A sharp wind blew in from Sansa's balcony, but it didn't bother her. If anything, it reminded her of her home in Winterfell - with its familiar walls that held the last of her youthful innocence. In truth, she missed those times dearly, but she had come to a crossroads in her life. One path was the same path she'd been traveling on for months; she could be the scared, dimwittedly tearful child who mourned for all of the misfortune that had befallen her almost extinct family, or she could wake up. Sansa could continue allowing herself to be at the mercy of those around her, or she could play the games they played. Learn how to play them better.

She had been living her life in a daze, allowing people to make her their pawn, but no longer. Her name no longer held her Stark title, anyway. Now she was Alayne Stone, at least for the time being, and she knew that this was a time that required her to grow in ways she had never thought necessary. This world had turned against her, and as such, she would learn to take it by the horns. Unlike Sansa, Alayne was a victim to none.

A light knock on the door made her pause, a brush halfway pulled through her hair. Looking out her opened balcony doors, she could see that it was well into the night - she had no doubt who would be knocking at her door at this hour. With a glance down at her night clothes, Alayne beckoned him inside.

"Lord Father," she greeted him, pulling the brush through her hair again.

"Dearest daughter, I hope you have been keeping yourself comfortable?" Lord Baelish had been gone for a few days, not that she was complaining. She didn't enjoy his company, rather, she prefered it to everyone else at Eyrie. And that was saying little for him.

"Yes," admitted Alayne, watching as he moved to her balcony to close it. She was reminded of King's Landing. Someone is always watching, Baelish would remind her. "Although it's impossible not to, with most of the people here terrified of getting on your bad side."

Baelish chuckled, his hands clasped in front of him as he came to stand behind her. They made eye contact, and she could see the amusement in her eyes - as though he were in on a secret. But then again, when wasn't he?

"I would think that would please you, sweetling. Finally having nothing to fear." Plucking the brush from her hands, he began brushing her hair for her. "That is, as long as you stay on top of these roots. Your red hair is a dead giveaway to your lineage."

It was true, she had to admit. The dark brown that she had been forced to dye her hair definitely dissuaded strangers from inquiring into her bloodline. As far as anyone knew, she was Littlefinger's daughter, soon to be wed to Harrold, and little more. As Alayne, this may have even been a great fate, but for Sansa it was just another in a long line of disappointments. This one, however, she swore would be different.

A tug on her hair made her look at Baelish again, who was now chiding her. "Don't get so lost in your thoughts, child. It is a sign of weakness, people will think you are not strong minded. You mustn't forget my lessons."

"Yes, father."

Sensing her melancholy, Baelish sat next to her on the bench and forced her to turn towards him. She was getting used to his brazen familiarity, though part of her always hesitated. It's not that he was unkind - he was Littlefinger, and she knew what he wanted, deep within him. But Alayne wasn't running from it – she was accepting it, and hoping that in the future she could use it to her advantage. Perhaps it should have made her more uncomfortable when he ran his fingers through her hair, but it didn't. She was a slab of marble and he was just an artist, as far as she was concerned. He ran a finger across her jawline and she looked up at him in question.

"Are you terribly unhappy?" His question sounded honest, but she had been playing his game for far too long to take anything on how it seemed.

"I am not unhappy, Lord Baelish. I am simply... Full of thoughts. Not of my family or my situation, but of how I may mold my future."

"Ah," Baelish was clearly intrigued. "What is in your future? White knights and romance with wine and red roses?"

She knew he was teasing, but she saw no humor in it. "Those things have no place in my life. Not anymore, anyway. I'd rather seek revenge for my family, I'd rather hold a power similar to… yours, my lord, where I can take and do whatever pleases me. And I... I will never be anyone's victim again." The last words rushed out of her before she could stop herself. She thought he'd be offended, but he merely observed her own face - perhaps seeing if her words held true meaning.

Placing his fingers under her chin, he leaned towards her. She tensed slightly, smelling the mint and cloves on his breath. "And do you consider yourself a victim of mine?"

A loaded question. "I... I am willing to be your victim, because it is the best option I have." Alayne's pulse raced, feeling more like Sansa than ever. A flush filled her cheeks as she saw Baelish's eyes glint in the candlelight. He was going to kiss her - he always did, when he returned from a journey or visited her room a night. But he pushed nothing more on her, so in all honesty, she did not mind it very much.

