Chapter 35: Sansa II

It took all the Lords of the Vale a little more than a few weeks to arrive.

That much made sense, at least. The roads between many of the keeps were narrow, and infested with hill tribes. Many of the lords arrived to the Eyrie itself with tales of repelled ambushes and buried guardsmen.

For the most part, however, Sansa kept clear of them.

Ever since the revelation of her identity, her whole world had been thrown into a tense silence. Petyr had denied her identity, of course, but the Lords Declarant would not accede. So concessions had been made to avert the possibility of conflict. One of their guards stood besides one of Petyr's, the men eyeing each other almost as much as they eyed her. For now, Sansa maintained the pretence, but she could tell they did not much believe her. Hells, the keep itself seemed even more suspicious than the guards.

So for the meanwhile, Sansa - Alayne - had confined herself to her apartments in the Maiden's Tower. By all measures, it was not a bad prison. Her rooms were larger and more lavish than anything she'd known in the Eyrie when Lady Lysa had been alive. She had a dressing room and a privy all her own, a balcony and a bedchamber and another room besides, one in which she might receive guests. Most of all, it was that room Alayne spurned.

The balcony, as ever, called to her.

Over the ledge she could see the many mountains of the Vale. The air was cold, stinging her extremities and buffeting her hair, but Alayne did not care. The view was enough to make anyone forget their troubles, if only for a moment. The Eyrie had seven great towers, of which she was in the eastern-most, and it provided a clear vision of the land around. Forests made thick carpets of green on the mountainsides, individual trees indistinguishable in the distance. Rivers and streams cut through sheets of rock and carpets of golden wheat and trees, winding their way down. Snow-capped peaks glinted in the golden sunlight.

From here it looks like one of the Seven Heavens made real, Alayne thought. But below the reality below would be quite different. The men who made these lands liveable led hard, short, brutish lives. Growing food on the slopes was difficult. Frequent hill-tribe attacks ruined families and endangered towns and villages. Avalanches and rockfalls were common enough hazards to be wary of. Mountain lions and leopards roamed unchecked. The vision she was presented with masked the reality of what lay below.

And above it all, falcons soared - the sigil of House Arryn - majestic in the roaring wind.

Would that I had wings as well, Alayne thought. I could leap off this ledge and just... fly, leave all my troubles behind.

Alayne leaned forwards and rested her hands on the ledge, peering forwards over the edge. The wind blustered through and blew up her skirt, travelling up her whole dress to deliver a chill all over her body, but Alayne ignored the sensation even as her skin reddened and rose with gooseflesh. Her hackles rose in anticipation. The drop from here was substantial, easily a few hundred feet - certainly more than enough to kill her on impact.

And really, what was the harm? She had lost her family - neither her parents nor a single one of her trueborn siblings still lived - and she had lost her friends as well. Men had died, given their entire lives, for her. A war had been waged and lost for her. And now it seemed Petyr might be next to suffer for her sake. Everywhere I go death and despair seems to follow, Alayne thought. Mayhaps it's better that House Stark should die with me, so at least all those who are ready to give their lives for me and mine can stop suffering for a false hope.

Yet as much as the abyss called to her, Alayne stood frozen. As she gazed at the drop before her, she stayed rooted in place, her head spinning, her arms gripping the ledge so tight her fingers turned white. She might have lacked much desire to live, but she also lacked the courage to die.

Suddenly, Alayne felt very dizzy, and she stumbled back from the ledge and fell onto her hindquarters. Slowly, Alayne lifted herself back to her feet, finally shivering after so much time spent out in the cold as she herded herself back indoors to the relative warmth of her rooms. One more day, she thought. I'll take one more day for myself. And then will come my time to fly. Here, without the wind, the silence was even more cloying, yet what choice did she have but to bear it? The alternative was to be gawped at and spied on by strangers.

But her solitude could not last long. Hunger rumbled her stomach, and she would soon have to emerge from her den of silence, if only to send for a servant. And a girl such as Alayne would not be so cavalier with making use of servants. If she were to maintain the ruse of her identity she would have to venture further out into the rest of keep and face the wandering eyes and questioning looks.

