See the end of the chapter for notes. I do not belong anything related to ASOIAF. It is all the work of GRRM Martin.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
To my dear Ladyfriend, Sansa Stark of Winterfell,
My sweet Sansa,
I hope you are faring well, all the way up in the North. It must be snowing and freezing more than it does here. Flowers still bloom in between the mountains though, and it is a pretty sight to see.
The Gates of the Moon is a tedious place without you. How I yearn for you to be back in the Vale as my bedmaid, as Alayne Stone!
As Lady of the North, you would not think of gossiping with the ladies like you used to, but I do miss it so. Is there any way I could still burden you with a pillow-tax, from your own chambers in Winterfell?
You are wittier than the knights of Gulltown and Saltpans visiting off and on. They take on referring the name and location of this castle to my undergarments, if you understand.
Naturally, I still have Mya Stone who follows me around the castle and she is still our sweet girl, but her feet are cold at night and the taxes she pays is terribly dull. I wager she misses Lothor Brune, perhaps that is the answer to why I sleep with a cold-mannered, frigid sausage instead of the hibernating mule that I know she truly is. Send Ser Lothor back to her soon, sweetling. It is already cold enough at night without her frosty heart chilling the furs on my bed.
My Lord father warns me to be careful with what I write in my letters to my friends, I say I could not be careful enough. Perhaps, if some Lord snatches one of my letters, I would be noticed at last, and he would ask for my hand.
Unless I have to get married to a mule or sausage, my nightly situation will improve immensely.
Petyr Baelish could not help but scoff slightly at what he read in the letter. That foolish girl, a close friend to the most powerful Lady of the North, yet shows unable to write about more important matters.
He pondered the three seconds imagining himself being that 'some Lord' who notices the Lady Myranda by seizing her letters.
As if.
But she is witty, Petyr had to give her that.
He eyed through the rest of the letter, consisting of no more than the Lady giving her good wishes and writing comforting words over Harrold's death, immediately followed by the latest gossip from the Vale. As if there is nothing better to do with one's time writing.
He had no idea what she meant by 'pillow tax', though, but it could not possibly be important. Petyr knew that no unaccounted for gold or valuables were travelling from Winterfell to the Gates of the Moon. Petyr threw the young girl in front of him an out-of-character frown and waved the letter at her, dismissively.
'This is not useful to me. It belongs to Myranda Royce, and is of no importance to the Lady Sansa's person or the North. Why would you bother bringing me this?'
The carrot-haired four-and-ten aged kitchen wench flinched as if he has struck her.
'Apologies, my Lord, I only thought…' she looked straight to the floor and tightened her fists, shaking her head as she swallowed her words.
'Forgive me, my Lord. I shall do better next time, and not show her letters again.'
That ridiculous gossip, that of young Lady Myranda and the like, it must have been the cause of this ludicrous display of fear. It was something that sparked his ire- he had never struck a woman, and he certainly would not start with some freckled child he barely even remembered the name of. Jeyna? Jessa?
Anyhow, this also showed that he had not much more of a favourable reputation, closer to the Bloody Gate.
Whatever the girl's name was, She had just brought him valuable information.
Not that he would tell her that, ofcourse.
He forced back his annoyance at the girl's frightened stance and sighed.
'No matter. This Lady is too talkative. One day it might prove useful in her correspondence.'
He twitched the corner of his mouth as he grabbed the girl's hand. Opening her fingers with his own, he placed a silver stag in her sweaty palm.
'Here,' Petyr said, a friendlier look on his face now. He heard the girl gasp softly as she looked at her silver coin. She finally dared to raise her eyes to his.
'Take this. Keep a good watch out for all the letters. Make sure everything is sealed properly before putting it back in Maester Colemon's chambers.'
The girl could only nod up at him, her eyes wide with something else other than fear this time, her loose hair waving behind her as she then ran from him, completely forgetting her curtsies. Petyr stuck his head out of the doors and looked to his left and right.
Spotting no one, he nodded to the knight to close the door behind him.