"That is, perhaps, the smartest thing you have ever said." His thumb traced over the curve of her chin. She was about to respond when he pressed his lips to hers. They were soft and inviting, but she held herself back. To return his kiss would be to let him win, and she just couldn't bring herself to give him that satisfaction.

As he pulled away, Sansa did her best to keep her face impassive, but she knew the red in her cheeks would betray her. In these intimate moments, she could never truly be Alayne. There was simply too much of Sansa still within her.

"Goodnight, Lord Baelish." He looked somewhat bemused by her sudden dismissal, but quickly replaced the grin on his face and gave her a fatherly kiss on the forehead in response.

"Goodnight, sweetling."

She waited until he had closed the door behind him before she would relax her hands. They had been clenched together tightly in her lap the entire time. Observing her palms showed her deep nail marks that were nearly bloodied. The dark haired woman in the mirror stared back at her, daring her to do something - anything.

But she couldn't.

As she laid in bed that night she reminded herself of what her future could hold if she played her cards right.

Hardyns. Waynwoods. Freys. Alayne spent most of her time around Lords and Ladies who explained to her how lucky she was to be marrying into such a family. How darling Harrold was, how strong their lineage was, and how promising her future would now be as his wife – she heard these things each day. These were topics that they buzzed about constantly. To her credit, she handled them in stride. These people were nothing compared to the harshness of the Lannisters. Alayne nodded when she needed to, laughed modestly when she ought to, and gasped whenever a tale of feats was being told - no matter that she had heard the story many times already from the same man. She was a Stark in everything but name, and damn it if she was going to let social inaccuracies be her downfall in all of this.

That evening, she found herself at a table, sipping tea and nibbling her food while politics were discussed all around her. Baelish headed the front of the table, while she was to his left and Lord Watworth was to his right. They were having a conversation about the crops to the east of Eyrie, and whether or not they had been evenly dispersed in a recent trade that had taken place between the lords. Alayne tried to focus on what they were saying, but the lady next to her was consistently chirping in her ear.

"So sad, what happened to that dear Lysa." Her lips were stained red from wine, and the smell of it washed over Alayne as she tried to keep her face polite. "But she was an odd duck, you know."

"Was she?" Deciding to play along with her guest, she feigned interest. "I only knew her a short time, and even then, not in a personal enough company to form an opinion."

"Oh yes, dear me," the woman leaned in closer - damned if Alayne could remember her name, Lady Sarn or something - and looked to Lord Baelish to make sure he wasn't listening. "Your poor father, probably gave her the benefit of the doubt when it came to her state of mind. The woman's relationship with her son was, well, just embarrassing. And you know of course I just hate to gossip, really, but the woman was quite off her rocker!"

"My father must have been unaware of that."

"Oh I can't imagine how!" She snorted and Alayne turned to her with a look of warning. The lady caught her eye and halted whatever she was about to say. A daughter wouldn't tolerate bad-mouthing of her father, faux or not.

"Lady Sular," interrupted Lord Baelish, his tone cool and leveled. "Was it a long journey here from the east? I imagine you are exhausted, being the active sight seer that you are - you probably didn't catch a wink of sleep the entire trip." The table laughed together, but Alayne could see that Baelish's eyes hardly held the amusement of his words. His eyes held hers for a moment before someone spoke up to him again.

"Lord Protector, a man as handsome as you, surely you have a new woman just waiting to be your wife." The table roared with laughter again, as the woman who called out to him was teased for having secret affections. The young widow laughed. "I'm still young!"

Lady Sular laughed with the rest of them as they fell into conversations of marriages past and relationships torn asunder. Alayne stared down at her tea, wishing it was something stronger. She wished to be excused from all the excitement, but when she turned to address Baelish, he was already staring at her.

"Yes," he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. He was clearly talking about her to the man next to him. "She really is beautiful, I agree. Like her mother, only more so." Alayne blushed deeply, dropping her gaze slightly.

"Too bad you have to wed her off to Harry, I think my Lady would let me carry a second wife." He laughed as the woman next to him pinched his arm. "Ah, love! A joke, a joke! I'm sure the lass is very happy that she will wed the Hardyng boy."

