As Sansa brushed the thick black liquid over her reddening roots, she practiced her speeches. She would need to be convincing tonight, more so than ever before. She had met a few of the Lords of the Vale when she had been a child in Winterfell, but the had never paid her much attention then-certainly not enough to recognize her years later once she had grown into a woman. But Tyrion was a completely different story. They had been married, technically, and had shared chambers. She had grown quite a bit since then, but she was skeptical that she could continue to fool him. She must. She was uncertain how Daenerys would react to her if she came forward, but she held no such confusion with the dwarf.
She had left him to die. Had abandoned him to his fate at his cruel sister's hand. She who at best could have been a witness testifying to his innocence, at worst a companion in death, had up and disappeared leaving him all alone. It had been a miracle he had survived. And none of it thanks to Sansa.
She had thought about him often since she had fled. She had been an abused child and he had been the only kind face in King's Landing. Even Petyr, who had been the one to take her from that awful place, had wanted her to pay for her salvation. Tyrion had never taken anything from her, outside of her last name. And even that had only been to save her from a worse fate. Sansa scrunched up her nose, thinking about Tywin's second choice- Ser Lancel. She thanked the Gods that they had spared her from that peacock. The green boy would have been her nightmare. Not only would he have not cared a fig for her, he no doubt would have nightly brought her to Joffrey, allowing the bastard king to use her however he saw fit. Sansa shuddered at the thought. No, Tyrion had saved her; and in return she had abandoned him.
There was not a doubt in her mind that he hated Sansa Stark. If he saw through her disguise and whispered poison into the silver queen's ear, she was good as dead. It was much safer to stay as Alayne Stone.
So she practiced her story over and over again as she washed her freshly darkened hair and dressed in a drab, dark gown-a bastards gown. She pulled her hair into a tight braid and smoothed away any trace of nervousness from her features. She glanced over her reflection one last time before she deemed herself sufficiently different than the weak, powderless, timid girl from King's Landing and made her way towards the Hand's chambers.
Easy now, she thought as she came upon his door. He always said you were a horrid liar. Don't let anything show on your face. Remember everything Petyr taught you.
She knocked and was only slightly disarmed when Tyrion answered with a bright smile. "My Lady Stone! Please, please come in. I would bid you welcome, but I am the guest here! These are chambers you yourself allocated for me, isn't that right? I must thank you for giving me rooms on a lower floor. With my legs you see it's quite hard to manage the winding staircases here. It was quite considerate of you..."
Sansa cursed herself, thinking how foolish she had been. She of course had taken his affliction into consideration when setting aside chambers, but a stranger would not have even thought of it. She smoothed her face into a porcelain mask though and gave him a slight, apologetic smile.
"You think too much of me, My Lord. I was afraid such low rooms would offend you, but all the higher, open, and clean ones are being occupied by her grace. I am glad to hear they suit you well, however."
He smiled at her wryly and nodded. "A disguised blessing indeed. Come, I have brought the finest Dornish Red." He poured a few goblets and handed one to her. "Have you ever partaken in such a vintage?"
A bastard from the Finger's would never have had such a luxury. "I have not, My Lord" she took a sip and forced herself to choke slightly. Truthfully it was not such an act-it had been years since she had tasted such a fine, sour red. She shot him a quick, embarrassed smile before taking a deeper sip, allowing the wine to swirl on her tongue.
"Ah, then you have not truly lived, My Lady! When I was in Essos I had to make due with Meerenese swill. When we landed in Sunspear I demanded several casks for this particular vintage and now make sure I carry it wherever I go. Perhaps I should leave one here, for you to enjoy. Though I know personally how hard it can be when it finally runs dry. I would not wish that heartbreak on anyone! Come, now, sit by the fire. Winter has come and there is no reason for us to suffer."
She dutifully stepped forward, hiding a smile from his familiar banter, and took a chair by the roaring flames.
"Tell me, how does a bastard girl from the Finger's find her way to be acting Lady of the Vale?"
Sansa froze. "My Lord?" she sputtered, but he just smiled disarmingly at her.
"Oh don't look so afraid, child. I just want to hear your story! You're clearly the most competent person here-I do not blame them for putting so much trust in you. I just want to know of the journey-it must be fascinating."
Sansa gulped and forced herself to be calm. She began reciting the oft repeated story of her childhood-growing up in the Riverlands with her dear departed mother, writing to Littlefinger, her father, when she had passed and how he had come and rescued her, bringing her to the Vale to act as handmaiden to his new bride.
"When the Lady Lysa passed as well, my heart went out to my Sweetrobin. Such a little boy left motherless just as I was. I became a caretaker of sorts to him. And my father needed a woman's touch to help with the running of the castle. It was natural to step into that role."
"And it is clear you have excelled!" Sansa blushed at his praise and raised her glass to her lips. "What of the Hardying boy? I hear you are betrothed? A lucky man" he winked and Sansa felt her heart speed slightly.
"Harry and I have...an understanding between us. He will make a fine husband. It is I who is lucky." As if a bastard girl would ever have a chance with the Heir of the Vale. It would not take much to see past that lie.
"I see..." Tyrion mused thoughtfully. "Betrothed for a while now...Three years, yes? What is keeping the boy from the sept?" The dwarfs voice was still light and casual, but Sansa's throat caught at the question.
What was keeping them from marrying? Well, the fact that she was still legally Tyrion's wife. Petyr had told her they must wait to hear word of his death before taking Harry's silver blue cloak around her shoulders. Virgin or not, her union would be invalid if her previous husband was still living.
"I...I guess with winter approaching we all had other things to prepare for, My Lord..." she said weakly as Tyrion gazed at her over the rim of his goblet.
"Hmm...well, no matter. I am sorry if I've offended you with my curiousity, My Lady. I promise I did not ask you here just to interrogate you!" He rose from his seat and waddled over to the table, grabbing a heavy book and returning.
"I've been going over your ledgers!" He opened the pages and smoothed his hands over her calculations. "Fine work, this. When I was Master of Coin under my nephew I couldn't make the numbers add up quite this well. Littlefinger always had this talent, but it seems as if he has passed his skill on to you, My Lady. This is your work, is it not?"
She nodded, quietly proud of the praise. She had never been particularly talented at numbers as a child, but under Petyr's tutelage, she had flourised and was proud of what she had accomplished. Tyrion's hand waved over her neatly written figures in awe.
"Quite impressive. Your gift could be quite useful to us in the North. We will need help allocating everything for her grace's armies."
Sansa gaped at him. "I'm no where near qualified for that, My Lord."
"Nonsense! I see the truth written right here! You need not be afraid, you would be nowhere near the battles." He raised a hand as she was about to protest. "Please, just...take some time and consider it. Her grace is in need of a friends she can trust."
"You trust me?" How could he? He barely knew this girl, Alayne and even her name was a lie.
His mismatched gaze, when it flicked to her face, held none of the amusement it had a moment ago. He stared at her and for a moment Sansa sat transfixed, as if he could see right through her facade, before the intensity was gone and he smiled.
"Perhaps."
Sansa hadn't even realized she had stopped breathing before she gasped quietly and rose. "You must forgive me. I will think on what you have said, but I'm afraid I must be going to my chambers now, My Lord" she gave a slight curtsey before turning towards the door, desperate to be out of his presence. Desperate to shed this mask that had grown so tight. She had just reached the door when his smooth voice rang out, smugness laced in his tone.
"Should you? I don't know how things are done here in the Vale, but in King's Landing weren't we expected to share a sleeping chamber? We are man and wife, after all..."