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Chapter Text

The sun was shining today, more than usual anyway. Alysanne was watching her brothers in the training yard, Bran had pulled back the string of his bow and shot the arrow. The projectile missed the target and hit the barrel to the side. As Bran kicked the ground in frustration, Jon stepped around their younger brother and placed his hands on his shoulders, “Go on, father’s watching,” they both spun to look above at the balcony where their father, Lord Eddard Stark stood with his wife, Catelyn, “and your mother.” Bran missed one more shot, and Alysanne stepped into the training yard, “come on Bran, you can do it,” she muttered as she stepped up behind her half-brother. Bran smiled at her and knocked another arrow, when he loosed this one it flew over the top of the target and landed in the woods behind the yard. Little Rickon began to chuckle, her twin leant back and shook his head laughing, Robb turned towards Rickon and chuckled with him. Alysanne shook her head at her brothers, and patted Bran on the shoulder. 

“Which one of you was a marksman at ten?” Her fathers voice cut through her brother's laughs, they all turned to look at him, and Alysanne smirked. She considered replying, she had been… well not quite a marksman but good enough that she could shoot the target and hit the fabric every time. Her father had often said that it was the spirit of her namesake, Alysanne Blackwood, inspiring her. Jon and Robb’s laughter had died, “keep practising Bran… go on,” their father encouraged. 

Jon leant over Bran’s shoulder, “Don’t think too much Bran.”

“Relax your bow arm,” Robb added. Suddenly an arrow flew past Alysanne’s arm and hit the target in the centre, all of them spun around and saw their sister, Arya, holding a bow on the other side of the fence. Arya gave a small curtsy and smiled. Bran dropped his bow and ran at her, she let out a laugh and ran in the other direction. Everyone watching began to laugh as well, “faster Bran, faster,” Alysanne called after him. The three eldest looked at each other, “we’ll clean up,” Alysanne told Robb, “you get Rickon.” 

Robb nodded and walked towards Rickon, “you get the arrows,” Alysanne said as she lent down to pick up Bran’s bow. As she stood her dark hair fell into her face and Alysanne pushed it away, she walked over the were Arya had dropped her bow and picked that up to. She turned back to Jon and paused, her brother was looking up at Lady Stark, the Lady of Winterfell had always disliked her husband's bastard twins. It was understandable of course that she would be angry that her husband has been unfaithful, but Alysanne had never understood her misplaced dislike for her and her brother. She really should blame the man that had been unfaithful but Alysanne guessed it was easier for her to dislike the children that reminded her, just by sight, of the betrayal than having to think about her husband's betrayal.

The sound of footsteps broke Alysanne out of her musing, Theon Greyjoy, her father’s ward, was walking towards them, “the men caught a deserter, we’re heading out now.” Alysanne put the bows back on the rack, “well then, let's go boys.” Theon looked at her oddly, he always did that when she did something like that, something unlady-like. Alysanne rolled her eyes and headed in the direction of the stables, she was used to Greyjoy by now, and being a bastard she knew she could never be a real lady so she had to be something else and that something else was going to be a great warrior. The rest of the party was waiting at the stables, Alysanne paused when she spotted Robb helping Bran onto his horse. Bran had never come to an execution before, but he was around the age that Robb and Jon had been when their father first took them, and Bran was a strong boy, one beheading wouldn’t faze him. Alysanne walked up to her horse, a large black stallion that she had named Balerion, a gift from her father for her fifteenth name day, her sword was handed to her by Hullen, the master of horses as she stepped up to mount. Jon and Theon caught up with her then and mounted their horses alongside her. She walked the horse up to Bran and Robb. The party also included Ser Rodrik, the master-at-arms, his nephew Jory, some of the guardsmen of Winterfell and some other people she couldn’t see. Lord Stark arrived a moment later and mounted his horse, turning it towards the exit and leading them out with no words.

The holdfast that the deserter was being at was small, not the smallest Alysanne had seen, but smaller than Winterfell. The man was old and scrawny, slightly taller than Robb and dressed in the black furs of the Night’s Watch, though his were greasy and ragged. Alysanne and her siblings were still sat on their horses, Bran was sitting slightly stiff and looked as though he was trying to seem like he wasn’t scared. Alysanne’s father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all like the man he had been in the training yard earlier that day. He had taken off father’s face, Alysanne thought, and donned the face of Lord Stark of Winterfell. 

A few words were exchanged, though Alysanne didn’t process them, instead watching Bran as he tried to remain calm. Finally, her lord father gave a command, and two of the guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the middle of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and Greyjoy brought forth the sword. ‘Ice’ that sword was called. It was wide across as a man’s hand and taller even than Robb. The blade was valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like valyrian steel. 

Her father peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, “In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die.” He lifted the greatsword high above his head.

Alysanne leant towards Bran, “Keep the pony well in hand,” she whispered.

Jon moved closer as well, “and don’t look away. Father will know if you do.” Bran tightened his grip on his reigns slightly and did not look away. Her father took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained from bolting. Theon, who had turned seventeen last moonturn, placed his foot on the head and kicked it away. “Ass,” Jon muttered, to which Alysanne concurred. He placed a hand on Bran’s shoulder, “you did well.” Jon and Alysanne had turned sixteen that year, ‘Old Hands to Justice’ Bran called them sometimes. 

It always seemed colder on the journey back to Winterfell, though the wind had died and the sun had risen higher in the sky. The children had pulled ahead to the party and were chatting as they rode, Bran struggling to keep up on his pony. 

“The deserter died bravely,” Robb said, he was big and broad and growing everyday, with his mother’s colouring besides the dark hair of the Starks, he had the fair skin and the blue eyes of the Tullys of Riverrun. “He had courage, at the least.”

“No,” Jon disagreed. “It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark.” Jon and Alysanne were almost identical, they had the same dark hair of the Starks and the same slightly darker complexion, slender and quick. They both even shared their father’s dark eyes, though Alysanne’s had a slight colour to them that no one could ever truly make out.

Robb was not impressed. “The Others take his eyes,” he swore. “He died well. Race you to the bridge?”

“Done,” Jon said, kicking his horse forward. Robb cursed and followed, and they galloped off down the road, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent as always. Alysanne sighed at her brothers, and looked at Bran out of the corner of her eye. He was staring intently ahead, obviously thinking of what he had seen, Alysanne let him ponder in silence, slowing slightly to allow the rest of the party to catch up. Her lord father moved up beside them. “Are you well, Bran?” He asked, not unkindly. 

“Yes, Father,” Bran told him. He looked up, Eddard Stark in his furs and leathers, mounted on his great warhorse, must have looked massive to Bran on his small pony. “Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid.”

Alysanne allowed her father and Bran’s voices to fall into the background and instead focused on the road ahead, she had promised Arya that she would teach her some fighting today. A regular occurrence for about a year now, behind Lady Stark’s back, as the women would never approve, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Suddenly Jon reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and shouted down at them, “ Father, Bran, Alysanne, come quickly, see what Robb has found!” Then he was gone again.

Jory rode up beside them, “Trouble, my lord?”

“Beyond a doubt,” her lord father said. “Come let us see what mischief my sons have rooted out now.” He sent his horse into a trot. The rest of the party came after. 

They found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside him. The later summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Robb stood knee-deep in white, his hood pulled back so the sun shone on his hair. He was cradling something in his arm, while the boys talked in hushed, excited voices. 

The riders picked their way carefully through the drifts, groping for solid footing on the hidden, uneven ground. Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy were the first to reach the boys. Greyjoy was laughing and joking as he rode. Alysanne heard the breath go out of him. “ Gods!” he exclaimed, struggling to keep control of his horse as he reached for his sword.

Jory’s sword was already out, “Robb, get away from it!” he called as his horse reared under him. 

Robb grinned and looked up from the bundle in his arms. “She can’t hurt you,” he said, “she’s dead Jory.”

It was then that Alysanne spotted something, a furry shape over the snow, though she couldn’t make it out. Her father made them dismount by the bridge and approach on foot, Bran jumped off his horse and ran.

By the time they reached them, Jon, Jory and Theon had all dismounted as well. 

“What in the seven hells is it?” Greyjoy was saying.

“A wolf,” Robb told him.

“A freak,” Greyjoy said. “Look at the size of it.”

Then Alysanne could finally clearly see what they were talking about, half buried in the bloodstained snow, with its grey fur covered in ice, a huge wolf the size of Bran’s pony lay slumped in death.

“It’s no freak,” Jon said calmly. “That’s a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind.”

“There’s not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years.”

“I see one now,” Jon replied.

Bran let out a cry of delight and Alysanne turned to see what Robb was holding. A tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb’s chest as he cradled it, searching for milk amongst his leathers, making a sad little whimpery sound. Bran reached out slowly. “Go on,” Robb told him. “You can touch him.”

Bran gave the pup a quick pet, then Jon said, “Here you go.” Jon placed a different pup in Bran’s arms. “There are five of them.” Bran sat and pulled the pup closer.

“Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years,” muttered Hullen. “I like it not.”

“It is a sign,” Jory said. 

Father frowned. “This is only a dead animal, Jory,” he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched under his bot as he moved around the body. “Do we know what killed her?”

“There’s something in the throat,” Robb told him, seemingly proud to have found the answer before his father even asked. “There, just under the jaw.” 

Her father knelt and groped under the beast's head with his hand. He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood. A sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and no one dared to speak.

Her father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. "I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp," he said. His voice broke the spell.

"Maybe she didn't," Jory said. "I've heard tales . . . maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came."

"Born with the dead," another man put in. "Worse luck."

"No matter," said Hullen. "They be dead soon enough too."

Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay and Alysanne placed a hand on his shoulder.

"The sooner the better," Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. "Give the beast here, Bran."

"No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's mine."

"Put away your sword, Greyjoy," Robb said. For a moment he sounded as commanding as their father, like the lord he would someday be. "We will keep these pups."

"You cannot do that, boy," said Harwin, who was Hullen's son.

"It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said.

Their father frowned, furrowed his brows. "Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation."

"No!"Bran looked away. He probably did not want to cry in front of their father.

Robb resisted stubbornly. "Ser Rodrik's red bitch whelped again last week," he said. "It was a small litter, only two live pups. She'll have milk enough."

"She'll rip them apart when they try to nurse."

Alysanne locked eyes with Jon over Bran’s head, she didn’t want the poor pups dead either and neither did Jon. "Lord Stark," Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with hope in his eyes. "There are five pups," he told Father. "Three male, two female."

"What of it, Jon?"

"You have five trueborn children," Alysanne put in, understanding where Jon was going. "Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord."

Alysanne saw her father's face change, saw the other men exchange glances. This hurt because the count had come right only because Jon and her had omitted themselves. They had included everyone, even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastards who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.

Their father understood as well. "You want no pup for yourselves?" he asked softly.

"The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark," Jon pointed out. "We are no Starks, Father."

Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully, then looked at Alysanne with the same expression. Robb rushed into the silence he left. "I will nurse him myself, Father," he promised. "I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that."

"Me too!" Bran echoed.

The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. "Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants' time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?"

Bran nodded eagerly. "You must train them as well," their father said. "You must train them. The kennelmaster will have nothing to do with these monsters, I promise you that. And the gods help you if you neglect them, or brutalise them, or train them badly. These are not dogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip a man's arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, Father," Bran said.

"Yes," Robb agreed.

"The pups may die anyway, despite all you do."

"They won't die," Robb said. "We won't let them die."

"Keep them, then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It's time we were back to Winterfell."

Halfway across the bridge, a small whimpering sound reached Alysanne’s ears, she pulled up, Jon paused beside her as well. 

"What is it, Jon?" their lord father asked.

"Can't you hear it?"

"There," Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

"They must have crawled away from the others," Jon said. Jon was carrying two pups back to them, they were pure white, the rest of the litter was grey. Their eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Alysanne thought it curious that these pups alone would have opened their eyes while the others were still blind.

"Albinos," Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. "These ones will die even faster than the others."

Alysanne gave her father's ward a long, chilling look. "I think not, Greyjoy," she said. "These ones belong to us."

They returned to Winterfell, quickly. Jon had handed her the female albino he had found in the snow, it pressed into her chest and hadn’t moved or made a sound since being handed to her. The gates were opened as they approached. Some grooms came forward to take their horses' reins, but they paused when they caught sight of the wolf pups held in the hands of the men. “What in seven hells is that?” Mikken, the armourer, asked as he stepped forward.

“Direwolves,” Robb said as he stepped down from his horse, “we found them on the road back.”

“Direwolves!” Wyl, one of the guardsmen exclaimed.

“Calm yourself, the pups are no danger,” her lord father dismounted, “my children will keep them well trained.”

Alysanne dismounted and cuddled the pup even closer to her, ignoring the men talking with her father as she headed in the direction of the main keep. Arya was waiting by the door, holding Rickon by the hand. The youngest Stark sister was in her eleventh year and looked every bit the part of a Stark, with the dark hair and grey eyes of their father and the solemn face of the Starks of Winterfell. Her eyes lit up when she spotted Alysanne walking towards them, both her and Rickon took off running towards their older sister. She raised a hand to slow them as they reached her. “Calm, there is something for you to see, but you have to stay calm and quiet, understand?” Alysanne asked. Rickon nodded quickly, Arya smiled and gave a nod of her own. Alysanne knelt down and showed them the wolf pup in her arms, both gasped.

“A puppy!” Rickon exclaimed.

“ Shhh ,” Arya hissed at her brother, “you’ll scare it. Where did it come from?”

“Robb and Jon found them in the snow, their mother is dead and there is enough for all of us,” Alysanne smiled when Arya’s eyes lit up.

“There are more?”

“Yep, one for each of us, go on, the others are near the gate. I have to find Sansa.” Both Arya and little Rickon took off for the gate and the other wolves. Arya with wild enthusiasm and Rickon a little slower, being half dragged by his sister.

Alysanne entered the keep, Sansa would either be at her lessons or doing some other tedious ‘ladies task’ to pass the time. Her sister’s love for such things would never fail to confound Alysanne. Though Sansa was their fathers eldest trueborn daughter and only younger than Alysanne by three years, the two had almost nothing in common. Besides their love for fancy dresses, Alysanne thought as she spotted her sister. Like their other siblings Sansa favoured her mother, her hair was a shade of Tully red rather than the brown of House Stark, her eyes a pale blue. Today she was wearing a beautiful grey dress embroidered with the wolf of Stark, her mother was complimenting something about the dress as Alysanne walked up. Catelyn cut herself off mid sentence and turned to give Alysanne a dark look. “Lady Catelyn,” Alysanne greeted her with a nod, Catelyn didn’t respond so she turned to Sansa, “we brought you back a gift.” She held up the small pup, “There is one for each of us.”

Sansa’s eyes lit up, she took in the small form of the wolf, “one for each of us?”

“Yes, seven pups-”

“Where did they come from,” Catelyn cut her off mid sentence, she was watching the wolf with a look of slight distrust.

“Robb found them on the road back,” Alysanne didn’t mention Jon, if she thought that her son had found them alone then perhaps she would be more likely to accept them, “their mother was dead, we couldn’t just let them starve.”

“Well, that didn’t mean that-” Catelyn was obviously just trying to disagree with her, she wasn’t the kind of lady to let pups starve but her need to disagree with Alysanne in everything would mean that she’d argue this for days. So having no time for her today, Alysanne nodded to Sansa and headed in the direction of her chambers, leaving Lady Stark calling after her below.

Alysanne sat in her room for a while, watching the small pup wriggle in her arms. She was interrupted by a knock on her door. “Aly, open up,” Robb’s voice came through the door. Alysanne stood, placing the pup softly on her bed as she did so, and walked over to her door. Robb was standing outside without his pup. “What do you want?” Alysanne said, Robb raised an eyebrow, “sorry.”

Robb placed a hand on Alysanne’s shoulder, “we’re all going down to the kitchens to talk about the pups, I thought you would want to come.”

Alysanne nodded, “I'll come, thank you.” She headed back over to pick up her pup, then exited the room with the small white thing wiggling in her hands. Robb placed his hand back and her shoulder and began to talk about how Sansa, Arya and Rickon had reacted to seeing the pups for the first time, Alysanne laughed when he mentioned that Rickon had jumped back from his pup when it had wriggled too fast and for the moment allowed all the stress to fade from her mind as she enjoyed the time with her brother.

Chapter Text

Alysanne placed her hand against the rough bark of the heart tree. She hated meeting new people. It always started pleasant enough, she had been raised with a ladies courtesies, but then people found out she was a bastard and the conversation always changed. Now it wouldn't be lesser lords or commonfolk she was meeting, but the royal family and their entourage that were coming to Winterfell. 

Alysanne opened her eyes when a breeze ran through the red leaves above her, perhaps the gods answering her prayer? Alysanne had come to pray but found she had not much to say. What to pray for when all she wanted was her family to be left in peace. Alysanne was many things but a fool was not one of them. The king was coming to Winterfell for one reason, to ask her Father to be the Hand of the King. 

With a sigh Alysanne ran her fingers through her direwolves fur, the little red eyed pup had grown fast, reaching up to mid-shin. Alysanne had contemplated the little pup's name for days, being unable to think of anything fitting. Most of her siblings, besides Bran, had been quick to name theirs. Jon’s white pup, the twin to her own, he had named Ghost for his silent movement. Her pup was fierce but quiet, barely moved and liked to sleep. Eventually she decided on the name, Meleys, after the Red Queen, dragon of Princess Rhaenys, The Queen Who Never Was. The dragon was said to be lazy but fearsome when roused, fitting for her little pup. Meleys butted her head against Alysanne’s leg, letting out a soft grumble when her hand stopped moving for a moment. “Sorry girl.”

“Alysanne!” Jon’s voice called from behind her.

“By the heart tree!” she called back. 

Jon’s footsteps came closer until he was standing beside her, his own direwolf running into Meleys and laying beside her. “They’re here,” Jon said. Alysanne sighed, rolling her neck. She stood slowly, brushing snow and dust from her dress and pulling her fur-lined cloak tighter around herself. She told Meleys to stay, as did Jon to Ghost. Jon took her by the arm and they walked back through the godswood in sync. 

The people of Winterfell were already lining up in the courtyard. Alysanne spotted Lady Catelyn and Sansa standing near the front, joined by Robb, Bran and Rickon before her and Jon reached their place. Standing behind the children of House Stark, bastards would not be presented alongside the true-born children of their Father of course. Alysanne wasn’t offended by it, she was used to it and it would mean she didn’t have to pretend to be nice to the king or the queen. Thank the gods. 

“Where is Arya?” Lady Catelyn’s voice reached Alysanne’s ears. She glanced around quickly. “Sansa, where is your sister?” Sansa shrugged in response. Alysanne thought back, trying to remember where she had seen Arya earlier in the day. 

Arya came running from near the gate, a helmet perched on her head. When she passed Father he caught her arm and pulled the helmet off, revealing Arya’s face. “Go one,” Father said. Alysanne smirked to herself, catching Jon doing the same out of the corner of her eye. Arya took her place between Sansa and Bran just as the first horse came through the gate of Winterfell.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and steel. First came a Kingsguard knight, dressed in the signature white of his order. Behind him Sandor Clegane, recognizable to Alysanne by his burned face. The tall boy beside him must be the crown prince, Joffrey. Alysanne saw Sansa look towards him and hold her eyes there for a moment. Robb saw too, if the way his face turned from their sister to the prince was any indication. Alysanne understood why Sansa was entranced, the prince was a handsome boy. With his golden hair and green eyes, cloaked in black and yellow, the colours of his house. 

A wheelhouse followed behind some more guard, where the queen and her younger two children must be. A huge man, who could only be the king flanked by two knights in their snow-white cloaks, followed the wheelhouse into the courtyard. Father knelt and everyone in the courtyard who was not a member of the royal party, knelt too. Alysanne kept her eyes on the pale grey fabric of her dress, noticing slight patterns in the weave of the wool. There was the sound of the king dismounting, walking closer. Father stood and everyone followed. “Your Grace,” Father greeted.

“You’ve got fat,” the king said. Father didn’t seem to respond from what Alysanne could see, but he must have made some expression in response because the king burst into laughter, soon followed by her father, and the two gripped each other in a hug. Alysanne felt her own smile grace her lips, her father’s old friend and him, reunited after so long. “Cat!” King Robert said, grabbing Lady Catelyn and pulling her into a hug as well. “Nine years,” Robert began walking back to her father, “why haven’t I seen you? Where have you been?”

By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert’s queen, Cersei Lannister, exited her wheelhouse, the young Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen following behind. Alysanne saw Prince Joffrey dismount as well, flicking his hair as he did. “...Winterfell is yours,” Alysanne caught the end of Father’s sentence. 

“Who do we have here?” Robert asked, taking a step to the side to stand in front of Robb. “You must be Robb,” the two shook hands. “My you are a pretty one,” he complimented Sansa, “and your name is?”

Arya looked up at him, “Arya,” she said simply. 

Robert nodded and continued on to Bran, “aww, show us your muscle.” Bran raised his arm and clenched his muscles. “You’ll be a soldier,” Robert praised.

The queen walked over, her children trailing behind. She stopped in front of father, who took her hand and kissed it, “my queen.” Cersei smiled tightly. She turned back to her children, and they hurried closer. “My eldest,” the queen introduced, taking the crown prince by the arm and pulling him beside her, “Prince Joffrey.” Joffrey bowed, taking Lady Catelyn’s hand and kissing it as father had kissed the queens. “My daughter, Princess Myrcella and my youngest Prince Tommen.” The two smallest royals bowed, smiling softly at the adults. 

“Take me to your crypt, I want to pay my respects,” Robert called. The queen began to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her by the arm, and she said no more. 

“Where’s the imp?” Arya asked, probably louder than she intended to. Cersei looked at her out of the corner of her eyes. She didn’t say a word but as she led her children and twin back to their guards she said something to Jaime that made him release her arm and leave.

“Jory!” Lady Stark called for the head guard, “guide the queen and her children to their chambers.” Jory nodded, bowed once and approached the queen. The Lannister woman called a thank you to Catelyn, though her tone was not very thankful. Annoyed by her husband's dismissal no doubt. Alysanne wanted to feel bad for her, but she knew who the king had wanted to visit in the crypts and Alysanne could feel no sympathy for someone who wanted to keep the king from his dead betrothed, keep him from paying his respects to the woman who was taken too soon from them all.

When the queen departed the crowd in the courtyard began to disperse as well. Arya turned and ran to Alysanne and Jon. “They seem boring!” she complained.

“You didn’t even speak to them,” Alysanne replied, rolling her eyes at her younger sister. “I’m sure they’ll be more excitable at the feast, as the queen said, they have been riding since dawn.”

Arya crinked her nose, “I suppose.” 

Jon laughed, “not looking forward to the feast Arya?”

“No,” Arya shook her head, “I hate them, boring and stuffy.” 

Alysanne and Jon smiled at each other. “Then enough talk about boring things,” she leant closer to whisper in Arya’s ear, “let’s go find our rowdy wolves.” Arya smiled widely and began to drag her older half-siblings off towards the kennels and the woods behind them.

Alysanne sometimes hated being a bastard, but feasts were never a time when she did. As she watched Jon pour them both another goblet of wine she took a moment to take in the atmosphere. 

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangour of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the feast for the king. Alysanne’s half-siblings had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honour of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches Alysanne and Jon were able to down as many glasses as they wished with no one to stop them, though Alysanne did not take advantage of this as much as her twin did.

Though Alysanne was no longer constantly watching the place where her half-siblings had been seated with the royal children, she glanced their way every few minutes, trying to see them through the haze of the hall. Though she noticed that Jon had lost interest in them the moment the procession had ended, the walk had only heightened her interest. 

