A/N: All of the characters belong to GRRM.

Alayne

Winter was at its peak. Snow swirled past the windows of the Gates of the Moon day and night, year after year. Those residing in the castle grew sleepy and inattentive as the snow piled higher and higher past their windowsills. Everyone excepting Petyr Baelish, Alayne thought. He still schemed, training her in the game of thrones. She was, by now, an excellent student, well studied in the characters and activities of the people of Westeros. Soon she would be transforming from piece to player and she was both nervous and excited at the prospect.

She had, as Alayne, celebrated her sixteenth name day half a year past, and finally on that day Lord Baelish had announced her engagement to Harrold Hardyng. She found her betrothed a beautiful man. His lips were perfect, not wormy like Joffrey's. His upper body was stronger than Ser Loras's and his hair was better than either man's. When they had met for the first time he kissed her, and it had been magical. She loved him more than she realized possible.

She had been afraid of remarriage before she met him. She had not had luck in her previous engagements and marriage, and he was, after all, father to two bastards. But after they met he had graciously promised to be true only to her own beauty. She knew her former husband, the late Tyrion Lannister, had whores and she often wondered whether Harry had been telling her the truth about his newfound chastity. But a year has passed, and there were no new tales of his exploits. Perhaps he did love her. Or he was simply more discrete. But he had relocated to the Gates and walked and dined with her as often as was decorous. He never tried to take her maidenhood, for which she was both grateful and slightly disappointed. But she need wait only one more day, for tomorrow she would finally be bedded.

Tomorrow she would appear not as Alayne Stone, but as Sansa Stark, a girl missing and presumed dead for several years. She would wear a beautiful white clock with a direwolf stitched upon the back, her hair re-dyed to its natural auburn color. Harry would kiss her gently and place his red-checkered cloak around her shoulders. They would be wedded and bedded and before she knew it, she would be reclaiming Winterfell.

Her excitement made it difficult, but eventually she slept one last time as Alayne.

Sansa

Sansa Stark woke and ran to her mirror. She had dyed her hair auburn the night before and she wished to see it clearly in the daylight. It looked odd to her. Before she had dark chestnut hair, which made her skin appear fair and pale. But now her skin seemed warmer in comparison to her lighter-colored tresses. She was both overjoyed and alarmed at her new appearance.

They did not have a formal breakfast before the wedding, due to Sansa's hair color. Instead she dined alone in her room, her heart beating with excitement. She knew she should eat, but her mind was racing and she had barely nibbled on her bread. When Gretchel arrived to help her dress she scolded her for eating so little and refused to bring her bath until she finished. At that Sansa crammed the bread into her mouth and nearly choked as she hurried to clear the plate.

Once the tray was removed Gretchel helped her bathe and dress, carefully touching her new hair in wonder but not asking questions. Sansa asked shyly, "Do you like the color on me?"

Gretchel smiled politely and said it suited her very well. Sansa figured she probably was very confused, but she would understand the reasoning for the color change soon enough. Sansa was careful to leave off the maiden clock. She told Gretchel that her father wished to place it on her shoulders himself.

Sansa's gown was cut low, grey with darker gray peeking through the slashes. Her father thought her dress should clearly show her identity. She looked beautiful as she swirled in her mirror. She hoped Harrold would like it. She prayed he would not be angry with her. She felt ashamed for not sharing her identity earlier. He loved her, she knew. Love could forgive anything. But how could he not be happy to marry the heir to a great house rather than a bastard?

Petyr Baelish knocked on her door. It was time. He walked into her room and gazed at her. She spun for him, giggling and asking how she looked. He cleared his throat, and asked Gretchel to give him privacy with his daughter. She curtseyed and left the room.

"Well, father? Do you approve?" She smiled at him and suddenly Petyr reached forward, pulled her head down six inches to his own height and kissing her deeply.

Sansa's stomach lurched. She had thought these kisses over. She was to be married to Harrold in a matter of minutes and would never again need to endure them. She stood still, waiting for the kiss to finish, kissing back passionately enough so that Baelish would find no reason for complaints.