A few people around Alayne listening in turned to her, curious for her response. Taking her cue, she smiled modestly and tried to fidget with her hair as though she were uncomfortable. "I am very... Hopeful that he will be pleased with me."

"I would be!" Called someone from a few chairs down, and as more agreements came forward the hall was filled with laughter once more. She turned away from them, letting her hair cover her face slightly so that she could catch Lord Baelish's gaze. He was sitting back in his chair, relaxed, the vision of a man with no worries. As usual, he kept one arm propped up bon his chair by the elbow so as to leave a hand close to his mouth should he have to hide a look. The Lord rubbed his chin, looking at her with what seemed to be genuine fondness. Perhaps even pride. She wondered if, perhaps, he viewed her as a prized possession – one that he would break down and hone to his liking.

"I think our talk has gotten far too foul for this one's ears. Give your father a kiss goodnight and then off to bed."

"Yes, Father." She stood, offering everyone a farewell before she kissed her father on the cheek and retired to her room. Or that's what she should have done, anyway. Instead, Alayne decided to venture into Baelish's library. Hearing those strangers discuss war and politics and agriculture had left her feeling dull and dimwitted. If she was going to be a woman of wisdom and wit, surely she would need to have read the books that powerful men read. Anyone with sense in their head knew that. Besides, there was still so much light left in the day.

Walking straight past her bedchamber, she made her way to the library. It was very cold, as a fire wasn't always lit in that room, so she quickly made herself one before plopping down onto an overstuffed sofa in the corner of the room. It smelled of old papers and ink. Alayne looked at the desk in the middle of the room and pictured Baelish there, writing away to one of his spies – sealing a fate for someone so unknowing. Perhaps even her.

There was a stack of books on the table right next to it, all of them so worn that she could hardly read them. She positioned herself so that the light from the window was shining right on the pages.

The first book talked all about war. A man never truly becomes a man until he has seen his first battle, the book claimed. For a man to spill the blood of another's, he must understand the strategy and brilliance of war. He must fight with honor and dignity, never forgetting that he is forever serving his father and his king. Nothing is nobler than a man with true virtue, diligence…

Alayne pulled a blanket around her, as the fire was not heating her fast enough. The next book talked of money - things about debt and interest. Earning your own money was clearly better than borrowing money, because the interest that was placed on borrowed money made it almost like working a second job. Money was relative, as well – the price of gold fluctuated, which she had not known before. The idea of paper money had been suggested at one point in time, but was quickly dismissed.

She was getting tired and bored, and the light was beginning to fade. As she pulled the last book onto her lap, she noticed that the word pleasure was stamped on the front. She hesitated, knowing that Baelish's pleasure houses had given him quite the notoriety. Growing up, she had been fairly sheltered, and she imagined that the book in her hands held a great deal of things a lady shouldn't know about. Then again, she was hardly a lady, anymore. Putting it down would have been the right thing to do, but her curiosity overwhelmed her.

The book opened right to the middle. A sketch of a man and woman colored its pages. They were both nude, and the man was on his knees, while the woman lay in front of him. Sketched in ink, you could just barely make out the hard, tautness of her nipples. His arms were wrapped around her thighs and his head was buried in her sex. The woman held his hair in her hands, a look on her face that could have only been one of pleasure. Alayne's heart raced, her breathing suddenly feeling too loud. Looking around to ensure no one had randomly decided to attend the library, she snuggled further into her blanket and continued reading.

She flipped through the pages, seeing a picture of a woman with her hand in her own sex. Curious, she had never heard of that before. Perhaps she would try that some time, if ever the need arose. The picture she stopped on, though, was one that looked like Lord Baelish. He had a woman poised up against a wall, his hand on her throat and his mouth beckoning for hers. As her eyes drifted downward, she saw his lean figure and erect manhood pressed into the woman. Alayne shuddered, surprised at herself. There was something about imagining Baelish in such a carnal nature that... Excited her, somehow. It was curious to her, because she had been so stoic towards his minute advances thus far.

Closing her eyes, she imagined herself as the woman in the picture, and wondered what it would be like to allow another person so close. What must desire feel like? What is it about lust that drives men and women mad? She wondered what that type of desire would be like, and in the process of letting her mind run away with her, her eyes grew heavy.