Her lord father had come first, escorting the queen. A jewelled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. Father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Her smile was tight and Alysanne could see the lie in it.

Next had come King Robert himself, with Lady Catelyn on his arm. The king was a great disappointment to Jon. Her father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident. But that man seemed long gone with only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, head raised with an adorable dignity that only a child of five name days could muster. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colours. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jewelled net.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers, her attempt to mask the contempt in her expression was failing. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was fourteen, younger than the twins or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast muttered dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, the joy of being beside such a handsome boy obvious on her face. Alysanne however was put off by his bored, disdainful look at Winterfell's Great Hall.

Behind them came the queen's brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" and “Oathbreaker” behind his back. Beside him walked his little brother, the Imp. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin's brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother's height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute's squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white.

The last of the high lords to enter were their uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night's Watch, and their father's ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon ignored them utterly, as he was want to do.

Something soft rubbed against Alysanne’s leg and she looked down to see four red eyes staring up at her and her twin. “Hungry again?” Jon asked them. Jon reached toward the half a honeyed chicken in the centre of the table. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost and Meleys both ripped into it in savage silence, tearing the chicken in half. Their brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Alysanne could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about the direwolf pups.

"Are these the direwolves I've heard so much of?" a familiar voice asked close at hand.

Alysanne looked up, a smile overtaking her face, as uncle Ben put a hand on Jon’s head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled his wolf's. "Yes," he said. "His name is Ghost.”

“And hers is Meleys,” Alysane said, smiling when Benjen kissed her forehead.

One of the squires interrupted the bawdy story he'd been telling to make room at the table for their lord's brother. Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon's hand. "Summerwine," he said after a taste. "Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?"

Jon smiled. Alysanne rolled her eyes.

Ben stark laughed and him and Jon began to converse. Alysanne looked back up to the high table, managing to spot Robb grabbing Arya and Bran, dragging them off to bed. She wondered what Arya had done to cause her and Bran to be sent out of the hall, bothered Sansa probably. She also saw Jeyne Poole, the steward's daughter, comforting Sansa. So definitely because she had bothered Sansa. 

“I’m almost a man grown! I turn sixteen on my next nameday,” Jon was saying when Alysanne brought herself back to the conversation.

“That's true enough," Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon's cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.

"Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne," Jon said. Alysanne rolled her eyes, Jon was always talking about his favourite king, one of his heroes. 

“A conquest that lasted a summer," Alysanne pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." 

"Also," Benjen said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

“I forget nothing,” Jon said, his voice boastful. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

Alysanne sighed. Another thing Jon could not shut up about. She knew of course why he wanted to. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn? Alysanne at least was a woman, she could hope to marry, perhaps the son of one of the guardsmen, and have a family. Jon was a man, he could only hope to gain glory some other way and he thought the Watch would be a good way to.

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honour."

"A bastard can have honour too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

“Until you have known a woman,” Benjen said, “you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said, his voice raising with anger.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

"I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Alysanne saw Jon begin the tremble that was a terrible thing to say. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom. Alysanne placed a hand on his other shoulder to calm him, but Jon shrugged her off.

Jon seemed to realise that the table had fallen silent and she saw tears well in his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet. "I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night. 

Benjen went to follow but Alysanne raised a hand to stop him. “Let him go,” she said softly, “he just needs a moment.” Benjen nodded, but neither he nor Alysanne took their eyes from the door for the next hour.

Chapter Text

Tyla was ranting about something her brother had done earlier in the day. But Alysanne’s thoughts were locked on the sparring session going on in front of her. Robb had already knocked the crown prince to the ground during their match and now Bran and little Prince Tommen were preparing to spar themselves. “You are not listening to a word I’m saying are you?” Tyla snapped.

“Sorry,” Alysanne winced, “I’m just-”

“-you want to join in like you usually do and get your arse beat by Robb and Theon,” Tyla said. 

Alysanne turned to her, offended, “I do not get my arse beat by Robb and Theon.”

“Most of the time, you do.”

“Theon’s older than me and Robb has been practising for longer than I.”

“I meant no offence,” Tyla placated, “you beat them all with a bow, Aly.” Alysanne pursed her lips but conceded the point, she was better with a bow and she did often lose spars to her brothers and Theon. 

“-for children Ser Rodrik.” Joffrey’s voice drifted back into Alysanne’s consciousness. 

Theon let out a sharp laugh. “You are children,” he said derisively.

“Robb may be a child,” Joffrey said. “I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword.”

“A prince slmost two years Robb’s younger,” Tyla said contemptuously.

“You got more swats than you gave Joff,” Robb said. “Are you afraid?”

Prince Joffrey looked at Robb with a blank expression. “Oh, terrified,” his voice was as deadpan as his expression. “You’re so much older.” Some of the Lannister men in the party around Joffrey laughed.

“What are you suggesting?” Ser Rodrik asked, tugging thoughtfully at his white cheek whiskers.

“Live steel.” 

Alysanne felt her eyes go wide at the suggestion. “There is no way Ser Rodrik allows that.”

“Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords with blunted edges,” Rodrik said.

“See.”

Joffrey didn’t respond but a large man with black hair and a burn on his face, the Hound, pushed forward in front of the prince. “This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?”

Aly cut her eyes back to Ser Rodrik, she saw his face tighten when he looked at the Hound. “Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it.”

“Are you training women here?”

“I am training knights,” Ser Rodrik said pointedly. “They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of age”

Joffrey scowled from behind Clegane. “How old are you, boy?”

“Sixteen.” Robb said sharply.

“So not a boy. He's already a man grown and not fighting with a bladed sword?.”

Robb bristled, turning to Ser Rodrik. “Let me do it. I can beat him.”

“Beat him with a tourney blade then, the prince is still a boy” Ser Rodrik said.

Joffrey shrugged. “Come and see me when you’re older, Stark. If you’re not too old.”

Alysanne saw Robb take a breath and she decided she should probably intercede before he exploded. “If the prince is too scared to face you, then I am avaliable brother.”

All eyes turned to her. Alysanne jumped over the fence she had been leaning on and walked toward her brother. 

“Ahh, want to lose again little sister,” Robb teased, the tension that had filled his body easing.

“You are only three moons my elder!” Aly complained. Robb laughed, Theon and Ser Rodrik joining in with their own chuckles a moment later.

Alysanne rolled her eyes as she held out her hand for a practice sword from Ser Rodrik. Used to her involvement in training he handed it over without a word. “Letting a girl fight with swords,” Aly heard Joffrey scoff. She ignored him, simply walking to the centre of the yard and raising her sword, pointing it at Robb. “Come Lord Robb, unless you are afraid.”

Robb narrowed his eyes at her, then he moved. Aly barely managed to raise her blade in time to block his. She pushed him back, a slight screeching sound came from the place where the blades dragged against each other. Aly spun, jumping around him and making Robb move to where she had been a moment before. She glanced behind him and saw that Joffrey and his party had decided to stay and watch. Robb paused for a moment, eyes locking on hers. The question in them was obvious. Alysanne smiled to herself and gave the slightest nod of her head.

When Robb moved for her again his swing was slower, more controlled. He was going light on her. Joffrey wouldn’t be scoffing at a woman fighting after this. Alysanne threw herself forward. “Watch your feet!” Theon’s voice called. Aly shifted her weight and saw Theon’s approving nod. Robb also gave her a subtle approving nod when she managed to swat him with her sword. They continued to dance around each other, each of them hitting the other every now and then. Eventually Alysanne grew tired off the back and forth. She launched herself forward, slammed her sword into Robb’s and made him stumble. She pressed harder against him, slashing down. Robb fell back onto the ground with a grunt.

Rodrik called them to a stop. “Great job Aly!” Tyla called. Robb stood with a huff.

Alysanne offered Robb a small curtsy. “Apologies for beating your arse into the dirt.”

Robb scoffed, “first time in years. And never again.”

Joffrey’s loud laugh cut off Alysanne’s response. “Beaten by a girl,” the prince laughed.

Alysanne turned to him, her eyes narrowed. “My brother beat you,” she snapped, “and I beat him. Thus the correct conclusion is I could beat you .”

Joffrey stepped forward, his eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. “Let us test that theory, my lady.”

“Of course, my prince.” Alysanne bowed, brandishing her blade before her. She waited for Joffrey to come forward. Closer. Closer. Then she struck. 

Joffrey did not seem to be expecting her strength or her aggression. He jerked back, barely managing to block her attack. Joffrey let out a surprised huff when she swiped for his leg, not his blade. He jumped, tripping slightly on his feet. Seizing the avantage, Alysanne pushed forward and kicked out her leg to make him fall over it. Joffrey fell onto his arse with a loud cry. Alysanne raised her sword above his throat, flicking her head to make the hair that had fallen out of her braid fall back behind her shoulder. 

A loud booming laugh made Alysanne look up. Her father and the king had walked over to the yard at some point and now the king was laughing and clapping. “Well done girl, well done,” he praised. 

“Thank you, your grace,” Alysanne curtsied.

The king squinted at her for a moment. Then he turned to Father, “your girl.” It was not a real question but Father nodded anyway. “What is your name, girl?” King Robert asked Alysanne.

“Alysanne, your grace, Alysanne Snow.” Whispers broke out amongst the prince’s party. Alysanne felt a rise of satisfaction in her when they realised the crown prince had been beaten by a bastard girl. 

“You look just like your aunt,” Robert said, his voice slightly wistful.

Alysanne smiled, “thank you, your grace.” Robert hummed, and without another word he and Father turned and walked away. Alysanne glanced sideways at Robb and Theon, both of them were already looking back at her. That was a weird end to a conversation.

Septa Mordane was actually paying attention to her. For the first time in her life the only other person in the room who mattered more was Princess Myrcella, whose stitching was so bad it made Arya’s look pretty. Mordane was fussing over Aly’s stitches today, complimenting the detail in the tight corners. “And this wolf, absolutely gorgeous Alysanne.”

“Thank you,” Aly smiled.

“Oh and these flowers, I have never seen anything like it.”

“They are winter roses,” Alysanne explained, tracing her hand over the blue petals. “It’s a tribute to my aunt.”

Septa Mordane smiled, looking up at Alysanne, “a lovely idea my dear.”

“Aly!” Jory’s voice called from the door, startling the two women and making them lean away from each other. 

Alysanne turned her head to the side to face the guard captain. “Yes?”

“Your lord father requests your presence,” Jory said as he came to a stop before her. 

Alysanne hummed, she stood from where she had been seated, placed her tambour frame down on the seat and waved her hand forward, “lead me to him, Jory.”

Jory led Alysanne through the halls of Winterfell and to her father’s solar. As they got closer Aly heard voice talking. “Robert, this is not-” Father

“-it is what I want and I am the king, so it will be.” the king.

“But surely Sansa-'' Alysanne opened the door, cutting off her father’s rebuttal. The King, the Queen, Father and Lady Stark were all present in the room. The King had taken the seat usually occupied by Father when he worked. The Queen and Lord Stark had taken position either side of him, with Lady Stark on her husband's left. “Your grace, your grace. Father, my lady,” Alysanne curtsied. 

“Alysanne!” Robert’s voice boomed. He waved her forward. “Now, surely you know that our houses are to be joined by blood.”

Alysanne cocked her head, “yes your grace, Sansa is very excited.”

Robert waved his hand. “Yes, yes. Your sister is a kind girl, and sweet,” Robert complimented. “But my son, he’ll need a strong wife, a fighter.” Cersei let out a huff but didn’t argue with her husband.

“Your grace?” Alysanne asked. She thought she knew where the king was going with this path of thought but she severely hoped to be wrong.

“Sansa is not that strong of a woman. You are.”

“I am a bastard, your grace, you can’t mean for me to marry the prince?” Alysanne glanced at Lady Stark, whose face was pinched.

“I would legitimise you,” the king waved off. 

“Still, Sansa has been training to be a lady all her life. I-” Aly tried again. 

“I have made my decision,” Robert said with finality. He stood and motioned for Alysanne to kneel. She shared a glance with her father, who looked resigned. Alysanne knelt. “I, Robert of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, hereby name you Alysanne of House Stark, Trueborn daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.” 

He waved his hand to signal Alysanne to stand. She did. Her dark eyes swept across the other people in the room. Queen Cersei and Lady Catelyn were sporting matching expressions of barely concealed disdain. Father smiled at her, but she could see the weariness in his eyes. “Thank you, your grace.”

Robert waved off her thanks. “You are a strong woman and will be a good wife to my son.” 

There was a dismissal in his tone that told Alysanne she was no longer needed. She curtsied once more as she turned to leave, but she paused and turned back to face Lady Stark, “I’ll tell Sansa.” Lady Stark didn’t respond, but she gave a sharp nod. 

Alysanne left the room then, without another word. Now to find Sansa and tell her, her dream wouldn’t come true.

“What?” Sansa’s voice was filled with distress. 

“I am to marry Joffrey,” Alysanne repeated. 

Sansa let out a whimper. “you’re a bastard!”

“I’ve been legitimised,” Aly winced, “I tried to argue that you were more suited, as did Father and your mother. But the king would have none of it.”

Sansa whimpered again, her eyes filled with tears. “I am so sorry Sansa, I know you’ve always wanted to marry a prince.” When Sansa didn’t respond Alysanne continued, “do not be too upset. I am sure that Father will make you a good match with a noble and kind man worthy of you, when the time comes.”

Sansa shook her head, the tears pooling in her eyes began to run down her cheeks. Aly reached forward to grab her hand but Sansa turned and ran, Lady following her footsteps.

Alysanne ran her hand through Meleys’ fur. Sansa had not spoken to her since she had revealed that it would be Alysanne that married the prince and not her. Robb and Jon had both congratulated her, though neither looked exceptionally happy. Arya and Bran were more excited about her being legitimised and little Rickon was too young to really understand either topic. 

Alysanne was conflicted herself. She was happy that she was now Alysanne Stark, no longer marked by the bastard name of Snow. But the other side of the sword was the bladed truth that she must now marry the prince. The prince who had insulted her brother, the pompous arse who believed he could beat her simply because she was a woman. As Alysanne was standing at the edge of the Winterfell godswood, contemplating where to go now she heard footsteps coming up behind her.

“My lady,” Prince Joffrey said as he came up beside her.

“My prince,” Alysanne curtsied, keeping her eyes facing forward.

“I hear we are to be wed,” Joffrey said.

“As do I.”

“What are you doing out here?” the prince asked, his voice stilted.

“I was going to pray,” Alysanne said, finally turning to look at the blond boy. “Would you like to accompany me?”

Joffrey hesitated and swallowed, “it would be an honour my lady.” The prince held out his arm for Alysanne to take, she weaved her arm into his and began to lead them into the godswood. Meleys followed at their heels quietly, taking off into the woods the moment they entered them.

“Have you ever seen a true godswood?” Alysanne asked, just as they reached the centre with the large white weirwood tree before the late.

“No, not one like this,” Joffrey was looking up at the tree, his eyes slightly widened. “The godswood in King’s Landing has no weirwood,” he explained as they walked closer. “And I have never visited the Casterly Rock godswood when we have travelled there.”

Alysanne released Joffrey’s arm and walked over to the tree, kneeling before it. “Join me?” she asked, turning back to him and holding out her hand. Joffrey hesitated then stumbled over. He almost fell when he knelt and Aly had to stop herself from laughing. 

“What do I do?” Joffrey asked.

Aly looked at him, head cocked. “Have you never prayed in a sept?”

“I have,” Joffrey said. “I just… I did not know if it was perhaps different.”

“No,” Alysanne chuckled as she shook her head. “Just, close your eyes and… feel.”

Alysanne sighed, closing her eyes and letting her head drop back slightly. She felt the breeze ruffle her hair and heard the leaves above them shifting in the wind. Please… she thought, keep my family safe and healthy. And… She paused in her thoughts and opened her eyes lightly to look askance at Joffrey, who had also closed his eyes but was tenser than Alysanne. Keep my betrothed hale and healthy so our future may be bright. 

“What are you praying for?” Joffrey’s voice asked a few moments later. 

Alysanne smiled slightly, “health, for my family. You?”

“The same,” Joffrey replied. “And… health for you, my betrothed.”

Aly opened her eyes and looked at Joffrey, a wider smile overtaking her face. “The same.”

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. Then Meleys was there, attempting to push between them. Aly laughed. Joffrey jerked back, his eyes wide as he stared at the wolf. “Do not be afraid,” Alysanne soothed. She pushed Meleys back slightly, “sit girl.” The albino wolf dropped onto the haunches, her red eyes locked on her mistress. Alysanne smiled at Joffrey again, “take my hand.”

The prince’s eyes were wide and locked on the wolf but he took Aly’s hand. “Let her smell you,” Alysanne advised. “If she knows your scent she will not be a danger to you. And once we are wed she will protect you as she protects me.” Joffrey let Alysanne take his glove off and place his hand before Meleys’ nose. The wolf's nose twitched as she took in the scent. Then she pressed her white head against Joffrey’s hand and nipped his fingers. “Meleys!” Alysanne admonished her when Joffrey yelped at the feeling. “My apologies my prince, she was just playing.”

Joffrey offered her a tense smile, “I understand, my lady. She is protective of you, that is good.”

Alysanne chucked, “mayhaps we should return to the castle.” Joffrey didn’t hesitate to rise and leave. Aly had to scramble to keep up with him. Joffrey must have a good memory because he didn’t falter on the walk back. Aly allowed him to lead, and to keep his silence. The snip by Meleys seemed to have shaken him more than he let on, and his mood had shifted foul with the slight attack. She just hoped that it was not regular with Joffrey that such small things made his mood turn foul. 

They exited to godswood and Aly instantly saw Joffrey’s shoulders relax slightly. He may have seemed fascinated by the weirwood but the old and dark godswood made him as uncomfortable as it made Lady Catelyn. Southerners never seemed to understand the true majesty of them. “I should go to my lesson, my prince,” Alysanne curtsied. “I shall see you at supper.”

Joffrey bowed back, “at supper.”

Alysanne turned to walk into the keep, Meleys again trotting at her heels. She paused for a moment and glanced back at Joffrey. He was still standing watching her, she smiled to herself. Alysanne felt Joffrey’s eyes on her the entire walk to the keep.

Chapter Text

Alysanne and Joffrey sat together at supper that night and spent the morning talking with each other in the library. The prince seemed to have moved past Meleys’ slight attack and was more relaxed than he had been when they parted. Alysanne dearly hoped that Joffrey kept this attitude and not the one that he had displayed previously.

The two had to part though, apparently the queen had something to discuss with the prince and Joffrey left to find her. So Aly had left the library too, deciding to spend time with her wolf pup. Meleys had come to her the moment she had entered Aly’s thoughts, as she always did. The white wolf wove around Aly’s legs, butting her white head into her legs to request cuddles. A shriek split the silence, making Alysanne jump, reaching for her waist and dagger that wasn’t present there today. 

Her body relaxed when she spotted who had made the sound, the Princess Myrcella. The young girl was standing a few feet away, her hands in front of her mouth and and guards hands on their swords. Alysanne curtsied, “princess.” 

Myrcella’s wide eyes stayed on her white wolf, but the princess seemed to notice that there was another person standing before her and she curtsied back. “My lady.”

“There is nothing to fear Princess, Meleys is gentle,” Aly reassured the still scared princess.

Myrcella slowly stepped closer, “she won’t hurt me?”

“Oh no, my dear. Meleys is quite well-trained.” Aly clicked her fingers and Meleys sat without delay. Her bright red eyes were trained on the slowly approaching princess. “Here,” Aly knelt, holding out her hand for Myrcella to put hers into. The princess hesitated slightly before placing her shaky hand into Aly’s. Alysanne held the princess' small pale hand to Meleys’ nose. The wolf's pink little nose twitched a few times, before her tongue flicked out and she licked Myrcella’s hand. 

Myrcella let out a little giggle and slipped her hand from Alysanne’s to hold it closer to Meleys’ head. The wolf let out a soft bark and pressed her forehead into the princess’ hand. “Go on,” Aly prompted. “She loves cuddles.” Myrcella smiled as she ran her hand through the soft fur on the white wolf's head, letting out another giggle as Meleys’ breath touched her stomach when she pressed closer.

Alysanne noticed that the princess’ guards had relaxed when they saw that she was enjoying petting the wolf. “Is she really a direwolf?” Myrcella asked in a soft high voice.

“Yes,” Alysanne nodded.

“How did you get her? Can I have one?” Myrcella looked up at her with wide innocent eyes.

Aly laughed. “We found the pups on the side of a trail, their mother had died and they had nowhere to go. I’m afraid there were only seven pups, but if I find any more I’ll be sure to give one to you,” Alysanne promised. 

The light in Myrcella’s eyes faded during the first part of her explanation but lit up again at the end. “Make sure you do!” She bit her lip and looked down before continuing, “after all, you are to be my sister one day.”

“That I am,” Aly agreed with a nod. “And I am honoured to be sister to such a beautiful little princess.” Myrcella giggled again, smiling brightly at her. 

“Princess!” A woman’s voice called. A few moments later a woman dressed in red rounded the corner of the building beside us. “There you are, Princess. You have lessons, you shouldn’t be out here walking around,” she admonished.

“Sorry Lady Jocelyn, I was coming I promise,” Myrcella said sheepishly.

“I must take some blame for the Princess’ delay,” Alysanne smiled. “She was distracted by my wolf.” 

Lady Jocelyn seemed to notice Alysanne and Meleys for the first time, her eyes widened when they landed on the wolf. “Oh- I see. Thank you for the explanation Lady…” She trailed off, not knowing the name of the dark-haired lady before her.

“Lady Alysanne Stark, my lady,” Aly curtsied. 

Lady Jocelyn’s lip curled slightly. “My lady,” Jocelyn curtsied stiffly. “Come Princess.” She turned and led Myrcella away without another word, or a by your leave to her future queen. Myrcella waved goodbye quickly as she followed behind. 

Alysanne sighed. Meleys pressed closer to Aly again. She smiled, running her hand through the wolf’s fur. It did not matter that she was legitimised or that she was to marry the prince, she would always be a bastard to some.

“Can you make this firmer?” Alysanne asked, placing her hand on the fabric covering her breasts. 

“Firmer?” the seamstress asked.

“Add more structure,” Aly clarified. “I would like it to… not oh… I can’t describe what I’m envisioning very well at all I’m afraid.” Aly sighed, trying her hardest to think of a way to explain what she was seeing in her mind. 

The seamstress smiled softly. “I will modify the structure and see if I can create what you wish.” She bowed. Unpinning the fabric from Alysanne’s underdress and picking up a different one to try. Alysanne had decided she wanted to have a few new dresses made before leaving for King’s Landing, though she loved her simple northern dresses she wanted to have something more elegant for when they stopped at castles on the way south. Aly smiled and nodded when the seamstress placed a dark red piece of fabric over her shoulder, a perfect shade of Lannister red.

“Aly?” Robb’s voice called through the door.

“Enter!” Aly called back. The door opened and Robb, Jon and Theon entered the room. “What do you want?” She asked.

“Not happy to see us?” Theon asked with a smirk. Aly rolled her eyes at him. 

“We wish to speak of your betrothed,” Jon explained. 

Alysanne narrowed her eyes, “leave us.” She waved off the seamstress. The seamstress bowed, gathering her things and hurrying from the room. “What do you wish to know about him?” Alysanne asked, stepping off the platform she had been standing on and taking a seat on one of the chairs in the room. 

“Has he been… kind to you?” Jon asked, slipping into the chair opposite her.

“Yes, he has been wonderful,” Aly smiled. “Kind and gentle. You saw us at supper yesterday?”

“Of course, you seemed… happy,” Robb smiled stiffly.

