Alayne let no tears fall that evening. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and dressed herself in her nightclothes. She would forget it in the morning, and Willas and his men would be gone, and she could continue her life as Alayne Stone, marry Harry the Heir as Petyr, her "father" had planned and live a lie eternally. She snuggled down under her soft covers, her jaw tight as she fought back emotions she did not comprehend.

She could not live like this. Petyr kissing her, touching her. She knew what he really wanted, she saw it in the way he watched her, the way his eyes hungrily deoured each curve of her figure. She could not marry Harry the Heir, as handsome as he was; she had no reason for her aversion to him. He was comely, charming, strapping, everything she could desire.

Not everything. She sat up. Inhaled, exhaled.

Weak, she thought as she threw off the coverlet so sit on the side of the bed and pull her boots on, you're weak. Was she doing this, for true? Alayne had told herself over and over again that she would not call like a raven for a boy.

But no- She would be a wolf. She would be brave.

She slipped out of her chambers, pulling up her hood to cover her head. She would not risk Petyr or a serving girl seeing her do such a silly thing; she was incognito, and would remain as quiet and as sly as a shadow. Alayne walked as lightly as she could, as light as a young fawn; she swept down the corridor which led to the other side of the Moon Tower, where Willas' temporary chambers lay. Alayne could hear blood beating through her face, the night air cold in her windpipe painful as she took heavy, excited breaths. She had reached him without being seen.

She stood outside his chambers, suddenly questioning herself. She couldn't truly be doing this, could she? She couldn't trust a Tyrell. But she did, she did trust him. Her own stupidity shocked her, but her instinct said otherwise; that she could trust in her own sense.

She knocked tentatively.

From inside, she heard a grunt and a weary sigh. He was in his bed- she did not want to make him move in his condition.

Alayne burst through the door, closing it gently behind her. Willas sat on the side of his bed, his curls in disarray, garbed in his simple nightclothes. His leg was free of any covering; the misshapenness of the limb did not take away his gentle beauty, but enhanced it. His sleepy eyes went round as he squared his shoulders, fumbling for his cane. Alayne pulled down her hood, smiling nervously.

"Alayne?" he asked, startled, serious eyebrows softening. A smile threatened to overtake his face. His sharp nose was silhouetted by the moons dim glow, and Alayne had to swallow her fear, her exhilaration.

"My lord, I am sorry for disturbing you. But I…" Alayne approached the bed.

"No, I… I am sorry you, um, have to witness me in such a state…" his cheeks burnt red as he eyed his leg.

"My Lord, I see no difference in you," she realised she was shaking. "I understand that you are departing on the morrow, but I… had to see you before you left."

"I do not mind, my lady," he was nervous, too. "I am leaving at first light." Alayne sat down beside him. She could not breathe. Her mind grew cloudy as she hyperventilated.

"Alayne? Alayne, stay with me," his voice was calm, far away. "Alayne." His hands on the side of her face. Soothing stroking of her hair. "Alayne, tell me, what is wrong? Why have you come here?" His voice was tinged with a sadness, but also a wistfulness, a sense of hope.

Alayne grounded herself by focussing on Willas' face, his large, intelligent eyes searching, pleading, his sharp cheekbones an austere contrast to his gentle nature. She felt as if she was choking.

"I have to… I want to know that I can trust you." Her voice trembled.

Willas let his hands drop from her face. His face grew even more serious, his angular jaw setting stoically. "More than you could imagine."

Alayne shook her head. "I want to trust you so much," her mouth was dry, "but I don't know if I can." Her sweaty palms grasped the cover of the featherbed. "I feel..." I don't want you to leave, she thought.

"Alayne, you're confusing me." After a moment, an expression of shock and horror overcame his face. "You are with child. Oh, Alayne, if I had known you were…" shame overcame his features, embarrassment radiating from his voice. "I am truly sorry."

"No, not that, I am not with child," she shuddered. He sighed quietly with relief. "But it is grave, and I must understand that you are not as conniving or as untrustworthy as Littlefinger or…" your family. She trailed off.

Willas took her hands in his. "I am not… my family. I am a bookkeeper, a dog admirer, a hawk breeder. I am alone at Highgarden without Garlan there. I have no one to tell anything, but I swear on my honour, Alayne, I am trustworthy. I cannot stop thinking about before. I had wanted… I had wanted…" he looked at their hands.

Alayne bit the inside of her cheek. She felt as if her supper was going to escape her mouth. "My Lord, I am not what… or who you think I am."

"I…" His forehead creased in bewilderment. "I had often thought perhaps that may be the case. You seem to understand politics and the true nature of the world better than most." He breathed out heavily through his nose, the cold air creating a steam. "Is… your name truly Alayne?"

This was it. Every nerve was tingling as she shook her head slowly.

Willas nodded. "I see," a thoughtful look crossed his face. "And you are not Littlefinger's bastard, then."

Sweat beaded on Alayne's forehead, pooled at the base of her spine. Willas tented his fingers pensively. "You are not lowborn, pretending to be of higher birth. I can tell by the way that you speak. I feel it is quite the opposite," he was thinking out loud. "But why? I do not understand why a… beautiful lady of good birth would pretend to be the daughter of an up-jumped Master of Coin."

She was so close. It rested on her tongue. "It was safer for me. But I do not feel safe with him anymore." The fear in her voice was tangible, the space between them hardly there.

He licked his lips. Willas' unruly curls were trembling. Perhaps he was afraid too. "Who are you, Alayne?"

Unfallen tears of terror rested on the brim of her eyes. "I am afraid."

Willas reached a hesitant hand around to the nape of her neck, and rested his forehead against hers. "I know. As am I," his voice was so low. "I am scared of leaving you when I feel as if I have known you my entire life. I am scared of losing … the woman I have grown…."

Before he could finish his sentence, his lips crushed hungrily against hers. Alayne was in such shock that she did not realise for a few moments what was happening. His lips were so soft, his hands entwining in her hair. Alayne reached up to grasp the back of his neck, pull him closer. He tasted of grape wine and the warm smell of candlewax emitted from his skin. Heat gathered in the base of her stomach as he deepened the kiss. How she had wanted this, for so long, she had wondered…

"I have been searching for this for so long," said Willas, his thumb trailing down her lips. "You do not know how much I have wanted to do that."

"I think I do," Alayne replied. "I did not know what… it felt like, I have not…" she remembered her only kisses, rough Sandor Clegane, Petyr's mint-scented breath, without feeling. They were all so incredibly different, but this, this was entirely new. And very, very pleasant.

As Willas took a gasp of air, he whispered, "I do not care what name you hold. I lost myself completely to you when we first went on the ice." His hands rested lightly on her waist as she continued the kiss, feeling less fear than before, only thrilling anticipation. Willas gave a small moan, and Alayne quivered at the sound.

Willas pulled away, and took another sharp intake of breath. "If you are not illegitimate, it does not matter, does it?" excitement grew in his voice. "Alayne, perhaps we… perhaps we could…"

"Please, my lord," Sansa breathed into his ear. "please call me Sansa. Sansa Stark."