When Baelish was finished she laughed and said, "I take that as an approval." Baelish smiled warmly and held out his arms for a hug. "I'm proud of you, daughter. I hope you have a happy marriage and many sons." He shook out the maiden cloak and placed it upon her shoulders, kissing her cheek as he fastened it.

Baelish next covered Sansa's hair and Stark cloak with a large green mockingbird cloak. Finished dressing they stared at each other for a moment. Despite her misgivings with the kiss, Petyr had taken good care of Sansa for many years and she would miss being his daughter. Petyr broke the awkward silence by holding out his arm and saying, "well, daughter, it is time for me to give you away." Sansa smiled back in gratitude for all he had done for her, took his arm, and they walked out of the room together.

He led her to the sept and placed her next to Harrold. He stood and asked to speak before the ceremony began. His speech was well-prepared, and he outlined her story, her innocence in the poisoning of the king, her escape from the brutality that was Joffrey and Tyrion with her maidenhood intact, in a manner that, if not entirely truthful, was emotional and exciting. Many of the women were crying and the men looked awestruck. He finished by looking Harrold in the eye. "Harrold, I know I have misled you. I offered you a bastard daughter of the Lord Protector. Will you instead marry the heir to Winterfell?" He stepped forward and removed the large green cloak from Sansa's body. She stood in her auburn-haired glory and direwolf maiden cloak.

Harrold looked at her appreciatively. "Are you still the same sweet girl I had taken you to be?"

Sansa blushed and nodded. "I have always been Sansa Stark. I just never told you my real name."

He announced to the crowd, "Then I will wed her gladly," kissed her impertinently, and the ceremony began.

They feasted, drank, and danced after the ceremony. Everyone wanted to dance with Sansa Stark, the cousin to their own Lord Robert. Lord Robert himself was too ill to attend. Sansa was overjoyed and felt happier than she had ever remembered feeling.

It was soon time for the bedding, and every man present rushed forward to strip Sansa of her attire. She giggled in anticipation, giddy from the drink and thinking herself in love. She laughed at their japes and was soon dumped bottom-first onto her marriage bed. Harry was thrown next to her and the crowd began to leave the bedroom. Petyr was the last out, handing them each a cup of wine before winking and closing the door behind him.

Sansa sipped on her wine and blushed as she looked at her husband. He grinned at her, finished his wine in one gulp and tossed the cup away. She fumbled with her own wine and set the glass on the table beside the bed before turning to kiss Harry. He rolled her onto her back, kissing and caressing her. She kissed back deeply, her hands roving over his chest and back.

Harry broke the movement and sat up suddenly. "I…I…don't feel well," he muttered, before abruptly blacking out and rolling off of the bed. Sansa shrieked and crawled over off the bed to kneel beside him. He was breathing, she knew. But he was sound asleep. Realization came immediately and she knew that he had been poisoned. And knew just the man who did it. Petyr Baelish was the person who had handed him the cup of wine.

Sansa panicked and shook Harry, trying to wake him. He didn't wake, so she rushed up, looking for a robe to clothe herself so she could fetch Maester Colemon when the door to the bedroom opened.

She knew it was Petyr before seeing him enter. "My dearest sweetling, whatever is the matter?" he asked once inside and the door firmly bolted. Sansa quit struggling with her robe ties and rushed to Baelish.

"You poisoned him!" she cried, pounding his chest with her fists. He grasped her around the wrists and held them tight, forcing her to look into his cold gray-green eyes. "Why, Sansa sweetling, I thought you would be pleased with me. Your kiss today confirmed it."

Sansa was lost. She had kissed him back, of course, because what other choice had she had? He tended to stop pestering her for kisses when she was willing, and asked for more when she was not. The solution had been simple. Kiss just enough to satisfy him, but no more.

"How long have you loved me, Sansa dear?" He was slowly pushing her toward the bed.

"No," she cried, fighting to release her hands. "I have never loved you. You confuse me with my mother. I am wedded to Harry. Please let me go!"

"No need to be shy, sweetling. We both know you are a good girl. Tomorrow when he wakes he will not remember whether or not you consummated the marriage. You, of course, will tell him that he did. None will be wiser."

