She knew. She knew it all -- and she wondered how Petyr managed to know so much more of what went on in an entire kingdom, when knowing just what went on in a small castle overwhelmed her. But she knew that Gendry was taking refuge in the forge he'd asked about because Robin did what he always did when he could not sleep: he ran to Sansa's chambers in the Maiden's Tower and he crawled into her bed. She resented his company. He was so vulnerable. His need frightened her, because she wasn't sure she could play the matriarch against all his fears and desires.

But she petted his hair and sang to him. Hymns and tales, snatches of things she'd created in her own mind during her loneliest hours. Robin asked about the peasant who made noises in the night. Was he their new blacksmith? Would he make him a sword, so long as he didn't make it at night? Sansa always dismissed Robin's questions; she didn't know how to answer them. He wanted to meet Gendry, but Sansa wanted nothing more than to keep Robert's bastard to herself.

At long last, the boy's demands became too much to handle. "I'll ask him, Sweet Robin," she whispered one morning when the young lord woke up, having stolen all her blankets in the night. "But I make no promises. Wait in the High Hall."

With trepidation, Alayne Stone dressed herself -- she hadn't had a handmaid to do that for her since King's Landing -- and took the winding stairs down to the next spire's entrance. It was a long walk from her chambers to his. And rightfully so.

This time, she had a servant to knock for her.