Petyr headed over to the water basin across his study to wash his hands. He lifted the corner of his mouth when he looked at himself through the looking glass- even this early in the morning, he already looked sharp and proper enough to face any visitor. It was necessary to look convincing to play the part as Protector of the Vale. But for today, he did it especially to look stern for the little Lord Robert.
His smile froze when he heared some ruckus going on from the Great Hall, some clattering of plates and cups and Robert's whiny voice audible from his chambers.
His stepson, Petyr thought bitterly, as he closed his eyes for a moment.
It always took a great amount of willpower not to shiver in the prospect of dealing with another breakfast with the spoiled little brat. As lean and unintimidating a man he was, somewhere he had a hope that the Lord Robert would grow to mind his behavior and obey with one simple cold glance. Granted Lysa hadn't spoiled him beyond repair, of course.
The scene when he entered the great hall of the Eyrie was a foretelling of what a day it was going to be: Lord Robert was in fetal position on the floor, stuttering words of protest while breathing quickly, his oversized tunic darkened by water. His breeches and the floor, as well as Myranda's dress, were splotched with what looked like the a big portion of his chickenbroth breakfast. Looking stern and intimidating would not suffice this time.
Not that gentle Myranda Royce nor the ancient Maester Colemon helped much to solve the child's temper, either.
They hoped to salvage whatever they could with soft words, stroking his trembling hands. Petyr frantically motioned for a servant girl to clean up the mess Lord Arryn had made.
'What is going on here?' he demanded as two girls moved in front of him to clean the mess, quick and efficiently like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.
The sound of Petyr's voice silenced Robert immediately, but making him shake all the more while hiding his reddened, wet face in Myranda's bosom. She immediately started stroking his long, brown hair, looking up at Petyr worriedly.
'I think Lord Arryn is still a bit tired, Lord Baelish. He would not eat his chicken broth, nor drink any water-'
'I don't want chickenbroth! I want… I want lemon cakes and honey… Honeycombs…'
He coughed and trembled in Myranda's arms, keeping his eyes closed tightly.
'Hush, my brave, strong Lord. Everything will be all right.' Myranda tried to shift the Lord in her arms to make for a better position to stand.
'I want to go to bed… And I want stories. Myranda, read me stories…'
Petyr grinded his teeth at hearing old maester Colemon pleading to the child. 'My Lord, let us take you back to bed. You must sleep and eat some broth, at least. Now, please-'
Myranda Royce tried to stand up while holding the small, messy boy in her arms. Robert immediately started to squeal in protest.
'Bring Lord Arryn back to his chambers.' Petyr dismissed them both with a low voice, barely managing to hide the pent up rage behind his voice.
'Leech him. Give him some sweetmilk, and see to it…'
He paused to take a look at the remaining mess of chicken broth on Robert's flabby chest.
'...That he eats his breakfast, as a Lord befits.'
He twitched his lip in indignation as he took his seat on the High Table. The two greeted him half-heartedly while struggling with Robert, at last taking the trembling little Lord with them as they left.
He was thankful that Lord Royce and the others hadn't awoken yet. The castle was actually quite empty now, with most of the Vale bannermen residing in Winterfell and Riverrun to protect it.
It seemed the Kingslayer left the capitol with his army the week before, so Jon Snow sent a portion of the Vale residing close by to Riverrun to help defend it in case the Lannisters were to seek a battle. Lord Tyrell doubled the guards surrounding the Reach, and especially Highgarden, to spy on the Lannister army while readying themselves for battle in case they crossed their territory.
On his travels to the Gates of the Moon, -picking up Lord Robert from Fairmarket on the way-, he heard word of how the Lannister army marched past the Reach peacefully, banners of truce raised as they travelled. Anxious summerknights suited up for an exciting battle against the Lannisters- half expecting a trap- knowing for sure a new war would begin right there.
This, however, was not the case as of yet- the Kingslayer was on his way to Casterly Rock, marching straight ahead and barely stopping to rest on the way.
Jamie Lannister had but few choices, anyhow. Returning to King's Landing for long after retreating from Riverrun… Only a fool would dare face Cersei's wrath in person, even if you're Jamie Lannister.
