The air was freezing as they traversed through the forest.

Alayne Stone was dressed in a soft coat of lambswool: dark brown and simple cut. She was a bastard after all and it would be seen as perverse for Alayne to dress above her station. For decoration, leaves and vines embroidered the bodice, sleeves and hem in darker thread. It was modest, only slightly better-off then something a serving girl might wear. Holding up her fur cloak was a silver broach of a mockingbird.

"Wear it proudly, my sweet," Lord Baelish told her as he wrapped the cloak around her shoulders as smoothly as she imagined her future husband would, before planting his mockingbird pin to hold it up. "I believe I deserve a kiss." Alyane did so, a light kiss on his cheek before he ushered her out.

She was glad she dressed warmly. Her clothes flapped in the gusts of air and would have blown back her hood if she hadn't tighten it as much as she could. She was cold, but the forest did have a beauty. A cold beauty that made her cheeks rosy and would freeze her fingers if it wasn't the fur-lined gloves.

Their group pushed through the soft snow, leaving deep footprints in their wake. Around Alayne was the rest of the hunting party. She was a bastard among a group of lordlings, ladies, knights and squires. At their heels nipped nimble hunting dogs who followed the scent of game. Alayne was out of place she knew, but everyone else kept their mouths closed. They had to.

Beside her walked her betrothed: Ser Harrold Hardyng. The young knight looked every inch a lord-in-waiting. Tall, clean-limbed, standing straight as a lance with a body that was hard with muscle. His sandy blond hair was cut to his jawline and his eyes were a deep blue. Handsome and arrogant. The heir to the Vale was dressed in a fur coat with a cloak of sable, it was so soft and fluffy to the touch that it had made Alayne giggle when she ran her hand through it. In his hands was a longbow, with a quiver of arrows on his belt, bouncing with every stride he took. People claimed Harry was a talented archer, saying he could hit a hare at a greater distance than most. But Alayne couldn't tell - after spending the morning hiking through the forest, first on horseback before dismounting -they barely found anything. Too much noise.

Many of the nobles who journeyed with them were laughing loudly and telling jests. Ser Joryne Minwell and Jayne Herryng were among the loudest, always laughing and pushing each other in the snow. They arrived to the Gates of the Moon alongside Harry, both were friends of his from Ironoaks. Jayne was more than just a friend, if Myranda Royce and the serving girls were to be believed.

"Are you cold, my lady?" Harry asked, his voice was not unkind but there was a lingering irritation underneath. He loved hunting.

"No, ser." She slowed down, rubbed her hands together and breathed onto her palms, not like it did much through the thick fabric. He gave her a smile and Alayne felt blood rush to her face. "Mayhaps a little."

"Your own blushing bride," Ser Roland laughed. "If only I was a thief or a wildling, then I would have stolen her myself. Then it would only be fair."

Harry the heir smirked and turned to him. "Why would she accept the likes of you, ser?"

Roland Waynwood shrugged, his face was red from the cold but he turned to Alayne and smiled just like when they first met. "I'm a knight and I'll be lord of Ironoaks after my father." He grinned a wicked grin. "I'll show her the best time. Only a fool won't be loyal to this one. A real jewel of . . . Braavos was it? Am I mistaken my lady?"

"You are correct, ser," Alayne lied. "My mother was a daughter of a merchant prince." She didn't like lying about it, but she had to for now. Just a little longer.

The knight laughed softly. "The city of merchants and mummer shows, I hear. But also thieves as well, who cruelly take what they want."

"N-n-n-not t-this again," complained his younger uncle, Ser Wallace Waynwood with his lisp.

"I'm sorry uncle, she just keeps stealing it, no matter how much I try to guard it."

Alayne could only laugh shyly as Harry gave his friend a look which warded the man off with a gesture of his hands. For how protective he seemed to be when it came to other men, Harry the heir was very eager to share himself. Two bastards already, she thought. Will he continue when he bores of me? It wasn't a rare occurrence, even her true father had Jon. "I'm not a thief, ser." She shot him a smile which just seemed to make her betrothed jealous. "Otherwise neither of us will be standing here."

"May I say that my lady has some wit. I may say that Harry could just have met his match."

Harry chuckled. "I'm afraid to say that her tongue is as good as my lance." Jayne looked at Alayne with a mischievous smile that Alayne couldn't help but blush at, and the laughter came soon after. In many ways, the girl was like Myranda Royce, except Jayne was tall and lanky instead of fleshy and short. Harold hooked an arm around Alayne. "For as much as I hate to admit. It looks like the game hasn't come to show us their fluffy ears. A shame really, I was looking forward to some sport. But it's getting cold and I'm sure my lady's father is growing sick without her presence." The others were in agreement, they usually found themselves agreeing with the heir to the Vale.