But before she could muster the courage, a sharp knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," Alayne called out, curious.

One of the guards came through the doors, gently pushing them apart to reveal his helmeted face. "My lady, I'm here on behalf of Lord Robert. He... He refuses to eat, and demands to see you."

Alayne quirked an eyebrow. It was true enough the little lord had become attached to her over the course of her stay at the Eyrie - almost uncomfortably so, she thought. Honestly, that he had not called for her sooner surprised her. Alayne sighed. No matter. The gently-bred bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish would not refuse such a request from Lord Robert - now her liege lord. "Take me to him."

The guardsman briefly nodded, gave a hesitant little half-bow that made it clear to Alayne that he thought the Lords Declarant told the truth, and led her from her chambers. Down the winding steps and through the halls and passages of the keep they went, her slippered feet padding silently on the stone floors behind the loud thumping of a guardsman's boots. Even now, with all the Lords of the Vale assembled, Alayne was struck by the enormity of the Eyrie.

It was easily the most sparsely populated keep in all the Seven Kingdoms, save perhaps for Harrenhall. The few servants that did wander the halls were old and knew to keep themselves quiet so as to not agitate their young lord. There were no horses in the Eyrie, no hounds either. There was a training yard, but with the wind and the cold few of the arriving knights and lords deigned to use it for very long. Only the wind broke the silence, whispering between the gaps in the stone and making the walls moan and hiss from time to time.

Lord Robert sat alone in his chambers when she arrived, his legs swinging off the edge of his chair as he pushed a spoon listlessly through a bowl of quickly-cooling porridge. "I want bacon," he said. "And eggs. Lots of eggs."

"You can have all the eggs you like in a little while," Alayne promised him. "But with all the lords here, eating all the Eyrie's food, we haven't any to spare for the moment. We'll have some more in just a few days time."

"It isn't fair!" Robert whined. "It's my castle! My food! Why do they get to eat it? Why do they even have to be here?"

Alayne pursed her lips. "I wish they weren't here either," she said quietly after a moment's thought. "But they are your subjects, and they are here for a purpose. It is a lord's duty to hear the complaints of his subjects, to host them as well when necessary. And a lord needs to be big and strong, which means he has to eat, even if it means eating something he may not like all that much."

The lord was unappeased. "I am the lord! I want eggs! I want bacon! I want beef! How am I supposed to grown big and strong if I can't have that?"

"You'll grow big and strong by eating what you're given," a third voice interjected. Alayne whirled around - it was Petyr. "You could do a great deal worse than porridge and honey," he said, lowering a small cup of it down to the table.

Alayne nodded, grabbed the cup, and proffered it to Lord Robert. "Please?" she said. "For me?"

Lord Robert gazed at her suspiciously - as though she were offering him poison - but eventually his sweet tooth won out, and compelled him to take the cup and dump it into his still-warm bowl of oats, tasting it gingerly with his spoon to see if it was to his liking. Before she could ask if he was satisfied, Petyr placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him even as he gently pulled her away from Lord Robert and into a corner of the room.

"What is it?" she asked in a low voice, noting that for the first time in what felt like weeks she was alone with him - save for Lord Robert, of course.

"The trial is tomorrow," Petyr began.

"Are you ready?" Alayne asked.

"Ready enough," Petyr said. "I've been making preparations, currying favour with the right lords to build enough of a base of support. Lord Royce, it seems, has neglected to do the same."

"So either he is a fool or else he knows something more," Alayne said, her brow creased with worry.

Petyr smiled. "Lord Yohn is a fine enough knight, but all those years spent being beaten over the head with training swords seems to have blunted his cunning. Not that it matters what he knows or what he doesn't. The outcome of this trial hinges on your testimony."

"I know," Alayne said. "And I'm to say you didn't push Lady Lysa through the Moon Door, but rather that the singer Marillion was the killer."

