Trust (GOT fanfic)

Negotiations

After adorning herself with the exposing emerald gown, she descended to the main hall where they would host their dinner. This would be the last event held in the castle before winter. They'd have to descend down the side of the mountain before they were made prisoners of the airy chambers by the winter snows. Sansa's handmaiden Laindi, guided her down through the long cold hall ways at a brisk pace. 

The girl had been assigned to her by Lord Baelish and she had done a wonderful job at making Alayne look every bit of the high born bastard she was. She had pulled the dark curls back with pretty braids, that still allowed many of the tendrils to snake down and warm her shoulders. The gown was slit in several places that her long tresses were maneuvered to barely brush over. Her pale skin still managed to show through brightly, it was like snow covered in a blanket of green leaves. 

As the pair reached the hall, Alayne's companion left her. The grand stone doors creaked open with the pull of a lever and Alayne entered. The several hearths along the length of the hall were lit, making the room as warm as a summer's day in King's Landing. The air was filled with jolly music and games were set along the sides of the tables beyond the chairs. 

The lords and ladies of the Vale were mingling in small groups around the grand hall. It left Alayne to wonder where she might approach first. Her heart skipped in her chest as the eyes turned to examine her. Some of the ladies clearly didn't approve of the fashion while their husbands seemed to like it quite well. She felt suddenly self conscious, why had she worn the damn thing anyway?

A woman grabbed Alayne's attention, her hand waving pleasantly toward her. The dark haired woman left her group to greet Alayne. Sansa watched as the woman's spiraling curls bounced while she trotted forward, tickling her pale cheeks as she went. She had bright welcoming brown eyes that reminded her of the Tyrell queen leagues away. The approaching woman stuck her hand out warmly toward Alayne who took it graciously, each dipping into a customary curtsy. 

"And you must be Alayne." The woman's eyes roamed freely over Sansa's body. "Oh, but forgive me. I'm afraid I havent introduced myself. I'm Myranda Royce, but I insist you call me Randa."

"Of course," Alayne bowed her head, ever the studious bastard. "I have met your father, he is a very wise and kind man."

"You flatter deary," Randa giggled, a hand snaking around Alayne's shoulder and guiding her toward a group of ladies. "My father is neither of those things."

"Then where do you get your nature from?" Alayne inquired, her voice light as air.

"Where all women get their intelligence, their mothers." The woman laughed heartily and gave Alayne's shoulder a squeeze. 

As the introductions continued, Sansa found that she liked Randa. She was quick witted like Petyr, and shared that sharp tongue like the queen of thorns. She was bold and gaudy in her personality and attire. But there it was, Sansa knew how to spot it now. That insatiable desire for power glimmered in her eyes as she watched Alayne. This one would put the pieces together quickly if Alayne let too much slip. 

A firm hand on her bare shoulder alerted her that her Lord Protector was here to drag her away from the ladies of the Vale. She could see his graceful fingers resting on her skin just out of the corner of her eye. Alayne would deny it, but Sansa felt goosebumps rise on her skin at his touch. The sharp memory of his leg against hers was forced to her mind as his hand slid to the small of her back. He had come around to stand beside her now, displaying a gracious smile to the ladies in the circle. 

"Forgive me, ladies, but I must lead my daughter to her seat. Sadly, she has no other escorts and the first course is about to be served." Littlefinger interjected after the line of pleasantries were finished.