"You were right to put him on his side," Maester Colemon said, breaking the silence. Alayne's heart pounded away in her chest, and even Petyr looked slightly perturbed.

The shock of the maester's sudden appearance, coupled with her burst of affection towards Petyr, had left the girl in a state of immobility. She stared at Colemon. Petyr was rubbing his hand against his temple, no doubt wondering what he would have to do to ensure this never left the room. Meanwhile, sweetrobin's breathing was hoarse and troubled. He coughed in his sleep so hard that it shook his entire body.

"Maester Colemon-t," Petyr began, but the maester was quick to silence him.

"Lord Baelish, do you know how long I worked under Lysa Tully?" He asked, looking at Petyr beneath a furrowed brow. "A long time. I have always had a particular interest in Robert's health, so I followed them here from King's Landing. And, despite Lysa's overbearing love for her son, she was always a hindrance to his health – rather than an advocate for prosperity. Your daughter, however, has been nothing but helpful and questioning. She is a joy to talk to when talking care of the boy and is consistently eager to learn how the human body works. The Vale is a dull enough place. I would not seek to expunge the one person here whom I thoroughly enjoy."

"I hope you are not only saying that because it is what you think I want to hear, Maester." Threatened Petyr, his voice like an icy breeze that chilled the room. Colemon looked at him impatiently.

"Do not bother threatening me, Baelish. If I wanted the queen to know your secrets I would have sent a raven to Westeros already. You may have everyone else fooled, but I've spent enough time around Tully women to know one when I see one."

"Please," the words finally broke through Alayne's frightened lips. "Don't tell anyone. If Cersei finds out that I am here, I know she will kill me."

"My lady, I wouldn't dream of it." He said with a smile, making his old face look a touch more youthful. "But I have no doubt that one of your inhabitants saw Petyr enter the castle, so you should both go greet them all, as it is most certainly time for supper."

"Thank you, Maester," Alayne said hurriedly, knowing that Petyr was on the brink of spewing out another threat. She grabbed his arm and pulled him from the room, desiring nothing more than to leave that moment of terror far behind her. When the door made it's finally clunk as it pulled shut behind them, her heart finally began to slow down.

Alayne pressed her head against the cold stone of the wall and let out a shaky breath. For the first time since she had escaped King's Landing, she felt the familiar fear of being in tremendous danger. It had been so unexpected, though – seeing Petyr there, so suddenly, in her hour of need. Desperation had gotten the better of her, and were it anyone other than Maester Colemon that entered the room, she could have ruined all her progress.

"I see you've been making allies," observed Petyr, his voice a touch hoarser than usual. A scoff escaped her lips as she pulled away from the wall to look at him. She knew her glare was fierce just by the look on his face.

"Why did you leave?" She didn't mean for it, but her words were loud – almost a scream. Putting a hand to her mouth, Alayne calmed herself. "Why?" She insisted.

"I had business to take care of." Petyr shoved her down the hallway, knowing her raised voice would draw attention from the servants. She didn't bother resisting, but she wasn't going to keep her mouth shut.

"Oh don't lie to me, Petyr," spat Alayne, hating his calm presence – his bored look. A reaction from him was all she wanted; something to show that he was human. But he was silent. His hand stayed on her back forcefully as he moved her down the halls. "You got what you wanted when you married me off."

He threw open the door to his study and pushed her into it, slamming the door behind them. "Soon I'll be with child and then you can kill Harry, who doesn't even care that we're married, and then you'll turn my child into some power craving mad man. Right? That's all you've ever wanted!"

"Shut up!" He seethed, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her into silence. His touch was hard against her, but she was ever defiant.

"Admit it! I'm nothing but a… a tool for you! I'm not my mother – I'm not Catelyn – you just wish that I was!" Alayne's words were near screams. Her body was hot and her heart was beating at record speeds once more. Although, when she realized what she had said, she relaxed her shoulders – surprised at herself. Was the worry that Petyr only wanted her because she looked like Catelyn too much to handle? Had she unknowingly become insecure about it? She hardly thought about it, but perhaps she was lying to herself. Petyr grit his teeth.