Petyr was glad he had planned ahead, already far away in the North where Cersei's wildfire could not reach him even if she tried.
He did not care much about prince Tommen, nor Mace Tyrell or his children for that matter, but neither did he enjoy hearing all the reports from his messengers. He did feel slightly bad for his whores and clients though, present at the brothels nearby when the Sept of Baelor went up in flames- He frowned for almost two hours over the loss of his investments.
Taking Cersei back for imprisoning Ser Loras and Lady Margaery was never intended to be met with a retaliation of that magnitude- neither the Queen of Thorns nor he himself had been prepared for that. Nothing much changed for him, he chose the right side before it was too late. His "friendship" with Olenna Tyrell was as strong as it was. He reckoned befriending the young Lord Tyrell wouldn't be all that hard either, both sharing a love for hawks and horses and being well-read. He sighed inwardly- Willas Tyrell shared some supposed qualities with one of his other rivals, Tyrion Lannister, both being clever and an outcast of the family- a new gameplayer he wasn't allowed to underestimate.
As he greeted some Lords and ladies of court joining him at the long table, he thought back of another time he made that mistake- but it wasn't as if he could have had expected it by any chance.
At the first royal court meeting after the Lannister's victory over Stannis. Joffrey granted him Harrenhal. There was a big reason why Petyr was quick and graciously enough to accept his royal reward, for it came with a bonus in the form of a very important pawn.
Arya Stark.
She was most likely captured near Harrenhal in the weeks before, serving there as a cupbearer to Lord Tywin. A good position to work in for a girl, but a prisoner nonetheless.
Years of practice keeping his face straight was the only thing restraining him from laughing during that meeting with the old lion.
Because of course he recognized Arya Stark- Surely- he had but one half of a conversation with the girl, but that was enough for him to pinpoint her face to Catelyn's younger daughter after a minute observing her, even with her hair cut short.
As if nervously spilling the water on my breeches wasn't enough of a tell-tale sign.
She did fool the old Lion though, and Petyr was wiser than to let him or the queen know who it was that served him. Right under his nose.
But those Lannister imbecils let the child get away.
It was quite a blow to his well laid-out out plans when he found out she disappeared from Harrenhal. He had planned to pick her up in due time, first as a pawn to get Robb Stark and Catelyn on his side. But after the Red Wedding, he decided to pick her up when taking a little detour on his way back to the Vale. Letting her take the role of his niece while in the Eyrie, keeping Lady Sansa to himself. On his way there he heard the girl got away, as no one had seen a girl dressed like a boy as Arya was described, and by then he could also not hope to rescue Sansa in time for her marriage to the Imp.
Stealing her from the Lannisters while blaming Joffrey's murder on the dwarf at the same time, proved a simpler task, and a far better plan than stealing Sansa away before her betrothal. Some clever planning and lucky circumstances killed two stones with one mockingbird.
Right after getting rid of the vicious boy-king, Sansa's rescue put her in the perfect position to stay close to him, if not out of gratitude, then out of lack of having anywhere else to go but to him and her aunt Lysa.
Petyr smiled as he stood up, acknowledging the remaining people at his table with a courteous nod. He then stepped out of the hall, his guards following him through the stony corridors at a respectful distance.
There were a few things he had to attend to before court. But first it was high time to make new arrangements and alliances, throughout Westeros and beyond. A long string of foiled schemes was in desperate need for replacement and there was little time to waste.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
To His Grace Jon Snow, King in the North,
Petyr could not help but curl his lips slightly in distaste over the task of writing to the King in the North. What is it with Stark-men taking everything away right within reach from him? First his dignity, Brandon Stark almost slicing him in half in the process, then his Ladylove, both Brandon and Eddard stealing away sweet Catelyn Tully, and this time, Eddard's bastard son stealing the North and Sansa's trust all from under his nose.
Harrold Hardyng, the dim-witted falcon got himself killed in battle, making Sansa run to her half-brother for support in the blink of an eye, instead of him. Why, who wouldn't choose a king over a simple mockingbird?
