He hadn't spoken for about five minutes.

Their kiss had stopped with a jolt, bile rising in Sansa's throat at the realisation that she had admitted a life threatening secret to a Lord whose sister was the Queen. The heat of the moment had dissipated into frozen silence.

Sansa's heart was in her mouth, and she clutched at his hand, trembling like a leaf. "Speak to me, Willas." Her voice was feeble.

Willas' face was, in a word, shocked. He turned his head to her, his large golden eyes boring into Sansa's own. "Sansa…" he whispered, his breathing erratic.

Sansa smiled softly at the sound of her name, her real name, on his lips. "Yes?"

Willas attempted to form words. "I cannot… I do not believe… how do I know you're telling the truth?" He ran a hand through his hair, not able to look at her for too long. "I had heard, I had heard Sansa Stark was beautiful, and gentle, but not…" he was thinking on his feet. "I had heard she had fled Kings Landing after Margaery's wedding."

Sansa took his hand. "It is why I came here tonight. To tell you. You know that I am highborn. I am not the daughter of Littlefinger- he is my…" what is he to me? She thought. If he found out that she had told Willas, he would be furious.

Willas blanched. "He is your…?"

"My protector," Sansa finished. "He smuggled me to the Vale after the events of Joffrey and Margaery's wedding. They believed it was Lord Tyrion and myself who poisoned him. Petyr did it in my best interests, to save me from surely a painful demise at the hands of the Queen Mother." Sansa gently squeezed Willas' arm, imploring him to believe her, trust her. It dawned on her what she must say. "I was married to Lord Tyrion when I was led to believe I was to wed a man named Willas Tyrell."

It was then that his face altered, the austere lines of his mouth and eyes softening into a shock and amazement that was tangible. He swallowed. "Only Margaery, Garlan, Loras, father and grandmother knew of that plan," he shook his head in awe. "Alayne, I mean… Sansa," his voice was hesitant, "I do not feel as if I know who you are. Are you a façade? Or have I seen you?"

Alayne's stomach plummeted. "You have seen, my lord, the innermost parts of me. As Sansa, I am obliged to put up battlements and walls to protect myself. As Alayne, I could be the real Sansa, if you will. No one has seen the true me since… well, Tyrion, I suppose. And even then I could not truly be myself, as he was a Lannister; the best of them, indeed, but a Lannister all the same. You are the first person I have let see me, Lord Willas." She spoke breathlessly, trying to outrun her lie. "The first."

She realised he had taken her hand back in his. "I had been told I was a pawn in a plan to marry the estranged Stark girl," he laughed quietly, "I was told she had auburn-red hair."

"Essos provides such amazing dyes, my lord." She giggled.

"I should love to see it in its beauty one day," he continued. "I had refused the marriage proposal adamantly. I did not want to leave my library, or my stables, or my hawks or my dogs. If I had known that you were so… wondrous," he stroked her cheek, "I would have come before you had been forced to marry Tyrion." He absently touched his cane. "Perhaps you would've been better off with the Imp. He has a kind heart, even if he hides it."

Sansa cocked her head quizzically. "You speak as if you know Lord Tyrion."

Willas' face was bright. "I do, to an extent. I met him at the wedding of Renly and Margaery. He had approached me and quizzed me on my knowledge of hawks, then dogs, then dragons. He sat with me and I took him to the library and we talked into the night. He had said he always harboured a fondness for cripples, bastards and broken things." Willas pondered for a moment. "Lady Sto… Stark, Lady Stark," he tasted the name on his tongue, savouring it, "I would've died a thousand times to have taken Tyrion's place."

That unfamiliar fluttering returned to the base of Sansa's stomach. "I am afraid that I have ruined anything we have."

"No." Willas was firm. "You have not." He slid his hand up to the side of her head. "I will never betray you." He did not say that conditionally; I would never betray you. He said will, Sansa glossed over the thought.

