Sansa's blank gaze roamed over the mountain range. The Vale was a beautiful land, if it were nothing else. Whispers of courtesies and old habits always made her look at the brighter side, but she no longer allowed those naiveties to dictate her life. Those foolish manners had brought nothing but pain. It had been her mind that had allowed her to survive the horrors of Kings Landing, not those sweet mindsets. Her mind had finally taken control and allowed her to survive the hell that Joffrey created for her to die in. Even then, in what felt like a lifetime since her imprisonment, she was haunted by those gleaming green eyes. However, her mind was superior to his; she was still alive. Obviously the dumb little twat hadn't known what he was doing.
Sansa claimed no credit for his death, though it was her that had been the key to his demise. She had no foreknowledge and thus no courage in the deed. Oh, she would have relished it, just as she would have relished seeing the shock on Joffrey's face had Sandor not stopped her from pushing the boy off the walkway that day… that day that seemed to be a lifetime ago.
There in the Eyrie, she was a high bastard. No, she was not considered a highborn. However, a bastard's powers were determined by the highborn parent. Petyr may not have been as highborn as the Starks, but he was still a lord by birthright. Alayne was the daughter of Lord Petyr and a lowborn wench. Sansa didn't mind the rank change. She had been treated like a bastard while in Kings Landing when it had suited her captors. She had only been highborn when it was convenient to the Lannisters.
Before her days were done, Sansa would see the Lions go extinct in Westeros. Their pelts would line her Halls, and she would wear their manes upon her mantle. This, she had sworn to the Old Gods. The Seven would never accept such an oath, but the Old Gods knew and understood righteous indignation and vengeance. Thus, the Seven would be Sansa's light, while the Old Gods would be her strength: a union of the Old and New, just as she had become a union of the old house of Tully and Stark. Winter was coming, and only those that honored her family would serve. Her duty was to vengeance and survival. Her father had long said that the lone wolf died while the pack survived. He had not been wrong, but he had forgotten about the pups. A wolf pup could only annoy an enemy, as Sansa did when she had first been thrust into the Game of Thrones. A pup needed to grow in the winds, and learn to hunt and kill. It needed to mature before it was expected to fight. Thus, Sansa would grow into her claws and teeth. She would allow Petyr to teach her until he could do it no longer. Then, she would fight, and Westeros would bleed onto the snow of her winter.
Her blue eyes looked upon the men that escorted her on her walks. She didn't like horses. She was uncomfortable around the beasts. Petyr said she would have to outgrow that, but for now she would walk. It eased her mind, and allowed her to escape the dark walls of the castle. Soon, she would return to the North, but not to Winterfell. No, she would go to the Dreadfort, and marry a bastard Bolton who liked flaying more than anything. Petyr had explained their goals, and why she had to do it. She agreed that the Boltons would have to be dealt with; they had been the key to the Red Wedding. Roose Bolton would not be allowed to live, and it only helped that Ramsay was already a kinslayer. If the man proved controllable, she might allow him to play Warden of the North for a few years before she killed him. Men who loved pain had uses. Uses that she had ignored once, but such leisure was now denied to her. Though she still had no taste for blood, and wished no harm on innocents, she understood the necessity of it.
Highborn ladies had the option of ignorance, but it would only hurt them in the end. Men were the ones that fought with swords, while women fought with words and deeds and ink. As she studied the histories of the land with Sweetrobin, she realized that few wars had been won with honor and blade alone. She suspected that none had been so easily drawn, but didn't have the paper to back up such a notion. Had she decided to discuss such with Petyr, he would have agreed with her. To him, soldiers were just the pawns, never the knights on the board. She had begun to see his point.
It did amuse her that Petyr still believed her so ignorant to his ways. She knew many things that he had done. She knew of how he had manipulated Cercei into many of her more foolish decisions. She knew that he had been the one that lied and betrayed her father. She knew many of his dirty, dark deeds. She wouldn't kill him for it. Petyr was too good at what he did to simply be killed, and she lived with the guilt of betraying her father, as well. She would use him to learn the game. Once she had become even better than him, she would allow him to know approximately how precarious his life was. Then, he would either turn against her or work for her. She hoped for the later, but would be prepared for the former. It wouldn't truly sadden her to see him go, but it would marginally hurt her efforts.
Turning, Sansa began to trek towards the castle, and her guards followed. Their dirty words would have made her blush once, but a bastard's ears didn't need to be protected like a highborn lady's. She had heard much worse from much worse. Her guards were fine knights of the land, and all had been sworn to her. The three men would accompany her to the Dreadfort, and she knew that Petyr had secretly ordered them to kill the Boltons if anything were to happen to her. Petyr thought he could keep his precautions a secret, but Sansa had many ears in many places.