"No, I won't," she trembled. She began to fight in earnest. She was taller, but Petyr was stronger. She kicked him hard and he released her arms as he staggered to stay standing. She ran to the door but Petyr grabbed the end of her robe and yanked. She lowered her arms and let the robe drift off of her body and into Petyr's hands.

She lifted the bar at the door but felt Petyr's arms reach around her, pulling her body away. He kept his grasp around her body, his chest pressed against her back, her arms pinned to her sides. Her breasts were pushed against the bar at the door.

She was too afraid to cry and started to scream for help instead. Petyr moved his hand to her mouth to quiet the shout. Her left arm was now free and she turned to that side, tearing her right arm from his other hand.

Petyr remained near the door as she scrambled away. She ran to the bed and held the post for comfort as she caught her breath. Her breasts were heaving and she saw Petyr's eyes gleam as he stared at her. She suddenly remembered his lecherous look in King's Landing. She had often thought he was undressing her in his mind. Now she was certain that was true. She was stupid, just Joffrey told her. How could she have trusted this man?

He spoke from the door. His voice was calm and casual. "You are so very like your mother. You play at kisses with me, but are reluctant to do more." Sansa was shocked. Never had she encouraged his kissing. She just endured it. "I've waited a long time for this, Sansa. Stop playing coy. You are ruining my enjoyment of it."

Sansa felt too naked. She yanked the top sheet off of the bed and covered her body protectively. "Lord Baelish, I am very sorry if I gave you cause to suspect I loved you any more than a daughter loves her father. I assure you that I am honored by your attentions and very much appreciate the care you have shown me, but I have no interest if furthering our relationship past the love a child shows to her parent."

Littlefinger laughed. Sansa waited calmly.

Finally Baelish spoke. "My sweetling, had I but had lands when your father lost his head in King's Landing I would have been married to you years ago. I have no doubt you would have come to love me. But I was too poor for a nobly born girl. Too landless for either you or your mother. Queen Cersei refused my request. Instead you were left to Joffrey's abuse. I rescued you from that. I have kept you safe out of love. It is time you loved me back."

Sansa remained standing. She was at a loss for action. Harry was but steps behind her, but still unconscious. She knew she had to escape through that door. She had to get Petyr away from it. He began to speak again. "This is what we will do, Sansa dear. You and I will consummate our love and create an heir to the Vale. Harry will remain sick, much like your dear cousin the Lord Robert. He will be too sick to consummate your marriage until you are with child. You will then consummate the marriage with him and claim the child to be his."

Sansa stared at him aghast. This was not a sudden whim of Baelish's. Clearly he had planned this for years. But he had expected her to be a willing participant. "What if I refuse?"

"Oh, Sansa sweetling, you cannot refuse. You care for the people here in the Vale. Why, poor Maester Colemon is so very old. You wouldn't want him to slip on the stairs and fall, would you? Or for dear sweet Gretchel to meet a mysterious end?"

She stared at him in horror. "Maester Colemon will realize you are poisoning Harry."

Petyr simply laughed. "Are you really so stupid, girl? Have you not noticed Robert's decline since you arrived in the Vale? Robert, by the way, will finally pass once we have you with child."

Sansa slumped to the bed. Had Petyr truly been poisoning her poor little Sweetrobin for so many years? She sat, weighing her options. She could simply sleep with him tonight, and find someone to tell in the morning. But who would believe her? She had no proof but the wine. Her gaze went to the empty cup Harry had negligently tossed to the floor. Baelish followed her gaze and laughed. "Sweetling, he emptied the cup. You have no proof. You have no idea how many people have my gold in their pockets. If you try to tell anyone, I will know. And someone will pay for it with their life."

She wished so many things in that moment. She wished she had been brave enough to push Joffrey off the battlement when he forced her to view her father's head. She wished she had been brave enough to jump out of the window when she had been in King's Landing. She desperately wished she was brave enough to thwart Petyr's plan by taking Harry's life with her pillow, ending the pain they were certain to endure in the future. But she was not brave. She had never been a wolf, just a scared little bird that chirped on command, content enough to stay in her cage and sing when called upon.

She was not a player in the game of thrones. She had always been nothing but a lowly piece.

She started to sob and slowly unwound the sheet from her body.