Petyr nodded. "Exactly. Lord Yohn's tale is so fantastical that all the lords of the Vale are incredulous of it. A simple lack of evidence ought to be enough to force the Lords Declarant out of our hair."

The tale Lord Yohn tells is the truth, Alayne thought. "And what about Cersei?" she asked.

"The Vale lords do not answer to Kings Landing," Petyr assured her, hands raised to cup her cheeks. "In the Eyrie we will be safe, no matter what Cersei Lannister - or the Iron Throne - has to say about it. And one day you might even find one of those same Vale lords to your liking. With the full backing of the Knights of the Vale, it ought not to be too hard to retake your old home. A bright future awaits you, my darling daughter."

"So long as we win this trial," Alayne said.

"Remember what you need to say and say it," Petyr said. "I will handle the rest." He pulled her close and pressed another kiss to her lips, equal parts passionate and reassuring. When his lips parted from hers Alayne felt her face flush, snakes writhing in her stomach. "I'll not allow you to be hurt." Alayne nodded. Petyr gave her another peck on the lips, and then let her head go. "Now go," he said. "We mustn't be seen to be conspiring like this."

Alayne left Lord Robert's rooms in something of a daze, wondering back to her own apartments almost without noticing, the guardsman escorting her back, all traces of hunger in her stomach forgotten. When she came through her own doors, she observed the balcony through her windows, but did not venture back out onto it. Instead she stood gazing through the window out into the middle distance, deep in thought.

How did Lord Yohn know? she asked herself. It seemed clear to her that he had received something from the capital. You say you can count on the crown, but I wouldn't be so certain of that, Lord Yohn had said. But if so, how did the crown know? Are there eyes in the Eyrie? Alayne thought. One of Lord Varys's little birds? Or else did some piece of news wind its way down south, enough to direct the suspicion of the crown to the mountains of the Vale? If so, it seemed likely that it had been either Lord Tywin or Tyrion who had managed to piece the truth together. They were the only ones with the brains for it.

The hours passed in thought, till eventually the light through the window faded down into darkness. Alayne dressed in her nightgown and settled down into her bed, laying wide awake for hours as she alternated between pondering her condition and playing through the various things she would have to say during the trial tomorrow. Sleep came with exhaustion, and when Alayne awoke it was with her back aching something fierce.

She bathed, made use of her privy, and dressed herself all in silence. Today was the trial. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it had already begun. So when would her time to speak come? Alayne noted a meal had been sent to her room whilst she had prepared herself, but it was all she could do to take a few unenthusiastic bites and force them down to keep up her strength. She felt sick. At any moment she could be called down to offer testimony before all the Lords of the Vale, and she would have to stand before them all and lie through her teeth.

What does Lord Yohn know? Alayne asked herself again. Could he catch me out in a lie? Condemn me right besides Petyr?

Alayne nervously flattened the creases in her dress. Petyr had given her access to Lady Lysa's wardrobe after her death; a wealth of silks and furs and fabrics far beyond anything she had ever dreamed, but since the arrival of the Lords Declarant she had not touched so much as a single garter. She observed herself in the mirror - yet another luxury - the gown she presently wore more than adequate. It was a brown dress - brown had become her colour, now that she was Alayne - embroidered with periwinkle blue silk, but nonetheless it was a respectably drab design. She checked her hair - the black dye held strong, but Alayne felt a short moment of panic when she brushed her hand through her hair and saw her roots red.

If she settled her hair to the side it was not visible, even up close, but what happened when her hair grew out yet more? The Tyroshi dye was strong, but it couldn't colour hair that hadn't yet grown. And Alayne could not be caught colouring her hair black, lest it reveal her to be anything other than Lord Baelish's bastard daughter.

Nevertheless, it would suffice for today.

Alayne sat and waited, occasionally pacing, occasionally sat. She dared not leave her apartments, and so the normally vast rooms suddenly seemed tiny - like a cage. Every so often she would shoot nervous glances at the door, and then venture to her privy, her stomach unsettled. Her chest felt tight. What was happening out there?