"You said once before that you were my willing victim, Sansa," said Petyr, releasing her from his grip. She nodded. "Has something happened to change your mind, then?"

"If you're going to make me do all of these things, Petyr, you have to… be here to help me!" Cried Sansa, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "I can't do this on my own, you know."

"It seems that quite the opposite is true. I was away and you made an ally."

"Maester Colemon just thinks I'm bright," she said. "But soon he'll tire of me, too. I just… I wish you would have told me you were leaving."

"I thought it was what you wanted – to be able to enjoy your newlywed bliss without worrying about me interfering. I was certain that I was doing you a favor."

"Please. Harry doesn't care about me. I hear the maids whispering, I know he has another woman," sniffed Sansa, shaking her head. "No one is on my side but you. I need you to be here with me."

Petyr's features softened. He brought a hand to her cheek and stroked his thumb across her cheek in the familiar way that he used to. She closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against his hand, feeling him move closer to her. When his lips brushed against hers, she kissed him back fully, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him against her. Sansa had missed his touch so much, and her lips trembled in response. His right hand found itself through her hair and cradled her head while his left hand splayed against her lower back. Their embrace was so intimate that Sansa couldn't help but let out a small moan, causing Petyr to smile against her lips.

When he broke the kiss, he kept her in his arms, keeping their bodies locked together. "You are Sansa, and that is why I want you. Not because of who your mother was. And this wasn't what I wanted for you, sweetling. I wanted so much more for you, but it was all taken away. That is why we have to do these awful, horrible things, my sweet… to take the revenge we are owed."

Petyr pushed on her chin, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were gentle and warm. "I can see that married life has been difficult for you, and I am sorry. We will make it better, but right now, we need to go attend the supper that no doubt has more people than we want to deal with."

"Do we have to?" She asked, moving away from him so as to gather her wits.

"I'm afraid so," he said, adjusting the collar of his shirt. "Try to act… cheerful. Don't give Harry a reason to think I've been told he's up to something."

Trying to focus her thoughts and feelings into the face of Alayne, she followed Petyr to the dining hall – where many had gathered. They had most likely heard of his return and wanted to discuss important matters with the Lord Protector. Lady Waynwood's smile was strained, Alayne noticed, taking her seat to the right of Petyr. Harry sat beside her and welcomed her with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

She smiled at him, taking the glass of wine that was handed to her and taking a large sip. "I didn't think you'd ever make it dinner," Harry said, a hidden question in his words.

"Father surprised me while I was taking care of Robert – he talked with Maester Colemon for a while before we came down." Alayne explained, watching as she shoveled another helping of meat into his mouth. His table manners were ghastly, but it helped to alleviate the hot feelings she had experienced only moments ago while in Petyr's embrace. When Harry touched her she felt nothing, because they both knew he was only doing so out of necessity. His comments about her being his "pretty wife" fell short when it came time to enter their bed chambers. Petyr's touch had set her skin aflame and made her body shudder with anticipation.

"How did your talk with Anya go?" She heard herself asking Harry, as though watching herself in a dream. It was hard to pretend that she hadn't been faced with extreme emotion and need only moments ago, but her subconscious seemed willing to carry her through it.

"She seems to think she still has some control over me, even though I'm married and no longer her ward," explained Harry. He jumped into some rant about his age, his soon-to-be legacy as the Young Falcon, his rights, and all other things that didn't interest her. She responded at the right times, even held a conversation with him through the duration of dinner – but she wasn't really there. Alayne was talking, but it was Sansa who dictated her thoughts.