Alysanne laughed. “I was. We read together in the library this morning. He was reading a book on northern houses and asking me questions all the way through. And he prayed in the godswood with me yesterday.” She revealed.

Her brothers smiled at her. “He prayed in the godswood?” Robb confirmed. She nodded. “That is wonderful. Perhaps he is not so much a, how did you describe him Theon?”

“A right royal prick?” Theon asked. 

Alysanne gasped, kicking her leg out to hit his. “Theon! You cannot say that about my betrothed.”

“Apologies my lady,” Theon mock-bowed. Alysanne rolled her eyes at him again. 

“Apparently you were wrong though,” Jon said. “He has been the perfect gentleman to Aly.”

“Well, not exactly perfect. He was a right arse in the training yard,” Alysanne may have enjoyed his company at supper and in the library but she hadn’t forgotten the way he had spoken to Robb in the yard or the way he had doubted her skill.

“Yes, perhaps that was an act to impress the Lannister squires,” Jon suggested. Aly frowned, perhaps.

“You are happy with him though?” Robb confirmed, staring into her eyes.

“If I was not, you would know.” Alysanne smirked. Robb laughed and nodded.

There was a knock on the wooden door. “Who is it?” Aly called.

“Prince Joffrey, my lady,” a guard responded.

Alysanne stood brushing at her dress. “Let him in!”

The door opened and Joffrey entered the room, draped in red and gold as always. “My prince,” Alysanne curtsied, spotting Robb, Theon and Jon bowing out of the corner of her eyes.

“My lady, My lords,” Joffrey bowed. “I hope I am not interrupting anything important.”

“No my prince, we were just leaving,” Robb said.

Joffrey nodded. “I was hoping to spirit you away for a walk through the ground my betrothed,” he smiled at Aly.

She responded with one of her own, “I would enjoy that.” Joffrey held out his arm for her to take. “Brothers, Theon,” she smiled goodbye. They responded with their own goodbyes as Aly and her betrothed left the room.

“How have you enjoyed your time here?” Aly asked. 

Joffrey looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. “It is different from King’s Landing but enjoyable.”

“How different is King’s Landing?” Aly had always wondered about the capital city.

It is much larger,” Joffrey said. “It smells worse, and the people are not as kind.” 

Alysanne wrinkled her nose, “smells worse?” She already knew about the politicking and fighting of court and was preparing for it, but a terrible smell?

“Quite worse,” Joffrey nodded. “Though you hardly notice while inside the keep.”

“Is it really red? Bright red?” Aly looked up at Joffrey with wonder filled eyes.

“Not bright red but yes, the stones are red as my doublet.”

“It must have been wonderful to grow in such a large place.”

“I did enjoy it quite a bit. Having so many people watching you at all times can become tiring though I must say.”

“I can imagine,” Aly grimaced sympathetically. “I must prepare myself for that once we go south. I believe that being the future wife of the heir to the Iron Throne will make me a person of interest to those at court.”

“Yes,”  Joffrey nodded. “It will. I do believe that you, my betrothed, will handle it wonderfully, if the way you handled me was any indication.”

“I did humble you quite quickly did I not?” She smirked at him.

Joffrey stopped walking and turned to face her, raising a brow. “You did.” Though the prince had attempted to say it in a bright tone, Aly could tell that this path of conversation had soured his mood quickly.

“Do not become discomforted my dear,” Alysanne soothed. “I am two years your elder, and have been training for longer than you.” She chose not to mention that she was better with a bow and really shouldn’t have beaten him in their spar if he was any good.

“Of course,” Joffrey smiled stiffly.

“What did your mother wish to speak with you about this morning?” Aly decided to change the topic of conversation.

Joffrey blinked. “She wanted to offer advice on how to converse with ladies.”

Aly raised a brow, “your mother? offered advice on conversing with ladies?”

He hummed. Joffrey’s lip twitched, Aly could see the amusement in his eyes “she suggested I ask you about sewing.” His voice was so filled with amusement that Aly could hardly imagine how he was containing his laughter.

“Sewing?” While she did enjoy sewing on some occasions, unlike her sister Sansa she preferred having others make her dresses while she simply embroidered for fun. She much preferred archery and riding to sewing.

“I told her that my belief was that you would enjoy discussing sewing as much as I would.” 

“You would be correct about that, my betrothed.” Alysanne smiled. “I prefer discussing riding, do you enjoy riding?”

“I do. I so enjoyed exploring new places on the ride north.”

“We should go out into the forests together,” Aly suggested. Joffrey opened his mouth to respond but footsteps cut him off.

“My prince!” A squire dressed in lannister red and gold with the blond hair to match called out to Joffrey. “The king has called for a hunt!”

Joffrey released Alysanne’s arm, “prepare my horse, I shall be there soon.” Joffrey kept his eyes on Aly for a few moments longer. “It seems I have a different place to be,” he sighed. 

“Yes. Go hunt with the king. Bring me back a pelt.”

“I shall endeavour to do so,” Joffrey bowed. Aly curtsied.

“Sansa, you cannot ignore me forever,” Alysanne sighed. Sansa did not respond, she kept her eyes facing forward and her hands pressed in Lady’s fur. “Sansa,” Aly knelt beside her sister. “I did not choose this betrothal, I did not take your dream from you on purpose my sweet.”

“I know,” Sansa said softly.

“You are still coming south with us are you not? Perhaps you will find a husband at court,” Aly suggested.

Sansa finally looked at her. “You think I could?”

“Of course,” Aly placed her hand on Sansa’s arm. “You are the beautiful eldest daughter of the Warden of the North and Hand of the King, young lords and knights will be falling over themselves to court you.” Sansa blushed, smiling slightly. “However, any man that wishes to court you will have to handle both Father and me.”

“Handle you?” Sansa asked innocently. 

Aly smiled. “Do not worry yourself with it my sweet.” She placed her other hand on Sansa’s cheek. Sansa smiled sweetly at her. Sansa could hold a grudge like no other but compliment her and comfort her and she melted like ice in the summer. 

Lady’s ears pricked up and her nose raised into the air. “What is it darling?” Sansa asked, looking around for whatever had made her wolf react. 

Meleys suddenly came careening out of the woods, her hackles raised and tail fluffed. “What is wrong?” Aly asked, raising to her feet and reaching for the dagger at her waist. Then there was a distant wolf’s howl and Meleys and Lady responded with two of their own. “That’s Bran’s wolf!” Aly said. Her and Sansa took off running the direction of the howl, their own wolves right on their heels. 

Aly followed the sound of the howl through the courtyard and towards the broken tower. When the base of the tower came into view Alysanne heard Sansa gasp and almost stumbled herself. Bran’s wolf was pacing beside a dark shape on the ground. Aly sped up her run, dropping to her knees beside Bran’s unconscious body. “Get your Maester Luwin!” she almost yelled at Sansa. her sister spun and ran back in the other direction. “Bran?” Aly whispered, running her hands through his dirty hair. “Lady Catelyn told you to stop climbing,” she almost sobbed, glancing up at the tower. 

“Aly?” Arya’s voice called. “Bran?!”

Her youngest sister dropped to the ground beside her, voice shaking as she asked for an explanation. “He must have fallen from the tower while climbing,” Aly said softly. “Arya, little wolf, go make sure your mother is coming.”

“But-” Arya started.

“Go,” Aly said, looking at her sternly. Arya grimaced but stood and took off towards the main keep without complaint.

A few moments later Sansa rounded the corner with Maester Luwin and Jon behind her. Aly relaxed at the sight of her twin and the Maester, moving slightly to allow Luwin access to Bran. “I think he fell from the tower,” Aly explained. Luwin nodded. Jon walked up behind her, placing hands on her shoulders. 

“Brandon!” Catelyn's panicked voice reached them as Luwin was running his hands over Bran’s legs. “Oh my baby,” Catelyn sobbed. “Will he be alright?”

“I do not know,” Luwin confessed. “But it is safe to move him. Jon, Alysanne help me get him into the keep.”

Aly stood from the ground and bent in sync with Jon to pick Bran up by the arms and legs and carry him back to the main keep. Catelyn had not seemed to even notice their presence, solely focused on her son. Thankfully some of the guards had noticed the commotion and ran over to help keep Bran steady as they trekked back to the keep and up the stairs to his room. 

Catelyn took a seat by Bran’s bed the moment he was laid down. “Give me space!” Luwin commanded them. Jon almost dragged Aly back and out of the room. Sansa and Arya were both standing outside, pacing. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Arya asked, grabbing Jon. 

“Maester Luwin said he doesn’t know,” Jon responded. He pulled Arya into a hug and ran his hand up and down her back.

“Someone should tell Father,” Aly said distantly. “I’ll go find them.” She had turned and walked away before her siblings could even think to respond. 

“Saddle my horse,” Aly commanded Joseth as she reached the stable. He bowed, picking up her saddle and strapping it to Balerion without question. Alysanne swung herself into the saddle. “Go boy!”

They raced through the courtyard and then out into the forest near Winterfell. Meleys was racing at her side, nose lowered. “Find their scent girl!” Aly called to her wolf. Meleys let out a howl, slowed for a moment, then sped off. “Follow her,” she commanded Balerion. The black stallion kept pace with the white wolf as they swerved through the trees. 

It was not long before another wolf joined Meleys beside the track, Grey Wind. They were close.

“Alysanne?” Robb’s voice called as soon as Balerion broke through a line of trees and into a clearing. Everyone turned, some with hands on blades that released when they saw who it was.

“Where is father?” Aly asked without preamble.

Robb furrowed his brows, “uhh-”

“Alysanne?” Father came into view through the crowd, face filled with worry. “What is wrong?”

“It’s Bran. He fell from a tower while climbing Father, it’s bad.” Aly explained shakily. 

Father was back on his horse and ready to ride in seconds. The king not a moment behind him. The whole party was heading back to the keep without a word from either of them. Robb rode beside Aly, his hands clenched hard on his horse's reins. 

Father dismounted his horse with speed and was off towards the main keep, Robb, Theon and the king on his heels. Aly was slower to dismount and go inside. She could not get the image of Bran motionless on the ground out of her head. 

“Alysanne,” Joffrey’s voice was soft when he came to a stop beside her.

“Joffrey,” she responded.

“Are you-- alright?” he asked stiffly.

Alysanne gave him a single look that had Joffrey taking a step back. “My little brother just fell from a tower and I am currently unable to tell if he will leave, do you think I am… alright?” she snapped.

She saw a flash of anger in Joffrey's eyes before he took a breath and gulped. “I am sorry, that was inconsiderate of me.”

Aly sighed, “no no. I know you were only trying to be kind.”

Joffrey placed a hand on her arm, “if you need to talk… if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” she smiled at her betrothed, holding back the tears that had been threatening to spill since she found her brother. “If you do not mind I would like to be with my family.”

“Of course,” Joffrey nodded.

Alysanne walked back to the hallway outside Bran’s room. All her siblings were waiting there, hands clenching in worry and brows furrowed. Jon took Aly in his arms without a word, patting her on the back. “Let it out,” he whispered in her ear. Alysanne felt the cry more than she heard it.

Chapter Text

Sansa was trying to distract herself. Alysanne could tell that much. Her younger sister had stuck herself inside for the four days since Bran’s fall and busied herself with needlework and other little tasks. Robb had already tried to talk her outside, as had Father and little Rickon but none had succeeded. Now Aly stood in front of her sister’s door, twisting her rings around her fingers as she tried to think over what to say. 

“I know you're out there,” Sansa’s voice came through the door.

Alsyanne winced before slowly opening the door and poking her head inside. Sansa was seated on a small chair by her bed, some fabric in her hand that she must be embroidering. “I have not seen you today, I was wondering how you were?” Aly asked, walking slowly over to stand beside her sister.

“I am well,” Sansa smiled stiffly. 

Aly sighed. “No you are not,” she declared. 

Sansa started and looked up at her. “I am,” she insisted.

“No you are not. You have locked yourself away in your room and refused to come out, even when Father asked you to,” Aly knelt beside her sister’s chair. “You cannot keep pushing these emotions away my sweet. We are all mourning what has happened to Bran but you must not lock yourself away from us all Sansa.”

Sansa stared at Alysanne. Aly could tell that her sister was trying to keep her eyes blank and her expression clear, but there was a slight watery tinge to her eyes and a twitch in her lips that gave away her inner emotions. “I am doing well,” Sansa repeated, shakily. 

“Sansa…” Aly let out a soft sigh. She opened her arms and looked sympathetically at her little sister. “Let it out my sweet,” she whispered. Sansa hesitated for a small moment, then broke and leant into Aly’s arms. “Shh…shhh my sweet sister,” Aly wrapped her hand tighter around Sansa’s back. She felt her sister’s tears as they wet her shoulder, little sobs breaking through Sansa’s lips as she tightened her hold on Alysanne. 

“What if he dies?” Sansa choked out.

“Maester Luwin says he will not,” Aly comforted. “He says that he’s survived the worst and will most likely live. It is now just a matter of when he wakes.”

“What if he is mistaken?” Sansa almost cried.

“Sansa, you know that you can trust Maester Luwin’s assessment,” Aly shook her head. “I am worried for our brother too, but you cannot lock yourself away from us all.”

Sansa pulled back, her head lowered slightly. “I know,” she whispered. “I just cannot stand all of the people pitying me.”

“They have mostly stopped now,” Alysanne reassured her. “Rickon would like having you around again, and though she would never say it, so would Arya.” 

Sansa laughed slightly. “She would never confess to wishing I was present.”

“Just as you would never confess to the opposite,” Aly teased. Sansa laughed again and Aly felt a rush of relief at her sister's renewed joy.

“Please, let my brother wake,” Aly prayed to the red face of the heart tree. “Let me have a chance to say goodbye.” She knew that they could not delay their departure for King’s Landing much longer, the realm needed its king and hand. However, the idea of leaving before she knew for certain that Bran would awaken made Alysanne’s heart tinge with pain. That pain was only compounded by the knowledge that her twin was not going south, not even staying here in Winterfell, but heading north to the Wall. Her brother was joining the Night’s Watch.

Even after having a few days to process this fact, Aly still struggled to comprehend why her brother was choosing to give up everything he could have and instead join the Watch. She knew, of course, that it was an honour to serve and protect the realms of men, but her twin brother being so far away at the Wall and in constant danger made her already worry-filled mind race. 

Alysanne did truly know why he was leaving, even if she wanted to act as though she did not. Lady Stark. Jon could not stand the idea of staying here in Winterfell with just her to act as a parent. She understood that of course. Lady Stark was a trouble to be civil with while their father was here, after he left. At least Alysanne would not have to see her for moons, not until the wedding, if even then. 

She stood from the ground. There was no point in dwelling on those she was leaving behind in Winterfell. Not when she had other people to speak with. Meleys was at her feet by the time she left the godswood and headed towards the stable. Tyla would be there, helping her father today. 

Her friend was there. Seated on an old barrel, watching her father groom one of the horses. When Alysanne entered she jumped up, walking over to greet her. “Are you… well?” Tyla asked after a moment of silence between her and Alysanne.

Aly nodded. “Of course. I am sorry to interrupt your day but I do have a question to ask of you.”

“What is it?” Tyla asked.

“Come,” Aly waved for her friend to follow her out of the stable. She did not wait to see if Tyla did indeed follow, but a few seconds after she began to walk the faint sound of footsteps reached her ears. “This is not exactly a private question but I did think that perhaps you might want to hear it in private.” Alysanne explained as she came to a stop down the side of the stable where no one ever went. 

“What question?” Tyla prompted.

Aly smiled. “You do know of course that women of the court often have companions with them.”

“Yes,” Tyla nodded once.

“And as I am to one day be queen it would only be appropriate that I have a handmaiden in King’s Landing.” Aly paused. Tyla was watching her with wide eyes. “As I have no real connection in the south, I was wondering if perhaps you would come south with me.”

Tyla stared at her in shock for a few moments. “You want me to be your handmaiden?”

“Who better?” Alysanne smiled. “You are a dear friend to me, have been for years.”

“But I am just a northern woman of no noble standing, surely there are more appropriate women in the south who could serve as your ladies.”

“You are my friend,” Aly stressed the final word. “Once I go south I will be right in the centre of all the scheming and plotting of the court of King’s Landing. I will need someone I can trust beside me.”

Tyla gulped. “I have no training in manners and proper court etiquette.”

“I can help you, Sansa and Jeyne will be happy too as well I am sure.” 

Her friends ran her hand through her loose brown hair before sighing. “I imagine you already asked my father?”

“Of course, he said yes.” Alysanne took her friends free hand in hers. “But if you worry about it-”

“-I’ll do it.” Tyla declared before Aly could finish her sentence. “I shall come south with you and be your handmaiden.”

Alysanne smiled widely at her friend. Without a moment's hesitation she pulled her into an embrace. “Thank you.”

Joffrey had been surprisingly absent since Bran’s fall. Since the day of Bran’s fall and his small attempt at comforting her, Alysanne had only seen him around his mother and never alone. At first Aly had assumed the prince was simply letting the family grieve and worry in peace. But after it was announced that her little brother would live, and the rest of the royal family had offered their condolences for his injury and Joffrey was still nowhere to be seen, Alysanne became worried. 

Was Joffrey simply afraid to offer his condolences? Scared that he would say the wrong thing, as Alysanne would be. Or was it something much worse, did he not care to offer them at all? That thought made Alysanne’s skin crawl. If he was to be her husband and was not even bothered to offer her comfort after her younger brother was permanently injured, how could they ever become close? “Oh Meleys,” Alysanne whispered as she ran her hand through the wolf's white fur. “I wonder if I am just being too much of a worrier.”

“A worrier about what?” A recognizable voice came from behind her.

Alysanne jumped and spun to face him. Joffrey was standing behind her, his hands collapsed before him. The Hound was hovering over his shoulder, eyes darting around for any thread. “My prince,” Aly curtsied.

Joffrey offered her a smile. “I am sorry for my absence,” he said. “I was just unsure as to how to approach you.”

Alysanne almost let out a relieved breath at that. She was just a worrier then. “I understand,” she smiled.

“I do offer my sincerest condolences for your brother's injury. I hear that he will live however?”

“According to the Maester, yes,” Alysanne nodded. “He will live.”

“That is good,” Joffrey’s voice was awkward. “I cannot imagine the pain if he had died.”

“Nor can I,” Alysanne said softly. “I thank you for your concern.”

“You are my betrothed,” Joffrey smiled. “It is my job to worry about you and your family.”

Alysanne smiled back wider than she had before. “I was just going for a walk through the woods, if you would like to accompany me?”

“I would quite like that,” Joffrey nodded. He held out his arm for Alysanne to take.

They were leaving for the south today. After putting off leaving for almost two weeks in an attempt to wait for Bran to wake, Father and the King had finally decided that it was time to head south. Alysanne understood why, they had things to do, but it didn’t make her heart any less heavy. She was currently standing in her chambers, making sure that everything she needed to take south was ready. Tyla was beside her, dressed in a new pale grey dress to match Aly’s. Her friend was less worried than Alysanne was. As it had turned out, Tyla’s brother Harwin would be coming south with them too, so her friend had lost basically all her worry and was just left with the excitement of exploring the world. 

“You are still worried for Bran and Jon,” Tyla said after they finished going through everything and checking it. 

“Of course I am,” Aly almost snapped before wincing. “Apologies, I only mean that… Bran was meant to come south too.”

Tyla placed a hand on Aly’s shoulder. “I know, I wish he was coming too.”

Alysanne smiled. “Thank you, you really are a great friend.” Tyla smiled, a slight blush rising in her pale cheeks. “However, if you do not mind I would like to visit him before we leave.”

“Of course,” Tyla smiled. “I am going to visit my father.”

The two parted ways, Tyla heading outside and Alysanne climbing a few stairs up to Bran’s room. The only other person in the room was Lady Stark. She looked up when Alysanne entered but did not speak. Alysanne nodded to her before walking to the opposite side of the bed and sitting lightly on the edge of it. She looked down at Bran. He looked so peaceful, as if he was truly just sleeping. “Hello little brother,” Alysanne said softly. “We are leaving today. I wish you could come with us. Maybe after you wake you can come south and join us in King’s Landing but you shall have to get some strength back before you do.” She paused, holding down the cry that was threatening to come from her mouth. “I shall wait with bated breath for the moment we hear you have awoken and will write every day with news from the capital. I will miss you brother,” Alysanne promised.

Lady Stark had stilled in her movements halfway through Alysanne’s goodbye but did not speak to fill the silence that followed it. Alysanne leant over to kiss Bran’s forehead then stood slowly. “Lady Stark,” she gave a small curtsy. “I shall see you in the future.” Lady Stark still did not speak but she offered Alysanne a polite nod goodbye. 

As she left the room Alysanne took one more glance back at her still sleeping brother and muttered a soft goodbye under her breath. 

The courtyard was bustling when Aly reached it. Sansa was already standing by the Stark’s wheelhouse. It was much smaller and less fanciful than the Queens but it would do its job of carrying Sansa and Arya. Just as she was about to join her sister she spotted Jon and Robb standing by a horse on the other side of the yard and made towards them. As she reached her brothers they embraced each other. She gave them a moment to finish their goodbye before joining them. “Aly,” Robb’s voice was tight with suppressed emotion. “The next we see each other you will be wed.”

“I shall,” Aly nodded. “Mayhaps you shall also find a bride.”

“I doubt it,” Jon joked. 

Robb slapped him on the shoulder but did not snap back. He simply pulled Alysanne into a tight embrace. “I cannot wait to see you again sister, you keep that prince in line.”

“I will,” Aly smiled. After she released Robb she turned to look at Jon. “We should say goodbye now,” her voice was strained. “We may not get a chance on the road.”

“Yes,” Jon’s voice was just as strained and full of emotion as hers. “I love you sister.”

“And I you,” Alysanne nodded. She didn’t hesitate another moment before pulling her twin into an ever tighter embrace than the one she had shared with Robb. “We may not see each other for years, think about how little we see Uncle Benjen.” She choked out, feeling tears begin to pool in her eyes.

“I know, but we will write to each other, and I promise that as soon as I can I will come south and see you sister,” Jon vowed.

“I shall hold you to that,” Aly said softly into his ear. 

“Alysanne, Jon!” Father’s voice called. “We are leaving.” 

The twins pulled apart. Alysanne looked around, spotting Balerion saddled just a few feet away and walked to mount him. Unlike her sisters she would be riding, as she preferred. Once she had mounted the large black horse, Meleys stalked from the outside of the group to stand beside the horse. Alysanne heard Robb call a final goodbye as they began to slowly leave the yard. Father called one back, as did Arya and Sansa from the window of their wheelhouse. Alysanne called her own and Jon followed not a moment later. Just as she exited the gate, Alysanne glanced back at her home for what might be the last time in a long while. She saw that little Rickon had joined Robb in the yard and offered him a wave goodbye just as Balerion turned and she lost sight of them.

Chapter Text

Arya woke Alysanne before dawn. She dragged her out of bed and down to the bank of the river. They’d passed Moat Cailin just two days before and Arya was already enamoured with the river as they followed it south. She could often be found searching for colourful rocks and shells along the riverbank, or playing with that little friend she had made, Mycah. 

“Isn’t it so beautiful?” Arya asked as they looked out over the river.

“Quite,” Aly nodded in agreement.

“Micah says that King’s Landing is not so beautiful. He says it smells,” Arya wrinkled her nose.

“There are many people inside the walls, Arya it is bound to smell,” Aly smiled.

“Winterfell does not smell,” her sister said.

“There are not as many people in Winterfell,” Alysanne sighed. “I am sure that you will always find the country more beautiful than the city my sister,” she smiled. “You do love running and playing. But I believe Sansa and myself may both enjoy the capital.”

