[The Eyrie - Gates Of The Moon]

In the land of Westeros, where intrigue and power play intertwined like the threads of fate, Sansa Stark found herself in the Eyrie, under the watchful eye of Littlefinger, who saw in her a pawn in his elaborate game of thrones. Disguised as Alayne, his supposed bastard daughter, Sansa listened intently as Littlefinger spoke of her uncle Brynden's bold move to reclaim Riverrun from the treacherous Freys.

"Riverrun has fallen from the grasp of the Freys," Littlefinger murmured. "Your uncle Brynden has reclaimed the castle, defying the siege they tried to impose. "

But there was more troubling news to come, news that tugged at Sansa's heartstrings and stirred the Stark blood in her veins.

"And your brother, Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell, is gathering forces to reclaim your ancestral seat from the Boltons," he continued. "He aims to rescue Arya, whom they claim to have wedded to Ramsay Bolton, a move meant to solidify their hold on the North. "

"We must help him," she whispered, but Littlefinger's laughter echoed in her ears.

"Help him? My dear Alayne, you have much to learn. The game we play is not so simple. You must choose your allies wisely. "

Littlefinger revealed that her long-lost half-brother, Jon Snow, was on a perilous mission to reclaim Winterfell from the clutches of the brutal Boltons, hoping to rescue their beloved sister, Arya, who had been married off to the sadistic Ramsay Bolton.

Fleeing from Littlefinger's presence, she sought solace in the quiet confines of her chambers.

Once inside her chamber, she leaned against the door, drawing in a shaky breath. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows across the stone walls.

She sank onto her bed, feeling the weight of her situation pressing heavily upon her.

That was when she noticed an unfamiliar figure standing in the corner of the room—a servant, clad in a simple dress.

Sansa's heart raced again, but there was something in the woman's eyes that held her attention. They were sharp and knowing, as if she could see through the facade that Sansa had built around herself.

"Who are you?" Sansa demanded, her voice steadier than she felt.

The servant stepped forward, her expression earnest. "My name is Alina, and I serve Alysanne," the servant lowered her hood to reveal striking features and piercing green eyes that reminded Sansa of a long-lost sister."She is the rightful Queen of Westeros, daughter of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Alina."

Sansa's brow furrowed. "Alysanne? The daughter of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia? But she is—"

"Alive," Alina interjected, her voice low and urgent. "And she wishes to help you, Sansa Stark. "

Sansa's heart skipped a beat. "You must be mistaken. I am Alayne Stone, a bastard of the Vale. "

Alina shook her head, a knowing smile gracing her lips. "You cannot hide from your true identity, Lady Stark. Alysanne knows who you are, and she has been watching over you. She has protected your sister, Arya, since the Red Wedding. "

Sansa's breath caught in her throat. "Arya is safe?"

"Yes," Alina replied, her eyes intense. "But you must listen carefully. It was not Arya who was married to Ramsay Bolton. "

Confusion washed over Sansa. "But... I was told it was Arya. I've been led to believe—"

Alina stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Alysanne has kept Arya hidden and safe, far from the reach of the Boltons. The girl Ramsay married is someone else entirely.

Alysanne has been protecting your sister, but it is imperative that you act swiftly. "

Sansa's mind raced, piecing together the fragmented information. "What do you mean? What are you asking of me?"

"As the rightful Queen of Westeros, Alysanne wishes to unite the Starks against the Boltons. She believes that with your uncle's help, you can turn the tide in your favor," Alina said, her voice strong and unwavering. "You must send a message to your great-uncle, the Blackfish. He will know how to rally support for your brother. "

Sansa hesitated, the weight of her identity pressing down on her. She had been running from her past, hiding from the truth of who she was. "But how can I trust you? How do I know you are not a spy for the Lannisters?"

Alina's gaze was unwavering. "You don't have to trust me, but you must act. The longer you wait, the more perilous your situation becomes. If you wish to help Jon and reclaim your home, you need allies. I can deliver a message for you. "

Sansa's heart raced with the prospect of reaching out to the Blackfish. "What if he doesn't believe it's from me?"

"Include a memory—something only he would know," the girl suggested, her eyes gleaming with determination. "It will lend authenticity to your words."

Alina produced parchment and ink from her apron. Sansa hurriedly scribbled her message, pouring her heart into the words.She knew that her uncle might be skeptical about the letter's authenticity, so she included a memory only they shared—a secret from their childhood that would prove her identity.

With renewed purpose, Sansa moved to her writing desk, her hands trembling with a mix of fear and determination. She found a piece of parchment and a quill, and as she wrote, memories flooded her mind. The warmth of her mother's embrace, her laughter echoing in the halls of Winterfell, the way she had taught Sansa to be strong and brave.

Dear Uncle Blackfish,

I hope this letter finds you well. I have heard of your brave stand at Riverrun, and I wish to urge you to support Jon Snow in his quest to reclaim Winterfell from the Boltons. I fear for our family and the North, and I know you are the man to lead us in this fight.

Do you remember the day we spent fishing by the river? You taught me how to catch a trout, and I was so proud when I finally caught one. I hope to see you again soon.

Your loving niece, Alayne.

She folded the letter carefully, her heart racing with the weight of each word. "I'm ready," she said, turning to Alina. "Please, get this to him."

As she finished, footsteps echoed outside her door. Panic flared in her chest. The servant's eyes widened, and in a flash, she snatched the letter and vanished like a wisp of smoke, leaving Sansa alone just as the door creaked open.

Littlefinger entered, his expression unreadable as he regarded her. "You seem troubled, Alayne," he said, his tone deceptively sweet.

Sansa quickly masked her fear. "I was merely resting, my lord," she replied, forcing a smile.

"Good," he said, stepping closer. "You must be strong, for soon you will be wed to Harold Hardyng.Your future is bright, and you will play a significant role in the North's reclamation."

Sansa's stomach twisted at the implication. She was a pawn in his game, and the thought of being used made her skin crawl. Yet, deep within her, a fire began to ignite. She was still a Stark, and she would not be so easily manipulated.