It's about to get weird. Really weird. Final warning.

Alayne

-How many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have?

-A Thousand Eyes, and One.

-How does the spider sit in his webs and spin all day?

-His little birds bring him tales and sing to him with silent songs.

-And how big is Lord Littlefinger's Little Finger?

She didn't know at the time, but she knew now. Long enough to reach you wherever you are, and poke you when you feel most safe. She hadn't figured it out herself, but it was the only logical answer in the sequence of riddles. Why else lump him in with the Spider and Bloodraven?

Miranda Royce fell upon her like a hawk on a sparrow. "Alayne!" she sang out, her wide face broad with a smile. "Come quickly, your father is asking for you!"

Alayne felt a sudden urge to run in the exact opposite direction, she did not want to speak to Myranda Royce right now. She wanted to sit with her head in Ser Harry's lap while he twirled her hair, his kisses heavy upon her face.

Instead, she looked up, smiled as innocently as she could, and replied, "Lead on, Lady Myranda."

As Myranda Royce waddled on ahead, Alayne became increasingly more worried. Had something happened to her father? Had some thing happened to her Harry? Oh please not Harry, she prayed. She was actually starting to like him.

The Gates of the Moon loomed ahead of them, and to the rightmost tower Myranda now ran. Two guards in kettlehats and platejacks crested with the sigil of House Royce met them, spears in hand.

"Your father awaits," the older guard said, though who he addressed it to neither one could say. The doors opened and in they went.

Down and down and down again. Across an underground hall, up a flight, through a door, and down again, until they reached a dungeon. Two more guards stood outside.

"Lady Myranda," one of the guards said, nodding a bow. "Your father awaits you in his chambers."

Myranda Royce curtseyed slightly. "Thank you. Guards, I shall take some guidance when I go to my father, but first, please escort Lady Alayne to her Father's cell."

Cell? What had happened? Alayne must give no emotion save fear."Cell?!?!?" she cried in the most horrified voice she could muster. "What has he done?"

"You'll find out soon enough, Alayne," Myranda whispered behind her. "Or should I say, Sansa Stark." She chuckled at her own wit. "Of course, we only have our minds giving you being Sansa Stark as the only conclusion to the question of who are you really, but there is another test. Guards, as my father ordered. The washwomen will wash her hair as best they can, with lye, with urine, with anything to remove dyes. Sansa Stark has hair like fire and blood, while our Lady Alayne has hair the color of mud."

And there was nothing to do but go along as the men grabbed her arms and marched her to a nearby cell, where a tub of hot water awaited. Two washwomen stripped her shoulders and neck of jewelry and clothes, her dress unbuttoned halfway for decency's sake. The Guards held her arms as Lady Myranda apologized for the rough treatment and the washwomen treated her hair like a stain, dunking her head again and again and again as they scrubbed the red away.

When they were finished and Sansa was dressed again, Myranda took a torch out of it's sconce and examined her hair by the light.

"Red," she declared. She looked to the washwomen. "You may go. The guards at the outside door will give you your pay." She clicked her fingers in Sansa's face. "Stay awake!" she nearly shouted, in a most unladylike manner, and then nodded to the guards. "Take her to my father's chambers. He would like to question her himself."

The guards hauled her from the room, following Lady Myranda. Up they went, up and up and up, down a hallway, two flights of stairs, another hallway and then up another stair. Two guardsmen in mail-and-plate with the sigil of House Royce on their tabards guarded the door. Whimpers came through the door, softly, the sounds of a man in hideous pain with his screams muffled by a gag.

"Let her watch," Sansa's once-friend ordered. "We need a confession so that the bastards in his pay will leave off. Ser Lothor Brune confessed easily enough, and he was rewarded for his honor. He thought he was protecting you, and for obeying his vows he will be married to a daughter of House Tollet, with a small keep of his own in due time. Your false father tried to sow discord here in the Vale, and he tried to bribe and spread vile rumors about Lord Corbray. He will pay for his crimes and then face Ice's justice."

The door was opened, and Sansa thrust through.

Petyr sat on a wooden chair, his wrists and ankles shackled, his neck chained to the back wall. His eyes were blue now, no more green, and they glowed. His skin was thin and stretched, a milk-pale hue over his once lightly tanned skin. His beard was shaved and his hair was snow-white and brittle, no longer it's deep black. His lips were cracked, trembling yet unmoving, his teeth cracked and missing (she didn't see the inside of his mouth but she did see teeth on the floor), his mouth full of a bloody gag.

His hands were the most horrible thing about him. They were thin, skeletal even, the nails and fingertips missing, just bloody sticks, the knuckles black as ink. His palms were skinned and dripping blood, his wrists broken and blue and purple. As she watched, angry purple welts were raised across his neck as he struggled against his chain. Something was burning him, destroying him from the inside as well as the out. For the first time, Sansa saw him for what he was.

Lord Corbray stood before her, the sword Lady Forlorn sheathed at his hip, in his hand a red hot poker. Seven septons knelt on the floor around Lord Baelish, not at their devotions, but performing an exorcism, censers and crystals in their hands.

The struggles did not cease. Baelish struggled, fouled himself, screamed muffled obscenities through the gag, and tried to bite off his own tongue. Whenever his struggles grew so great it was feared he might kill himself, Corbray drew his Lady and pricked the possessed man with it, and the pulls and rips would subside for a few moments.

The door burst open and a woman entered, garbed from head to toe in red. Her hair was red, her clothes were red, even her eyes were red, but her skin was pale as new snow.

"Allow me to try," she said, her whisper cleared than a bell. The septons rose to black her path but Lord Royce waved them aside. The Red Woman walked forward and waved her hand in front of the hearth. In a moment, there was a roaring flame where before there was just cold coals.

The Red Woman spoke in a clear voice, yet the words she said were completely unintelligible yet wise beyond human comprehension. She chanted in a foreign tongue, in High Valyrian, in the Commoj tongue. She raised her hands to the sky, cast an imaginary stone to the ground, and then touched Petyr right in the center of his forehead.

Littlefinger, no, the thing inside Littlefinger screamed, it's voice growing higher and higher and higher, and then the voice dropped to a tone so deep and grating that Sansa though she would die from the pain.

"My Master comes for me," it said, cold as ice. "He will not be stopped. The army of the dead marches on your puny wall, and there is nothing you can do to stop it in time. Winter is here. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, all of you will die."

The Red Woman had had enough. She thrust forth her hand and pointed a finger at the forehead of the thing that was once Petyr Baelish. "You master's day will come soon," she promised. "Azor Ahai has been reborn, amidst salt and smoke, to remake the world. The dragons are on their way. You master might know a thing or two of what they are capable of."

She grabbed Lady Forlorn from Lord Corbray's sheath and tapped the middle of Littlefinger's forehead. At once the creature screamed a piteous sound and Petyr's forehead bulged and split, and a dark mass seemed to float through the air for a second afterwards. When it touched Lady Folorn, it disintegrated into a small filling of ash.

Littlefinger slumped in his seat, broken and unconscious. All around him, the Septons and Septas were in shock, half horrified by the show of power that the Red Woman had, half disgusted by the fact that she was "Heathen".

Sorry for the delay, I'm still recovering.Who do you think is Azor Ahai and why?