As she looked out at the mountains that protected her, and the grey skies, she wished to be the girl she had been so many years before. She wished that Lady was still at her side, as tame and proper as a direwolf could ever be. She wished that her family was together in her father's hall. She wished so many things, and a deep sadness tore at her with each wish.
Sansa knew that vengeance wouldn't heal her, or even make the memories hurt any less. She knew that it would be nothing but a precaution for the future generations. She would destroy the Boltons for betraying their liege lord. She would slaughter the Freys for defying guest rights. Yet, she wouldn't raze the House of Lannister to the ground. She would destroy the Queen, and usurp Tommen (perhaps). She would remove Joffrey's remains from the Sept and cast them into the Blackwater. She would take the gold of the Western Lands, and make her crown. She would banish Sir Jaime to the Wall. Yet, she didn't know what to do with Cercei's children, or Tyrion. All had a bit of affection in her heart. Tyrion had not forced her to be a wife, and he had been more of a confidante than a husband. In all her days, no matter what happened, she would never forget that kindness, for it was more than she had ever been shown by anyone but Petyr. Of course, as long as the children lived, there would be an issue of inheritance. However, she remembered the hatred that the Red Viper had held for Tywin and the Mountain.
Though it seemed the Baratheons would go extinct, there were other houses in the Stormlands, and they would remember the slaughter unless she could prove the incest. She would not make the same mistake the Lannisters had. She would not sow the seeds of her own destruction. The best thing to do would be to nullify Myrcella's engagement, and get rid of Tommen's marriage. Then, she would tie the two to lower houses of the North. Then, she wouldn't be as pressured to marry one of her liege lords. Alliances weren't needed between friends or servants. Her hand was better served in other ways.
Whatever would happen, Sansa had time to decide. It would be years before she had to make her decisions on such things. For now, she would learn more of this Ramsay, and how best to keep the man from doing something foolish. She had already decided that she would have him killed the second he raised a hand to her. The days of being beaten for other's amusement were over. She had sworn to see any man or woman dead that laid a hand on her, and nothing had changed. Ramsay may seem to be a useful piece in the game, but he was not priceless or overly important.
A though a mad dog be given a purpose, it must be put down. She would simply allow the thing to enjoy a few more blood soaked years.
Soon, the castle loomed against the sky, foreboding and safe. Sansa smiled when she saw it, and pushed herself faster. She may have been born for winter, but she could still feel the chill in her bones. She craved her hearth, and the warmth of her chamber. Petyr had returned from the North that morning, and he would undoubtable wish to speak about his observations. The doors opened for her, as her party easily passed through the Moon Gates.
The servants rushed around the drafty halls, quickly bringing the dwelling back to life after its lord returned. The knights stood to the sides, hands at the ready to defend and kill. Some looked at her with open lust, while others had the decency to hide their reactions to her. As a woman bloomed and nearly grown, she knew that she was a beautiful woman. Had she not needed to dye her luscious red locks a deep brown, she would have been even more so. Had they known what the great lords of the Vale, the men would have lowered their eyes, but they only knew her as Lord Protector Baelish's bastard daughter Alayne. Bastards didn't have the courtesies of a highborn, and to demand such a thing would have given her away. For now, it would be best that no one know who she was. The only reason she had let the lords know was to save Petyr from Lysa's fate.
Down the halls, and her steps echoed as the throngs of servants thinned. Petyr had taken to doing most of his business in small rooms in the lesser used wings of the Eyrie. He said it was for the quiet, but Sansa knew that he wanted to be away from curious ears. She would have to adopt such a practice when she regained Winterfell. It was ingenious, but most of Petyr's practices were.
A maid fell into step behind her and Sansa looked over her shoulder. The woman was older, and had recently taken up the job of following Sansa as a chaperone. Since her maidenhead had been examined and reported, it was now in her best interest to never be alone until her wedding. Virginity did strange things to men. At least, that's what she assumed when she caught the Petyr's eyes as they smoldered like cinders in a fire. She knew he had dark thoughts of her, most of a sensual nature.
She had a few about him.
That was the way of the world she had once been ignorant of. Sex was a tool of manipulation and expression of affection. After her wedding to Ramsay, she wouldn't have to worry about the men she took to her bed. The brute would take her as quickly as possible if her seduction went well. She would have to prepare herself for the experience; otherwise, it would be incredibly painful. Several of the other women in the Vale had come to her and explained the things that her mother should have when she first left for Kings Landing.
Yet, that didn't mean anything at the moment. Her mind wanders so often, and she worried that she would get lost in it one day. Yet, that was not this day.