In addition to that, Sansa was getting more and more clever by the day. Writing to Myranda Royce and her uncle Edmure like she did, while being distant to him in his letter and pretending to be indifferent towards his leave from Winterfell.
And that little trick she played, re-arranging for the council meeting to be held after I would have left already.
Nothing yet that would compromise his overall plans, thankfully. But it would have been convenient to plant some thoughts into the King's head right before leaving, or to have at least given a chance to observe how rash he is in making decisions in desperate times. He did not have much chances to speak to the King in private since retaking Winterfell, but he supposed that as long as he still had influence over Sansa, it wouldn't matter as much. Let King Snow take care of his White Walkers and Wights, preferably as far away from Winterfell as possible. Anyone with half the wits of a hen knew who had the true key to ruling the North in the end- Sansa Stark.
But that clever woman would soon again look for help beyond than what Petyr could offer her, so it was yet again time to divide his pieces over the board.
Propriety dictated him to maintain good contacts with Jon Snow for now, officially, so he took a large sip of arbor wine, and continued his letter to the King in the North.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Myranda I
The day would be misty and cold in between the mountains, but Mya Stone practically dragged her out of her chambers this morning. The night before, she had not been able to sleep, so she worked on her household duties until well into the night. She planned on sleeping in, but Mya shook her awake only after a couple of hours after she went to sleep, practically begging her to roam the castle and spend time with her.
Myranda half expected something terrible to have happened when she woke her, instead she groaned tiredly and let her head fall back to the pillow.
'Are you mad, you silly…' she yawned.'…Woman! It's still night! I need sleep.'
She rolled over then, trying to ignore her bedmaid, who was still sitting up from her side of the mattress.
She heard her swallow then, waiting around for a few more heartbeats. Then she stood up silently.
'I'm sorry to have disturbed you, Myranda. Sleep well.'
Myranda heard the pang of disappointment in her voice.
'Wait.' She stopped her.
'I'll come too. Under one condition.'
Mya, holding her hand on the doorknob, tried to look at her in the darkness, her Ladyfriend barely visible in the misty morning light.
'What is it?' she asked.
There was a moment of silence where Myranda rubbed her eyes.
'I am not going to clean any stables. And you will join me for tea.'
Myranda had to summon her handmaidens to bath and dress her early in the morning. She wore a dark blue velvet dress today, with green stitches and sleeves that almost reached her feet. What she liked about it most was how the dress had a bodice that formed her breast in the right ways.
The two ladies wandered through the castle, on to the balcony for tea. Myranda Royce managed to convince her friend to play music during tea, so there they went, Mya in her simple clothing and Myranda walking arm in arm with her, two strapping guards behind them carrying their instruments. One comely Gulltown-knight turned his head over to Myranda as they walked past. It happened often enough to her pleasure, being in her position as the young, unwed Lady-housekeeper to the Gates of the Moon. What she wasn't pleased about however was the poor breakfast she had this morning. Most of the cooks in the castle were still abed, so they both had to make do with some bread and cheese and water.
She never liked to start a morning like that. Myranda enjoyed waking up with a long, warm bath, accompanied with oils and candles. And sitting down in the morning light in the Great Hall, breaking her fast with warm bread, eggs and roasted pork.
And some wine to prepare for one of Lord Arryn's tantrums.
Together they walked onto the balcony, that was still overgrown with vines and valley shrub lillies, colourful lavender blooming in between the mountains below. The balcony looked like a ship of summer riding a sea of snow and purple flowers. Thankfully the day wasn't too windy, but the mist still drifted right above the ground. It made for a pretty, mysterious sight.
Both took a seat on the chairs while their guards placed down their instruments, bowed and left them. As their handmaidens placed tea and cups on their table, Myranda ordered for the other girl to bring them custard, puddingcakes and blueberrytarts.
She needed that, after such a lousy morning standing up early to feed Mya's mules.
