DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters. They are GRR Martin's. I just play with them.

Sansa/Petyr-centric chapter, focused on Sansa's alternate character development into a Machiavellian lady.

WARNING: mild adult themes.

Flames will be used to roast rabbits.

Enjoy!

For all the past five years, Sansa had known that as soon as Sweetrobin's conditions worsened, she would shed her Alayne disguise and retake her real identity. She had also known that she would have to marry Harry the Heir and she had all the time to get used to the idea. Petyr's plan was flawless, as usual. It only required a small amount of cooperation from her part. Well, not so small since it entailed being bedded by said over-enthusiastic, brawny youth.
Sansa endured, it was for a higher cause, even if the boy was as delicate as an aurochs. she was secretly delighted by the fact that her husband seemed to be even more unsubtle than she first thought, all taken up by dreams of military glory and totally blind to more subtle duels of diplomacy and economy. He was likely to overlook her and to call her a silly dear when she spoke to him. All the better for her. If he thought her a fool, and she was very careful to simper like a little bird in his presence, he was all the more likely to leave her in peace and free to attend more serious business. The long years of experience in being an utter fool, a victim in the hands of anyone who wanted, have left her as a legacy the ability of crying very easily and a look of utter innocence. She could still play the maiden in distress pretty well, but she had developed a steel backbone, a sharp wit and an acute understanding of politic, all thanks to Petyr. Some days she mused about what would have happened if she ran away with the Hound and she didn't like it at all. She would still have been everyone's victim, only with a brawny man to defend her. She shook her head. No, she was better off like this, with a brawny youth as an absentee husband and an intelligent man as a partner.
A mere week after the marriage, inebriated with dreams of victory and glory, Harry left for the van again. He had to show the Lannisters and those bloody rebels in the Riverlands that no one discounted the might of the Arryn, he said.
Sansa hoped to the gods that he didn't let himself be killed like the idiot he was. Not that she loved him, upon the contrary, she was all the more happy if he was not around, but if he died just now, without giving her a child first, her claim on the Vale would be shaky at best.
Fortunately, Petyr had thought about this problem and saddled the youth with a hand-picked retinue of his paid men, among which the principal was ser Lyn Corbray.
The very day Harry left for the van, Petyr came to her. Before her marriage, they had only exchanged kisses and caresses, every time more heated and daring than the last, more tortured and frustrating, but they had never truly made love. She had to be a maiden for her marriage, but now that this requirement had expired, they could finally have each other as it was meant to be.
It was so different from her husband's mindless and animalistic rutting... Petyr was much gentler and caring, he minded of her pleasure as well as his and in his arms Sansa felt like a goddess, not just a piece of young, tender meat to be screwed. Afterwards, they had taken the habit of discussing the most important events while still lying naked in bed. It was comforting to be wrapped in his slim arms and to exchange witticisms and information, to be able to admire such a sharp mind at work. Sansa was no simpleton, not anymore, but she felt like she was not yet in his league. She will learn, he will teach her to be his perfect partner in that complicate game of theirs. This willingness to help, to teach her, this caring for her development was one of the reasons why she loved him so much.

She had taken to meet petitioners, after the marriage. She and Petyr had agreed that it would be the perfect way to project an outward impression of caring and justice and at the same time feel the populace's pulse. It was an annoying but necessary parade. Most were happy with a communal hearing, but some requested a private audience. Usually those were the most interesting or the most annoying. Among the private petitioners, the previous day, she had the two biggest surprises of her life, first her not-so-lovely sister Arya and the supposedly-dead Hound.
Her sister had not changed a bit in the intervening years. She was tall and thin as a blade, face long and austere. Even with her hair dyed black and dressed as a young knight, Sansa had readily recognized her. Her angry expression was still the same. She had a lot of nerve: she had to admit it, coming to her with a hare-brained, ill-conceived, rash revenge plan, which entailed grouping the rebels in the Riverlands and in the North, the death of the Bastard of Bolton, Lannister's man in the North and possibly the wholesale slaughter of the Freys. Sansa and Petyr had no sympathy for either Boltons or Freys, but such a chain of events would upset possibly beyond repair the balance of power, which was the principal tool of their game. However, having Arya on their side would be beneficial. If it could be proven that she had never married Bolton, she could be used to strengthen their alliances, or, in the worst-case scenario, she could be employed as an assassin. Putting on her best loving-elder-sister face, she tried to explain her that it would not be possible, but that she would be happy to give her a place to stay, if she wanted. She was her sister after all. Somehow, Arya seemed to have read into her, and, putting up an angry tirade about her duties to her family, she turned tail and strode away, slamming the door behind her. Sansa shook her head. Her family was dead. She had no duty towards them, her only duty was to survive.