“Sansa will,” Arya huffed. “She is already acting like a proper lady of the court.” She looked sideways at Aly. “But you like riding and playing with Meleys too.”

“I do,” Aly nodded in agreement. “And I am certain that we will find many a moment to sneak off to the Kingswood.” she smiled teasingly at Arya. “But I do believe I may enjoy court life almost as much as our dear sister.”

Arya bit at her lip. “You have been spending time with that stuffy prince,” she noted.

“Joffrey is not stuffy,” Aly said. “He is simply proper.”

“Proper, boring you mean?” Arya said snidely.

“Arya!” Alysanne chided. “You do not even know him? How do you know he is boring?”

“Tommen was boring!” Arya snapped.

“Tommen is younger than Bran,” Aly sighed. “Of course you found him boring. Joffrey is four and ten, you may find he has more interests similar to yours.” She pushed her elbow against Arya’s shoulder. “In fact, the queen had invited me to tea, perhaps you could join me one day? Actually meet the prince?”

“I do not believe I would like that,” Arya wrinkled her nose again.

“It is just a suggestion,” Alysanne shrugged.

Sansa was fretting. “Where is Arya?” She said for the tenth time in the last few minutes, looking around for their younger sister.

“I did say she seemed… uncommitted to attending,” Aly replied.

“But the queen invited us all!” Sansa said, eyes wide.

“I am sure that the queen will be sanctified with you and I, Sansa,” Aly tried to reassure her. Sansa just pursed her lips, spun on her heel and took off towards the river. Alysanne sighed. She knew it was useless to try and convince Sansa to leave Arya alone. Her sister was much too concerned with the queen's opinions to leave their youngest sister to her own devices and allow her to miss the lunch with the queen. 

Alysanne herself was not overjoyed at the invitation. She had already spent one day with the queen and the royal children in their wheelhouse and it was stifling. The queen was too stiff, the children too young and Joffrey was not present to ease the tension between them. At the least, this time she would have Sansa by her side.

It took a few minutes for Sansa to return. She held her head high, and the direwolf at her heels certainly made her look all proper. But Aly could see the disappointment in her eyes. “Arya refused?” Aly asked when Sansa reached her.

“Yes,” Sansa said dully. 

“Come sister,” Aly smiled. “Let us go into the camp, I can hear a commotion.”

The two sisters began to walk towards the centre of the camp. Lady and Meleys trailing behind them as always. As they neared the centre of camp, Aly could see Sansa’s distress quickly fade. A crowd had gathered around the queen’s wheelhouse. Alysanne heard excited voices buzzing like a hive of bees. The doors had been thrown open, she saw, and the queen stood at the top of the wooden steps, smiling down at someone. She heard her saying, “The council does us great honour, my good lords.”

“What’s happening?” Sansa asked as the two came to a stop beside a squire they knew.

“The council sent riders from King’s Landing to escort us the rest of the way,” he told her. “An honour guard for the king.”

Alysanne cocked her head. She began to push forward through the crowd, letting Meleys carve a path as people backed away from the direwolf. When she got closer, she saw two knights kneeling before the queen, in armour so fine and gorgeous that it made her blink.

One knight wore an intricate suit of white enamelled scales, brilliant as a field of newfallen snow, with silver chasings and clasps that glittered in the sun. When he removed his helm, Alysanne saw that he was an old man with hair as pale as his armour, yet he seemed strong and graceful for all that. From his shoulders hung the pure white cloak of the Kingsguard. Alysanne could guess who this was, Ser Barristan the Bold. A legend even in the North.

His companion was a man near twenty whose armour was steel plate of a deep forest green. Alysanne supposed he was handsome; tall and powerfully made, with jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders and framed a clean-shaven face, and laughing green eyes to match his armour. But there was something in his face that made Alysanne look him over a few more times. 

“The king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns,” the queen was saying to the two knights who knelt before her, but Alysanne was distracted by the sound of Lady growling and Sansa letting out a soft gasp, stumbling back into Aly’s side.

Alysanne instantly turned to look at her sister, stopping her from falling with a hand, eyes wide with question. Sansa was looking directly at another stranger that Alysanne had not noticed before. He did not kneel with the others. He stood to one side, beside their horses, a gaunt grim man who watched the proceedings in silence. His face was pockmarked and beardless, with deep set eyes and hollow cheeks. His armour was iron-grey chainmail over layers of boiled leather, plain and unadorned, and it spoke of age and hard use. Above his right shoulder the stained leather hilt of the blade strapped to his back was visible; a two-handed greatsword, too long to be worn at his side. He was staring right at Sansa too. Alysanne narrowed her eyes.

She was distracted again by another voice speaking. “You are shaking, girl,” Sandor Clegane said. “Do I frighten you so much?” He did. Aly knew that. Sansa had told her before that the prince’s sworn shield scared her more than any other man. Aly could understand why, the Hound was an imposing figure. 

“A wolf,” a man said, and someone else said, “Seven hells, those are direwolves,” and the first man said, “What are they doing in camp?” and the Hound’s rasping voice replied, “The Starks use them for wet nurses.” Alysanne realised the two stranger knights, Ser Barristan and the other one, were looking down at Meleys and Lady, swords drawn. She felt her sister grip her hand and saw tears beginning to pool in her little sister's eyes. 

“Joffrey,” she heard the queen say. 

And then the prince was there, dressed in a dark red doublet, green eyes as keen as always,

“Leave them alone,” Joffrey said. He came to a stop before them. “What is it, sweet lady?” He asked Sansa. “Why are you afraid? No one will hurt you. Put away your swords, all of you. The wolves are their little pets, that’s all.” He looked at Sandor Clegane. “And you, dog, away with you, you’re scaring my betrotheds sister.”

The Hound, ever faithful like a true dog, bowed and slid away. “It was not him my prince,” Sansa choked out. “It was the other one.” 

The two new knights exchanged a look. “Payne?” chuckled the young man in the green armour. 

The older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. “Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect.” 

“As well he should.” The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators parted to make way for her. “If the wicked do not fear the King's Justice, you have put the wrong man in the office.”

“Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace,” Aly said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her.

“Well spoken, child,” said the old man in white. “As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am honoured to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard.” He bowed.

Alysanne was right then. “The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” she said, “and councillor to Robert our king and to Aerys Targaryen before him. The honour is mine, good knight. Even in the far north, the singers praise the deeds of Barristan the Bold.” She smiled.

The green knight laughed again. “Barristan the Old, you mean. Don’t flatter him too sweetly, child, he thinks overmuch of himself already.” He smiled at her. “Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.” 

Joffrey stiffened beside her. “Have a care how you address my betrothed.” 

“I can answer,” Alysanne said quickly, to quell her prince’s anger. She looked over the man again, taking note of the helm he held in his hands. “Your helmet bears golden antlers, my lord. The stag is the sigil of the royal House. King Robert has two brothers. By your extreme youth, you can only be Renly Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and councillor to the king, and so I name you.” 

Ser Barristan chuckled. “By his extreme youth, he can only be a prancing jackanapes, and so I name him.” 

There was general laughter, led by Lord Renly himself. The tension of a few moments ago was gone, Sansa was beginning to relax beside her and Alysanne felt her release her hand. But of course they would not have peace. Ser Ilyn shouldered his way towards them and stared down at Sansa, unsmiling. Alysanne stiffened, placing her hand softly on Meleys’ head to calm the growl rumbling in her wolf’s throat. “I am sorry if I offended you, Ser Ilyn,” Sansa said.

Ser Ilyn silently stared for a few more moments before he turned and walked away. ““Did I say something wrong, Your Grace? Why will he not speak to me?” Sansa asked, her voice worried.

“Ser Ilyn has not been feeling talkative these past fourteen years,” Lord Renly commented with a sly smile.

Joffrey gave his uncle a look of pure loathing. “Aerys Targaryen had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers,” he told Sansa gently.

“He speaks most eloquently with his sword, however,” the queen said, “and his devotion to our realm is unquestioned.” Then she smiled graciously and said, “my dear girls. The good councillors and I must speak together until the king returns with your father. I fear we shall have to postpone your day with Myrcella. Please give your sweet sister my apologies. Joffrey, perhaps you would be so kind as to entertain our guests today.”

“It would be my pleasure, Mother,” Joffrey said very formally. He stepped between the two sisters and held out an arm for each, leading them away from the wheelhouse. He looked very gallant like this, sword at his hip, head held high. Alysanne liked him like this. Thank the gods he had never again shown the same anger he had that first day in the godswood, but Alysanne still watched him, waiting for it to return. 

“What would you like to do?” Joffrey asked, after they had walked for a moment. 

Alysanne thought for a moment. “I do not know,” she admitted.

“We could go riding?” Joffrey said after a moment of reflection.

“I love riding,” Alysanne smiled.

“As do I,” Sansa added. Aly furrowed her brow slightly. Sansa hated riding, it was the reason she had refused to join Aly and Arya on their horses the entire journey. Trying to impress the prince then. 

Joffrey glanced back at Lady and Meleys, who were following at their heels. “Your wolves are liable to frighten the horses, and my dog seems to frighten you, Lady Sansa. Let us leave them all behind and set off on our own, what do you say?”

Alysanne smiled. Though she would enjoy taking Meleys, other horses were not as used to her as Balerion was. “I do agree that would be the best decision,” she said.

“Is it safe to leave the Hound behind?” Sansa asked.

Prince Joffrey looked annoyed that she would even ask. “Have no fear, lady. I am almost a man grown, and I don’t fight with wood like your brothers. All I need is this.” He drew his sword and showed it to her; a longsword adroitly shrunken to suit a boy of fourteen, gleaming blue steel, castle-forged and double-edged, with a leather grip and a lion's head pommel in gold. Alysanne pursed her lips slightly at the subtle insult to her brothers, and had to restrain herself from pointing out she was closer to grown and a better fighter. “I call it Lion’s Tooth,” he said.

They did eventually leave the two wolves and his guard behind, heading into the words on horseback.

It was a wonderful day. Sansa’s contant fawning over the prince was slightly grating but Alysanne was able to, mostly, ignore it and focus on spending time with her sister and betrothed. “Shouldn’t we be starting back?” she asked as the sun was beginning to lower in the sky.

“Soon,” Joffrey said. “The battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest, crunch, right through the armour.” Joffrey swung an imaginary warhammer to show her how it was done. “Then my uncle Jaime killed old Aerys, and my father was king. What’s that sound?”

Alysanne heard it too. Sansa as well if the tenseness of her frame was any indication. Aly cocked her head to listen. “Wood on wood,” she said after a moment of listening. 

“Let us go back,” Sansa said.

“I want to see what it is.” Joffrey turned his horse in the direction of the sounds. Aly, who was also intrigued at the sound, followed, and Sansa had no choice but to follow them. 

The noises grew louder and more distinct, the clack of wood on wood, and as they grew closer they heard heavy breathing as well, and now and then a grunt. “Someone’s there,” Sansa said anxiously. Alysanne wished they had brought Meleys and Lady, perhaps her sister would be less worried if they had. 

“You’re safe with me.” Joffrey drew his Lion’s Tooth from its sheath. Alysanne found herself also wishing that she had brought a blade. “This way,” he said, riding through a stand of trees.

The three dismounted as they neared the sound and walked over the final hill to come to the bank of the river. Alysanne felt all tension drain from her when she saw who it was. Arya and Mycah were swiping at each other with sticks. Of course. 

“Arya?” Sansa’s shocked exclamation distracted Arya from her fight, Mycah managing to get a hit on her arm when she turned to look at them.

“Your sister?” Joffrey asked them, still walking forward. Alysanne and Sansa both nodded. 

“Go away,” Arya shouted back at them. “What are you doing here? Leave us alone.”

Joffrey ignored her, looking towards the boy. “And who are you boy?” He asked.

“Mycah,”  the boy muttered. “M’lord.”

“He’s the butcher’s boy,” Sansa said.

“He’s my friend,” Arya said sharply. “You leave him alone.” 

“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight, is it?” Joffrey mocked, holding Lion’s Tooth in front of him. “Pick up your sword, butcher’s boy,” he said, his eyes bright with amusement. “Let us see how good you are.”

Alysanne felt a shock run down her spine. He surely didn’t mean to fight the boy with steel against wood? “Go on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls?” Joffrey mocked.

“Joffrey,” Alysanne said. Joffrey ignored her.

“She ast me to, m’lord,” Mycah said. “She ast me to. It’s only a stick, m’lord. It’s not no sword, it’s only a stick.” He insisted.

“I am your prince. Not your lord.” Joffrey said. He lifted Lion’s Tooth and laid its point on Mycah’s cheek below the eye, as the butcher’s boy stood trembling. “That was my lady’s sister you were hitting, do you know that?” A bright bud of blood blossomed where his sword pressed into Mycah’s flesh, and a slow red line trickled down the boy’s cheek.

“Stop it!” Arya screamed. 

“Arya stay out of this,” Sansa told her.

“Joffrey. Stop.” Alysanne called.

“I won’t hurt him... much,” Prince Joffrey told them, never taking his eyes off the butcher’s boy. Much… much. The words rang in Alysanne’s head.

Arya went for him.

Alysanne ran forward but she was too far away and too slow. Arya swung with both hands. There was a loud crack as the wood split against the back of the prince’s head, and then everything happened at once before Alysanne’s horrified eyes. Joffrey staggered and whirled around, roaring curses. Mycah ran for the trees as fast as his legs would take him. Arya swung at the prince again, but this time Joffrey caught the blow on Lion’s Tooth and sent her broken stick flying from her hands. The back of his head was all bloody and his eyes were on fire. Sansa was shrieking, “No, no, stop it, stop it, both of you, you’re spoiling it,” but no one was listening. Arya stumbled back and fell, landing on her backside. Joffrey stood over her, spitting insults.

Then a grey blur flashed past her, and suddenly Nymeria was there, leaping, jaws closing around Joffrey’s sword arm. The steel fell from his fingers as the wolf knocked him off his feet, and they rolled in the grass, the wolf snarling and ripping at him, the prince shrieking in pain. “Get it off,” he screamed. “Get it off!”

Alysanne reached them then. But she was no fool and would not risk her hands trying to pull anothers wolf off him. “Nymeria!” Arya called, stumbling to her feet. There was a snarl and a white shape hurled into Nymeria. Meleys. Her wolf pushed her sister off of Joffrey and stood over him, snarling. “Meleys!” Alysanne recalled her wolf. She stalked to Alysanne’s side.

“She didn’t hurt you... much,” Arya spat at Joffrey. She picked up Lion’s Tooth where it had fallen, and stood over him, holding the sword with both hands.

Jofftey made a scared whimpering sound as he looked up at her. “No,” he said, “don’t hurt me. I’ll tell my mother.”

“Arya!” Alysanne warned. Though she too was furious at Joffrey, it would not be wise for her sister to hurt him.

Arya whirled and heaved the sword into the air, putting her whole body into the throw. The blue steel flashed in the sun as the sword spun out over the river. It hit the water and vanished with a splash. Joffrey moaned. Arya ran off, Nymeria loping at her heels.

“Joffrey!” Alysanne called, dropping to her knees beside him. Meleys paced beside her, hackles still raised. “Are you alright?” Joffrey just looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “Sansa! Go get help!”

Sansa who was still standing away, clutching her chest, ran off too. Alysanne looked back at Joffrey. For the first time since their time together in the godswood, Alysanne saw something in her betrothed's eyes that made her skin crawl.

Alysanne walked beside her father, trying to spot her sister through the crowd of people as they neared the courtyard. Three days Arya had been gone, Alysanne spending every waking hour searching until they heard that Jory had found her. 

“Arya!” Father called as he pushed through the crowd. Aly spotted her then, standing in the centre of the room, alone except for Jory, who had found her. When she saw Father she broke down, collapsing into his arms and sobbing ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’ Over and over again. When he released her and stood, Alysanne stepped forward to take her sister into her protective embrace. She looked around for friendly faces, Jory was one. Lord Renly wore an expression that could mean anything. Ser Barristan looked grave. Lord Darry’s face was guarded. So they were alone then.

“What is the meaning of this?” Father demanded. “Why was I not told that my daughter had been found?  Why was she not brought to me at once?” 

He had spoken to the king, but the queen responded. “How dare you speak to your king in that manner!” 

At that, the king stirred. “Quiet, woman,” he snapped. He straightened in his seat. “I am sorry, Ned. I never meant to frighten the girl. It seemed best to bring her here and get the business done with quickly.” 

“And what business is that?” Father’s voice was ice. 

The queen stepped forward. “You know full well, Stark. This girl of yours attacked my son. Her and her butcher’s boy. That animal of hers tried to tear his arm off.” 

“That’s not true,” Arya said loudly. “She just bit him a little. He was hurting Mycah.” 

“Joff told us what happened,” the queen said. “You and the butcher boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him.” Of course he had lied. Alysanne knew it was inevitable, the prince could not tell them all that he had been hurting the boy and Arya just defended her friend. 

“Yes it is!” Prince Joffrey insisted. “They all attacked me, and she threw Lion’s Tooth in the river!” He spoke about Arya but he was looking at Alysanne. She stared back, expression carefully controlled.

“Liar!” Arya yelled.

“Shut up!” the prince yelled back. “Enough!” the king roared, his voice thick with irritation. Silence fell. He glowered at Arya through his thick beard. “Now, child, you will tell me what happened. Tell it all, and tell it true. It is a great crime to lie to a king.” Then he looked over at his son. “When she is done, you will have your turn. Until then, hold your tongue.”

Arya told the story true as Alysanne knew it, her voice never faltering, her grey gaze never leaving the king. When she got to the part where she threw Joffrey’s sword into the middle of the Trident, Renly Baratheon began to laugh. The king bristled. “Ser Barristan, escort my brother from the hall before he chokes.”

Lord Renly stifled his laughter. “My brother is too kind. I can find the door myself.” He bowed to Joffrey. “Perchance later you’ll tell me how an eleven-year-old girl the size of a wet rat managed to disarm you with a broom handle and throw your sword in the river.” Alysanne had to contain her own laugh at that.

Prince Joffrey was pale as he began his very different version of events. When his son was done talking, the king rose heavily from his seat, looking like a man who wanted to be anywhere but here. “What in all the seven hells am I supposed to make of this? He says one thing, she says another.”

“They were not the only ones present, Lady Alysanne,” the queen said. Alysanne tensed. “Tell us, what happened.”

Alysanne straightened, she locked eyes with Joffrey again “Arya tells it true, to my knowledge.” She said, her eyes not leaving the prince. His eyes flashed with anger at her words, but he held his tongue. 

The queen’s lip twisted into a snarl. “Lady Sansa,” she snapped, “What of your telling?”

Sansa was supposed to be in bed.  “She is-” Father began. Sansa walked from the crowd and Father fell silent. Her thick auburn hair had been brushed until it shone. She blinked at her sister, then at the young prince. “I don’t know,” she said tearfully, looking as though she wanted to bolt. “I don’t remember. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t see…”

“Liar!” Arya snapped. She launched herself away from Alysanne and at Sansa. “Liar. Liar. Liar” She repeated,

“Arya!” Alysanne admonished, grabbing her littlest sister and pulling her back. “Enough!”

“The girl is as wild as that filthy animal of hers,” Cersei Lannister said. “Robert, I want her punished.” 

“Seven hells,” the king swore. “Cersei, look at her. She’s a child. What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight. It’s over. No lasting harm was done.” 

The queen was furious. “Joff will carry those scars for the rest of his life.” 

Robert Baratheon looked at his eldest son. “You let that little girl disarm you?” Shame covered the prince's features. “Ned, see that your daughter is disciplined. I will do the same with my son.” 

“Gladly, Your Grace,” Father said, tension draining from his shoulders. 

Robert started to walk away, but the queen was not done. “And what of the direwolf?” she called after him. “What of the beast that savaged your son?” 

The king stopped, turned back, frowned. “I’d forgotten about the damned wolf.” 

Alysanne felt Arya tense. Jory spoke up quickly. “We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace.” 

Robert did not look unhappy. “No? So be it.” 

“We have another wolf,” Cersei Lannister said. “In fact we have two.”

A cold dread ran over Alysanne at her words but the king just shrugged irritably. “As you will. Have Ser Ilyn see to it.”

“Robert, you cannot mean this,” Father protested. 

The king was in no mood for more argument. “Enough, Ned, I will hear no more. A direwolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later it would have turned on your girls the same way the other did on my son. Get them dogs, they’ll be happier for it.” 

Happier. Gods no. Meleys was a part of her. Her heart. Her soul. They could not take her. Sansa finally seemed to comprehend. Her eyes were frightened as they went to her father. “He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She saw the truth on his face. “No,” she said. “No, not Lady, Lady didn’t bite anybody, she’s good…”

“Lady wasn’t there!” Arya shouted. “And Meleys protected him,” she pointed at Joffrey.

Alysanne looked towards her betrothed, eyes beseeching. “Joffrey,” she breathed. He flinched. “If you hold any affection in your heart for me. You will not do this.” 

Joffrey gulped, looking into her eyes for a moment before he spoke. “Only one wolf bit me.”

The queen looked at her son. “So be it,” she declared. “Kill the grey one.”

“No!” Aly, Sansa and Arya said at the same time. Sansa began to weep, collapsing into Jory’s arms.

“Take the girls to bed,” Father told Jory. Alysanne did not hear what he said next. Too focused on the thoughts racing through her head. She had to save Lady.

As Jory led them from the hall, Alysanne pulled away from her sisters. She did not speak as she walked away from them, ignoring Jory and Arya’s calls. She almost stumbled to where Lady and Meleys were tied up near the horses, collapsing next to them. 

She ran her hand over Meleys’ shoulder, tears pooling in her eyes. “I am so sorry girl,” she muttered. “But this is where we say goodbye.” She could not just free Lady, the queen wanted a pelt and Alysanne would not let any wolf remain near her grasping hands. Meleys whined as Alysanne pulled out her dagger and began to cut through the rope around her neck, trying her hardest to make it look like the rope had been chewed off, not cut. Once she was finished with Meleys she moved to Lady. Ever the perfect wolf she was still as Aly cut. 

When they were both free Aly sheathed her blade and stood. Tears falling down her cheeks. “Go,” she choked out. “Go find Nymeria.” The two wolves stared at her. “Go,” she repeated, pushing at them. “Go!” Meleys’ red eyes stared into her own for a moment before she turned and ran, Lady following behind. 

Alysanne watched the direction they had run for a moment, before turning and walking back towards their tent. 

That night, she fell asleep to the sound of three distant howls and the queen's angry shouts.

Chapter Text

Alysanne pressed herself closer to Balerion’s neck as she rode along the track. She had separated herself from the rest of the party to follow a horse track beside the Kingsroad, needing a moment to herself. It had been four days since they had left the wolves in the woods around Castle Darry, and Aly still felt a stabbing pain in her heart every time she looked down and did not see Meleys’ white fur beside Balerion’s legs. That pain only being compounded by the tension that hung in the air like a tight rope between Sansa and Arya. That was the reason she had left the tent before they awoke that morning and was riding as far away from the wheelhouse they were in as possible. 

Balerion let out a whiny as they came to the edge of the path they were on, it joined back up with the Kingsroad here, and Aly could see the King’s retinue moving slowly along the road. Alysanne pulled Balerion to a stop, watching as people rode past on their horses. Some slowed when they saw her, maybe recognizing her, maybe watching for danger, she could not tell. 

Aly felt her breath catch in her throat when she spotted Prince Joffrey astride a bay rouncey, dressed in Lannister red and Baratheon black. As he neared the place in the road where it passed by Alysanne he seemed to spot her. His horse gave a jerk and slowed slightly, Joffrey’s green eyes locked on her and Alysanne thought she saw him flinch. She raised her head and stared into his eyes, grey boring into green, until he had passed by her and was forced to look away. 