Both took out their instrument and practiced Fallen Leaves, a sad song to start with, but easy enough for Mya Stone to follow. They talked about news they heard from King's Landing, how the queen had not left the Red Keep since her coronation, and of the supposed Targaryen queen in Mereen. They discussed the whispers of her return to Westeros and of the Lannister queen and her wildfire.
Letting the tunes of their harp and lute drift through her mind for a moment in between songs, she looked over the mountains. The sky looked as bit as dreary as she felt.
And since it was partially Mya's fault…
'You must feel terrible about it, knowing that even you have more rights to the iron throne than Cersei does, given that they allow bastards and women to rule Westeros, these days.' Myranda sighed dramatically as she plucked at the strings of her high harp.
"Lucky maidens, you and Sansa Stark would be, both a kingdom to rule and any Lord at your choosing."
She looked at her friend teasingly. 'You would grant me a handsome Lord, wouldn't you?'
Mya Stone stopped fingering her wooden lute, looking at her friend without any expression on her face.
'I do not care for any of that. I would appreciate if we do not speak of such things. Before too long, I'll be casted as traitor.' She leaned backwards over the balcony, her eyes searching for any suspicious behavior in the snowy gardens below.
Myranda gave her a friendly shove. 'You are too worried, Mya! Everyone in the Vale knows sweet Mychel took your maidenhead and he still got married to my niece. My father and uncle see you as a mule and no more than that, sadly…' Myranda sighed, looking over the balcony over the large road following to the Eyrie. 'I am quite certain they would never recognize your capabilities as I do, my dear.' She set her high harp aside when the song ended and stretched her fingers.
'And what capabilities are those, might I ask?' Mya asked her warningly.
'Your unnerving beauty and ladylike manners, of course.'
'You honour me, my Lady,' Mya said tonelessly. Myranda giggled and leaned forward, pouring themselves another cup of sweet tea. She took one quick sip and started a new, cheerful song. Fair Maids of Summer.
Myranda saw one of her handmaidens walk up to the balcony with a tray of treats. Myranda's face lightened up immediately, setting her lips in a cheek-lifting smile, revealing her dimples.
The servantgirl barely had the time to place down her tray before Myranda took a blueberry tart and set her teeth in it.
She felt better at once.
Chewing a mouth full of the sweet cake, she didn't even notice her page waiting patiently to disturb her. When she saw him, she raised her hand to her lips to hide the unladylike mouth movements, gesturing with her other hand for him to come closer. The raven-haired child bowed his head as he took a step forward.
'My Lady, Your Lord father summons you to his chambers at once. If you please,' he added after seeing her disheartened reaction upon his message.
Myranda quickly stuffed the rest of her tart in her mouth and wiped the crumbs from her dress. She then took one last cake for on her way and bade her friend goodbye, agreeing to meet up later to do needlework together.
What could it be that father wants from me? Myranda wondered as her guards escorted her to the west wing of the castle.
Nestor Royce waited for her in his chambers, one looking over the narrow road below in the small windows, the stones lit with candles and torches. The hearth was firing up enough heat through the room to make it comfortable. Her Lord father sat in his chair filled with stamps and papers as he looked at her sternly.
'Myranda.' He greeted her shortly.
'Father,' Myranda said lightly as she walked over to him to kiss him on the cheek. Her father hardly had any reponse however, as he bade her to sit down.
'Daughter, we need to discuss something that has been due for a long time.' Her father said. Myranda's throat tightened, his stern tone of voice turned her stomach around, making the blueberry tarts bubble in her tummy.
'What is it, father?' Myranda asked, trying her best to look unnerved. She knew it could only be about one thing when he gazed at her this way.
Marriage.
It would probably take another three days to talk her father out of it, whoever he has in mind this time.
Just because her husband died while doing his chamberduties, does not mean she has to marry below her standards. And those were very high.
'As you know, the snows are falling and Jon Snow is king in the North.' Nestor Royce started. 'Robert may not live for too long and he has no heir but us. We are the second most well-faring house in the Vale, so it will be your uncle Yohn and his sons to inherit the Eyrie and all of Lord Robert's titles. Soon, King Jon and Sansa Stark will meet with the dragon queen, and House Royce and the Vale need to be on the right side when this happens.
