I got very carried away with this prompt, and somehow it turned into a multi-chapter fic.

Based on the prompt: he doesn't ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.

A Bronze Crown

Chapter 1

In the end she could not count on men of the North to rescue her anymore than she could count on men of the South; in the end there had been no knights bursting through the gates. In the end Alyane, no not Alayne; she was Sansa and she rescued herself.

She could not say how it happened. She hadn't been plotting it, not really. Petyr could see a lie before it was spoken. She had asked Mya to sell a few of the finer gowns in her possession.

"As fine as they are I find them too short, Gretchel cannot lengthen them for me." The truths those were the most important part of a lie, "besides I fear it breaks my lord fathers heart to see them." Weave a kind spoken lie. Petyr had spies everywhere, if word got back to him it could only paint him in the best light; a grieving widower.

Mya passed the coin along to Alayne, and dutifully Alayne passed it to her father. She would later request coin to have a new dress or two made. He showed her where the coin was stored, and perhaps he had forgotten himself there, perhaps he had forgotten her. "This, Alayne, is where you will find the truth of most men."

She would not be married until Sweetrobin's death, father often talked as through the little lord had already passed. Alayne knew that could not be the case for the little lord crawled into her bed nearly every night. She grudgingly permitted it for although he would nuzzle into her breasts and wet the bed; the young boy was dying. He was dying and Alayne felt as though she was playing a part in it. Felt as though she were the cause. He was weaker every day but two years had passed since she had come to the Eyrie.

Father talked little of her betrothed, Harry the Heir, when he did it was to inform her of what was expected. That she would have to have a babe before they left to reclaim what was rightfully hers. In moments like that it took her time to remember what he was talking about. Alayne Stone had no claims.

Randa had talked openly with her about things she heard and it helped her remember herself. The Bolton's held Winterfell, and the young Stark girl was to be married to Ramsay Bolton. Alayne rarely thought of her siblings she permitted herself to think of Arya, a girl who would never allow herself to be forced into a marriage. They do not have my sister. They tried to arrange a marriage for Robb and could not hold him to it. Bran and Rickon were too young to consider the prospects of marriage. Perhaps she truly was a Stone, it seemed to her that a Stark would not be forced to consent.

Alayne was a bastard, a Stone of the mountain. A bastard had to make vows. Hadn't her half-brother made vows of his own? Pledged himself to the Nights Watch? Alayne let herself think of Jon more than her other siblings. When she felt herself falling too deep into the farce she found an anchor in her thoughts of Jon. He was more solemn than her true-born brothers, but she was learning that the title of bastard came with a seriousness. If only Jon would ride from the Wall, he was a man grown, he could save her.

It wasn't until she awoke from a dream of home, her true home that she had felt the shift. Snow had been falling, she was in the Godswood, and Lady was there. She stared into Lady's eyes and she told herself to be brave. When she rose and heard the wind whistling through the halls of the Eyrie she realized she was home, at least Alayne was. She was a wolf and she would wear this disguise no longer. She would have to save herself.

Littlefinger left the day before for the Fingers and she knew the moment was now. She took the amount of gold she had gotten from the sale of the ill-fitting gowns and no more, she may be a craven but she still had her honor. She had copied a map of the north in her own hand, she considered taking a copy of the south as a decoy but considered better. Bastards could blend into the walls, hide in plain sight and she was counting on that as she made her way to the Maiden's Tower for the last time. She slipped into her brown wool dress once more, added a second and third pair of stockings, and pulled up her boots.

Necessities she had to tell herself as she created her pack, anything more would be hard to carry. The ride to Runestone was bound to be long, she would have to acquire a horse, and even then who was to say she could count on Yohn Royce to help her. The only man to remain suspicious of Petyr. He had nearly recognized her once before, she hoped he would again.

She had told Mya that her father planned to marry her to Harry the Heir, truth. She was running away because she was still in love with a boy she met in the Braavos, the lie. Mya took her down the mountain all the same, Sansa suspected that Mya would have helped her anyway. She had climbed this mountain a Stone, and the mountain protects his children, Mya once told her. Would he be as kind to a Stark?

Their descent took time, although with only two they only needed to rest for the mules. She was grateful that Mya didn't ask her more than she needed to know; the more lies she had to tell the higher the opportunity to slip up. When they reached the bottom Mya let Sansa stay in her chambers, telling her that she should wait until dawn to make for wherever she went. Sansa hadn't considered how cold the night would be even at the base of the mountain. She accepted Mya's offer.

At the foothills of the mountain she clung to her purse a bit tighter, and raised the hood of her cloak lest anyone recognize her. She purchased a horse off of a couple who looked as though they had seen the harder parts of winter. She gave them more silver stags than the mare was worth she was sure, it was something her Lord father would do and that gave her comfort. They told her to be careful, the road was no place for a girl, especially with rebels around every corner.