On their way back, both Harry and Alayne walked a slower pace behind the rest of the hunting party. The falling snow swirled around them in the wind like graceful performers at a dance. She gazed up at the grey sky and the snowflakes tickled her face. All of it just reminded her of it snowing in Winterfell during the autumn or summer.

Within a heartbeat, Harry pushed her into a nearby tree. Muscular arms were quick to wrap around Alayne's body, cupping the small of her back as his eyes met hers, blue on blue. Harry was handsome and whenever he smiled, a dimple formed on his cheek. It was dazzling enough to cause a room full of maidens to erupt in giggles and sighs. Without wasting a moment, he pressed his lips against hers. The kiss was warm, but there was nothing gentle about it. Harry was always forceful, his arms holding her body in place as his tongue pushed into her mouth.

In many ways, he looked like someone Sansa Stark always wanted. Tall and strong and handsome. But Alayne wasn't Sansa. That was a fantasy of a silly girl who read too many stories and listened to too many songs. Sansa wasn't the mockingbird's daughter.

She pressed her palm against his chest and tried to push him away but the young falcon only tightened his hold, his smile grew as he continued to kiss her hard before finally drawing away slowly, his lips glistening. "You're the perfect snow maiden," Harry spoke, his voice soft as he breathed out puffs of warm white air. His gloved hand took a strand of her dark hair and gently played with it. His other hand meanwhile was sliding down the curve of her back. "The only women I could ever want and need."

Did you say that to the girls you planted bastards inside of? The hand pressed against his chest pushed him back, something he grew used to when his advances became too strong. Alayne was supposed to be maiden for their wedding, but Harry had never been patient and would complain when she deflected his advances. He's never had a girl refuse him before. Harry seemed to be taking it as a personal challenge.

He gave her a face of false innocence. "Perhaps you'll do me the honour of giving me your favour during the last tilt on the morrow?"

She refused to give him her favour for the other rounds. Alayne would always say she'd given it to someone else. It pricked at the young knight's pride, even more so with him not knowing who she claimed to have given her favour to. Alayne was smart enough not to give names. "Mayhaps—" He didn't wait for another word before pressing in for another kiss. He didn't get far, Alayne pressed a finger to his lips just before their mouths touched. "If you win, you can crown me your queen of love and beauty."

He grinned at that, like a child who had something to prove. "Then I will, my lady. I will crown you before the entire Vale. Then they'll know you're the only one for me."

For now, until you lose interest. "Then I'll be a very happy lady."

His hand slowly went down to her thigh. "Happy enough to finally desire me in your bed?"

He wiggled his eyebrows and she couldn't help but laugh. "Only kissing for now." She gave him that much. I'm a bastard, a creature born of lust. He likely thought this was easy. What a fool. "My father says good things come to those who wait."

"You father is a cruel man."

"He only wants what's best for his daughter," was Alayne's response, a finger trailed down his chest. "I'm sure he wants someone to love me and care for me."

"I will," he instantly let out, sounding immature. "I won't mistreat you and I won't hurt you. I swear."

"What about the other girls you've been with." I'm walking on thin ice. She didn't know how he would react. This could be a great mistake and set back. "Planting seeds in their bellies and leaving them. How do I know I'm not another conquest to brag to your friends about?"

He looked hurt at those words. "They're nothing me, they never were. I swear to you, you mustn't fault me for my past. I didn't know them as I do you. But you're here, before me among the snow like a goddess." He smiled, showing that charming dimple which would have made young Sansa fall head over heels for him. Alayne refused to submit. "I will not falter in my affections to you, my love." He pulled her closer to his strong chest. "One day we'll marry and our children will ask me how I became married to the most beautiful woman in Westeros—no, the world." He shot another smile before adding a soft chuckle. "I'll say she stole my heart when we first kissed underneath the moonlight, after refusing me countless times."

"You make it sound so romantic. But if you love me, you can wait. There is no need to rush." They were words he didn't want to hear and it showed. Before he could argue, she gave him a chaste kiss to silence him. Persuade him. Make him love you, Petyr's voice rang in her ear. She pulled away. "I don't think we should keep the others waiting." He didn't seem too happy with that either.

When he turned and walked a few steps, Alayne smiled, grabbed a handful of wet sticky snow and smoothed it into a perfect ball. Just as she was about to throw it at Harry's unsuspecting neck, Sansa remembered Winterfell. When she and her family played in the courtyard: throwing balls at Arya, Bran, Robb, Ricken and Jon. Her little sister – who Sansa made fun of – always saw it as a competition and would make the biggest and throw the hardest, but she usually missed and when their half-brother laughed, Arya grabbed a handful of snow and flung it into his face. The courtyard then erupted in laughter as Jon spattered and complained it went in his mouth.

