Chapter II
Alayne awoke with a start, clutching her hand to her chest as she felt her heart racing. Her dreams withered away from her memory, but she could still see Joffrey's terrible, malicious smile. As her heartbeat faded into a normal beat, she relaxed against her pillows once more. The room was filled with the soft hues of half-light, and although it would have been beneficial to get more sleep, she had no desire to risk seeing his awful face again.
Throwing off her covers, she tiptoed over the cold floor to where her fire was simple cinders. Hauling a few logs on top of it, she waited a few moments before the flames began to flicker and lick at the wood once more. Sansa rarely had to make her own fires, but Alayne would be quite used to such a thing. Alayne didn't mind the splinters that she was now picking out of her deceptively delicate hands. She rubbed her smooth palms together for a moment before the fire, watching as it ate away at the logs. A slow death, but a sure one.
A bird chirped outside, startling her. The night clothes she wore were thin, so she shrugged a thick, fur coat over her and stepped towards the windows. Sure enough, a bird sat on the stone rail of the balcony, chirping away as though it were a sunny, spring morning. Opening the balcony doors, Alayne softly called to the bird. It looked at her with curiosity as it hopped across the snow. There was a light covering of snow on the balcony, but she stepped onto it anyway – her arm outstretched for the bird. A light coo came from her lips, somehow hoping that the bird would overcome its natural fear and land on her hand. Unfortunately, as soon as the sound left her lips, the bird shot off – into the winter sky.
With a sigh, Alayne dropped her arm down to her sides. She stepped back away from the snow and took a deep breath of the cold air around her. It was good to feel such familiar things, in a world of such unfamiliarity.
Closing the doors behind her, she made her way to the bench in front of her mirror. Alayne wondered at her appearance as she worked her hair into a braid. It was a wonder to her that she still interested Lord Baelish, considering her hair was so dark that she could hardly look like Catelyn anymore. Her mind wandered to the book she had seen, and how Lysa had screamed so loudly on their wedding night. Could that have been real? She wondered, finishing her braid and moving to put on her clothes – or was Lysa merely enjoying the idea of having him? Not that it mattered now, Alayne would never have a chance to inquire into the matter – not that she would have anyway.
A sound of rustling in the hallway made her pause. Moving to the corner of the room, she watched as the door opened and Baelish silently walked through. He paused when he saw that her bed was empty, pausing with his hand on the door behind him. There was something in his hands.
"Good morning, Father." Alayne closed the door behind him. He turned only slightly, as though knowing she was there all along, and sat a tray of food on her bed.
"Alayne – you are up quite early." Baelish noted, taking in the full sight of her. Nodding slightly, she turned her back to him – where her dress needed to be laced up.
"Help me, will you?"
Alayne could feel his raised eyebrows, even though she could not see it. She was being rather bold, but after her childish display the night before, she knew of nothing else to help solidify her control over the matter. Baelish hesitated, his hands barely touching her sides – her hips – before coming to the laces and working them expertly up her back. Holding her braid in her hand, Alayne wondered how many times he had done the exact same thing… only in an opposite direction. How many women had he undressed in his lifetime of lies and whores?
"Harrold is coming today," commented Baelish, tugging too tightly on the last laces. She braced her stomach, glad that he was unable to see her look of disappointment with the news. "I trust that you will be as courteous as ever, my dear."
"Of course. I am so happy to have such a great opportunity."
"Your hair looks nice like this, loosely braided. It's not the type of hairstyle I have seen you wear before." He pulled back on her braid, jerking her head back and causing her to stifle a cry of pain. Everything in her body wanted her to bring her hands to her hair to push him away, but she blinked back the tears and endured. "Are you teasing me, sweetling? Do you think you can unravel me?"
Slowly, Alayne brought her hands up to her braid and pulled it out of his now loose hands. Turning to him, she attempted a look of boredom that she knew her eyes betrayed. They were nearly the same height, and she could look him straight in the eye. "I have no intention of doing so."
"I'm sure." He smiled, turning to walk the room. "Lady Waynwood will be calling on you shortly. She is, you could say… Harrold's matron."
"I see," Alayne poured herself some of the tea that he had brought and sat down at the small table she had in her room. Baelish looked out of the window, no doubt noting the footprints she had made in the snow. Something a foolish girl would do, surely. "Is there anything I should say in particular to her? To make her feel… more assured."
"No one has ever heard of you before, most are quite curious. It is absolutely necessary… that you are the peak of charisma and charm."
"Like Joffrey's wife… Margaery Tyrell." Suggested Alayne, remembering how the low-cut bloused young woman had taken King's Landing by the lapels. There was a woman who played her cards right, but who was the one helping her choose her plays, Alayne wondered.