The thought of rebels nearly sent Alayne back to the Gates of the Moon. Sansa could not afford that, Alayne was a mockingbird, Sansa was a wolf, and wolves were brave. The ride was hard, she was hungry for more than her meager stale bread. She slept in caves, shivering for she had no fire, or the knowledge to build one. Her back ached for a bed, no need for feathers, a straw one would do fine. Her cloaks hardly kept her warm but she had to press on. She had not escaped to give up on the road.

By the ninth day she had arrived at Runestone. She stood at the walls of the castle, smaller than most she had seen. She found a guard and pleaded with him to take her to the entrance of the keep. It was a risk, once she would have thought any knight would help her, but not now. The risk was rewarded when she was led to the entrance and the guard sent a steward for Lord Royce. The steward who looked at her considered her dirty hair and ragged dress, but showed her to him nonetheless.

It took him a moment to remember her as Alayne, when he surveyed her from under his bushy eyebrows, she had counted on that. Alayne was easy to miss, unremarkable with sparrow hair and downcast eyes. Sansa would not look away, her Tully blue eyes were unchanged by Littlefinger, her mother's eyes, her aunt's eyes. She had to be Sansa Stark; the girl who shared the blood of the first men. She had heard this man wanted the Vale to support her brother, most importantly he did not appear to trust Littlefinger. She had been counting on the latter to influence his decision.

"I'll send for your father, he's probably worried for you Alayne," he gestured for the maester.

My father's dead she wanted to say. "Please ser," a touch of fear will not be out of place, Littlefinger's voice echoed into her ear. "When you came to the Eyrie you asked if you knew me," she could see he hardly remembered the moment, meeting the natural daughter of a man you mistrusted was not a notable moment. Each time he'd seen her since she'd been Alayne and she must have played her role well.

"I don't recall..."

"You were at a tourney for my father when he first arrived at Kings Landing," she could feel the words tumble out of her mouth. "One of your son's he is on the Wall and you came to our home before you brought him there. " iPlease remember. /i"Once you supported my uncle's march, and when my brother chose to march you wanted to help."

He was no longer confused, she had watched the connections draw upon his face. Acknowledging her words as truth when he had though Petyr Baelish to be her father would be more difficult. "You do not believe me and I do not blame you ser. Anyone can say words, repeat history. I was taken from Kings Landing for my safety, after King Joffrey was killed. Lord Baelish has had me posing as his daughter."

There was a long silence, Sansa focused on keeping her breaths even, she could be going home. "You understand I will have to consider this," she had planned on that. "You will be welcome to stay here in the meantime."

Runestone was a modest keep but Sansa had a maid who drew her a bath and helped her out of her dirty gown. She scrubbed her skin raw, and took the lye soap to her hair. The truth would be more believable if she looked the part. The brown wash blended with the water, and when she climbed out of the bath she looked at her reflection in the window. iI am Sansa no one else./i

She joined the household for dinner in the hall. She had the maid help her into her gray wool gown feeling more like herself than she ever had before. Lord Royce had not joined them for dinner. When she listened she found out he had been meeting with an unknown guest in the solar since he sent her away.

She ate more of the stew than she had planned, it made her stomach ache. After her limited rations she had never been more thankful for the simple dish in her life. As she walked down the hall to return to her room she heard the deep rumblings of men talking.

"Cat?" Her instincts made her respond. She would not have been able to identify him on his face alone. She knew his coat of arms it would be foolish to not recognize the Tully colors on him.

"You have me mistaken, that is my mother. Or she was." She knew with the Blackfish making such a mistake there would be no questioning who she was.

She had to retell her story, this time she trusted herself to include more detail. The men listened to her in silence, treating her as a Lady. She detailed the plans that Littlefinger had confided in her; how the poison got to Joffrey's wedding, the men who were killed upon their arrival to the Fingers, and she detailed his plan to marry her off. His plan to own the Vale and Winterfell through her womb.

"He had me pose as his daughter, had me call him father; my father is dead." Her voice was sure, finally she could speak her own words.

"Petyr Baelish was always ambitious. He has been eager to prove himself to your grandfather since he was a boy." Her granduncle admitted. "If what you say is true he is guilty of conspiring against the crown on more than one occasion."

She understood the value of her own silence now as they discussed their strategy. She had given them a reason to confront Littlefinger, her role in this scheme was complete for the moment. They would have to return to the Moon Gates to arrest Petyr, of that much she agreed. The Royce's of the Gate would have to look after the Eyrie, sickly Lord Robert would have to be under a maester's watchful eye at all times. To take back Winterfell Sansa would need an army.

"There are many men here who knew your father when he was a ward here my Lady. He was an honorable man whose death was unjust." Lord Royce said before they retired. "Many of my men wanted to march on your brother's behalf. You will have an army."