She was about to drop it when another hit her in the side of the face, leaving a cold white stain on her cheek. Flakes broke off and went down her neck, making Alayne drop the ball and shiver. "Don't think we would leave without you two love birds," laughed Ser Joryne Minwell. He was a lanky youth, with a face like an eagle and one of Harry's companions when he was a ward.

"You dare strike my lady," Harry called back, lowering himself to grab a handful of snow. A smile was playing on his lips. "That will not stand, ser."

"I was protecting my friend. Unfair, I will say, milady. About to strike the heir in the back. How very unchivalrous of you." He too had swooped down to collect another handful. Before Alayne knew, they had formed into two teams and were throwing snowballs at each other, all the young nobles taking cover behind the trees as the forest echoed with their laughter and shouts.

It was late afternoon when they returned to the Gates of the Moon, cold and wet and covered in snow. "I heard you had an interesting experience," smiled Myranda Royce who was sitting by the hearth, a warm cup of mulled wine resting on her lap. She was a short and fleshy woman with a buxom chest. Her hair was brown and curly.

"It was," Alayne admitted, still tired from the ordeal. She couldn't remember the last time she had that much fun. Now all she wanted to do was relax and warm up by the fire, but she couldn't. Littlefinger still had duties for her to perform, and she served Sweetrobin. Alayne was the only one the lord of the Vale trusted. "It was tiring, but I did enjoy it." It also brought back sad memories from when everything seemed so sweet and innocent.

There was a glint in the Royce's eye. "Did you finally do it? In the snow. If so, I must say that you are less innocent then I thought."

Redness enveloped Alayne's face. "N-no. Not that." Her friend only snorted in laughter. "Nothing more than kissing." He tried to, he really tried. She liked Myranda Royce who was a good friend, but not one she shared anything of importance with. "And it will stay like that until he marries me," her voice was stern to ward off anymore talking of the subject. "I'm a bastard remember. I don't desire to be pregnant without a husband." Alayne's soft faced friend only smiled and shook her head, the woman who became a widow during her own bedding.

"You're no fun . . . but was it a good kiss? Did he take you gently as a knight takes a maiden or give he do it forcibly, showing the whole world that you're his?" She was smiling and Myranda always loved gossip. She leaned closer, showing a viper like grin. "I hear he's as talented with his tongue as he is with his sword."

"Wonderful," Alayne lied. There is just something sweet and romantic about having one force their tongue down my throat. "The best I've ever hand." For as rough and selfish he was, Harry was improving, growing gentler with her. But it was slow progress.

"I see your face when he takes you, you blush like a maiden—but yet again, you are a maiden." Lady Royce let out a laugh. "Let's hope the same fate doesn't happen to you as it did with me." That made Alayne smile. "I like you here, especially with Mya away. It's nice to have someone to talk to without all those pesky titles and pleasantries."

Sansa nodded. She was getting used to acting a bastard, it wasn't how she envisioned it when she was younger. People looked down at her, that was true, but less so than the common-born serving girls and servants. She was still the daughter of the regent after all and many kept their lips closed in her presence. At the same time she could relax, with people truly being honest with her - either good or bad - not the false flattery of King's Landing. Alayne Stone wasn't wanted for their gain.

"I miss Mya too," agreed Alayne. She recalled the girl who led the mules up and down the Eyrie. Black haired and blue eyed, so much like the old king. She dressed in trousers and leather. The way she handled herself reminded Sansa of her former-sister. "Very much, even if she's only been gone a few days." One last journey to the Eyrie before the snow becomes too deep to travel. The amount of snow falling outside made her anxious. "Hopefully she'll be back soon."

Myranda Royce slowly nodded, taking a sip of her wine as Alayne warmed her hands. "Bring back our lords things . . . how is my sweetrobin? Is his heath improving?" Myranda spoke sympathetically. Many lords of the Eyrie either couldn't wait for Robert to die so Harry could be the new Lord Paramount. While they asked about his health, they would only put on a fake façade of sympathy for the young boy. Myranda was genuine concerned.

Alayne couldn't say. The young lord of the Vale was as sickly as ever, spending most days asleep where he grumbled underneath the covers in the dark like he was in a nightmare. He holds on. Each morning she would inspect him alongside maester Colemon. Lord Robert was a pitiful lord, a young child of eight with long brown hair, and a small scrawny frame. A young child Alayne pitied. "He's better," she lied. "When he isn't sleeping, he says he likes it here." That much was true, he preferred the castle that didn't bring back memories of his mother's death.

Her friend beamed. Myranda was about to open her mouth when a servant walked up in the livery of House Arryn and bowed. "Lady Alayne, your father, Lord Peytr Baelish desires you attendance in his solar. He requests you come at your earliest convenience."