When she had finally reached the rooms that Petyr had hidden himself away in, she opened the door slowly and looked in. Petyr, still wearing his travel worn cloak, sat behind a large desk as he looked over papers, letters, and charts. He raised his head to the door when he heard her enter, and his hard eyes seemed to soften just a bit. He waved the maid away as he stood and swept around the desk. Sansa smiled, "It is good to see that you are well from your journey, Father."
Petyr hugged her tightly, pulling her body to mold against his chest. She relaxed into the embrace, used to his attentions, and she ignored her irritation when he sniffed her hair, "It is good to return, my dear." He pulled away and guided her to a chair, "Come, tell me what has conspired in these walls while I have been absent."
Sansa chuckled coyly and answered with amusement dancing off of her tongue, "I highly doubt I am your only source for such information, sir."
Petyr smiled one of his smiles that never reached his hard, pale green eyes, "When you listen to only one mouth, you hear only truth. When you listen to many, you hear the lie." He sat at his desk and waited, obviously expecting to hear what she had learned.
Sansa met his gaze and relayed, "The Great Lords are suspicious about Sweetrobin's illness. They suspect foul play. It would be a shame if the boy died before truly experiencing life. There is word of monsters at the Wall, but there is also whispers of the destruction of the Watch. No one seems to have clear picture of what is happening about the neck." She was always careful to never commit too much detail to her words. She could never know who was listening, and it would be fool that trusted Littlefinger with everything.
Petyr reached for his harvest reports and seemed to ignore what she had said, "Do you know anything of harvests, Alayne?"
Sansa stood and rounded the desk, "I do not, Father."
He handed her the scroll, "A land is protected by what, my dear?"
Sansa leaned against the desk and looked over the figures. The scroll indicated that the Vale was prospering before the winter, "The soldiers and the gold."
Petyr nodded, but didn't take his wandering eyes off of the paper, "You forgot the lords, but that is true. What keeps the lords protected, love?"
Sansa cocked her head to the side and glanced at the armory report he was studying so closely, "The soldiers and the gold."
Petyr chuckled darkly and looked up at the beautiful girl beside his chair. He turned and pushed the hand that held the scroll away so that he could look into her face, "Those help, but the peasants are the base of any society. To keep everything from tumbling, you must have happy lowborns, and you do that with food and safety. The soldiers protect the land from invaders and bandits. The gold keeps the soldiers happy and fit for battle. It keeps the lords in their great castles. It keeps the market going, but it is the food that truly controls everything." He turned and murmured, "The Starks are right. Winter is coming. When that happens, grain will be worth far more than gold. A starving man will do anything for food."
Sansa nodded, understanding his ways. He would make her a great lady one day. He would be a good lord. He understood people, and that was something that Cercei could never do. She thought power was something that could be commanded, but Sansa knew the truth. Power came from gold, fear, and love. Without one of those three, words meant nothing. As she read over the storage security for the food supply, she asked, "How did the negotiations go with the Boltons?"
Petyr shrugged a shoulder, "The boy is as mad as the stories. He came into the room and didn't seem to realize he still had blood on his cloak. However, his father is shrewd and observant. He thinks that you are going to him to escape the Vale." He stopped and looked at her, "Remember, it is always better when the enemy doesn't know anything of what you will do next." He continued on, "The wedding will take place in three months. In that time, I will secure your dowry, and we will plan several of our soldiers and servants into his household." Petyr stopped and looked up at her with hard eyes, and it caused a shiver down her spine, "I stand by my statement, darling. If he hurts you, have the men kill him and then slaughter Roose. The men will get you out safely."
Sansa nodded, a bit thrown by the gravity in his tone, "I understand, Father."
Petyr shook his head, "This man that you will wed is as vile as Gregor Clegane. I shudder to think of him near you." He looked away for a moment and then flicked his eyes back to her. They were kind, and that was a rarity that she had only seen once, before he kissed her in the snow, "I won't be able to bear it if something happens to you, love. I have already lost your mother. Don't make me lose you, as well."
Sansa raised her hand to his whiskered cheek and ran her thumb over the ridge of his cheek. She lowered her voice as she knew he liked, "Oh, Petyr. You will be at my side for a lifetime. Would you leave me?"
Petyr turned his head into her palm and kissed the tender skin, but he never took his eyes from hers, "I have never had the strength it would require. I am yours, darling."
Sansa gazed into his darkening eyes and breathed out, "Then you have nothing to fear. I always return to those that are loyal." She pulled her hand away and plucked up a report of the knights of the Vale. Petyr made no move to take it from her. She had a need to learn the ways of the realm, and he saw no reason to stunt her growth. If he had his way, she wouldn't stop growing until she was his Queen, and they ruled this realm together. Little did he know that Sansa dreamed of the same, but with many differences.