The sound of a roaring fire brought her from her dreams. She blinked away the images and let her eyes adjust to the light. She hadn't meant to fall asleep and now she wondered how late it must be.

"Have a good read?" Baelish's words halted her, and as she tensed, she felt the book still in her hands. When she looked down, the image of him and another woman mocked her from its pages and she quickly shut the book, causing him to laugh wryly. Alayne cursed him for his silent entrances and haughty attitude.

"Don't be embarrassed, curiosity is natural." Moving to sit beside her on the couch, he took the book from her hands. "Look at me."

Unable to do so before, she looked up at him and blasted her red cheeks for showing her innocence. She had wanted him to view her only as an adversary, not let him think he had the upper hand. He stared at her for a while, reading her eyes.

"Is that you?" Blurting out the words before she knew what she was saying. He seemed startled at her effrontery, a feeling she shared. "I, I mean - Lord Baelish -"

"We are quite alone here," he said, ignoring her blathering as he flipped through the book to find the page in question. "Call me Petyr."

"Petyr." Repeated Alayne, the feel of his name foreign on her tongue. "Please, I don't want to see it again."

"No?" It was too late, his finger was tracing the curves of the bodies pictured. "You think this is me? Striking similarity I will agree... Did you like this, Sansa?"

She was Sansa again. Stupid and emotional and vulnerable. Sansa opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again. He chuckled, closing the book and putting it on the table, much to her relief. He sat back, putting his arm over the back of the couch. She shrugged the blanket off and looked at him. "I'm truly sorry, I didn't mean to find that."

"What did you want to find, then?" He twirled a piece of her hair between his fingers playfully. His gray green eyes roamed over her hair and shoulders, making her feel immodest. For the first time, Alayne looked at him as though he were any other man. His hint of a beard complimented his face, making his cheek bones more pronounced. His eyes held a greenness to them that she had never seen before.

"I wanted to... To expand my mind, like you have with yours." His hand stalled slightly and he looked at her with a hint of curiosity.

"I just wanted to... To understand... Things. Better." The words stumbled out of her mouth, but he seemed to accept her answer with a silent nod of his head. Relaxing her shoulders, she gave a slight stretch. The couch hadn't been a nice sleeping partner.

"You didn't answer my question." Baelish said, but her gaze held question. "Did you like what you saw?"

"I did not enjoy them the way you might."

"Sst, such a mouth on you tonight, my dear." He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingertips a then softly kissing her wrist. "Do you think I'm wrong for dealing in matters of pleasure?"

"I suppose I should say that it should be saved for love, but then I'd be a fool, wouldn't I?"

Baelish nodded, placing a finger over her wrist before pulling her closer to him. She knew that resisting was pointless by now, so she abided. "Yes, but not a fool in the way you think. Just a fool in the sense that you are innocent."

He pressed his lips to hers, pulling her so close that she was almost in his lap. She could taste wine on his lips, and when he parted her lips with her tongue she drew back, looking at him. Baelish held her gaze. "Your pulse is racing, sweetling. It betrays you."

Opening her mouth to give some foolish protest, Sansa found his lips against hers once more. They were more insistent than usual, his tongue easily finding its way to hers as the kiss deepened. The taste of mint and wine was surprisingly pleasing to her, and she felt her hand splay itself across his chest. He was a lean man but a solid one. Loving her willingness, he pulled her on top of him, silencing her gasp with continued kissing. Baelish's hands rested on her waist, and just when she was beginning to enjoy the heated moment, he pulled her away.

Sansa brought a hand to her lips, shocked at her own desire. Lust was unfamiliar to her. Petyr had a look of wanton about him that made her shudder suddenly, which made him smile. He brought her to him, holding her at his chest and resting his cheek on her hair as he ran a hand across her back. "Did it upset you, the idea of me bedding another woman, my darling?"

Breaking from the trance of the moment, Sansa realized how inappropriate of a position they were in and hurriedly removed herself from him. Why would it have upset her? Why would she care? She had no feelings for this man. He kept his hands adrift, as though hoping she would change her mind. "What you do is of no business of mine… father. You should do whatever it is that pleases you, my duty is only to obey."

Her last words cutting like a knife, she left before he could utter a word, rushing down the hallways, not as Sansa but again as Alayne.