Alysanne remained in her place by the Kingroad, waiting for the Stark retinue to reach her. Since the night the King had sentenced the wolves to death, her father had refused to ride with the king’s men. Instead their parties remained divided, just as Alysanne had remained divided from her betrothed. Four days, the longest period since Bran’s fall that the two had not spoken. Aly was conflicted by this, she was furious with Joffrey for attacking Mycah and Arya and even more for condoning Cersei calling for Lady’s death, but she had to admit… she missed him in an odd, inexplicable way. She missed riding by his side down the Kingsroad, as they had done multiple times on the journey south. She missed his long rants about whatever annoyed him.

Aly let out a deep sigh before she was brought from her thoughts by someone calling her name. “Aly!” Tyla pulled her grey horse to a stop before Aly. “There you are.”

“Tyla,” Alysanne smiled. “Good morrow.”

“Good morrow,” Tyla smiled. “Your lord father was sure you had just taken a different path through the forest, I see he was correct.”

“He was,” Aly nodded. She pushed Balerion forward onto the road beside Tyla. “I needed to escape my sisters.”

Tyla sighed, “understandable. I wish I had. They argued again this morning.”

“Of course they did,” Aly huffed. “Thank the gods I got away.”

“Thank the gods indeed,” Tyla huffed.

The two women trotted along down the road beside each other, mostly in silence. Every now and then one of them would begin to talk about something they had wanted to discuss previously, but mostly it was a comfortable silence. “Is it not your name day tomorrow?” Tyla suddenly said.

Alysanne blinked. “Is it?” She asked. Aly thought back to the time that had passed during their journey. “It is,” she said eventually.

“Then we need to celebrate somehow,” Tyla said. “You are turning six-and-ten, you are becoming a woman grown.”

“We are travelling Tyla, what would we do? Throw a feast on the Kingsroad?”

“No, by the gods, Alysanne have some creativity. We could go for a ride through the countryside… or buy some jewels from a town we pass through.”

Aly smiled at Tyla’s excited eyes. “If we can,” she said. Tyla grinned.

They set up camp in the lands of House Hayford. Near a town that Alysanne did not know the name of, how could she. Tyla was assisting Alysanne with the ties of her dress, a pale blue one that had been made for her just before they left Winterfell. It was… suitable, though not for riding and not exactly what she had wanted, that was for another time though. 

“You look beautiful my lady,” Tyla said..

“Thank you Tyla,” Aly smiled at her friend. 

“So… have you thought about journeying into the town to see what we may find?” Tyla asked as she fixed her own dress.

“I have… Sansa might like to come look for jewels…” Aly thought for a moment. “I shall ask my father.”

Tyla bobbed a small curtsy before exiting the tent. Aly rolled her neck, fixing her braid absently. Her father would permit that she enter the town, she knew, he had been overly indulgent to his daughters ever since Castle Darry. Still, she made sure she looked perfect when she went to find her father.

He was seated with Jory, Harwin and Alyn with cups of ale in their hands as they joked. “Alysanne!” Father smiled as she walked closer.

“Father,” Alysanne smiled back, leaning down to kiss his cheek. 

“Happy name day daughter,” Father returned her kiss on the cheek with one on her forehead. 

“Thank you,” Aly fixed her dress. “I was wondering Father, if I might journey into the town to find somethings for my name day?”

Father furrowed his brows, “just you?”

“Tyla will accompany me, and I was hoping to ask Sansa.”

“You may,” Father said after a moment of thought. “Jory and Harwin will accompany you.” The two named guards stood at once.

“Of course Father,” Aly smiled. “Thank you.”

“Sansa?” Alysanne called as she entered the tent where her sister and Septa Mordane were. Sansa was sewing, as she often was.

“Yes sister?” Sansa asked, looking up at her.

“Father has given leave for me to explore the town, would you wish to accompany me?” Aly leant towards Sansa as if she was telling a secret, “there may be some pretty jewels.”

Sansa lowered her tambour frame and stared at her. “You truly think so?”

“I do,” Aly smiled. 

“Then I shall come,” Sansa nodded, slowly standing.

“You are not going alone I am sure?” Septa Mordane finally spoke.

“No Septa,” Aly reassured. “Jory and Harwin are to accompany us.”

“Good,” the Septa gave a sharp nod.

Tyla walked ahead of Alysanne and Sansa as they travelled through the town. Jory and Harwin stayed right behind them, hands on their swords. “Silk noble lady!” A merchant called. “Silks all the way from Volantis.” Alysanne slowed in her walk, turning to look. The merchant’s stall was covered in silks of all colours, reds and blues and yellows. “Come lady,” the merchant encouraged.

Alysanne walked over, running her hand over a piece of red silk. “Volanteen silk you say?” She asked.

“Yes, my lady,” the merchant nodded. “I swear it by the gods.”

Aly looked it over for a moment more. There were no silks in Winterfell, the weather too cold for such fabrics. “I shall take the red and the pale blue,” Alysanne declared. 

“And I would like the pink,” Sansa pointed to a bright coloured silk.

“Of course my ladies,” the merchant waved for his assistant to wrap the fabrics. “Three gold dragons.”

Tyla, who had stopped walking when Alysanne did and came back to her side, took three dragons from her collection of coins and handed them to the merchant. “Thank you lady.” Alysanne smiled gently as Harwin took the silks from the assistant.

Sansa chose their next stop. A jeweller who’s fine gold and precious gems shimmered in the sunlight. “That ruby is beautiful,” Tyla commented.

“Comes from the Summer Isles my lady,” the jeweller smiled.

“Lannister red,” Tyla muttered. Alysanne glanced sideways and saw that Tyla was staring directly at her. She was right. The necklace she had pointed to was gold inlaid with three rubies, the colours of House Lannister. If they had found it before Darry then Aly would not have hesitated to buy the necklace, to wear it with the single red dress she owned while spending the day with her betrothed. Now however…

“Is that a wolf?” Aly asked, pointing to a silver ring. Tyla sighed beside her. 

“Yes my lady,” the jeweller nodded. “A matching set with the brooch.” He pointed to a silver brooch beside the ring. A similarly styled carved wolf on it.

“I would like to take those,” Aly said. She hesitated. “And the ruby necklace.” The jeweller bowed and began to wrap the jewellery up. 

Tyla leant into Alysanne’s side, “good choice.” Alysanne just glared at her out of the corner of her eyes. 

“Oh sister!” Sansa suddenly said. “You would look beautiful in pearls.” She pointed to a string of pearls that were placed on a pillow down the stall. Alysanne bit her lip as she looked at them. She had already bought silks and jewels… but Sansa was right, she would look beautiful in pearls.

“I shall have the pearls too,” Alysanne eventually declared.

King’s Landing really did smell. That was the first thought Alysanne had as they approached the capital. The next was that there were a lot of people. Their party had left after the king’s that day, so by the time they reached King’s Landing the smallfolk were already lining the road to the Red Keep. As they passed through the city Aly looked around, everytime her eyes locked with a childs they would smile widely and wave at her, she waved back. Everytime it was an adult who caught her gaze they would bow their heads, Alysanne waved at them too which often earned her smiles. 

As they reached the gates of the keep, Aly saw a row of gold cloaks waiting for them. Aly slowed Balerion’s stride as they got closer to where the men were, pulling the horse up beside the cart that Arya and Sansa had taken seats on, wanting a full unobstructed view of the city when they arrived. “Welcome, Lord Stark,” a man approached her father, dressed in Baratheon livery. “Grandmaester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council, the honour of your presence is requested.”

Now? Alysanne raised a brow. Father turned to look at Septa Mordane. “Get the girls settled in,” he said. “I’ll be back in time for supper. Jory you go with them.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jory nodded.

“If you’d like to change into something more appropriate,” the man said. Father pulled of his gloves. Alysanne was too far away to see their expressions but the silence that followed told her what her father’s face looked like and she had to stifle a laugh as she began to dismount.

An attendant led them through the castle and up into the Tower of the Hand. “These will be your rooms Lady Alysanne,” she said, coming to a stop in front of a door. “There is a sleeping chamber and a balcony overlooking the Narrow Sea. Your handmaid may take their rest in here,” she pointed to a door a small way down the hall.

“Thank you,” Aly smiled. She pushed open the door to her chambers and looked around. The sleeping chamber, she noted. A large bed, larger than her one at Winterfell, was placed against one of the walls, the sheets Baratheon yellow and black. There were also a few settees with similarly coloured pillows near a large open window that must lead to the balcony. 

The colours would need to be changed to Stark grey and white, and some more decoration would need to be added, wolves and other ornaments, but beside that it was perfect.

Chapter Text

Alysanne fixed her skirt. The pale blue fabric flared out from her waist in a circle that was more pronounced than her other dresses had been. The top of the skirt seemed to crease everytime it moved however, and it made her skin crawl just looking at it, the King’s Landing seamstress would need to fix that. The bodice was nice however, the slight curve she had managed to get the Winterfell seamstress to create was nice.

“Aly?” Tyla called through her door.

“Yes?” Aly called back.

“Septa Mordane is taking Sansa through the grounds to teach about the history of the Red Keep. Do you wish to come?”

Alysanne thought for a moment, it might be enjoyable to see the history of the keep in person. “I shall attend.” She said as she opened the door. 

The throne room was large, Aly paused at the doorway to overlook the room. Pillars that stretched tall around them, patterned floors and bright open windows. But what truly drew her attention was the huge throne of melted blades that towered over her, Tyla, Sansa and Septa Mordane as they walked slowly closer to it. “Someday your husband will sit there,” Septa Mordane said, placing a soft hand on Alysanne’s arm to draw her attention. “And you will sit by his side and one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court.” Aly glanced sideways at Sansa’s still face and Tyla’s grimace. “All the lords of Westeros will gather here to see the little prince,” Mordane finished speaking.

“What if I have a girl?” Alysanne asked, running her fingers across Tyla’s.

The Septa scoffed. “Gods be good, you'll have boys and girls and plenty of them.”

“What if I only have girls?” Aly blinked at the throne.

Septa Mordane turned to look directly at her, “I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Jeyne Poole’s mother had five children, all of them girls,” Sansa spoke up.

“Yes,” Mordane agreed. “But it’s highly unlikely.”

Alysanne nodded in agreement but sighed still and locked eyes with the Septa. “But what if?” What if? She only had girls. Pretty little princesses yes, but a wife’s duty was to produce heirs and Alysanne already had no friends here, having no sons would only make that worse.

“Well,” the Septa sighed. “If you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to Prince Joffrey’s little brother.”

“And everyone would hate me,” Alysanne confirmed.

“I doubt many could hate you, you are too kind,” Tyla smiled softly.

“Joffrey does,” Alysanne snapped. Three weeks and not a single word from him about what had happened at Darry, not an apology for threatening her sister or making them leave their wolves, barely even a glance when they passed each other. 

“He does not,” Mordane reassured.

“Yes he does,” Aly’s lip curled.

“Is this about that business with the wolves?” Mordane sighed. “Alysanne you must-”

“Just shut up about it,” Sansa snapped before Aly had to.

“I want to see the Godswood,” Alysanne straightened her shoulders. “Let us find it.”

Alysanne was running. Running fast through the woods, the scent of prey on the wind. Her legs ached from the speed, she had never run this much before the prey here was used to being chased, not like the prey from the white place. 

Another pelt brushed her own, her sister raced beside her, panting too. The woods were thinning, the prey was about to get away. She sped up, pressing her legs harder. No! It was getting away! A flash of grey fur launched itself at the prey and it fell with a shriek to the ground. Sister. Her other sister, the smallest one, had come from the trees. The scent of blood filled the air and she paused, raising her head to let out a call.

Alysanne opened her eyes, the feeling of running still in her bones. What an odd dream? But a nice one, it felt free to be running through the woods like that. Perhaps that was her need for a ride on Balerion seeping through into her dreams? “Aly?” Tyla’s voice called through the door to her room.

“Yes?” Alysanne called back.

“I am going to visit the Godswood, would you like to accompany me?”

Aly sat up, “I would. Just let me dress-” 

The door opened and Tyla entered before Alysanne was even out of her bed. “I believe that it is my job. To dress you?” She smiled. Alysanne smiled back and nodded.

Alysanne clenched her jaw as the sound of Arya stabbing her knife into the table kept thumping beside her. She attempted to cut through her bread, while the table still shook slightly from Arya’s stabs but had to stop because her plate could not stay still. “Arya,” Aly eventually said. “Enough, eat!”

Arya shot her a glare but continued. “Enough,” Septa Mordane insisted. “Eat your food.”

Arya paused to shoot a look at the Septa. “I’m practising,” she said.

“Practising for what?” Sansa, who was also attempting to eat her food, said.

“The prince,” Arya said, stabbing a little harder.

Sansa paused her cutting and stared at Arya with wide eyes. Alysanne blinked quickly, “what?”

“He’s a liar and a coward and he killed my friend,” Arya snapped.

“The Hound killed your friend,” Sansa said, her voice sharp. Alysanne sighed, already anticipating the argument that was coming.

“The Hound does whatever the prince tells him to do,” Arya insisted.

“You’re an idiot,” Sansa snapped.

“Sansa!” Alysanne admonished.

“You’re a liar,” Arya said before Alysanne could scold their sister. “And if you told the truth Micah would be alive!” She stabbed the knife viciously into the table.

“Enough!” Aly and Septa Mordane said at the same time. Septa Mordane stood sharply, taking the few steps to grab Arya’s arms. 

“What’s happening here?” Father said as he entered the room.

“Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady,” Septa Mordane said.

Arya looked down and then up at their father a few times, her expression slightly contrite. “Go to your room. We’ll speak later,” Father said. Arya turned without a word and disappeared through the door. 

Alysanne sighed, picking up her knife again to continue eating. Sansa had already done so. Father seemed to hesitate with something, before placing two packets on the table beside Alysanne and Sansa. “That’s for you, loves.”

Alysanne’s brow furrowed. She reached for the package and untied the string, letting the fabric around it fall off. “Oh…” Aly said softly. A pale doll was situated in the middle of a bunch of straw. She glanced up to see Sansa looking blank faced at a similar looking doll. 

“The same dollmaker makes all of Princess Myrcella’s toys,” Father explained. He seemed to wait for someone to speak. 

“Thank you,” Alysanne said with a smile. “It’s very beautiful.”

Father smiled back, relaxing slightly, before he turned to Sansa. She was still looking at the doll with a blank face. “Don’t you like it?” Father asked.

“I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight,” Sansa said. Alysanne closed her eyes briefly. This was not going to go well. Thankfully, Sansa didn’t seem to want to argue or anything. Instead she pushed back slightly, “may I be excused?”

“You’ve barely eaten a thing,” Alysanne pointed out. Sansa just gave her a glance. 

“It’s all right, go on,” Father said. Sansa gave a small nod and stood, leaving without taking the doll.

Alysanne watched her go, sighing again. “Was I like that when I was thirteen?” she asked aloud.

Father smiled slightly. “No,” he said. “You were worse.”

Alysanne looked around the godswood, eyes dull. It was very pretty, but also very dull. The flowers that covered the ground below the elms, alders and cottonwoods smelled lovely, and the godswood was large, not as big as Winterfell’s but that was to he expected. Still somehow the wood was… blank. Alysanne closed her eyes for a moment.

“Oh, apologies,” a voice said from behind her. Alysanne opened her eyes and turned slightly to face whoever it was. A woman stood there, dressed in dark red, her black hair pulled back into a braid. She smiled timidly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I was not truly praying,” Alysanne explained. “Just observing. This godswood is quite…”

“Dead?” The lady offered, stepping slightly closer to Alysanne. “I understand.”

Alysanne blinked, she had not expected a southerner to understand the blankness of the godswood. “Where are my manners,” she said eventually. “I am Alysanne Stark.” She gave a small curtsy.

“Lady Melony Celtigar,” the other lady curtsied too. “Eldest daughter of the heir to Claw Isle.”

“A pleasure my lady,” Aly smiled. 

“The pleasure is mine,” Lady Melony said. “I have heard many things about you.”

Alysanne’s nose wrinkled. “Already? We have been here less than a week.”

Lady Melony giggled. “You are betrothed to the crown prince, there were whispers before you arrived.”

Aly groaned slightly, shifting her necklace on her chest. “Of course, I expected it but I do not enjoy it.”

“Not many do,” Lady Melony sighed. “But you get used to it.”

“Perhaps,” Alysanne agreed. Then a thought from earlier returned and she cocked her head. “Why are you in the godswood? I thought southerners preferred their septs.”

Lady Melony smiled. “Most do,” she agreed. “But my grandmother was a Blackwood, she showed me the beauty of the godswoods from a young age.”

Alysanne smiled softly, the Blackwoods were of the North, and though they now lived in the south they kept their traditions. “Ah, that would explain it,” she said. Lady Melony smiled.

“Aly?” Tyla came through the woods. “Your father has asked for you.”

Alysanne turned to her, “where is he?”

“His chambers,” Tyla said. Then she spotted Lady Melony and she smiled in greeting. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Lady Melony smiled. “I am Lady Melony Celtigar.”

“Tyla,” Alysanne’s handmaid said with a curtsy.

“My handmaid,” Alysanne explained. “It seems I must be going, however, it was a pleasure to meet you, my Lady.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Lady Melony curtsied again.

Father was annoyed. He had been returning from the council annoyed everyday but today he looked especially irritated. Alysanne fixed the cloth on the table in front of her as he entered, late, as he had been so often since they arrived. 

The Small Hall, a side room for eating off the Great Hall, still looked too large for those inside it. The Hand’s household guard, who were truly just some of the Winterfell guards that they had brought south, only numbered fifty so most of the tables were empty. They rose when Father entered, “my lord,” Jory said. 

“Be seated,” Father said as he walked towards the table where his daughters sat. “I see you have started without me. I am pleased to know there are still some men of sense in this city.” He signalled for the meal to resume. 

“There is talk in the yard that there is to be a tourney,” Jory said as the servants began to bring in the next set of platters. “They say that knights will come from all over the realm to joust and feast in honour of your appointment as Hand of the King.”

Alysanne felt her eyes widen at that. A tourney? She had never been to a tourney before, only a melee at the wedding of some minor lord when she was a child. “Did they say that this is the last thing I wanted?” Father was saying when Alysanne listened again.

“A tourney,” Sansa breathed from down the table. She was seated between Septa Mordane and Jeyne Poole, as far away from Arya as possible, as always. “Will we be permitted to go, Father?” Alysanne perked up at that, locking eyes with Tyla, who also looked to be intrigued.

“You know my feelings Sansa,” Father said, sighing. “I must arrange Robert’s games and pretend to be honoured for my old friends' sake. That does not mean I must subject my daughters to this folly.”

“Oh please Father,” Alysanne spoke up. “I would like to attend as well. I’ve never been to a tourney, nor has Sansa.”

“All the ladies of the court will be expected at a grand event like this, and as the tourney is in your honour, it would look queer if your family did not attend,” Septa Mordane spoke up.

Father’s face creased and he looked pained for a moment. “Very well,” he sighed. “I shall arrange places for you, my daughters.” He glanced at Arya. “For both of you.”

“I don’t care about their stupid tourney,” Arya said. Alysanne could have guessed that, it was not generally an event her littlest sister would be found at of her own accord, and she was trying to avoid the entire royal family at this time.

Sansa lifted her head. “It will be a splendid event. You shan’t be wanted,” she said, her voice haughty.

“ Enough ,” Father said before the two could begin to argue. “More of that and you will change my mind. I am weary unto death of this endless war you two are fighting. You are sisters. I expect you to behave like sisters, is that understood?” 

Sansa nodded and Arya looked down. Alysanne spotted her attempting to stop tears and placed a comforting hand on her sister’s back. “A tourney,” she said into the silence that followed. “I wonder who will win.” No one replied but she saw Sansa and Jeyne’s heads turn to the side as they began to discuss this among themselves.

Chapter Text

Alysanne turned to look directly at herself in the mirror. The dressmaker moved out of her way, fixing the fabric on her shoulder. “The bodice is lovely,” she declared. It was a very pretty pale green colour, with embroidered flowers covering it. “The skirt however, creases all over.”

“Yes, I see,” the seamstress pressed her lips together. “Perhaps I shall add another layer of fabric underneath the skirt.”

“If you believe it will help,” Alysanne nodded. “The Winterfell seamstress is talented but has little experience with light fabrics, given the climate.” Alysanne stepped back from the mirror. “There is something else I require.”

“Yes lady?”

“I shall need two dresses for the tourney. In this style, firm bodice and a loose skirt.”

The seamstress turned away and walked over to her fabrics, looking over them for a few moments before returning. She placed a sample of fabric on Aly’s shoulder. It was a pale shade of green, similar to the one she was wearing, but slightly darker. “Will this work my lady?”

Aly paused to think, “yes, it is a nice colour.”

“And this?” the seamstress asked, placing a red fabric on her other shoulder. It was a dark crimson colour.

Lannister Red.

Alysanne sighed. “Yes,” she swallowed. “A good choice.” The seamstress smiled. 

There was a knock on the door. “Alysanne?” Father’s voice called.

“Come, father,” Aly called back.

Father entered the room. The first thing Alysanne noticed was his smile. Since their arrival in the capital it was rare to see her father smile and this one was a genuine bright smile. “You may go,” Alysanne told the seamstress, who had stepped back to curtsy once her father entered. The seamstress curtsied again and quickly gathered her things to leave.

“What is it?” Aly asked, watching Father as he came closer to her.

“I received a raven from Robb,” Father began. “Bran-” Alysanne took a deep breath. “Is awake.”

Her breath came out in a rush. He was awake? Her little brother, Bran, was awake? “And he is well?” Alysanne confirmed.

“Maester Luwin says he is healthy… but… he will never walk again.”

Alysanne’s eyes closed. Oh her brave brother, he had always wanted to be a knight… now… “At least he is alive and healthy in all other ways.”

“Indeed,” Father nodded.

King Robert was actually holding court this day. He was seated on the Iron Throne with the small council standing beside him, listening to petition after petition. According to father, it was because nobles would be arriving for the tourney today and the King wanted to avoid having to greet them for as long as possible. Alysanne was slightly confused by that, he was the one who was holding the tourney, surely he enjoyed speaking with all the nobles who would attend. 

“Lady Alysanne?” a soft voice called from behind her. 

Alysanne turned to face whoever it was and a smile broke out across her face. “Lady Melody?”

The daughter of House Celtigar was stood a few steps behind her, draped in a red dress and arms entwined with another ladies. “It is a pleasure to see you my lady,” Melony gave a small curtsy. 

“And you,” Alysanne curtsied back. 

Melony gave a bright smile then seemed to remember the woman she was standing with and nodded to her. “Lady Alysanne, this is Lady Coryanne of House Estermont. Cory, this is Lady Alysanne Stark.”

“A pleasure,” Alysanne curtsied once more.

“The pleasure is mine, my lady,” Lady Coryanne responded. “You look beautiful.”

Alysanne smiled, “thank you.” She laughed slightly and glanced sideways. “As do you, your dress is lovely.”

Lady Coryanne ran her hand over the blue fabric of her dress and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Cory just arrived with her father from Greenstone with her father and brother. They shall be competing in the tourney,” Lady Melony said, running her hand along Lady Coryanne’s arm.

“Well, I wish them very well,” Aly said.

“Do not place any gold on them, I must warn,” Lady Coryanne sighed. “My father is brave, but fat and he can barely sit a horse these days. My brother is more suited for lechery than jousting.”

“Coryanne!” Melony admonished. “You should be supportive of your family.”