Later on, that afternoon, she had another surprising visit.
Disguised as a commoner as he was, Sansa had not recognized the Hound until he threw back his hood, revealing the full extent of his burn scars.
He hadn't changed as well in those five years, only his eyes were less angry, more desperate.
She was not prepared to meet him, he was supposed to be dead, after all, and she was not prepared to hear a tormented, passionate, soppy confession of his love for her.
She must have faltered or her expression must have revealed something while her mind worked frantically to work out a way of maximizing the opportunities of this meeting. She didn't need another warrior brute in her life, she already had Harry, and she surely didn't need a lover, she already had all she could dream of in Petyr, but Sandor was a competent fighter, a leader even, and it would be much better to have him on their side than against them. If she had any feelings for him before, they had shrinked into nothingness since their last meeting and all she could muster was a vague pity. He must be truly naïve himself if he thought that she would drop everything to run away with him…
However, if she pretended to return his feelings but claimed that she couldn't betray her husband she could persuade him into staying and in time into working for her. She hoped to the gods she wouldn't have to continue the charade to the point of having to bed him… Petyr would be understanding of the reasons, but she already had all the violent fucking she could handle, thank you very much.
All of this happened inside her head in a split second, while she tried to keep her expression schooled into one of light amazement and innocent joy, but he didn't buy into her words of welcome or into her tormented expression while she expressed regret at marrying Harry or into anything she said. She was sure she had become a good liar, Petyr himself ahd complimented her in many occasions, but as she spoke she saw his face fill up with anger and mistrust.
"What has become of you, little bird?" he said softly.
"I have grown up, my lord." she answered in a neutral tone.
"Aye, that you have." he replied, giving her a slow, irritating, once-over, but his words were filled with sadness rather than lust and despite her best entreaties, she couldn't prevent him from walking away. "Great - she thought - what if, feeling spurred, he sides with the Lannisters again?"
She went to Petyr, fretting like a simpering maid, but, as usual, he had already noticed what tormented her.
"Your sister and the Hound have come to visit, haven't they?" he asked.
Sansa nodded.
"What did they want from you, my flower?" he asked, kissing her lightly but skilfully.
Tingling a bit from his kiss, Sansa carefully chose her words. "Arya wanted blood, the Boltons and the Freys, Sandor wanted me."
"Oh dear, - Petyr chuckled – people with simple needs are so refreshing… What did you tell them?"
Sansa blushed at her failure. "I tried to tell them what they wanted to hear, without committing myself to anything, but they didn't buy into it, neither of them." She lowered her head in shame, but Petyr's hand on her chin forced her to look up again, into his eyes.
"They say that wolves and dogs can smell lies. – he said, comfortingly -That makes them all the more dangerous. Well, if sweet words and entreaties didn't keep him here, maybe a force of soldiers will. We can't have two swashbucklers such as them running free to wreak merry havoc, can we? " he asked.
Sansa nodded. "We may not love the Freys, but we need them, at least some of them. - she reflected, smiling sweetly. After the death of Old Walder, Petyr had an easy time of enticing the Freys into his influence sphere. – And there is no telling what the Hound might do. I agree: it is better this way…"
Petyr kissed her softly again and started insinuating his hands into her neckline, gently caressing her breasts. Sansa moaned gently and let him explore her flesh. "It might be better to send a strong force, my lord…" she said huskily, unbuttoning his doublet and shirt.
"Yes… Better be safe than sorry, my lady…" he whispered, lowering his head to suck on her nipples.

That had been three days before. Now, Sansa lay awake in Petyr's arms once again, but both were tense. "They have escaped. – Petyr had said in a clipped tone, after some minutes of idle caresses – Three soldiers dead, two wounded, a headlong chase in the forest and no results. This is unnerving."
Sansa tried to soothe him, caressing his face gently. "They have teamed up together, I gather…" she whispered, rubbing her nose against his cheek.
Petyr hugged her and nodded, then chuckled. "That would be a grotesque couple if there is any…" he said, amused.
Sansa giggled. "Oh, Petyr, you can't mean it. He is still so besotted with me… And I do not think Arya will be ever mature enough to think of such things. She still acts as a tomboy."
Petyr returned to seriousness. "Adversity makes strange bedfellows, – he said – but yes, I do not think in that sense of the term. Still, now we have a bigger problem that we had anticipated." he mused.
Sansa acquiesced. "An experienced soldier and an assassin alone are trouble enough, but together…" she shivered lightly.
"They could have the right leverage to gather up a considerable force and attempt a coup against the Twins." continued Petyr, effectively completing her thoughts.
"There are bound to be followers of my late brother still around, who might rally around my sister." she went on.
"And Clegane is a smart enough fellow to guide them." he concluded.
Sansa shivered again and, regretfully, slid out of his embrace, donning her dress. "I will send a raven to the Twins – she sighed – saying that I have heard rumours of a planned assault on their forces and advising them to strengthen their defences."
Petyr rolled from the bed with a grimace, stepping on the cold floor. He nodded and placed a kiss on her still-uncovered shoulder, embracing her from behind. Sansa sighed. It would be nice to continue their little games, but there was business to be attended to.
He kissed her neck, biting lightly. "I will send more soldiers to comb the area. They can't have escaped too far away in a storm of those proportions..."
"From your mouth to the gods' ears…" whispered Sansa, turning in his arms to kiss him and promptly slipping away, off to her business.