Those words were what struck her the most, the thing that tore at her. "You must leave on the morrow," Sansa felt hot tears welling in her eyes. "I cannot forget our moments on the ice, in the hay, the way you talk to me as if I am an equal. I will not forget."

Willas gave her a chaste, fleeting kiss that left Sansa wanting more, more of their first kiss, when she was Alayne and he was Willas and they were not Lord Tyrell and Lady Stark. Sansa curled her hand into his thick hair, cherishing the moment.

There was a beat. Then he said, "Come with me."

"My lord?" Sansa pulled back, reeling. "I… I cannot."

Willas took both her hands in his. "You could ride with my men and lay low in Kings Landing while I accumulate forces. I could give you a place at Highgarden, you could…" his words were stuttered, terrified, enamoured. "I would be good to you, Sansa."

Sansa stood up, going to the window, looking out over the moonlit mountain range, snow-capped and ethereal in its beauty. "I… I apologise, but I have duties here, My Lord."

He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. His eyes were glistening in heartfelt confusion. "I cannot leave you. I simply cannot."

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Sansa avoided looking at him, his dishevelled curls, his serious face, his eyes that were so similar to those of his siblings, for if she did she would give in to him. "I cannot leave my life here. I am…" she could not say it, but she had to. "Petyr has organised a… a match for me." A tear threatened to overflow.

Willas jolted as if he'd been struck. "A match." He looked at the floor. "I… I see."

A ragged breath escaped Sansa as she nodded. "I do not feel anything for him. But I must stay here to fulfil my role and eventually, perhaps, take back what is mine in the North." Her voice cracked as she said "north."

"Fulfil your role," he repeated. "Are you an actress, my lady? Are you in a mummer's farce of which I am a spectator?" Willas' voice was calm, but an undercurrent of sentiment ran deep. "You do not have to be restrained in a place you do not belong, with people you do not care for. Be free with me. If you will."

Does he imagine I do not want to come with him? "Where do I belong?" Sansa asked. "In Highgarden? In the slums of Kings Landing?" The tear ran down her nose, and she feared she looked blotchy. "If I were Alayne, I would come with you. I desire it with every ounce of my being. But I must stay. I would be in danger if I came with you, you understand that."

Willas was silent. "Who is he?"

"His name in Harrold Hardyng. Harry the heir."

"Ah." Willas' expression was so hurt it felt like a dagger in Sansa's heart. "Would you… forsake me so easily?" he croaked.

"You are the one who is leaving, my lord," she replied steadily. "I just… I wanted you to know the whole truth, as you deserve to." She paused. "I wanted to… I wanted to show you how much I care for you before you left. I had not thought it would be so difficult."

His nod was hard. It was dawn, and the first light of the morning was peeking over the crest of the mountain in view. Willas clenched his jaw, the muscles tense and visible. "My thanks, my lady." He click clicked over to his door. "I must needs prepare for my long journey, lady Stark." His eyes were wet and red, but he did not take them from Sansa.

Sansa's tears were dripping now. "I am sorry."

"Do not be," Willas said, "do not be. I know that you would be in danger. I am being selfish in my emotions." He was trying so hard to be strong, she could sense it. He forced a cheery smile. "I will survive, my lady. I have memories, and memories suffice."

Sansa bit her lip. How could she return to being Alayne after this? "Two goodbyes in one night," she smiled sadly. "Perhaps I should've left it at the first one."

"I am so glad you did not, Lady Sto.. Stark." He bowed slightly. "I will never forget."

Sansa leant in to kiss him on his cheek. "Neither will I."

She cried silently as she left his chambers, unaware of the shadowy figure that watched her as she mournfully made her way back to her own, a figure that would surely be disappointed with her for such folly, a figure whose stomach burnt with possessive envy.

But it was done now. A tryst could not last, Petyr thought to himself. It was that, and only that.

He knew that tomorrow was when Sansa would need to forget any existing feelings.