Alayne gave a nod before turning to Myranda and about to ask if she could be excused. "Go to your father, I'll remain here, watching the knights in the toasty warmth of my hearth. You don't want you dear father's beard to turn grey do you?" She let out a laugh and Alayne politely took her leave.

Lord Baelish was sitting by the hearth in his solar. It was circular room, an oak desk took up the majority of the space and the top was layered with parchments. Resting on his lap was a cup of mulled wine as well as a flattened scroll. When the guards opened the groaning door, he turned and smiled. "My sweet daughter," he said, standing up, his arms wide. Petyr Baelish was a short man of slender build. His features were sharp and a small pointed beard dangled from his chin. He pulled Sansa close and kissed both her cheeks. His breath smelled like mint. "You're getting more beautiful by the day, sweetling. The Vale will soon belong to you, sooner than expected."

"Sooner?" Alayne's voice was soft. Lord Baelish bobbed his head, almost sadly. Alayne knew something hadn't gone to plan. That worried her. Petyr picked up the scroll. "This was sent to Lord Robert Arryn of the Vale, or who he calls regent."

"What is it . . . do they know who I am?" She could imagine Cersei Lannister finding out, perhaps with the spider's help. They'll come here looking for me. They'll take me back to King's Landing for Joffrey's death. She felt herself shrink at that moment. They'll kill me like they did father.

"No one knows who you are, for now. But they will soon. I've had two ravens arrive recently. Both asking for us to side with them for the latest war."

"What war, what letters?" Is it Stannis? She heard he had landed somewhere up north . . . her home. Fighting against the Boltons who betrayed her family.

"One letter was sent from King's Landing. Queen Cersei Lannister demanding that the knights of the Vale come to protect her son from the dragons."

"Dragons? Father, what are you talking about?"

"Targaryens from across the Narrow Sea. The kings before our late dear King Robert. An interesting revelation to be honest. Apparently they've both been hiding away." He chuckled slightly, but it was a clearly uncomfortable sound. "The Targaryens, they bring to Westeros fire and blood and they call it peace. Fires set by a Princess Daenerys Targaryen and a certain Prince Aegon—"

"Prince Aegon?" She was told that he died during the sack of King's Landing. Had his face smashed against the wall by the Mountain. Sansa had cried to her mother when she heard that story and asked her what monster would do that to a babe. "How . . . how is he alive? He's dead, I was told so." Daenerys was said to be the Mad King's daughter who was ferreted away alongside her brother. What if she's as mad as her father . . . what if they both are? The thought terrified her.

"A boy goes by that name, that much is true. He's married to Princess Daenerys and comes to Westeros alongside sellswords and three dragons. Real ones if the stories are true." Alayne felt her legs weaken at that, remembering the Dance of Dragons and Aegons Conquest. "The Vale stayed out the War of the Five Kings, leaving us one of the two kingdoms unaffected by war. I will say the Vale lords are restless about this little news. There are many who don't want to be involved, while others are debating on what side to pick, either lion or dragon." He let out a soft chuckle. "Dearest Alayne, many here hate the Targaryens, having their sons and kinsmen killed during Robert's Rebellion, but many others will refuse to side with the Lannister's who break customs." He looked back down at the scroll, clicking his tongue. "Looks like we need to move quickly. Find a septon to annul your marriage with the imp and you'll marry Harry soon, sometime after the tourney."

"Are you sure he'll agree?"

"He's a fool if he doesn't. A very stupid fool." Lord Baelish stoked a strand of her hair, twirling it around his finger. It was gentle and reminded her of her mother. "But Ser Joryne tells me that he is . . . smitten—"

"Ser Joryne? He's Harry's friend, why would he work for you?"

"A little gambling addiction, I'm afraid. Ser Joryne Minwell just doesn't know when to give up, so for a few whispers I allow it to continue his habit. Nothing to worry about, my dear daughter." Once again, he gave her a kiss, this time on the forehead. "This looks to be an unfortunate event. It's a shame this came up. But it's a good thing I thrive in chaos and this news will spread much of it. Cersei and her mummers show of a small council is going to hand victory to the Targaryens on a silver platter and with that, we need to move quickly with our plan."

"What plan?"

His eyes sparkled. "Your birth right of course. Many injustices have been done to your house." With a gentle hand, he cupped her cheek. "You're the heir to Tully lands and the North. With your marriage to Ser Harry, you'll have the armies of the Vale to fight for you. Many have loyalties to the Trident and Northern houses, after all those injustices done to your house, they won't dare stand aside."

Alayne nodded. Winter is coming.

Notes: I know that Sansa is a popular character so i'm curious to what you think. As always, constructive criticism and comments are well appreciated.