Sansa, who had thrown herself into Petyr's arms and felt the sweet touch of his kiss, thought about what it all meant. When she began this journey by lying for Petyr about her aunt Lysa, she was certain that it would only last as long as necessary for her to find her way to freedom. But things had changed. What was freedom? Was it safety from the Lannisters? She would never experience that. If every Lannister dropped dead on that day, Sansa would still be faced with their loyal servants who wished her dead.

So what was it she wanted? A loveless marriage? When Harry bedded her, Sansa only wanted to cry. The lack of intimacy made her feel disgusting and used, but she reminded herself that she was using him, too. It seemed that, in this game of thrones, there were no innocents. Everyone did what they thought they must do in order to survive.

For Petyr, this meant being smarter than everyone around him. He had to stay two steps ahead of everyone and had to have a plan for every circumstance. She had only been playing the game for a short while, but it was long enough to know that what Petyr did took extreme skill, patience, and wisdom. No one seemed to be honest about what they wanted, or even forthcoming about what they planned on doing. Everyone was out for themselves, and Harry was no different. Sansa saw how he looked at Robert Arryn with disgust. Sweetrobin's condition worsening only brought Harry happiness, and hope, that he would soon be Lord of the Vale. He didn't even have the gumption to hide his feelings in the presence of the poor boy.

These were things that Sansa knew she must face. No one was innocent. Even her father, Ned Stark, whom she had loved so much and looked up to with such bride, had a bastard son – Jon Snow. Had he ever loved her mother, or were they doing the same dance that she did with Harry? Sansa chose to believe that they did love each other, but that it didn't come until long after they'd been married. That was as it was supposed to be – but she knew she'd never see the day when her feelings towards Harry turned to that of love. She was as much a tool for him as he was to her, and whatever it was he was hiding, someday she would learn about it… and she knew that Petyr would make her exploit Harry with what she knew. It would all happen this way because that is how it was supposed to happen.

Supper ended without her noticing. Most people went into the music room to talk and laugh and drink wine, but Alayne sailed off into Petyr's library. She had been spending a great deal of her time there, researching and reading. Robert's illness had become somewhat of a fascination to her, and she thought that if she read enough about various sicknesses, the answer would find her.

She had just sat down with a medical journal that she had begun the day prior when Petyr came through the door. He gave her a smile and shut the door behind him.

"It seems we are always together in this room," noted Petyr.

"This is my favorite room, actually. No one else likes to come in here… they have no reason to, I guess," admitted Sansa, knowing that she could finally let down her guard for the evening. "At least people leave me alone in here."

"Unfortunately, my sweet, there will be no alone time for you on this night." Petyr carried a chair over to the table in one hand, holding a decanter of wine and two glasses the other. "I have been gone for two weeks now, and I would like to hear about your marriage."

"There's not much to tell," she admitted, watching him pour the wine across from her. "All of his charm really went out the window the moment we were wed."

"How do you mean?" Petyr asked, pushing her glass over to her.

"Well, I'm not sure… I suppose it doesn't really bother me because I know that he… well… he won't always be around," said Sansa, sipping her wine. "But he seemed so sad the day after. So morose, as though he had made a huge mistake."

"But you still…" He trailed off, but she knew what he meant. She nodded.

"That first night, yes, but I had to force him into it the second time."

"Oh really?" His voice held an amused note to it that reflected in his eyes. "I can't picture you doing that, little bird."

"It's not like that, Petyr," scolded Sansa, rolling her eyes as she let out a sigh. "I told him that whatever it was, he should just make it better – or do it, whatever he wanted – and keep his obligations to me. Any time he touches me I just pray for it to end quickly."

"I am sorry to hear that," mulled Petyr, drinking his wine and looking over his collection of books. "Though, unfortunately, it is the case for most young women. Tell me, do you know what it is that he is hiding from you?"

"Well," she began, thinking of certain whispers she had heard from the people around her. "The girls who help me dress each morning… they try not to let me hear them, but sometimes I still do. I heard them say that Harry had another woman and a bastard child, and that they wondered if I knew about it."