“I shall be very supportive on the day,” Lady Coryanne said. “But I cannot lie to the Lady Alysanne.” She waved a hand at Aly. “They shall not win and everyone knows it.”

Aly smiled and contained a laugh at the exasperation on Lady Coryanne’s face. “I shall still pray for their victories,” she joked. 

Coryanne laughed. “If you wish to waste your time on them, I will not stop you.”

The three ladies all shared a grin and another short giggle.

“Ladies-in-waiting,” Tyla said suddenly, breaking through the tense silence of the room. Aly had convinced her friend to accompany her to a sewing session with her younger sisters. She did not know exactly how long they had been in the room together, but neither Sansa nor Arya had spoken the entire time.

“Hmm?” Alysanne asked, raising a brow at her friend.

“Ladies-in-waiting,” Tylsa repeated. “High-ranking noble ladies have ladies-in-waiting to attend them at court. The queen does and as the future queen shouldn’t you?”

Aly blinked. “Well, I suppose. But I do not exactly know many ladies to ask.”

“You are betrothed to the crown prince,” Tyla pointed out. “Send ravens and lords from all over the realm will send their daughters to you.”

“She is correct,” Sansa spoke up. “You should have ladies beside you, and lords will fall over themselves to offer their daughters.”

Alysanne bit her lip and thought. They were right… It was normal for ladies of her rank to have ladies-in-waiting, and while Tyla was a great friend she was lowborn. “You are right,” she admitted. “But who should I ask?”

Sansa sat up, and for the first time since the tourney was announced she looked genuinely excited. “I need parchment and a quill,” she called. One of their servants ran to get some and return it to Sansa. “We are from the North,” Sansa said, shifting so she was able to lean against a table to write. “People from the south are disconnected from us, they do not understand us and we them. To be a good queen-”

“-You must understand your people,” Alysane finished for her sister. “Then… perhaps at least one lady from each of the Seven Kingdoms should be summoned?”

“A wise idea,” Tyla nodded. “Do you know of any houses that have daughters of appropriate age?”

Alysanne suddenly smiled. “I know of two,” she said. “Lady Melony Celtigar from the Crownlands and Lady Coryanne Estermont from the Stormlands.”

Sansa wrote that down on her parchment with a nod. “Crownlands and Stormlands…” She considered the paper for a moment. “The Iron Islands and Dorne will be the hardest Kingdoms to convince to send ladies,” she said. “They do not like the Iron Throne very much.”

Aly nodded. “I do not know much about the Iron Islands… or which of the houses even have daughters. Dorne however… I believe that Prince Doran has a daughter, but she is his eldest and thus his heir, he may not be willing to send her away.”

“Prince Oberyn has daughters,” Arya spoke for the first time, making Aly jump because she had almost forgotten her youngest sister was present.

“Bastard daughters,” Sansa said.

“Aly was a bastard just a moon ago,” Arya pointed out. “I am sure she has no issue having one serve her.”

“I do not,” Alysanne agreed. “The daughter, baseborn or not, of a Prince of Dorne serving as my lady would be an honour and may help fix the relations between House Martell and the Iron Throne.” Arya gave a single sharp nod of agreement.

“One of Prince Oberyn’s daughters then,” Tyla said. “I hear he had many, one must be of age with you.” Sansa wrote that down slower than she had the other but did not voice a complaint. 

“The Riverlands,” Alysanne said in a considerate voice. “House Tully obviously has no daughters.”

“The next most powerful house is House Frey,” Sansa said. “They are very rich… though disliked somewhat.”

“I have heard rumours at court that Lord Tully refused to attend Lord Frey’s wedding, he has taken it as pure spite and House Frey is edging closer to revolt against their liege lord,” Tyla whispered in a conspiratorial tone.

“That is not good,” Aly muttered. “So we invite a daughter of House Frey, they have many to offer.” There was a round of laughter at that and Sansa wrote it down. “Though… due to my… well the circumstances of my birth the Riverlands are one of the most likely Kingdoms to dislike me.” Both her sisters grimaced at that. “So perhaps two Riverlands daughters would be a good decision?”

“Lord Mallister had begun planning a tourney for his daughter's fifteenth name day next moonturn,” Sansa said. “Before news of the Hand’s Tourney reached the Riverlands and he had to cancel it to attend here.”

“So his daughter is just a year younger,” Aly nodded. “A good choice and House Mallister is very powerful themselves… yes write that down as well.” Sansa did as she was bid. “The Vale are kin to you… and unlike the Riverlords no Vale lord but perhaps your cousin would feel slightly by my meer existence-” she smirked- “so perhaps a single lady.”

“The Royce’s are the most powerful after the Arryn’s,” Tyla noted. “And Lord Royce has multiple daughters.”

“Lord Royce,” Sansa nodded. 

“The Westerlands will support someone of Lannister blood regardless of who you have as a lady,” Arya said, her voice contemptuous.

“True,” Aly nodded. “Still… we should offer. I am afraid I do not know much of those houses however.”

“Nor I,” Sansa sighed. Tyla and Arya both muttered in agreement.

“Perhaps Melony or Coryanne may offer suggestions,” Alysanne huffed. “Which just leaves the Reach.”

“Lord Tyrell has a daughter of age with us,” Tyla said. 

“Wonderful!” Alysanne grinned.

“House Tyrell are the liege lords,” Sansa said as she wrote on her parchment. “But House Hightower are almost as powerful.”

“So… we invite daughters from both houses,” Aly picked up on what Sansa was suggesting and nodded in agreement. 

Sansa finished her writing with a flourish and raised the parchment to hand to Alysanne. Aly looked over it with a small smile.

Lady Melony Celtigar of the Crownlands; Lady Coryanne Estermont of the Stormlands; Prince Oberyn’s daughter of Dorne; A daughter of the Iron Islands; A daughter of House Frey; The daughter of Lord Mallister; A daughter of Lord Royce; A daughter of the Westerlands; The daughter of Lord Tyrell; A daughter of House Hightower

“Perfect,” Alysanne declared.

Aly found Melony and Coryanne at court the next day. They were both on the balcony overlooking as her father sat the throne in place of the absent king. “Greetings,” Aly called as she approached.

“Greetings” Coryanne smiled back. “How are you this day, my lady?”

“Very well,” Aly smiled. “And you?”

“Bored,” Melony sighed. “However, I doubt that you came to find us because you wished to discuss our daily activities or our boredom.”

“You are correct,” Aly said. “I came to ask you something… though the official request will have to be asked of your Fathers, I wished to know your minds first.”

“Our minds on what?” Melony asked.

“I have a wish that the two of you will become my ladies at this court,” Alysanne said.

Melony and Coryanne both blinked. “Your ladies,” Coryanne repeated. “You wish for us to become your ladies-in-waiting?”

“Yes,” Aly nodded. “You see I find myself lacking such companions and I know no other women at this court.” She smiled. “I will not be offended shall you refuse.”

“Refuse?” Melony laughed. “Why… I am honoured, of course I shall serve as your lady.”

“And I as well,” Coryanne nodded. “It is a great honour to be a lady-in-waiting for the future queen.”

“Then… let us find your fathers and ask them,” Alysanne smiled. She turned on her heel and looked towards the stairs and felt her breath catch.

Prince Joffrey had frozen as well, standing directly at the top of the stairs. Their eyes locked, green on dark grey. Neither moved or spoke. Alysanne could not tell exactly what she was feeling in that moment as she stared directly into Joffrey’s eyes. Her betrothed moved first, his eyes flashed with something and he turned away from her to march down the stairs.

As Alysanne turned away, though she was still angry at Joffrey for his actions at Castle Darry, she could not help but feel as though her heart was being torn from her chest.

Chapter Text

Lord Myles Estermont and Ser Edwell Celtigar agreed so quickly to Alysanne’s proposal that she almost laughed. Both seemed extremely pleased at the notion that their daughters were the first ones chosen to serve as ladies-in-waiting to the future queen. 

The two ladies moved their things into rooms closer to Aly’s the next day and the three were joined by Tyla to spend the day getting to know each other better. “Your father let you learn to wield a blade?” Coryanne gaped at Aly.

“He did not let me,” Alysanne smiled. “I simply picked up a blade and began training with my brothers.”

“Lord Stark was cautious at first,” Tyla explained. “But eventually he succumbed to her persistence.”

“Well… is it enjoyable to spar with the boys?” Melony asked.

“Somewhat,” Aly shrugged. “I prefer archery.”

“My brother is more of an archer than a swordsman too,” Melony said. “He says he much prefers the distance of the arrow.”

“I concur,” Alysanne smiled. “It is much more enjoyable in my personal opinion.”

“So… I must ask,” Melony said, leaning over in the seat she was sitting in and placing her hands gently on her pale skirt. “The court has taken notice of the fact that you and the Prince have not been seen together since your arrival…” 

She trailed off and Coryanne picked up her sentence. “We heard that there was some trouble on the road from Winterfell… Does this have something to do with it?”

Alysanne licked her lips and considered her response for a long silent moment. “Have you heard… of the Stark direwolves?”

“We heard rumours,” Coryanne said. “But then you arrived without them and we decided they must have been false.”

“They were true,” Alysanne revealed. “We each had a wolf pup…”

“Had,” Melony repeated.

Alysanne closed her eyes and found herself unable to continue her explanation. Her throat felt like it was closed tight and her mind kept flashing with images of white fur and bright red eyes. “On the road… at Castle Darry,” Tyla took up the story when it became obvious Aly could not. “Lady Arya’s direwolf… there was an altercation between her and Prince Joffrey and her direwolf bit the prince.”

“Nymeria was just defending Arya,” Alysanne said softly. “But the Queen didn’t care, she wanted the wolf dead but Arya had sent her away so she demanded the pelt from Sansa’s wolf instead.”

“Oh gods,” Coryanne breathed.

“They escaped,” Aly said in a voice so tight it almost hurt. “But… Joffrey, he… he attacked my sister and then lied about it. He… he almost got my Meleys killed. So no… we are not speaking.”

Alysanne and her ladies rode to the tourney ground in two matching litters with curtains of deep blue silk. Beyond the city walls, a hundred pavilions had been raised beside the river, and the common folk came out in the thousands to watch the games. It was absolutely gorgeous, so much so that Aly felt her breath catch. She had never seen so much splendor in one place before.

Sansa and Septa Mordane were waiting for Aly by the place where the lords and ladies were seated. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Sansa gushed as Aly approached her. Her sister was dressed in a green gown that complimented her auburn hair perfectly, it made her look even more beautiful than she already was. 

The green of her dress was also a contrast to the dark blues of Alysanne’s and Tyla’s. They had matching dresses made for this tourney weeks ago, but her other ladies were dressed in various colours, since they hadn’t had time to have matching dresses made. The pearls draped around all their necks was the only thing that could have spoken of their connections to each other. 

“It very much is,” Alysanne agreed. “We should get to our seats-” she added, glancing over to the field- “the tourney is about to start.” Aly led the other ladies up into the stands and took seats near the front of the box. Seats of honour for the daughters of Hand and their companions. 

Alysanne watched as the knights rode onto the field. The seven knights of the Kingsguard took the field, all but the Kingslayer in scaled armor the color of milk, their cloaks as white as fresh fallen snow. Ser Jaime wore the white cloak as well, but beneath it he was shining gold from head to foot, with a lion's head helm and a golden sword, as Lannister as one could be. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, thundered past them like an avalanche. 

Then Aly saw Lord Yohn Royce, dressed in the bronze rune encrusted armour of his house. She had hoped he would be here, the perfect time to ask about his daughters. Melony pointed out Lord Jason Mallister when he appeared, in indigo chased with silver, the wings of an eagle on his helm. Alysanne heard her sister and Jeyne Pool both giggle slightly when the warrior priest Thoros of Myr, with his flapping red robes and shaven head, rode out. That was until the septa told them that he had once scaled the walls of Pyke with a flaming sword in hand.

There were more riders that Alysanne did not recognize, sigils of lesser houses and the personal ones of hedge knights emblazoned on their shields. Bronze Yohn’s heir, Ser Andar Royce, and his younger brother Ser Robar, their silvered steel plate filigreed in bronze with the same ancient runes that warded their father. There was Coryanne’s brother, Eldon, dressed in the greens of his house. And there were six Frey’s of the Crossing here today. 

Jeyne Poole confessed herself frightened by the look of Jalabhar Xho, an exile prince from the Summer Isles, but when she saw young Lord Beric Dondarrion, with his hair like red gold and his black shield slashed by lightning, she pronounced herself willing to marry him on the instant. Which had caused Coryanne to roll her eyes and scoff, sharing a look with Alysanne. 

The Hound entered the lists as well, and so too did the king’s brother, handsome Lord Renly of Storm’s End. Jory, Alyn, and Harwin rode for Winterfell and the north. Jory may have looked less lordly compared to the Knights of the South, but he acquitted himself very well. He unhorsed Horas Redwyne in his first joust and one of the Freys, Ser Jared, in his second. In his third match, he rode three passes at a freerider named Lothor Brune.. Neither man lost his seat, but Brune’s lance was steadier and his blows better placed, so the king gave him the victory.

The jousting went on for hours, the sun rising and falling in the sky. Alysanne was beginning to understand why her Father was less than excited about tourneys. This was unusually boring. “How do people sit here and watch this for hours?” Tyla muttered. “Men hitting each other with sticks.”

“I must admit,” Coryanne sighed. “It is not very titillating.” Melony and Alysanne both hummed in agreement. 

“I may take my leave,” Alysanne began to say only to be cut off by herself as her eyes swept to the dias where the Baratheon’s were sitting. Joffrey was watching her. His green eyes were trained on the pearl necklace around her throat. Aly swallowed. Joffrey’s eyes cut up to her own and they stared into each other's eyes for a moment before looking away from each other again.

“Lover’s quarrel?” a voice asked.

Alysanne looked up to who had spoken. A lord dressed in dark brocade with a mockingbird pin on his chest was looking down at Alysanne. “I’m sorry do I?”

“Alysanne, this is-” Septa Mordane bent over to explain.

“Lord Petyr Baelish,” the man interrupted. “I knew Lady Catelyn for many years.” He smiled at Sansa. Alysanne narrowed her eyes at the man as he slipped into the seat besides her sister. She did not like his… everything… Alysanne decided. There was something about Lord Petyr Baelish that made her skin crawl.

“I am-” Alysanne was cut off once again as Ser Gregor Clegane rode onto the field. She paused at that. He was a giant of a man, and Alysanne was actually interested in what he could do. “After this,” she finished. Tyla sent her a smirk. 

Gregor Clegane was a beast. It was a wonder he could even find a horse able to carry him, but his black stallion seemed completely fine as it pranced along the jousting line. Ser Hugh of the Vale was his opponent for this joust. A young man by the looks of him. 

“The Mountain That Rides,” Sansa muttered. Lord Baelish smiled at her and leant down to whisper something in her ears. Aly pursed her lips.

The joust began with a crack as the king slammed his jug of wine down. The Mountain’s massive stallion and Ser Hugh’s smaller charger ran towards each other at speed. Alysanne leant forwards in her seat.

Crack!

The sound of the Mountain’s lance breaking off into Ser Hugh’s neck echoed around Alysanne’s head, as did Sansa, Jeyne’s and Coryanne’s screams.

“I cannot believe he died, right there in front of us,” Coryanne’s voice was still shaky as they walked through the ground of the tourney.

“That must be rare,” Tyla said. “Otherwise they would have banned tourneys by now.”

“Maybe,” Melony muttered. “The King did not seem as repulsed as I expected.”

“He’s a warrior,” Tyla replied. “Of course death did not shock him. But other Kings would have interceded if people died at tourneys everytime.”

Aly wasn’t really paying attention to the conversation happening between her ladies, she was more focused on searching for the tents she needed to find amongst the field of different colours. Her eyes eventually landed on the silver eagle of Mallister, hung on a pole outside one of the larger tents. “There they are,” she cut into the conversation, pointing to the tent. “I hope Lord Mallister is inside.”

She led the group to the tent and smiled at the guard outside. “Hello Ser, I am Alysanne Stark, I wish to speak with Lord Mallister if he is present.”

The guard straightened when she said her name and bowed his head. “Of course, my lady, I shall inform my lord of your presence.” He backed into the tent, and Alysanne heard soft voices come from inside.

A few moments later the guard returned, holding open the tent. “My Lord will see you now.”

Alysanne smiled, she turned back to her ladies, “Melony, come with me. Tyla and Coryanne can stay here to wait.” Melony nodded and her other two ladies relaxed slightly.

The tent was large, with a table in the centre that two men were sitting at. Even if she did not know who they were, Aly could have guessed that they were father and son. They looked so similar that the only thing telling Aly which of the two was Lord Jason was the streaks of white in his hair. “My Lord Mallister,” Alysanne gave a small curtsy. “I am Alysanne Stark, this is Lady Melony Celtigar.”

Lord Jason stood to bow in return, his son following close behind. “Lady Alysanne, Lady Melony,” Lord Jason’s voice was deep but soft. “How may we assist you today?”

“I have a simple question for you my lord,” Aly began. “As I am sure you know, the north does not have a great connection to the other regions of Westeros. However, if I am to be Queen, I must understand the people of all the Seven Kingdoms.” Lord Mallister cocked his head in curiosity. “I wish for your daughter to become my lady-in-waiting here at court.”

Lord Mallister’s eyes widened and he glanced back to look at his son, who seemed equally shocked. “House Mallister is honoured by this request, my lady,” Lord Mallister eventually replied. “I am sure Melissa will be very pleased.”

“Wonderful,” Alysanne smiled. “Please, inform your daughter that there is no rush, she may arrive at her own speed.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Lord Mallister bowed his head again.

“Lord Mallister agreed,” Melony said as they exited the tent. “Melissa Mallister will be here soon, I am sure.”

“That is great!” Tyla grinned. “I saw a Royce heading in that direction,” she pointed to her left.

“Let us find them then,” Aly began to walk towards where Tyla had pointed. Her ladies once again began a quiet conversation behind her, this time about what Melissa Mallister would be like. Alysanne saw the Royce tent within moments of the walk beginning however. Because Lord Royce was standing outside of it.

The Vale Lord looked up as Alysanne approached, the conversation behind her dying. “Lord Royce?”

“Yes?” Lord Royce looked down at her. “And you are?”

“Lady Alysanne Stark, my lord,” Aly curtsied. “I am sorry to bother you, but I have a suggestion you might wish to hear.”

“My Lady,” Lord Royce bowed. “What suggestion?”

“I am to be Queen and so I need ladies I know will stand beside me and be loyal here at court,” she gestured back to the ladies behind her. “House Royce is of the First Men, just as House Stark is. And I know you have honour and decency in your blood.” Lord Royce straightened at that, his grey eyes sparking with pride. “I believe there is no better representation of the Vale than your daughters.”

“You wish for one of my daughters to become your lady,” Lord Royce said in his deep, loud voice. Alysanne nodded. “Then let us ask her.” Lord Royce pulled open the tent and called inside it. “Lorra!”

“Yes Father?” a girl with red hair pulled back into braids appeared at the entrance.

“Lady Alysanne has offered to take you on as a lady, my dear,” Lord Royce gestured to Alysanne. 

Lorra Royce’s pale green-brown eyes swept over Aly. “I would be honoured,” she said eventually. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Do not thank me,” Alysanne shook her head. “You are the one who will be teaching me things.”

Lorra laughed at that, Lord Royce even let out his own booming laugh. “I shall have her gather her things,” Lord Royce said when he finished laughing. “And send for more clothes from Runestone.” Alysanne nodded.

“You would think that having so many members here would make them easier to find,” Coryanne complained as they trudged through another patch of mud. “House Frey cannot be that good at hiding themselves.”

“There are so many people here,” Alysanne replied. “I doubt they are intending to hide it’s just-”

“-THERE!” Tyla suddenly called. “The twin towers of Frey, right there.”

Alysanne looked towards where she was pointing and felt the tension roll out of her shoulders. “Finally,” she muttered.

Two large tents were set up beside each other, both made of a silky silver fabric that glittered in the afternoon sun. There were very few guards outside them, which probably meant that no one was there, but Alysanne still approached in case there was.

“Cousin, you cannot mean that,” a voice drifted from inside the tent as they got closer and a few moments later it opened to reveal two men in Frey colours. 

“I do,” one of the men said. “I mean to travel to my great uncle’s castle once the tourney is over.”

“Father will-” the other man began but cut himself off when he saw the ladies standing there. “My Ladies,” he said instead.

The first man’s eyes shot to them and then widened slightly. “My ladies,” he bowed his head. “I apologise, I did not see you.”

“I apologise for interrupting your conversation Ser,” Alysanne replied. 

“It was not important,” the Frey shook his head. “How may I assist you, my ladies?”

“First I would like to know to whom I speak,” Alysanne said with a smile. “I am Alysanne Stark.”

“My lady, I am Ser Perwyn Frey. This is my cousin, Ser Theo.”

Alysanne took in Perwyn’s kind smile and soft looking eyes, he looked much different from the Frey that she had seen jousting Jory earlier, kinder in a way. “Ser Perwyn-” Alysanne launched into the same speech she had given Lord Mallister, smiling when she finished.

Ser Perwyn’s brows furrowed. “My Father would be honoured for a daughter of House Frey to serve the future Queen,” he said eventually. “I shall write to him at once.” When he gave Alysanne a kind smile she felt herself returning one without thought.

Lorra Royce joined the ladies for their sewing session later that day. She was six-and-ten, as Alysanne herself was, and was very polite. She had been tense upon her arrival but relaxed as the time went on and eventually began joking with Coryanne about their idiot brothers. 

“I love Robar, I do,” Lorra said. “But he can be an absolute fool, especially when it comes to his wife. Gods bless Ursula with patience.”

“My brother is the same,” Coryanne sighed. “Aelinor is ever kind with Eldon, she will rule Greenstone when the time comes I tell you all,” she smiled around the circle at them.

“Perhaps that is a good thing,” Alysanne laughed. The other ladies giggled and muttered agreements.

The sound of footsteps coming from the room entrance made Aly turn to look. Joffrey Baratheon was climbing the stone steps onto the sunroom where the ladies were seated. Alysanne stood, seeing the others follow out of the corner of her eyes, and curtsied. “My prince,” she muttered. 

“My ladies,” Joffrey stopped in front of her to bow. He was fiddling with something in his hands, Aly noted, and seemed generally more nervous than normal. “I fear I have behaved monstrously these past few weeks,” he said. 

Aly raised a brow in response and agreement. Joffrey glanced down at his hand and then lifted it to present what he was holding to Alysanne. It was a necklace, silver with a beautiful pendant with a carved wolf face in the centre and pearls either side. “With your permission?” Joffrey asked.

Alysanne considered him. Then nodded and turned to allow him to slip the necklace around her neck. “It’s lovely,” Alysanne said. She returned to facing Joffrey, sliding a glance at Tyla as she turned. “But it will take more than jewellery to make me forgive you Joffrey.”

Joffrey gave her a shy smile and looked down for a moment. “I know that,” he said. “I will prove my love to you, my lady. I will prove that I am worthy of yours.” He placed a gentle hand on Aly’s cheek. “I’ll never disrespect you again. I’ll never be cruel to you again. I swear this by all the gods.”

And he pressed a soft kiss to Alysanne’s lips. Aly froze for just a moment before she melted into his soft hands and all thoughts of anger faded away.

Chapter Text

“Prince Joffrey has sent me to inquire as to whether or not you will be attending the final jousts,” the servant asked.

Alyssane half-turned where she stood with her ladies helping her dress. “Of course I am,” Aly replied. “Tell Prince Joffrey, that if he wishes me to accompany him he should come and ask me.” The servant’s eyes widened slightly. “In a gentler tone of course,” she added. The servant bowed and left on hurried feet.