And so when her time finally came, Alayne could not help the swell of relief in her chest. The guardsman offered the same half-bow as before, and led her down to the High Hall in silence. Gods, why didn't anyone speak? The silence was fast becoming intolerable.

When she arrived, Alayne was greeted by the sight of all the lords of the Vale flanking the sides of the High Hall, standing tall, shoulder-to-shoulder. Every eye fell one her as she walked, their gazes critical. Petyr stood to one side, Lord Royce to the other. Marillion was on his knees in the corner, still clad in irons. Alayne presumed he had just finished giving his own testimony. Now it was her turn.

"Do you know why you are here, girl?" Lady Anya Waynwood began.

"To offer my testimony?" Alayne said.

"Regarding the death of Lady Lysa Arryn, aye," she agreed, shooting a look Lord Yohn's way. He turned from his place and walked her way. "Now," Lady Anya continued, "I want you to know that whatever you say, none of us will hurt you. I swear that to you. On my mother's grave. You mustn't feel compelled to say anything you know to be a mistruth."

"My daughter is no liar," Petyr chimed in.

Alayne observed the lords. Their critical gazes suddenly seemed a great deal more compassionate. It seemed they leaned towards siding with Petyr, but that knowledge did little to settle her stomach. Alayne knew just how fickle some men could be.

"I never said she was, Lord Baelish," Lady Anya retorted. "I was just making sure she knew she was safe. That no matter what none of the lords in this room would allow an innocent girl like yourself to be hurt."

"I know," Alayne answered. "You won't hurt me."

Anya offered a soft smile just as Lord Yohn arrived behind Alayne, a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. He offered it to Lady Anya, who in turn pressed it into Alayne's hand. "However, before you give your testimony, I would like you to read this."

Petyr frowned. "What is that?"

"A letter from Kings Landing," Lord Yohn supplied. "Worry not. I'll have it read out to all of us once the girl is done with it, so you can be assured that nothing untoward is occurring, and that nothing is being done to compel an answer from your daughter."

Petyr did not seem placated, but had little choice but to plaster a smile on his face and nod his assent. Alayne met his gaze, and he offered her a reassuring look. Beside her, Lady Anya smiled as well. "Go on, my lady. Read the letter."

Alayne observed the parchment in her hand. It was still sealed with the sigil of House Baratheon. Unopened. So none of the Lords Declarant had read it. Which begged the question of why they were offering it to her. Or perhaps they had read it and had resealed it. Alayne took a deep breath, and pulled apart the seal, unfurling the letter. Her fingers ran over the parchment. Her eyes ran over the letters on the page, slowly reddening. Suddenly, the ink on the page went blotchy in a spot, then in another.

Tears were falling down her cheeks, Alayne realised. She was crying. Arya...

Alayne - Sansa - briefly wiped the tears from her eyes, on the verge of sobbing, and ran her gaze over the script again. ...I forgive you... you had a hand in killing Joffrey... Tommen's king now... hide me from his mad bitch of a mother... Jeyne Poole... raped and whipped and forced to whore for him? There was no mistaking the chicken-scratch, nor the foul language. My sister is alive, Sansa thought, fingers trembling. I'm not alone anymore.

Below, Petyr's placid face had become a confused frown. Disbelief mingled with a happy relief, fear, desperation, confusion and a sudden surge of venomous hatred in her mind when she met his eyes from across the Hall. He's kissed me more than once, Sansa thought. Does he mean to make me whore for him too? Using sweet lies instead of stinging lashes to take me to bed? Lady Anya placed a comforting hand on Sansa's back, rubbing in soothing circles. "Well?" she asked in a soft tone.

Sansa nodded, sobs wracking her body even as she clutched the letter tight to her breast. Suddenly, the future Petyr had proposed to her didn't seem to possess the same appeal that it had just a day ago. And before she knew it, the words came spilling from her lips.

"It was him..." she confessed. "It was Petyr... he killed her... he killed Aunt Lysa..."

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P.S. May be subject to a rewrite or edits in the future