"A child already? At such a young age," considered Petyr. "That could cause an issue for us."

"Do you think there is any truth in it?" Sansa asked, knowing that Petyr may already be aware of its validity.

"As long as you can give birth to an heir, it should resolve itself. With Harry's mind elsewhere it's important that you hold him to his duties as a husband. Perhaps even seduce him."

Sansa choked on her wine, causing Petyr to chuckle happily. She wiped the red away from her mouth and stared at him with all seriousness. "You can't be serious, Petyr, what would I know about that?"

"Maybe I could teach you." He suggested, a wicked smile crossing his features that made him look youthful and spirited. As she felt her face get red, she watched his smile deepen and gave him a mock glare.

"You're terrible."

"Am I? I suppose I could leave you, then," Petyr abruptly stood, reaching for his wine. Sansa grabbed his hand.

"No, don't." Her grip was firm but her eyes were soft. "Please. I haven't really… been able to be myself ever since the wedding."

Petyr looked surprise, but said nothing. He resumed sitting across from her. "I hear that you've been attending to our little sweetrobin quite diligently." Commented Petyr. "It seems to be quite the topic among the people of the Vale."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, your new husband is the apparent heir to the throne, currently. If you could really call it a throne. And you are doing all you can to keep the power in Robert's hands… seems a bit odd, doesn't it?"

"Are you saying I should stop helping him?" Sansa didn't like the idea of giving up on her hopes for a healthy Robert.

"Not at all – in fact, I quite like the image it puts out - Alayne Hardyng, the caring young woman. It suits the true you underneath all of that hair dye."

The thought made Sansa smile. She enjoyed the time they were spending together, and talked with him at length. Even though she never knew whether or not he was being honest, Sansa found that Petyr was a better companion than anyone else, simply because she didn't have to constantly lie to him. They talked for quite some time before the girl finally became too tired to continue. He offered her a light kiss as she left and she felt her stomach buzzing all the way to her chambers.

PETYR

He awoke before the dawn, as he had always done. A plate of ham, potatoes and a warm glass of tea waited for him in his solar, as usual. As far as the little things were concerned, Petyr's life had hardly changed at all. He dressed himself each day in form-fitting clothes that held shades of black, grey or pale green. A few mint leaves followed his breakfast each morning, as Petyr had found long ago that people enjoy speaking to someone who has a particular scent upon their breath. He'd known enough lushes to recognize that the smell of fermented fruit was a terrible odor to have in one's mouth.

So, when Petyr fetched his head of the Eyrie's servant staff – Mr. Pott – the elder man was more inclined to forgive the early nuisance. Petyr informed Pott that the maid known as Nora was to be reassigned as Alayne's personal handmaiden. The girl had shared a story of her kindness towards the servant girl, and he knew that Alayne could use some loyal servants in the Eyrie. An act of kindness was, despite his best efforts to prove otherwise, the best way to win over those in the less fortunate crowds.

Pott assured his Lord Protector that she would be put to work immediately at Lady Hardyng's side. Thanking the old man, Petyr began to prepare for another journey to Gulltown. He didn't want to leave Sansa so soon, but he knew he would only be gone for a short while. Her comments about Harrold the night prior had left him with an unsettling sense of worry. One could compare it to a father's worry for his daughter's wellbeing, but he knew it was much more.

In Gulltown, one of his many loyal followers had already begun looking for Harry's supposed other woman. And, because Sansa had mentioned Harry was going to be busy with Anya all day today, he knew that it was the perfect time to investigate. He ached to stay and spend more time with Sansa, but he knew what his duties were. Numbing the dull aches of his heart was something that Petyr had grown all too accustomed to, and because of this, he rode to Gulltown without complaint.

He found his man just as the sunrise began to cast its tentative rays over the city. It had to fight its way through gray clouds and harsh fog, but that was simply the ways of winter. The air was crisp, and he knew that Sansa would enjoy it.

