case, there was a large fireplace where a fire was always burning, so she wouldn't be too cold.
She made her way to the solar, listening to her footsteps fall against the smooth marble floor. It's so quiet here, she thought. It had never been this quiet at King's Landing, even on sleepless nights; there had always been some noise, whether it was a servant passing outside of her bedchamber, or the sounds of men sparring in the practice yard, or the baying of hounds. In Winterfell she remembered hearing horses whinnying, her younger brothers playing at swords...
No, she thought, that was not me. That was some other girl, long ago.
Alayne pushed open the heavy door to the solar. Inside a fire was blazing, bathing the room in a soft light.
"Hello, my sweetling," she heard from across the solar. It was Petyr Baelish, sitting in front of the fire. He had startled her.
"Hello, father," she replied. She entered the room, setting her candle on a table by the door.
"It's late, daughter," he said, regarding her with an amused look. "Why are you out of bed?"
"I couldn't sleep," she said. She decided not to tell him the reason she couldn't sleep. I'm not lying, she thought, only telling him what he needs to know.
He smiled indulgently. "Come here, and sit with me by the fire. I know too well the hassle of sleepless nights."
She moved closer. He reached out and took her hand in his, pulling her towards him."Sit on my lap, darling daughter."
Obediently she sat, folding her hands delicately on her lap. She could smell the mint leaves he always chewed, and wine as well. He's been drinking, she thought. Perhaps he will fall asleep soon.
She could feel Lord Baelish studying her. "You look so beautiful, in the firelight," he said. "Like your mother when she was your age."
Sansa felt a pain shoot through her heart at the mention of her mother. But she knew what she should say, and so Alayne only replied, "my mother, father? I did not know my mother well. I was raised by the Faith."
Lord Baelish seemed pleased by her answer, although he was difficult to read. It seems as though he is wearing a mask, always, Alayne thought. She could feel him playing with her hair now, twisting the tendrils that had fallen from her braid around his finger. The fire crackled merrily.
He was still staring at her, studying her. She felt uncomfortable under his gaze, and not for the first time he made her feel as though she were naked, although she was fully dressed. "Why are you up so late, father?" She asked, desperate to break the silence.
"Nothing of importance," he replied, still lazily toying with her hair. "Thinking of the realm, and the war, and the coming winter."
"Oh," she said, not knowing how to reply. She wished that she hadn't left her bedchamber, that she hadn't come to the solar. "How will the Vale fare, in the winter? Have they stored enough grain?"
"Many will die, certainly, but many will live," he said, almost absently. "But such dark talk is for morning. Let us pass the time doing something else."
"Something else, father?" Alayne replied, nervously. He had stopped playing with her hair, and now his other hand had come to rest on her cheek. He smiled, and she felt like she could no longer breathe.
He pulled her face closer to his, gently, and pressed his lips against hers. She remained still, and then began to pull away, but one hand was still against her face while the other had come to rest behind her head, entwined in her hair, and she could not move.
She pressed her lips shut, but with his tongue he pried them open, and all at once she could taste the mint leaves and the wine he had been drinking. She fought the urge to be sick, and struggled against him, but he held her tighter. She pushed against his chest with both hands. Finally he moved his mouth from hers, panting. Alayne was frightened; her heart hammered madly in her chest. She had never seen him look sodetermined. So hungry.
"Please," she said, softly. "Please."
He pushed his mouth against hers again, roughly this time, exploring her with his tongue and biting her lips. She gave a muffled scream. She pushed her hands against his chest, again, but he only pushed them aside with one hand. To her horror, he began untying her robe. She began to fight in earnest, thrashing against him, but although he was a small man, he was strong.
No, she thought, no, this can't be happening, not now, not here. Thoughts rose unbidden in the back of her mind; she saw Joffrey ordering his knights to strip her naked, and the mob in King's Landing trying to pull her from her horse, and the Hound holding a knife to her neck. Sing, Little Bird.
He had untied her robe, and opened it. Underneath she was wearing only a thin linen nightshirt. He drank her in for a moment, and then pulled her face to his again, kissing her. As he moved his hand to her breast, there was a loud creaking noise. Lord Baelish, startled, looked towards the door. It was opening slowly, as though the person on the other side was having difficulty pushing it open.
Alayne seized the moment and slid from Lord Baelish's lap, hastily pulling her robe tight around her. She was shaking, she realized. Lord Baelish looked at her, and for an instant he seemed almost frightened, as though he hadn't realized what he had been doing; but only for an instant, and then his face was again calm and composed, though flushed. His mask, Alayne thought, he's put his mask back on. She felt almost hysterical.
The door finally opened, and Sweetrobin stood there, a pitiful figure clad only in his nightshirt. "I heard noises," he said, and sniffed, as though it was a terrible thing that they had been together without him.
"You shouldn't be out of bed, Sweetrobin," Alayne said, although she was so grateful she could have kissed him. "You'll catch your death of cold."
"I can't sleep," he replied.
"I'll come tuck you in and tell you a story," Alayne said quickly. "Come now, sweetling." She took Sweetrobin's hand and led him from the room. She glanced over her shoulder at Lord Baelish. He sat with his hands steepled in his lap, watching her, betraying nothing.
Alayne sat with Sweetrobin for close to an hour before he finally fell asleep, telling him his favourite stories and stroking his hair. Although Robert Arryn was never pleasant company, she was so shaken that she was glad of any company at all. As the morning sun began to stream through the window beside Sweetrobin's bed, Alayne carefully and quietly walked back to her own bedchambers, her heart pounding dully.
She entered her bedchamber and closed the door behind her, locking it. Here, at least, I'm safe, she thought. But she knew in her heart that she wasn't safe, not truly. She was hidden from the Lannisters, but another danger was much closer. I've left King's Landing, she thought, but I've flown into another trap.
Alayne crawled into her bed as birds sang outside. When she finally drifted into a restless slumber, Sansa dreamt a wolf was howling.