Myranda nodded, casting her eyes to the sky visible from where she stood. No army could reach the mountains without walking into a slaughter house, but Dragons… They would not care about sharp stone mountains or narrow passageways.
"If the rumours of the Dragon Queen are true, she will surely succeed in taking over the Seven Kingdoms, with Tyrion Lannister and her dragons by her side. With most of Westeros being against Cersei, it is but a matter of time before her head is on a spike together with Jamie Lannister's. And with either Jon waging a war he can't win against her, or them setting an alliance- we need to be on good terms with both sides. No matter how one looks at it- the North will soon fall under the Targaryen's rule once more. King Jon and that Targaryen girl will agree to alliance for the good of all the Kingdoms- if they both have any wits about them.'
He is going to offer Jon a marriage proposal, she thought with a shock. To me, to the Vale, before it's too late.
Her heart started to beat faster at the thought of Jon. Her mind returned to the fist time he spoke to her in Moat Caillin.
She had been alone all night at the feast after their armies successfully took the Twins, the guests who had travelled from the Riverlands to them, had dined on honeyed ham, buttered carrots, green bean salad and roasted beef.
Harrold Hardyng and Sansa Stark were seated next to each other at the main table, laughing and talking, and next to her bastard brother Jon, who was prodding at his food and brooding silently. Her Lord Father was in the back of the great hall, speaking in hushed tones with Petyr Baelish.
The musicians started a new song, prompting some guests present to stand up and take their position in a dance.
Myranda wished to dance too, but none of the men present had noticed her. It bothered her quite a bit- there were many maidens and servantgirls present, and all were ridiculously delicate-looking, skinny girls, tall, with bright blue eyes and either gold-haired or kissed by fire.
'Lady Royce?'
She looked up at Jon Snow standing before her. He his eyes were dark, his beard trimmed neatly. Jon Snow was also quite muscular built, but not too tall.
But surely comely, especially his eyes... it was as if they spoke to her.
'Yes?' Myranda felt a soft blush rising to her cheeks. Sansa's bastard brother was the first to speak to her this evening and he seemed a bit shy about it. She had not expected herself to react this way, forgetting her curtsies and blushing like a maiden.
'Would you… Would my Lady care for a dance?' Jon asked, averting his eyes as he raised his hand in a clumsy, yet courtly manner.
'I… I saw you sitting here, alone, and… I thought perhaps you might enjoy a dance... if my lady finds me worthy.'
Myranda held his hand in hers. He was but a bastard, but that never meant anything to her. The young man looked kind and handsome in his own Northern way.
He is the comeliest man at the feast, Myranda thought. He wants to dance with me. Not Sansa, not any servantgirl or Riverrun-cousin, but me.
'It would be my pleasure, Jon,' she said as she gave his hand a soft squeeze.
'In any case,' her father continued, pulling her from her thoughts. 'No matter how one looks at it, an alliance is best to be brokered by means of marriage, and that is the duty I ask of you to do.'
'Of course, father,' Myranda said at once. She started to feel more elated by the second. I can make him fall for me, she thought. I know I can. The flash of Jon's reassuring smile as she apologized for being a clumsy dancer slipped through her mind.
'If all goes well,' Nestor Royce followed, 'you shall be rule over more kingdoms than Sansa Stark or any other Lady in the Seven Kingdoms, aside from the future queen.
'I shall do my duty, father.' Myranda said meekly. Jon is the King in the North. I shall be his queen, even if Daenerys Targaryen forces him to kneel. The North knows only one king.
'Good,' her father said. Myranda suddenly noticed a flicker of pity behind her father's light blue irises.
'It is why I have decided to broker a marriage between you and Tyrion Lannister, hand of the Queen in the east. To marry him when the time comes and rule Westeros in the queen's name, together.'
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Notes: Thank you for reading! Sorry for not uploading the past couple of days. I had some plotrelated issues and a big whopper migraine on Tuesday. I hope you liked this Vale-chapter, because there's gonna be more of 'em.
Please review! :D