"A butcher's daughter, my Lord," his man explained, leading him down a street that was somewhat busy with people opening their shops for the day. He could see the sign for the butcher's shop ahead of them. "Pretty thing. She has one child and rumor is another on the way. Her father is too lenient, you ask me, my Lord – takes care of the both of them. Mother passed away some time ago."

"You have been most helpful, Henry," said Petyr, dropping a bag of coins into the man's grimy hands. "Run along now."

The peasant did as he was told, scurrying away as quickly as possible. Petyr turned his attention to the butcher's shop, eyeing its window to see if anyone was inside. Seeing the front door ajar, he walked up the path and peeked inside. There was meat everywhere, of course, as well as knives and other tools for handling meat. Although the door was open, he wasn't sure if they had opened for the day, so he knocked against the frame as he came to the threshold.

"Be with you in a moment!" Called out a jolly voice. Petyr took this as an allowance inside, and walked through the shop with his hands clasped behind his back. It was obvious that the butcher dealt mainly in pork, as sausages, bacon and pork chops seemed to be the highlight of his store. The meat was red and firm – a sign of a great butcher.

A portly man came from a doorway behind the counter, his hands full of cuts of steak. He offered Petyr a smile as he dropped the meat onto his worktable and wiped his hands on his already bloodied apron. "I'm Bradley the Butcher," the man introduced, smiling at the ironic nature of his own name, as he had probably done quite often. "What can I do you for today, sir?"

"My home has become quite littered with new folk – there was a marriage, you see – and I feel for my cook, the poor dear," he began to explain, still looking around at all of the meat as though it truly interested him. "And I wanted to present him with a rather large piece of meat that he could turn into a rather large pot of stew – one that would easily feed a rather large group of people with ease."

"Oh, a kind lord you are!" Commented the man. "I think I can get you something for that – I can cut it fresh for you, too, if you don't mind waiting a few moments…?"

"Not at all. I'd also like some of these sausages you have here, they look very delicious – the mark of a true craftsman," he said with a smile, gesturing towards the sausages. Bradley puffed up with pride, thanking him deeply before going into the back and calling for his daughter to help the man out front.

Petyr waited, hearing her footsteps. When she walked out into the shop she gave him a light smile, though it was obvious her mind was elsewhere. Her hair was dark and her features quite succulent. The rounded curve of her hips was accentuated by the fullness of her breasts, and although she was fair in the face, Petyr had no doubt her main draw was the matured body she had.

"And are you Bradley's daughter?"

"Yes, my lord," she nodded, wrapping up the sausages for him.

"My daughter has similar hair," he commented, placing his hands in front of him.

"I got mine from my mother," said the girl, weighing his sausages. Unlike Sansa, this girl was seemingly disinterested in the world. She kept her eyes down when she spoke and held a low tone in her voice that suggested a dimwitted mind. Harry's tastes were indeed being questioned as Bradley returned from the back, a huge slab of meat wrapped between brown parchment papers and wrapped up with twine.

"This should be exactly what you're looking for, and the marbling is beautiful," assured the butcher, patting the package as he set it down. Petyr graced him with a warm smile, thanking him as he paid and stacking the packages. The girl had already returned to the back of the shop, so he didn't get a proper farewell from her – but he had seen what he came to see. Petyr would dedicate her face to memory if the need to see her again ever arose.

Alayne hadn't seen Petyr all morning. She had breakfast with Harry and then released him to Anya's will, no doubt lecturing him on something.

Still, her morning had started off quite well. Nora surprised her by telling her with giddy delight that she was to be Alayne's new handmaiden. The happiness no doubt came from a release from the duty of sweetrobin's care. As she had brushed Alayne's hair, she twittered on and on about how lucky the lady was to be married to someone like Harry. All the girls talked about how handsome he was, she confided, whispering to Alayne as though there was anyone in the world other than his wife who should care about such things. She listened with amusement, mostly because she remembered not so long ago when she was a happy young girl, too.