"Margaery Tyrell is nothing compared to what you will become, sweetling," Baelish came to her side, sitting on the other chair at the tiny table. He put his palms on it, leaning towards her, making sure she had his eyes in hers so as to understand the levity of what he was saying. "You can be your own weapon, just as I am mine. That is what you said you wanted, is it not?"
Alayne nodded her head slowly, considering the concept of it all. Baelish sighed, reaching his hand forward slightly and lacing his fingers with hers. He gave her hand a light squeeze and she attempted a smile. "I hope… I hope to see that happen, yes."
"Of course you do. No student of mine would want anything less."
"And this marriage is important, so naturally I want to do everything I can to make sure it happens. So… get on Lady Waynwood's good side… and everything should fall into place?"
"Good girl." Baelish leaned back, steepling his fingers in his lap. "Now eat something before she comes. Waynwoods don't like women who are too thin, many people view it as a sign that they cannot bear children."
"Children," mulled Alayne, eating bites of porridge. "What an awful world to bring children into. But I suppose I need to produce an heir, don't I?"
It was a question that didn't need asking, but she did so anyway. Baelish looked at her, taking all of her in. Alayne hated when he did that, she felt as though he could see right through her, and it always made her blush. Taking a note from his own hand at games, she took another bold step.
"Will you miss me, then… when I'm gone?" Biting her lip, nearly in regret of even opening such a door that she honestly did not care to open, she watched as his eyes darted towards the movement and immediately wished she had said nothing.
"You'll never be gone, Sansa." He stood. At first it seemed as though he was going to take hold of her, but then he turned on his heel and walked towards the door. His steps were not as assured as they normally were, and she felt a small satisfaction in the fact that she had gotten into his head. Baelish turned to her, his hand on the door. "You will always be mine."
With the slam of the door, Alayne felt her heart drop completely. Was he right? Would she always be a victim of his will? No. Not if she found a way to hold the upper hand. Not if she stopped letting him near her once she was married. Perhaps marrying Harrold would be a blessing. She would simply take the lessons that Baelish gave her and use them against him. He wasn't the only one that held power, she decided.
Sure enough, Lady Waynwood had come for her bright and early. She was a short woman with bountiful hips, and Alayne could tell that in her younger years she must have been a pretty little thing. Now, though, she was a woman who seemed to enjoy the concept of power – rather than having it. Her sideways comments were clumsy and she staggered through certain words, as though she were trying to mimic someone she had once known, but their words didn't feel quite the same on her tongue. Alayne understood this all too well, and took pity on Lady Waynwood – for the most part. There were moments where she treated Alayne as one would a bastard child, and the girl knew it was because the lady presumed her to secretly be one.
"Do you enjoy riding, Alayne?" The lady asked, shivering under her furs as they walked the small garden of the Eyrie.
"I haven't ridden much since… since I reached a certain age." It was no secret among those with any brains that horseback riding could tear a woman's maidenhead. It seemed a better thing to allude to, rather than saying she hadn't been riding because she had been a pet at King's Landing for quite some time. "But I did enjoy it when I was younger. My father made sure I learned at a young age."
"Your father truly cares for you, all the trouble he's gone through to arrange this coupling." Images of her true father, her beloved Stark father, ran through her mind. But as she stepped onto a hardened mound of snow, she let the image be crushed along with it. Lord Baelish was her father now, as far as anyone need be concerned.
"Yes, Father is a very kind man." The woman looked at her, studying her face. Innocence, Alayne was a model of pure innocence. She assumed that a good daughter, a pure daughter, would know nothing of her father's side ventures and betrayals. Lady Waynwood would see nothing in Alayne's face that suggested otherwise, because her life depended on it. "Do you not agree?"
"Oh, no, of course I agree! Littlefinger – ah – Lord Baelish is definitely a man who knows what he is doing." Lady Waynwood's cautious words were said in a false tone of accuracy, as though she had any idea what she was doing. Alayne wanted to laugh, but she couldn't. These people would be ruined in King's Landing – absolutely ruined.
"Do you know when Harrold is coming?" Questioned Alayne, genuine curiosity painting her features.
"Call him Harry, dear, he truly prefers that – and his band was right behind ours. Hopefully any moment now, but you know how the Lords get when there is hunting to be done." The woman chuckled, shaking her head slightly as though fondly remembering something. "I know surely he will be here tonight! Your father is holding a ball for everyone in the surrounding areas, you lucky duckling, you. What is your dress like?"
