Alayne

The musicians were a bit off. Clearly, they weren't used to playing only their instruments, but the Lord Protector of the Vale still hated singers with a passion, so Alayne had made sure that nobody would sing in his presence.

Other than the musicians, the feast went of without a hitch. The food tasted good, the wine was nice enough and everybody was in a good mood. Alayne had not been the one to organize it, but she had helped Randa. It had been nice to spend time with her friend, and even her father would have approved. Sadly, though, her father was in King's Landing, doing something for the Queen Regent. He hadn't told Alayne what he was doing there, but she knew it had something to do with the Iron Bank of Bravos. He was slipping. He told her things he didn't want to tell her and Alayne always listened.

"Look, Alayne, he is starring at you!" An exited Myranda Royce whispered into her ear, a bit to loud, but Alayne pretended not to notice. She turned, ever so slightly, to see that Harry the Heir was in fact staring at her. She remembers how she first met him, at a little feast, with only a few other guests. There had been an "official" reason for that feast, but everyone had known the real reason was that Lady Waynwood wanted to her nephew to meet Alayne. Harrold Hardying had turned out to be a knight of 18 years, a handsome young man who knew how to dance and how charm a girl. Alayne had known immediately why most maidens thought him a knight like in the songs. They had talked a bit, then they had danced and then he had asked her to write him. She did, of course. Her father had told her how important it was that Harry liked her, so she did her best to make him want her. They had started to meet and she had made sure to always be just as charming as he was. Judging by the look he was giving her now, it had worked.

Alayne discreetly watched as Harry drowned his cup of wine and stood up. He walked to her and asked: "May I ask you to dance?"

Alayne offered him her prettiest smile and nodded shyly. Once, a long time ago, she would have been absolutely in love with him and praised his blue eyes and golden hair and nice voice and good manners. Now she was cleverer.

"My aunt seems quite captivated by you, dear Alayne." He told her while they began to move with the music.

"I'm honored." She said blushing. Usually, she really hated it when she blushed, for it told others what she thought, but now it came in handy. Father had told her that she looked very innocent when she blushed.

"Oh yes, she really likes you. And I have to admit, I do too. You are quite beautiful, my dear." He told her, sparks in his blue eyes.

"My lord is too kind." She answered. Charm him, she reminded herself. You have to make him like you. Alayne and her father had big plans. Plans that would not work if Harry scorned her.

"How often must I tell you to call me Harry? I'm not a lord, at least not yet. I'm a knight, but you're my betrothed. How did Randa ever get you to stop calling her My Lady?" He asked chuckling.

"I'm sorry, my … Harry. It's … just force of habit. I will try to remember." She smiled her most innocent smile. Mother always called Father my lord. She almost stumbled then. That was not Alayne. Alayne's mother had died giving birth to her, she didn't remember her. Alayne did not have a mother.

"What is it, Alayne? Are you well?" Harry asked concernedly. Alayne thought quickly. She had some things she needed to do when nobody could see her doing it, and Harry was giving her the perfect escape.

"Actually, Harry, I don't feel to well." She said, adding a slightly meek tone to her voice. As she had hoped, the concern in his eyes became more evident and he offered her to take her to her rooms. Graciously, she accepted.

The moment the door closed behind Harry, Alayne took the pins out of her hair. It was donned up in a complicated style that she knew Harry liked. Alayne hated it. It had nothing of the simple grace of the northern hair style.

She waited a few minutes, than she changed into a more simple that made her look more like a servant maid than the betrothed of a lord and made her way to Maester Colemons chamber. The maester had become her only ally in this game. He still remembered how her father, her true father, and his best friend had grown up here and he held no loyalty to Littlefinger. He was the only man in the Vale that she trusted.

"Dear, are you feeling well?" He asked when she knocked at his door. He looked concerned, just like Harry had, but the old mans concern was much more welcome to Alayne. The maester did not want to bed her.

"Could I come in?" She asked. Going to the maester because she wasn't feeling well was something people would expect her to do, so nobody would question her presence here, but what she would discuss with the maester was not meant for anybody else's ears, so she sat down on the chair he offered and waited until he had closed the door.

"Here." He said while handing her a little letter. She quickly read over it. It was from Maege Mormont, informing her that the man who claimed to be Jon Connington had taken Dragonstone. She furrowed her brows, that didn't make much sense. Jon Connington had no business at Dragonstone. From the beginning, she had had the feeling that there was more to this Jon Connington than there seemed to be. The Golden Company didn't break their contracts for just some exile knight. She made a mental note to thank Lady Mormont. The Mormont were one of her few connections to the political world that did not depend on Littlefinger. She quickly burned the letter and looked up to Maester Colemon.

"There has been another raven for you." He said smiling and handed her the letter.

Carefully, she unrolled the script. A smile broke on her face when she saw the familiar handwriting. This letters where one of the few things that made her truly smile this days.

Dear sister, they always started. And they always ended with Yours, your brother. In between, Jon told her about everything and nothing, about what was happening on the wall and what jokes he had laughed about with his sworn brothers, about what he thought Stannis was doing and about dreams he had had the night before, about high politics and highly personal matters. And in every letter, he offered her help escaping which she always declined. She did not need to be saved, at least not yet.

Sansa and Jon had gotten close in the last year, closer than she'd ever expected. They hadn't seen each other in over three years, but sometimes, when she read his letters, she felt as if he was standing right beside her, the brother she had been close to now her best friend. She still remembered when she had sent her first letter with the help of Maester Colemon, furiously apologizing for how she treated him when they were younger and with orders for him to be more careful, to stay in bed until he was fully healed. It had been the morning after she had heard about the assassination attempt by his own sworn brothers and that he was healing. His answer had been full of joy to find out she was alive and well and with a promise to try not to get killed.

Now, Sansa smiled at him telling her about how little Shireen Baratheon had started a snowball fight with some of the new recruits. After a while, she looked up to find that the maester had gone, but left her what she needed to write an answering letter.

AN: So, that's the first real chapter. I was overwhelmed by the response, really guys, you're great! I hope you like this! It will be a rather complicated story, but I hope you keep reading!