Nora's braid work was impressive. Alayne admired her hair that hung around her shoulders, laced with braids that were intricately placed. If Nora stayed in good company, she could do well for herself with the talents she had. Taking her eyes from the mirror in the hallway, Alayne looked down the hallway. She could hear voices talking excitedly. Normally, she may have hovered near the door, and listened to what they were saying.

Instead, Alayne wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and entered the gardens. It hadn't snowed in a few days, but there was still white covering every branch and flower. None of the other inhabitants of the Eyrie came out to the gardens, as they were all unfamiliar with the cold, but Alayne enjoyed coming out with a collection of seeds that she had snuck from the kitchen and feeding the birds.

Little, singing birds flocked to her side every time she stepped outside. If one watched her in her daily practices, they may think that she could even speak to the birds. Sometimes, Alayne thought she could. They never scared away from her and always came to her call, which made her feel as though she had secret little friends all around her. Her favorite was a small mockingbird that held colors of grey, black and white. It reminded her, in more ways than one, of Petyr. It enjoyed perching itself on her shoulder as she walked around the gardens.

"I checked on Robert earlier today," she told the birds. "They told me he hasn't had a seizure since the last time. I hope they get fewer and fewer until they don't occur anymore."

Rapidly, the bird chirped a reply. She couldn't understand it, of course, but she liked to pretend that she could. "I don't know if sweetrobin will ever truly be well… but I would like him to live his life in less pain. He didn't do anything to deserve his frailness, it was decided for him."

"That is awfully kind of you," a voice called, scaring the birds into a flurry as they flew away. Alayne was saddened at their sudden disappearance and turned to the man at fault. Maester Colemon, dressed in his usual plain, brown robes, had joined her in the garden without her realizing. As he neared her, she felt her body stiffen – remembering that the last time she had seen him, he had admitted to knowing who she was.

"Anyone else would do the same," Alayne said, reminding herself to reply to him. He gave a light chuckle, falling into step with her as she made her rounds. "How are you today, Maester?"

"Oh, quite well, quite well," he responded. "How has the Eyrie been treating you since our last encounter?"

Alayne clutched her hands tightly in front of her, internally coaching herself to remain calm and aloof so as to not allow Colemon to believe he had the upper hand. "It has been nice – people seem to be more active when my father is home."

"Well, many of them want to get on his good side. They know how powerful he is in our current situation."

"And what situation is that?" Alayne looked around, wondering if anyone was within earshot.

"Don't worry, there is no one near here. I checked before entering the gardens – they are all in the music room keeping one another company and talking politics." He assured her. "I know that you are frightened for your life, my lady, but I hope that you are aware that I am loyal to your family."

"Maester Colemon," Alayne sighed, biting her lip to keep her levelled at the harsh truth she knew she was about to face. "I have no family. They're all dead. Why would you be loyal to a dying lineage?"

"Dear girl, King's Landing has certainly jaded you," Colemon looked her up and down, his eyes all-knowing and his tone soft. "To be loyal is to stay loyal in all circumstances – not just those that are beneficial. Most of your family is dead, yes, but I've heard rumor that your sister is alive, and your brother Jon is as well. There is still hope for the Stark clan."

"I share your hope, though a part of me is simply clinging to my survival. This is not where I wanted to be – not where my mother and my father would have wanted me to be."

"Ah. And yet, here you are – so it is probably best to make the most of your situation, rather than curse it for even happening. You are handling it immensely well, my lady, as most people have no suspicions about you at all."

"That is somewhat relieving," Alayne said, noticing that they had come full circle in their walk. "My father wants me to sit in on a war meeting this evening, would you accompany me to see Robert before I go?"

"Absolutely, Lady Stark." His words struck a chord with her, and she smiled more genuinely than perhaps she had in weeks. It was good to be reminded that she was still a Stark – a powerful woman of the North, who did not fear winter.