“I thought you had forgiven him,” Coryanne commented, fixing Aly’s sleeve. 

“I was pleased with his display of repentance,” Aly said. “But I will require many more over the next months.”

“Good,” Tyla nodded. “His pride cost you a loyal companion and your sister a friend. I liked Meleys.” She pouted.

“As did I,” Aly sighed. “But I do not feel as though I have lost her truly, she is in my heart always.” Alysanne leant her head back allowing herself a moment of peaceful thought.

“Ruby or sapphire?” Melony asked. Aly looked back down to see her holding two separate necklaces in her hands. One was the gold and ruby necklace she had bought on her name day, the other was silver with a singular sapphire jewel hanging from it. 

Alysanne considered both of them for a moment. “The ruby,” she said eventually, just as the door to her chambers opened once more and Tyla and Coryanne dropped into curtsies.

“My ladies,” Joffrey said as he entered the room.

“My prince,” all four replied at the same time.

Melony reached up to place the ruby necklace around Alysanne’s neck just as she turned to face Joffrey. “You look lovely, my lady,” Joffrey said, eyes sweeping over the ruby necklace and down to the black gown. “My mother shall be quite jealous.”

“Oh I doubt that,” Alysanne laughed and shook her head. “The Queen is the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms, everyone says it.”

“Everyone has not met you, my betrothed,” Joffrey replied.

“You are such a flatterer my prince,” Alysanne smiled. She was sure she heard her ladies giggling behind her too. “You did not come here to flatter me, however, what is it you need?”

“I was here to ask you to accompany me to today's joust,” Joffrey said, in a more formal tone than he usually used.

“I would love to accompany you,” Aly nodded. “If I am ready?” she glanced back at her ladies, who nodded. “Wonderful, the litter is still waiting outside for you my friends, enjoy yourselves with my sisters.”

“Of course, my lady,” Tyla nodded. 

“Now Joffrey, have you prepared a litter?” Alysanne asked, taking him by the arm and allowing her betrothed to lead her from the room. Joffrey did not respond immediately but he led her outside to a litter anyway. 

“Did you think I would make you walk?” Joffrey joked as he led her to the beautiful gold covered litter.

“Mayhaps,” Aly shrugged. “Did you know it is improper for us to travel alone together? My Septa will have a fit.”

“We shall not tell her then,” Joffrey placed his finger to his lips to signal quiet. Alysanne laughed and nodded in agreement as Joffrey climbed in beside her and signalled for them to move.

The two fell into a discussion about their days and what they had been doing recently. Apparently, Joffrey had been attempting to convince his sister that one of her dolls was cursed, but Myrcella was quite adamant that it was not. Aly rolled her eyes as he complained about his failed attempts. “Perhaps, your sister knows you like to play jokes on her,” Aly commented.

Joffrey pouted. “Well yes, but it was easier when she was younger,” he complained. Alysanne rolled her eyes and chuckled.

Joffrey continued to complain for a while longer until he seemed to realise he was the one talking the entire journey and he stopped himself. “What of you, Alysanne? What have you been doing?”

“Mostly relaxing,” Aly said. “Exploring the Keep and discovering more about my new ladies.”

“Ah yes,” Joffrey nodded. “I heard that you sent ravens out all across the realm asking for lords to send their daughters to court.”

There was a question in his tone. “Yes,” Aly nodded, looking through the silk covering the sides of the litter to see that they were getting closer to the tourney ground. “If I am to be Queen I must know my kingdom. As well as I am sure you do.”

Joffrey licked his lips. Aly narrowed her eyes. “You have had tutoring on the customs of all the kingdoms, have you not?”

Joffrey shifted in his seat. “Of course I have,” he said. “I am only four-and-ten my betrothed, I have time to learn more,” his tone was defensive and his expression had shuttered closed as he spoke.

“I know,” Aly placated. “I was not meaning to insinuate that you were not preparing yourself appropriately.”

“I know,” Joffrey relaxed as the litter was placed down with a shake and the guard announced their arrival. “I apologise for my defensive response.”

“And I apologise for the tone of my question,” Aly replied, taking his hand to help herself stand.

They were closer to the ground than Aly had been yesterday, right next to the box where the royal family sat. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen were already present, as was Sandor Clegane. “Alysanne!” Myrcella grinned at her as she appeared. “You came!”

“Of course,” Alysanne smiled back at Myrcella. “I would not refuse such an invitation.” Joffrey led her directly to one of the remaining seats and helped her sit without creasing the silk of her dress too much. 

“I thought you hated Joff,” Tommen said suddenly, and way too loudly for the topic.

“Tommen!” Joffrey snapped, glaring at his brother.

Aly placed a gentle hand on his arm. “I do not hate Joff,” she said. “I was- and am- quite angered by his actions-” she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye- “but he can fix it.”

“Which I shall,” Joffrey said in a soft voice. She could feel his eyes staring at her and Alysanne smiled to herself.

“Oh… okay,” Tommen shrugged. He was too young to really understand the complexity of Aly's feelings about Joff anyway. 

Alysanne rolled her eyes. Loud, heavy footsteps on the stairs leading to the dias made Aly tense, but it was just the King. When he appeared, everyone stood and bowed, but he waved them off. “Alysanne Stark!” Robert called loudly when he saw her. 

“Your grace,” Alysanne bowed her head.

“Good to see you girl!” Robert bellowed. “Finally got off your arse and talked to your girl aye Joff?”

Joffrey pursed his lips but nodded. “Yes Father.”

“Good! Good!” Robert nodded. “Now where’s my wine and a fucking joust.”

Alysanne winced, sharing a look with Joffrey who seemed irritated at his father’s crassness.

The sound of a trumpet announcing the joust was beginning made Aly look back to the field. It was the final tilts today, and riding in the first were Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain and Ser Loras Tyrell. The Knight of the Flowers.

And gods did the name suit him. The knight was dressed in a suit of shining silver armour polished to perfection, filigreed with twining black vines and tiny blue forget-me-nots. Alysanne gasped softly when she noticed that the forget-me-nots were real sapphires. His cloak seemed to have been woven of real forget-me-nots to match the sapphires. “Tyrells,” Aly muttered. “I heard they were extravagant but by the gods.”

Joffrey hummed in agreement. Ser Loras was mounted on a light mare to contrast the Mountain’s heavy stallion. “Speed over power,” she commented. “A good choice when jousting such a heavy man.” 

Ser Loras rode his horse along the line of ladies against the barrier, and Aly noticed that in his hand was a rose. A bright red rose to symbolise beauty that he handed to Sansa the moment he came to a stop before her. “A Queen of Love and Beauty,” Alysanne said softly to Joffrey, making sure the King could not overhear. 

“If the knight was smart, he would have named you,” Joffrey whispered back. Aly rolled her eyes and slapped his arm lightly but she could not stop the light blush now covering her cheeks.

As the Knight of Flowers and the Mountain made their ceremonial bows to the king, Aly noted that Gregor’s stallion was seemingly in a bad mood, he kept rearing and huffing. Odd, jousting horses were usually very well behaved. 

The two knights pulled their horses to the ends of the lists and prepared. Then suddenly they were off, the Mountain’s stallion broke in a hard gallop, plunging forward wildly. Ser Gregor juggled with his lance, while fighting to hold his unruly mount on a straight line, and suddenly Loras Tyrell was on him, placing the point of his lance just there, and in an eye blink the Mountain was failing. He was so huge that he took his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.

Loras Tyrell rode to the end of the lists and lifted his visor. The commons went mad for him. In the middle of the field, Gregor Clegane was getting to his feet, he threw his lance down and it clattered on the ground so harshly that Aly could almost hear it.

“My sword,” he shouted to his squire, and the boy ran it out to him. Gregor Clegane drew his greatsword and sliced through his horse's neck with a single blow. Alysanne gasped, clutching at Joffrey’s arm. Then Gregor was striding down the lists toward Ser Loras Tyrell, his bloody sword clutched in his fist. 

“Oh gods, he’s going to kill him,” Alysanne gasped just as the Mountain reached Loras Tyrell and threw him from his saddle with a single blow. Ser Loras lay stunned on the ground as Gregor went to strike another blow.

Suddenly, the Hound was moving. He had been standing behind Aly’s chair the entire joust but he ran down the steps of the dias and onto the field. Aly and Joffrey were on their feet at once, as the Hound reached the Mountain. “Leave him be!” the Hound snapped. 

Gregor turned on his heel to lock his blade with his brothers. Aly clutched Joffrey tighter as the fight continued. Thrice Alysanne saw Ser Gregor aim blows at the Hound’s head, but she never once saw Sandor strike for his brother’s unprotected face.

“STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!” King Robert’s voice boomed around the tourney ground. The Hound went to one knee. Ser Gregor’s blow cut air, but he let the sword fall from his hand as the swing came to an end. He dropped his sword and glared at Robert for a moment, then wordlessy walked away. “Let him go,” Robert called.

Alysanne and Joffrey sat back down. Joffrey looked impressed, Aly shocked. Loras Tyrell reappeared on the field. “I owe you my life. The day is yours, ser.”

“I am no Ser,” the Hound responded. Ser Loras lifted the other man’s arm into the air and cheers broke out across the grounds.

“I’ve heard from Winterfell,” Father said. Aly paused, cutting through her dinner and turned to look at him. “Robb cannot leave while Bran is still weak and unable to act as Lord, so Catelyn will be coming south for your wedding instead.”

Aly slouched back. She had been waiting to see her brother again, and dreading seeing Lady Stark. Why would her stepmother even want to come to King’s Landing? She hated Alysanne, surely she didn’t want to see her wed. “Oh,” she eventually muttered.

“I know you miss Robb,” Father said, placing a gentle hand on Aly’s shoulder. “But his duty is to Winterfell.”

“I know,” Aly said. “I’m sure he’ll send a letter.”

“I’m sure,” Father nodded. He considered Alysanne for a moment before speaking again. “I noticed the ravens you sent out,” he said slowly. “I also noted that none were sent North.”

Aly blinked at him. “I have no need to learn the customs of the North, it is where I was raised.”

“Yes, but surely you would find comfort in having another Northern lady?” Father asked.

“I have Sansa, and Arya, and Tyla,” Aly said.

Father sighed. “Aly, I am trying to tell you that the Northern lords will think you have turned southron if you do not have a noble Northern lady beside you,” Father said.

Aly’s nose wrinkled. “You did not say that,” she replied. “And besides, what about me is Southron?”

“You’re hair,” Septa Mordane suddenly cut in from down the table, beside Sansa. “And your dresses. They are very southron, my dear.”

Aly touched the braid that sat atop her head gently, and then the dark blue of her bodice. “Oh… I had not even noticed…”

“We are the ones doing your hair, Aly,” Tyla said. “Coryanne, Melony and Lorra are all Southron ladies.”

“Right,” Alysanne nodded. She glanced sideways at her father. “Then perhaps I shall invite a Northern lady south… Lord Karstark has a daughter, doesn’t he?”

Chapter Text

The sigils of House Lannister, House Westering, House Crakehall and House Marbrand were draped all over… everything. Alysanne found it strange that these Westerlands' Houses had placed their colours out as if they were equal to the black and gold of House Baratheon. No other person in the court commented on it however, so she assumed that it was some strange southron custom. The Westerlords were the first of a large group that would be arriving over the next few weeks in preparation for her wedding to Joffrey, and having them here made everything even more real than it had been previously.

Of course, she had already spent hours with her ladies and the seamstress, planning the small details of the royal wedding. But that was abstract, this was tangible. “You look quite well,” a feminine voice called from behind her.

Alysanne turned on her heel and curtsied when she saw who it was. “Your Grace,” she said, straightening to look at the Queen. “Thank you. You look beautiful.” She wasn’t lying. The Queen was absolutely gorgeous in her red gown. The pinch to her brows that seemed to be ever present did slightly limit some of her beauty, but not all of it. 

The Queen gave a pinched smile. “My son is quite taken with you,” she said, moving slightly closer to Aly.

“And I am quite taken with him,” Aly said. It had been weeks since Joffrey’s first apology, and the prince had continued to offer gifts and words of flattery multiple times a day. It was pleasant and it made the hurt of losing her wolf less potent. 

“Good,” Cersei almost hissed. “My son is a good boy and will be a great king. Remember your place and everything will be perfect.”

Alysanne straightened slightly and stared directly into Cersei’s eyes. “I will never forget my place beside my husband.” She curtsied slightly, not taking her eyes off of the Queen’s, and left with a sharp click to her steps. 

“Jeyne Westerling,” Coryanne said, waving her hand in the direction of the Westerling nobles on the balcony above them. “She is of age with you and the Westerlings are quite close with their liege lords. She is who you should make your lady.”

“Jeyne Westerling,” Alysanne repeated. She looked over the party, attempting to spot the girl. She was easy to find. The only woman of age with Alysanne in the party, with dark hair braided atop her head and soft eyes that seemed to be taking in every detail of the throne room. “I shall inquire about her.”

“The ladies from the Riverlands arrive today as well,” Lorra commented, stepping slightly closer to try and keep their conversation as private as it could be in the Keep. “I have already requested that the maids ready their rooms.”

“Good,” Aly nodded. “Then I shall head to the Godswood to pray before they arrive—” she stretched her arms slightly— “I have not had the time in recent weeks and Arya requested we go together.”

“If I may accompany you as well?” Tyla asked. 

“Of course,” Aly smiled. “Please.” The two northern ladies stood, saying swift goodbyes to their companions before heading in the direction of the Godswood. It was still strange to pray there, the Old Gods did not have strength here in the south and especially not in a place with no weirwoods, but it was the best option and so she settled for it. Arya was already waiting by the entrance to the gardens, bouncing on her feet. 

Her little sister hurried through the gardens, stumbling over rocks. Aly shared a smile with Tyla. It was always wonderful to see her sister happy and it had been such a rare occurrence since they had left Castle Darry. The three girls reached the centre of the garden and knelt to pray, though Arya was still bouncing slightly. Obviously something good had happened to her little sister, but Arya didn’t seem to want to tell Alysanne, or she already would have. 

They finished their prayers just as the sun reached its highest point and Arya once again led the way back through the gardens. She jumped up to touch the branches of some trees, letting out joyful laughs as she did. A few times Alysanne had to call ahead to remind her sister to remain with them so she was safe, but Arya didn’t seem to care, prancing around like a prized jousting horse. Her joy had been such a rare thing that Aly found she did not care.

Arya split from the group once they were inside, probably going to cause some mischief while Alysanne and her ladies headed towards the courtyard to greet the new arrivals. 

Coryanne, Lorra and Melony were already waiting for Aly and Tyla, dressing in their new matching dark grey dresses. The seamstress had spent hours deciding on the perfect fabric, even ensuring that she had extra to be used when the rest of her ladies arrived, and it was lovely. Her own red dress stood out amongst them, but she supposed that wasn’t an issue, she was supposed too after all.

The wheelhouses coming through the Red Keep gates were different from the one the Queen and her children had made use of. Smaller for certain, and less decorative. More practical truly. The one in the lead had the silver eagle of House Mallister painted on the side, and the one behind the twin towers of Frey flying on a flag above it. 

The wheelhouses pulled to a stop and the doors opened. The first to step out was the girl in the Mallister wheelhouse, Melissa if Alysanne’s memory could be relied upon. Her blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a braid, revealing her blue eyes as they darted around. Aly didn’t have much time to focus on her however, as the other lady stepped out into the courtyard. She was certainly older than Melissa, if only by a year or two, but the styling of her red hair was more stiff, the braid tighter. 

“Welcome,” Alysanne spoke first, stepping half-a-step forward. “We are very pleased to have you here. And I personally am overjoyed.”

“Thank you,” Melissa bowed her head and bent her legs in a slight curtsy. “It is an honour to be asked to serve as your lady.”

“Yes, an honour,” the Frey girl agreed. “My Father was quite pleased.” 

“As I am pleased he agreed,” Alysanne smiled. “Please, meet my other ladies.” She raised a hand to signal that the women behind her move forward to stand in line with her. She began to list them, motioning to each lady as she spoke. 

“An honour to meet you my ladies,” the Frey girl curtsied slightly. “I am Roslin Frey.” Roslin, that was the girls name. 

“And I am Melissa Mallister, but everyone in Seaguard calls me Missy,” Melissa smiled. 

“And everyone here calls me Aly,” Aly returned her smile. “Come let me show you your rooms.”

Sewing was perhaps the thing that Aly found the most joy in, besides archery but her father had specifically ordered her not to engage in such activities until her wedding. So she was stuck spending most of her free time with her ladies practicing her sewing and embroidery. Most days Sansa and Jeyne Poole would accompany her and her ladies, but since they were being joined by Melissa, Roslin and Jeyne Westerling, her sister had decided to give them privacy. 

“Oh that is lovely my lady,” Melissa praised as she peaked at the embroidery Tyla was doing. 

“I am no lady,” Tyla shook her head. “But thank you.”

“Apologies,” Melissa smiled. “That is a flower, yes?” she pointed to one of the parts of the embroidery, continuing the conversation as if the correction had never happened. It was something that Aly had noticed about the Mallister girl very quickly, she never seemed to stumble over words and doubt her course. It was refreshing. 

“A winter rose,” Tyla agreed. “They grow in the Glass Gardens in Winterfell.” Alysanne smiled, her and Tyla had always loved the winter roses. When they were girls they used to pluck them and braid them into their hair, it was a fond collection of memories. “I try to include them in all my embroidery.” Tyla continued to explain, “they are very beautiful.”

“Perhaps we could request some for my wedding,” Alysanne commented. “They would look beautiful displayed in the sunlight here.”

“Oh they would,” Tyla agreed. “We should request that your Father sends for some.” Aly nodded in agreement. 

“Have you—” Jeyne Westerling started, halted when all eyes turned to her, cleared her throat and continued. “Have you chosen the fabric for your dress yet, my lady?”

Alysanne gave her a gentle smile to hopefully help calm the nervous girl but shook her head. “The seamstress has offered multiple options but I cannot seem to choose one.” She sighed. “Perhaps you may assist me, my ladies.” There were mutters of agreement from around the room. 

Alysanne opened her mouth to continue conversing but the sound of a door opening and footsteps on stone made her pause. She turned slightly to see who was entering. Her ladies reacted before she did, rising to their feet in short curties. “My prince,” Lorra said. 

Joffrey was smiling as he entered the room, one of his hands held behind his back. “My ladies,” he nodded his head. “Lady Alysanne.” 

“Prince Joffrey,” Alysanne stood to curtsy. “What brings you here?”

“I have something for you.” He stopped walking in front of Aly and smiled at her. 

“Something?” Aly asked, raising a brow. 

Joffrey’s smile turned slightly more playful as he raised his hand from behind his back and revealed what he had brought. It was a necklace and a set of earrings. The earrings seemed to match the necklace he had given her during the tourney, silver with carved wolves faces and pearls dangling from them. The necklace was also silver with small rubies hanging from it in the same shade as Lannister red. 

“They are wonderful,” Aly said. “But exactly how much jewellery will you gift me in hopes to earn my love?” She raised an eyebrow in a half joke. 

“Quite a lot,” Joffrey replied. “But I also wondered if you might accompany me on a journey tomorrow.”

“A journey?” Alysane asked. “What kind?”

“You shall have to wait and see my lady,” Joffrey smirked. “If you come.”

“We shall see,” Aly said slowly. “Thank you, for these,” she said as she took the jewellery from his hands. 

“You are most welcome,” Joffrey bowed slightly. “I shall see you on the morrow, my betrothed.”

“I only said I would think about it,” Aly called after him as he left, but Joffrey didn’t bother to respond.

Chapter Text

It came to be that Joffrey was the one who was unable to spend the day with Alysanne. Instead she spent the day with her ladies in her chambers, looking over the options for her wedding dress while the seamstress waited by the door.

“This one,” Coryanne said as she hovered her hand over one of the pale grey fabrics lined up on the side of Alysanne’s bed.

“Are you certain?” Aly asked, leaning closer to get a better look at the piece of fabric.

“Yes, it is the perfect shade of Stark grey, wonderful for the dress or the maiden cloak I suppose,” Coryanne nodded.

“I agree,” Melissa nodded. “I think it works better for a maiden cloak in fact, slightly too dark for a wedding dress I think.”

“Mhm,” Lorra agreed. “I think this ivory silk is better for the dress.” She picked up a piece of silk further along the line. “With some myrrish lace it would look absolutely delightful.”

Both ladies held the pieces of fabric together and Alysanne considered the look for a moment. The grey samite was just the right shade to contrast with the ivory silk but not be too gaudy. “I think it looks wonderful,” Aly agreed. She turned her head to look at the seamstress. “I would like a length of the grey samite, my sister wishes to embroider the cloak. And the ivory silk will be used for the dress.” The seamstress bowed her head and moved forward to collect all the pieces of fabric. 

The ladies stepped back, dispersing around Aly’s chambers as they waited for the seamstress to leave. “I have been reading this fascinating book of history,” Tyla said, breaking the following silence. “The only issue is that a large portion of it is written in valyrian.”

“I hate finding those books,” Roslin agreed. “I wish more people spoke valyrian, the Targaryens all did but they are gone and the Velaryons are of no help to anyone but them.”

“I speak valyrian,” Melony interrupted. “My whole family does.” There was silence for a moment as every eye in the room turned to her. “Why does everyone forget that House Celtigar is from Old Valyria, just like the Targaryens and the Velaryons.”

“It is just, your family has never been very connected to their origins,” Aly said. “But I suppose you would speak your ancestral language. I wish the old language of the First Men was still spoken in the North.” She added the final sentence as an afterthought as she sighed.

“Oh that would be lovely,” Tyla agreed. “But Mel, if you speak valyrian can you teach us?” 

Curious expressions turned hopeful as Melony considered the question for a moment and then nodded. 

“My lady?” a male voice caught Alysanne’s attention and she turned from her observation of the Blackwater to see Ser Barristan Selmy standing behind her. 

“Ser,” Aly smiled slightly at the sight of the old knight. She had rarely seen him around the Keep during her time here since he was almost always guarding the king himself. “What may I do for you?”

“I bring you a raven my lady,” Ser Barristan took a few steps forward and held out a small raven scroll. “From the Iron Islands.”

Alysanne raised a brow. A reply from Lord Greyjoy regarding options for a lady perhaps? “Thank you Ser,” she said as she took the scroll. “A Kingsguard knight delivering a raven is a rarity.” She commented as she gripped the small piece of parchment.

“No my lady,” Ser Barristan agreed. “But your raven came with one for the King and he ordered me to personally deliver it to you.” Barristan’s voice was knowing and slightly irritated as he spoke of King Robert.

“He favours me,” Alysanne nodded in agreement with the unsaid words. “I believe it is because of my father. We are quite similar.”

“You are,” Ser Barristan agreed. “But if I may my lady—” he waited for Aly’s nod before continuing— “you remind me much more of the Lady Lyanna. I only saw her for a few moments at Harrenhall but your presence sparks the memories of her.” 

Alysanne smiled slightly. She had always been told she was like her Aunt Lyanna, but everyone from her Father to the King. The fact that someone like Barristan saw it too however, someone who has so few memories of her aunt and yet could see her spirit in Aly. It was a nice thought. A very nice one.

Alysanne dreamed that she was a wolf. A great beast racing through the woods on swift paws. She was not chasing prey, no she was simply running as she once did as a pup. Oh how she missed being a pup, racing through the snow in which she could not be seen with all her brothers and sisters. Her pink mother would be there too, watching from atop her large black prey thing. 