"I don't know, actually." Alayne admitted, and the lady looked at her in sincere surprise. Stupid girl. A young woman who was meeting her betrothed for the first time would absolutely know what her dress looked like. A silly girl with no responsibilities other than pleasing her future husband would absolutely care about such stupid things. Alayne stammered. "I… I mean… I couldn't choose anything, I was so nervous… I asked them to surprise me with the colors so as to not allow me time to dwell on whether or not I had made the right decision. I was… terribly… I AM… terribly nervous."
"Ah, of course, child. Well, I have wonderful news for you – you are marrying into a great family. But I'm sure they've been telling you that all week. He is a great man, you see. He will never… he will never harm you, like some women's husbands might." The lady sat on a bench and invited Alayne to sit beside her. She gestured for the servants that were following them to skitter off before she continued, wiping a snowflake from her cheek. "I had a first husband you know – some would say that it is such a sad thing, to be widowed so young – but my husband was truly a terror. And I mean that in every way. I wouldn't scare such a fragile little thing like you with the details but… those years of my life were very hard ones…"
Lady Waynwood seemed to drift off, and for the first time Alayne felt as though she could see the young woman that once was. Perhaps not unlike Sansa… someone thrown into a bad situation, but this woman had to endure an actual marriage. The way the lady was staring off into the sky made Alayne feel as though it must have been a truly horrific ordeal. Maybe these people weren't so different from her after all – maybe they were all hiding their own secrets as well.
Being so bold as to take a lock of Lady Waynwood's pretty blonde hair in her hands, Alayne held it between them, ignoring the lady's look of bewilderment. It was unorthodox, she knew.
"I have been told that the most beautiful of flowers bloom within the breezes of adversity." Alayne said, studying the woman's hair. It truly was a beautiful color considering how old the woman may have been. She smiled brightly at the girl, her cheeks flushing – who knows when the last time this older woman had blushed was? – and shook her head again, clicking her tongue.
"You truly are Lord Baelish's daughter."
"Slick with words, you mean." Alayne stated, the woman once again surprised at the girl's boldness. Alayne hoped that Lady Waynwood would respect her blunt honesty, and as she leaned back to regard the girl, it seemed she may have been right.
"You are a smart little bird, aren't you?" Commented the woman. Alayne smiled.
"Only as smart as he has allowed me to be."
"It's such a royal color." Alayne observed, turning this way and that in front of her mirror. Her handmaidens frenzied around her, preparing her dress and her hair. The dress was a deep, royal purple – giving her the appearance of someone important and rich. Each end of fabric was lined with a soft white lining that gave the dress a more youthful look, but the cut of it was quite immodest. Her bossom was pressed tightly upwards, and although she was not quite yet done growing in that area, it seemed too much to her already. The bodice was tightfitting around her waist, giving out at her hips and flowing down her like flower petals. She liked the dress, but knew that Baelish had designed it and despised the idea.
"You look wonderful, Lady Alayne." Of course her servants would have to say such a thing, those in service to others always said whatever they felt they were supposed to. Peeking out her balcony windows, she could see the ballroom lit up – people talking, drinking, and so on. The music would not start until Lord Baelish arrived, and then Alayne would get her first meeting with Harrold.
"Are you sure you want your hair down like this, my lady? Most women your age – "
"I don't need you to remind me what most women my age do. I want it down and curled as it is." Just as Margaery had worn hers, so would Alayne on this night. She remembered how wonderful the girl had looked, and how new age.
A knock on the door sent one of the girls to open it for, naturally, Lord Baelish. He smiled at Alayne in the mirror. "Is my beautiful daughter ready, then?"
"Yes, Lord Protector, does she not look wonderful?" One of the maids had been gushing over Alayne's dress all evening, eyeing it with envy.
"Indeed she does. Will you excuse us, now, I need to discuss matters of a private nature with my daughter."
They obliged, scurrying this way and that to collect their tools of the trade before closing the door behind them. Alayne watched as Baelish slowly stepped towards her, taking in the shape of her in the dress he had made to be worn only by her. He wondered what it must be like for that man, seeing a doll dressed up so prettily, and knowing that you will have to watch another man play with it. The thought made her smile, which Baelish noticed immediately.
"Something amuse you, my lovely little dove?" He asked, standing directly in front of her, letting his eyes move over her hair.
"Just that everyone is so enjoying this except for me… I have to pretend all night while everyone else can be careless."
"It is not as bad as you think. You will be tired easily, from all the dancing, and can retire early. A lady never stays the entire time."
"Will you?" Alayne questioned, noting his mainly black attire. His under shirt was a dark purple that matched her dress perfectly, and on his hand she saw a small purple ring of the same shade. Never a detail overlooked.