When Harrold lay a crown of autumn wheat and wildflowers in her lap, the stands burst into raucous applause; even Myranda, carrying resentment never spoken of at supper or atop shared pillows in the night, managed a roguish grin, an excited kiss to Alayne’s cheek as the knight rode off. It was Petyr who beamed down at his daughter with broadest smile though, knuckles dragging along one cheek as he straightened the circlet upon her brow. Another feast filled the great hall with songs and shouts until dawn crept along eastern horizon with tentative fingers of rose, of peach, of gold. The Young Falcon claimed nearly every dance, but while she wore his favor at last the bastard girl granted him only a chaste embrace goodnight. Alone, the Mockingbird told her there would be new lessons, new expectations, now that the Hardyng boy would spend some time amongst their number. He had a great many plans for his daughter, plans which might only be shared beneath the watchful light of midnight tapers…
petyr x sansa week » who else would i be? (day 5)
Her eyes widened. “He is not Lady Waynwood’s heir. He’s Robert’s heir. If Robert were to die…”
Petyr arched an eyebrow. “When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn’s bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon…and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden’s cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back … why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa…Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That’s worth another kiss now, don’t you think?”
— Alayne II, A Feast for Crows
Sansa IV, A Storm of Swords // Alayne I, The Winds of Winter
“You are in the Falcon Tower, Ser Harrold,” Alayne put in. Far away from Sweetrobin. That was intentional, she knew. Petyr Baelish did not leave such things to chance. “If it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself.” This time her eyes met Harry’s. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn’t need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now.
Say something, she urged herself. You will never make Ser Harry love you if you don’t have the courage to talk him.
