Her lungs burnt. Her limbs were heavy, but she couldn't feel them. She couldn't feel anything. Her mind was blank of all thoughts, her nerves felt no sensations. Numb. Numb, all over.

She was going to die- that was all she could comprehend. She could not see, she could not breathe, and she could not feel. Perhaps she was already dead. Here I am, mother and father, she thought. Here I am, Robb, Bran, Arya and Rickon. I hope I didn't take too long.

These thoughts lasted no more than a second each, before her brain finally gave up to the sweet, sweet cold.

"Please."

A muffled voice, so distant, so soft.

Robb, she thought. It was Robb's voice. She was with the gods now. She was with her family. She willed her frozen tongue to whisper his name.

"Robb…" Her own voice resonated within her head. A warm hand found her hair, stroked it. It felt so real, so warm. She longed to reach out and touch him, but she was unable to move her stone-heavy hands, unable to bend her stiff fingers.

"Alayne? Can you hear me?" Robb asked, his voice closer now, his words slurred and languid.

That was not right. Alayne. That was not her name. That was not what Robb called her.

It wasn't Robb. And she wasn't dead.

Her eyelids, like red drapes pulled over her eyes, slowly opened. Her head pounded, the drums of war beating inside her skull. Confusion overcame her, her breathing erratic. She could hardly see. She shivered violently. She tried to concentrate on the warmth, on the voice.

Her blurred vision slowly focussed, a face coming into view. Golden-brown eyes, a straight, quizzical nose, a brow furrowed with concerned.

Willas Tyrell.

"Alayne?" Willas's voice was tentative. "Oh, thank the gods…"

Alayne was disoriented. She forced herself to speak. "… what…?" the single word was gruelling. She panicked momentarily, grasping the bed linen. "What … why…?"

"Hush now, you're alright, you're alright. You fell through the ice. But you're alright now," he reassured. She felt a slight pressure on her icy hand and he squeezed it gently. She found herself immediately calm.

It came flooding back. She'd fallen through the ice. It had all been so lovely, and had turned awful so quickly. But that was her life; nothing nice ever lasted. She looked around. She was in her chambers, the curtains open, a wintry dusk light filtered through the window. She saw Petyr sitting at the foot of her bed, hands clasped.

Alayne still didn't understand how she had gotten out of that situation. "How…?"

It was Petyr who replied. "Lord Willas carried you from the lake. Quite the act of chivalry, considering his… condition." Petyr's voice was dry, his face strangely free of emotion. He eyed Willas's bad leg.

Alayne looked back to Willas, in awe. "You… saved me?" she croaked.

Willas modestly looked at the floor, scuffing his feet. "It was the right thing to do. Any other decent man would have done the same."

She knew that was not true. A warm ball of emotion kindled inside Alayne's chest. She had been rescued before, by Petyr, and before that, in the other life, by a dwarf, and even by a hound… but never by a rose. Alayne made her eyes focus on Willas's.

"I cannot thank you enough," she whispered with a leaden tongue. She was delirious, vaguely aware of anything but Willas. She knew she had been bundled up in rich furs and woollen sheets, and she could see a fire burning in the hearth.

She felt his warm hand brush hers fleetingly once more. "No need for thanks, Lady Stone."

Alayne smiled, her eyes fluttering shut. "…The snow was nice, wasn't it?"

She heard Willas laugh, a tiny puff of air through his nostrils. "Yes, yes it was. Beautiful." He lowered his voice. "I could not have wished for a better introduction to the snow. Though, perhaps without this unfortunate mishap."

A giggle escaped Alayne. "… I'm glad you enjoyed it…" she yawned, fighting unconsciousness.

"You shall have to help me experience my first snowball war, next time," said Willas gently.

"… Lord Willas, I think our Alayne needs her rest. Come along, let's leave her to sleep," Petyr clapped his hands together, leading Willas out of the chambers.

"I'm fine…" Alayne protested sleepily. Her eyelids grew heavy. "… just fine…"

"Feel better, Alayne," Willas whispered. "Sleep well."

When Alayne woke again, it was only Petyr who was beside her bed. A vague sense of disappointment ran through her. Where did her rescuer go?

"How do you feel, lovely daughter?" Petyr asked softly, his voice echoing through her aching head.

Alayne tried to sit up in the bed, heaving her heavy, chilled bones. Petyr swiftly draped yet another fur around her, encasing her with his arms. He lingered in the position for a while, and lifted his hand, smoothing Alayne's burnt-brown hair with the back of his hand.

"My poor daughter," he soothed. "My poor, strong daughter. Is there anything I could bring you? Anything at all? Some hot ale, some food?"

Alayne shivered, though she was not sure if it was simply because she was cold. "I'm fine, thank you, father." She looked down at herself, lifting the fur she lay beneath. She was dressed in a thick woollen shift that she had not been wearing that morning- how had she gotten changed?

"We had to remove your wet dress as quickly as possible to prevent you from freezing." It was as if Petyr had read her mind. Her eyes widened at the word "we."

"We?" She was horrified. Petyr had seen her bare? WILLAS had seen her bare?

Petyr laughed lightly, as if it was nothing to see a woman bare. To him, it probably was nothing. The thought of Petyr seeing her bare made Alayne's skin prickle. "The handmaidens, of course! A figure of speech," he said, though his tone hinted otherwise.

Alayne tried to let the thought go. Gingerly, she swung her shaking legs over the side of the bed, hoisting herself to her feet. Petyr held her by the shoulders.

"How does that feel?" he asked softly. "Can you stand on your own?"

"Good, I think." Alayne pulled away from Petyr's grasp, her legs trembling. She didn't fall, to her relief. "I think it's just the cold that's making me shake." She sat back down on the edge of the bed, clasping her hands together.

"We must keep you warm. I don't want you falling ill, especially with such an important guest with us," Petyr sat down on the bed beside her, resting his cool hand on hers. "You do understand he is important, yes?"

Alayne raised an eyebrow at him. "You have taught me to be clever, father. Of course I understand that he is important. He's a Tyrell."

Petyr smiled, the smirk not quite reaching his eyes. "My clever girl." He stressed the word "my" ever so slightly. It made Alayne uncomfortable. "Now, clever daughter, something you must understand about Tyrell's… I'm sure you know this already, you knew Queen Margaery… The Tyrell's cannot be trusted. With anything." His voice dropped low, a rumbling purr.

"I know, Father." Willas seemed different, though. But she couldn't take any risks. "He may have saved me, but I know if I trusted him, it would just end with me being found." She paused. "But what have they to find?"

"Nothing, except for my beautiful, clever natural-born daughter," Petyr approved. His eyes trailed from her eyes to her lips. "How about a kiss for your father?"

Alayne, as always, did her duty, leaned in to peck his smooth-skinned cheek. But just as her lips were about to meet his skin, he turned his head, and their lips met, his mint-scented breath hot on her cool lips.

Her eyes opened in shock. Alayne tried to pull away, but he had her in his grasp. His hand grazed her thigh lightly, leaving a trail of goosebumps on her skin. She squirmed slightly, and Petyr took it for reciprocation, and deepened the kiss. Unbidden, she sunk into the kiss, trying in vain to leave her body.

It felt as if it had lasted hours before he broke away.

She heard his breaths, deep and raspy. Aroused. She forced the bile in the back of her throat back down. This should not keep happening. Had the last kiss not taught Petyr anything?

He thumbed her sensitive bottom lip. "Try to get some rest, Alayne." He stood up, and without another word, left Alayne sitting on the bed, feeling sullied and even colder than before.

She waited until he had left, the heavy door creaking shut, to vigorously scrub her mouth clean.