A howl split through the clear air and she raised her head to answer her sister’s call.  Another howl joined her as their final sister raised her voice too. Her brothers and pink mother were gone now, and she didn’t know where they were, but her sisters were still here. Still running through green woods together as though nothing had changed. Though everything had.

Aly’s eyes opened as she woke with a gasp. Someone was moving outside her room. She blinked to clear her mind of the strange dream she had been having and instead focused on trying to discern who could possibly be outside her door.

Narrowing her eyes, Alysanne stood slowly and quietly, drawing a dagger from beneath her bed. She crept forward, trying to avoid making any noise before she reached the door and opened it slowly. Hand gripping the dagger tightly, she poked her head out and looked around. 

“Arya!?” Alysanne gaped at her smallest sister as she froze in the hall.

“Aly!” Arya’s voice rose an octave. Her deep grey eyes were wide as she stood frozen in the hall.

“What are you doing up?” Alysanne hissed, dropping the dagger and stepping outside to grab her sister by the arms. “It is the middle of the night! You should be in bed! What if something happened to you?”

“There are guards right outside the tower,” Arya groaned. “And I can protect myself.”

“Unnarmed?” Alysanne raised a brow and Arya blushed before shaking her head. “Sweet sister, what are you doing?” she asked again.

“Chasing cats,” Arya smiled sheepishly. “My… dancing master says it will help.”

“Your dancing master wants you to chase cats?” Alysanne repeated, distinctly unimpressed with the excuse. “Arya!”

“Oh alright,” Arya pouted. “But you can’t tell Sansa! She’ll just laugh at me.”

“Of course,” Alysanne reassured. She wondered if Sansa really would laugh at whatever her sister was about to say, or if she could be more likely to simply ignore it as she had been ignoring Arya since they arrived in the capital.

“He’s not a dancing master,” Arya confessed. “He’s a swordsman. And he’s teaching me how to fight!”

“With a sword?” Alysanne’s face broke into a smile. “Oh Arya, that is wonderful. And Father got him for you?”

Arya nodded excitedly. “He even comes to watch sometimes.” 

Alysanne placed a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Come inside and tell me everything.”

Joffrey came to retrieve Aly from her room so they could break their fast together the next morning. On another occasion she might have teased her betrothed about it delay in following through on his invitation but today her thoughts were stuck on everything her sister had told the night before. Training with a master swordsman, the First Sword of Braavos. She was almost jealous, it had been too long since she herself had been in the training yard. 

She glanced sideways at Joffrey, considering bringing up the possibility of joining him in the yard today but he spoke before she could. “Have you ‘thought’ about my offer, my betrothed?” he asked.

“Offer?” Alysanne blinked.

“To accompany me today?” Joffrey clarified. “I have already requested that the stable master prepare our horses.”

“Well…” Aly scoffed jokingly. “I suppose I must come with you, now.” Joffrey smirked at her, standing and holding out his hand to help her rise too. “Were are we going exactly?” she asked.

Joffrey didn’t respond, he simply held onto Aly’s hand as he pulled her through the halls of the Keep and out into the courtyard. Balerion was already saddled and waiting by the gate, with Joffrey’s bay right beside him. She grinned, separating herself from her betrothed so she could reach out and run her hand along her stallion’s black flank. “Hello boy,” she whispered.

Balerion snorted at her and shook his head. Her smile softened as she rubbed his neck, resting her head against him. It had been too long since she had ridden her beloved stallion, in Winterfell she used to ride every few days, but since her arrival in the capital she had been too distracted with other business to find the time. 

Joffrey cleared his throat from his position beside her and Alysanne raised her head to see he had already mounted his horse. “Are you coming?” he asked.

Alysanne pursed her lips at his tone, which was somewhere between joking and mocking. But she pulled away from Balerion’s neck and swung herself onto the saddle. Her dress was different today than the personal style she had grown to prefer, more soft and northern, perfect for horseback riding. “Where are we going?” she asked once she was situated. 

“Just follow me,” Joffrey smirked at her before kicking his horse into a run.

There were guards waiting for them atop their own horses right outside the Keep’s gates, including the Hound in his dog's head helm. The party rode through the capital, with Alysanne waving and nodding at smallfolk as they passed then, and out into the open air outside the city walls. 

Joffrey slowed his horse to a walk so he could more easily speak with Aly. “Tell me my betrothed, how many times have you rode along the riverbanks of the North?”

Alysanne considered the question for a moment. They rarely ever rode along the sparse rivers in the North. Most of their streams ran below the ground, coming up in small sections through the woods and hills. “Not many,” she said eventually. “Why? Is that the plan for today?”

Joffrey simply smiled at her just as they crested a hill and a river came into view. Alysanne’s eyes brightened and she kicked her hills against Balerion’s side to spur him forward. “I bet ten gold dragons that I will reach the riverbank first,” she called to Joffrey. She didn’t give him the opportunity to respond but heard his laughter as he followed her anyway. 

She did reach the riverbank first, though not by much, and they both slowed back to a walk as they rode side-by-side along it. Conversation flowed between them, simple small things that meant nothing truly, but made the tension drain from her the longer they spoke.

For hours and hours the two rode along the river, ignoring the guards accompanying them. They spent some time racing, some time telling stories of their past, and some time in comfortable silence. The sun had just sunk below the horizon as the gates of the city came back into view, Joffrey was in the middle of telling a story about how he had tried to hide Myrcella’s favourite dress on her nameday, as they entered the red stone walls of the Keep. 

Alysanne chuckled slightly, shaking her head. “You bother your siblings too often, Joffrey,” she said, attempting to keep the humour from her voice.

“And you do not?” Joffrey countered, slipping from his horse’s saddle and holding out a hand to help her down. 

Aly nodded as her feet landed on the dirt. “I do, but not so often as you, it seems. Though that may be due to Lady Stark. I think she would drop dead if I did something like that to Sansa.”

Joffrey didn’t reply verbally, but his eyes flashed at the reminder that Eddard Stark’s wife was not her mother. He had never mentioned her birth before, never seemed to find issue with it, which Alysanne was pleased with. But whenever someone else made reference to it, something flashed in his eyes that made Aly’s hair rise. 

“Shall we head in for supper?” Joffrey asked, holding out his arm for her. Aly smiled at the change in subject, as she took it with a nod. Joffrey began to lead them inside the Keep. A comfortable silence fell between them as they moved, Aly’s eyes darting around to take in the movement in the courtyard. 

Joffrey stopped walking just before the door and turned to face her. “It was a joy to spend the day with you, my lady.” He said, placing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. Alysanne smiled gently, her eyes lighting up at the act. “Your eyes,” Joffrey said softly, suddenly raising a hand to run his fingers across her cheek. “They seem almost… purple in the starlight.”

Chapter Text

“Lady Gysella Harlaw, the cousin of Lord Rodrik has been sent from the Iron Islands on the order of Lord Balon,” Alysanne said, placing the letter she had received from Barristan on the table beside her. 

“House Harlaw, lords of the isle of the same name,” Coryanne recited. “Lord Balon’s wife is a Harlaw. Sending a member of his family, however distant, is a sign of good will is it not?”

“Hopefully,” Missy muttered. “But I would not trust the reavers to be loyal for long, they are always searching for a way to rebel.”

“Lord Balon will not risk the life of his only remaining son by plotting now, surely?” Lorra asked. She leant back in her chair, fixing the skirt of her blue dress. 

“You never know with those people,” Missy shrugged. 

Aly pursed her lips. She knew that the people of the Iron Islands had always resented their membership in the Seven Kingdoms and been searching for a way out since Aegon’s Conquest. But since their failed rebellion ten years previous, the deaths of Lord Balon Greyjoy’s two eldest sons and Theon being taken as a ‘ward’ by her father Alysanne had assumed their rebellious spirit was quelled for now. Perhaps enough time had passed that they had forgotten the reason for their submission, but she hoped not.

The conversation tilted towards the coming arrival of the Reach Lords within the next few days. She knew now that Lord Tyrell had one daughter, a girl of age with Aly named Margaery. She was said to be gracious and beautiful, everything she had heard told Aly that she would quite like to have the girl as one of her ladies, the only issue that remained was the fact that she had received no reply from Lord Tyrell nor Lord Hightower about her inquiry in regards to their daughters. 

There were a few reasons as to why that might be and Alysanne was hoping that the letters had simply arrived too late for the Lords to read them before leaving for the capital, because the other reasons were not as pleasant. 

Alysanne’s anxiety spiked as she watched the wheelhouse containing the women of House Tyrell enter the courtyard of the Red Keep. Queen Cersei, Prince Joffrey, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen were standing in front of everyone waiting as Lord Mace Tyrell dismounted his horse and came towards them. The man would have definitely been handsome in his youth, Aly decided, however the years had taken the same toll on him as they had on the King. 

As he bent to kiss the Queen’s hand Alysanne let her eyes drift back towards the wheelhouse. A woman who must be Lady Alerie had stepped out, dressed in green silks embroidered with silver to compliment her long pale hair, behind her stood a younger woman that Alysanne instantly knew was her daughter Margaery. The girl was as beautiful as the stories said, with luscious dark hair that concentrated wonderfully with her pale skin. A few other young women, all of them beautiful as well, had gotten out of the wheelhouse and were milling about. Aly assumed that these were cousins and other distant relatives. 

The sound of footsteps moving beside them made Alysanne turn in time to see Queen Cersei and her children disappearing into the Keep. Joffrey glanced back once to share a look with Aly before leaving her sight. 

Lord Mace turned to speak with Alysanne’s father instead. “Lord Stark!” Lord Mace called joyously. “Wonderful to see you!”

“Goodmorrow Lord Tyrell,” Father nodded once to the other man. “It is good to see you well.” There was silence for a short moment and Alysanne heard the sound of more hooves on stone as another wheelhouse came through the gates flying the grey and white banner of House Hightower. “My daughters,” Father introduced, breaking the short silence. 

“Sansa,” Sansa straightened as Father placed a gentle hand on her back. “Arya,” the girl flicked her hair before giving a small, stilted curtsy. “And Alysanne.”

“Ahh, Alysanne! The future Queen,” Lord Mace bowed to her with a grin. 

Alysanne gave a small giggle and smile at the Lord. “Lord Mace. I have heard many things.” She held out her hand for a kiss, which Lord Mace gave with a flourish. 

“Wonderful to meet you my lady. Allow me to introduce my own children,” Lord Mace waved his hand and his wife and daughter, along with two boys who must be his sons, came forward to stand before them. “My wife, Lady Alerie.”

“My Lord Hand, my ladies,” Lady Alerie curtsied in greeting and the Starks all responded with their own bow and curtsies. 

“My younger sons, Garlan and Loras. My eldest, Willas, has remained in Highgarden in my place.” Just like Robb, Aly thought, the eldest boy always missing out on his family's travels. She recognized Loras from the tourney as he stepped forward to greet them, and noted how similar his brother and he appeared. “And my only daughter, Margaery.” Margaery smiled slightly as she greeted them and it made her face look even more beautiful. 

Lord Mace went on to introduce the rest of his family, mostly distant cousins including a girl who must have been of age with Sansa and stayed close with Margaery as if the elder girl would protect her from any danger. 

As Father and Lord Mace’s conversation wound down and some of the less important members of the party drifted away, Alysane inserted herself into the conversation once more. “Lord Mace, if I may have just a moment of your time?” she asked.

Lord Mace blinked but nodded and gave her another happy smile. “What is it you require my lady?”

Alysanne took a small breath and attempted to settle her inner-anxieties before speaking again. “I sent a raven to Highgarden but I never received a reply, I must assume that you never received my letter,” she began. Lord Mace’s eyes widened slightly and Aly was relieved at the shock in his expression. “I was inquiring as to whether you would allow your daughter to serve in my household here at court, as one of my ladies-in-waiting.”

Margaery gasped slightly and turned to her father with beseeching eyes. Lord Mace took one look at his daughter before beginning to nod. “I would be honoured to have my daughter serve in your household, my lady.” He bowed slightly. 

“Wonderful,” Alysanne smiled. She turned to speak directly with Lady Margaery. “I shall send one of my ladies to speak with you later in the day.” Lady Margaery nodded, her eyes still slightly wide and filled with joy. 

Alysanne nodded once to Lord Mace and Lady Alerie, another to her Father and then turned to search for the Hightower’s sigil through the slowly shrinking crowd of people. There it was, just a few steps away.

Alysanne moved through the crowd without further comment, distantly noting that Arya was following along behind her. “My lord!” she called as she neared to group of Hightower men. 

One of them, a man who seemed of age with her father, turned to face her with a kind smile. “Yes? How can I help you, my lady?”

“I was wondering if Lord Hightower was here?” she asked.

“I am afraid my father was unable to make the journey,” the man, who Alysanne now knew to be one of Leyton Hightower’s sons, shook his head slowly. “He is quite old.”

“Of course,” Alysanne nodded in understanding. “Then perhaps you may be of assistance Ser…”

“Baelor,” the man introduced. “Ser Baelor Hightower. my lady.”

“A pleasure Ser Baelor,” Aly smiled. “I am Alysanne Stark and I wish to discuss your daughters.” Baelor Hightower was the eldest son of Lord Leyton and Aly knew he had many children of his own, including three daughters. Perfect.

“My daughters?” Ser Baelor raised a brow. 

Alysanne began her explanation of why she was asking for ladies from all the kingdoms just as she had with Lord Mallister, Lord Royce and Ser Perwyn. Ser Baelor listened with a contemplative expression. Once she finished he nodded once. “Your wish for knowledge is honourable. My daughter Bethany is of age with you. I shall send her to you this eve.”

Lady Margaery Tyrell was a very intelligent woman, that was the first thing Aly noted about her when she joined them for their midday meal. The second was that she was incredibly good at hiding that fact from those around her. If Aly had not spent her early years analysing every move made by Lady Stark and the lords who visited her Father’s keep she never would have noticed herself.

But she had spent her years doing so and so she noted the way that the lady's eyes took note of every change in the room. 

Thankfully nothing had really happened during their meal, besides the usual tension between Sansa and Arya that occurred whenever the two girls were forced to be in the same room. A whole moon had passed since their argument at Castle Darry and still the two girls seemed determined to avoid reconciliation. It was becoming tiring if Alysanne was truthful. 

As the meal came to a close and the attendees prepared to separate once again until the evening, Alysanne considered forcing her sisters to stay and speak with each other but she knew that would truly accomplish nothing. Sansa and Arya were both stubborn as mules and attempting to force them to do anything was folly. Instead she had to simply watch as the two separated, Sansa off to find Jeyne Poole and Arya probably chasing cats as she had begun to do for some odd reason. 

“Tell me Lady Margaery—” Missy leant forward— “have you ever been to King’s Landing before?”

“No, unfortunately so,” Margaery shook her head.

“Unfortunately?” Lorra asked. 

“The city is beautiful,” Margaery lied, it was an obvious lie there was barely a soul who thought that King’s Landing was a beautiful place. The Keep perhaps but not the city itself. “And I have always dreamed of attending court.”

“It is not as enjoyable as one might imagine,” Aly laughed softly. “Too much scheming.”

“My grandmother says scheming is the best part of life,” Margaery joked.

Alysanne laughed, and chuckles burst from the lips of all the ladies at the table. “Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns, they call her, yes?” She asked. Margaery nodded with a smile. “I cannot wait to meet her.”

“I cannot believe we are actually doing this,” Tyla muttered, watching as Melony placed a pile of books on the table in the center of my room. “We are going to learn Valyrian!”

“I know,” Aly smiled. “I never thought— Even Maester Luwin couldn’t teach us.”

“You asked?” Tyla asked. “I never had the courage.”

“Oh I did,” Aly nodded. “As soon as I found out what the valyrian steel link on his chain meant I asked if he could teach me anything about the higher mysteries, or even just about valyrian. But he refused me. Said it wasn’t for my knowing.”

“I’ll never understand that,” Tyla shook her head. Alysanne opened her mouth to agree but she was cut off by the sound of the door opening. She looked up to see a young lady with pale hair entering the room. 

“Lady Alysanne?” the young woman called softly.

Aly stood, smiling slightly at the girl. “I am she,” she offered a small curtsy. “The Lady Bethany Hightower I presume.”

The Lady nodded. “Thank you for taking me into your service my lady,” she curtsied.

Alysanne laughed, smiling brightly. “No need to thank me, it is your assistance I will require. Please join us—” she motioned for the girl to join the other ladies scattered on the seats around the room— “we were just about to begin the study of the Valyrian tongue.”

Chapter Text

“Reetsas haydar,” Alysanne attempted, slowing down her speech in an attempt to get the pronunciation correct. She was attempting to learn how to greet the members of her family so she could surprise them with it at supper but she was struggling with the strange sounds of the Valyrian language. 

“Rytsas hāedar,” Melony corrected. “Rit-sas hadar.”

“Rytsas hāedar,” Aly said slowly. Melony nodded quickly, a bright smile coming over her face. Aly grinned, sharing a pleased look with Tyla and Missy. “Arya will love this.” Her little sister would adore hearing Aly speak valyrian, she’d always had a fascination with the women of House Targaryen. In fact Arya would probably ask if she could learn too.

“Can you teach me how to say who I am?” Missy asked, she shifted the fabric of her skirt to more easily lean towards Melony.

The Celtigar girl paused for a moment as she thought. “Iksan Melony Celtigar hen Gōrz Tēgembōñ.”

“Which means?” Missy pressed.

“I am Melony Celtigar of Claw Isle.”

“So I just replace your name?”

Melony laughed, shaking her head slightly. “Yes, just replace my name and Claw Isle with your name and Seagard.”

Missy nodded, taking a moment to think before she spoke. “Iksan Melissa Mallister hen Seagard.”

“Perfect!” Melony grinned. Aly clapped gently for her new friend and the other ladies in the room followed. Most of them had scattered themselves around after a while, reading through the valyrian books that Melony had brought with her. Only Aly, Tyla, Missy and Bethany had remained on the chairs surrounding Melony, listening intently to every word she spoke. 

High valyrian was a complex language and there was no way that they would learn it in one sitting, but Aly was trying to commit as much as possible to memory. She’d always wanted to learn the old language, the language of magic and House Targaryen. When she’d brought it up with Luwin and been dismissed she’d lost the courage to ask her father but the want had never faded.

“Can you teach us more about greetings,” Bethany asked. “I wish to surprise my father too. My Aunt Malora and my grandfather both speak Valyrian but he never let them teach me.”

“I wonder why everyone is so insistent we not learn this tongue,” Aly cocked her head. “Perhaps it brings them memories of the war. Of the Mad King and Prince Rhaegar.”

There was silence following her words, and Alysanne didn’t have to look to know that every lady in the room had turned to look at her. No one spoke for a long time, as they all considered her words. Aly grew slightly embarrassed in the silence, afraid she had said something that would make the others uncomfortable.

But Missy broke the silence with a single sentence that relaxed Aly. “Maybe it is time they moved beyond that.”

The ship bearing the banner of House Harlaw slowly moved into the dock at the port of King’s Landing. Aly fidgeted with the rings on her fingers as the gangplank lowered and a regiment of guards appeared at the top. They marched down the wood, blocking Aly’s view of the nobles she presumed were behind them.

The guards reached the bottom of the gangplank and moved aside to reveal the nobles descending behind them. They were led by a young man dressed in dark clothes with the scythe of Harlaw emblazoned on the front. Ser Harras Harlaw, the designated heir of Harlaw.

The man walked straight to her Father, stood straightbacked at her side with the golden hand symbol pinned to his chest. Aly ignored the exchange happening beside her as she attempted to make out the different sigils marking the clothes of the other nobles. There were a few more scythes, the black warhorn of House Goodbrother, the bone hand of House Drumm and many other minor Iron Islands houses. But not the golden kraken of Greyjoy. Lord Balon had not made the trip himself. 

It was an insult, for certain, but Aly could not find it in herself to care. The old Greyjoy lord was a bitter man and he would be gone sooner rather than later anyway, his insults meant nothing and were nothing but small slights and words. 

Alysanne was more focused on finding the young lady who would be joining her household after this day. She found her quickly, there were only three ladies in the company of nobles and only one of them wore the scythe of Harlaw. 

Her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face in a braid and her dark eyes scanned the crowd just as Aly’s did. Aly was sure she even spotted a small dagger clipped to the lady’s belt. A woman after her own heart, she smiled. 

“My daughter,” Father’s voice and his hand moving toward her brought Alysanne’s attention back to the people directly in front of her. “Alysanne.” Sansa had wanted to come with them but Septa Mordane had insisted that Aly’s younger sisters needed to be in their lessons today, so only Alysanne and their Father had made the trip down to the docks.

“My lady,” Ser Harras bowed to Alysanne, reaching forward to kiss her hand. “It is an honour.”

“The honour is mine Ser,” Aly offered him a polite smile. “I must thank you for coming all this way.”

“One cannot refuse an invitation to the royal wedding, especially when my own niece is specifically requested by the future queen.” Ser Harras waved his hand behind him and the lady who Alysanne had correctly assumed was her future lady came forward. “My niece, Lady Gysella Harlaw.”

Gysella curtsied slightly to Alysanne’s father and then her. “My Lord Hand, my lady.”

“Lady Gysella,” Father bowed his head slightly. 

“My lady,” Aly smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to come.”

“Of course,” Lady Gysella’s voice was firm and her expression guarded. That would not do. Alysanne wanted them to be friends, just as she had begun to build a friendship with her other ladies. 

Aly glanced at her father and he seemed to understand her unspoken request, because he drew Ser Harras into a conversation about their companions and left Aly and Gysella mostly alone. She considered the other lady for a moment, searching for something else to say before the silence grew awkward. “Is that a dagger?” she said eventually, nodding towards the small sheathe on Gysella’s belt.

The other lady moved her hand to grip the pommel, seemingly unconsciously. “Yes,” she said slowly. “My father always says it is best to be prepared for anything. And a dagger is a very useful weapon.”

“So I hear,” Aly nodded. “I personally have never had much skill with one. I prefer a bow.”

Gysella’s eyes seem to light at Aly’s words and a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “My mother always says I am the best on the isle of Harlaw with a bow. Perhaps we shall have to see which of us is the superior.”

“Oh we must,” Alysanne smiled brightly. She was definitely going to like this one.

Aly and Gysella did not get to have their competition the next day, because the next day was Joffrey’s name day. Alysanne dressed herself in Baratheon black and gold and made her way to Joffrey’s quarters at first light. 

The Hound was standing guard outside his door but he didn’t attempt to stop her from entering. She realised very quickly that the reason for this was because Joffrey wasn’t alone. Queen Cersei, Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen were already inside. “Your grace,” Aly curtsied. “I am sorry to interrupt.”

“No no,” Joffrey stood and moved towards her before the Queen could respond. “I’ve been waiting for you.” He took her hand with a grin. Alysanne smiled back. “I wished to see your present first.”

Aly laughed and shook her head. “I am afraid my present could not fit in here my love,” she said. “But your mother and siblings would have brought you something glorious I am certain.” She gave Cersei a tight smile, and the Queen gave her one in return. Aly noticed that her bright green eyes were locked on the place where Joffrey’s hand clutched hers.

Cersei and her younger children had brought Joffrey a collection of blades and small jewellery, chains and rings fit for a prince. Beautiful, but superficial and it was obvious that none of it was particularly interesting to Joffrey. 

After the royal family had finished laying out all their gifts, Joffrey turned to Aly without more than a muttered thank you directed at his mother. “Well?” he pressed. “Show me your gift.”

The tone of his voice made Aly bristle slightly. But it was his name day and so brushed off the petulant instance in his tone and expression and simply stood from her chair and guided Joffrey towards the door. She distantly noted that Cersei was following them, as were a set of guards including Clegane, but Myrcella and Tommen must have been sent away. Joffrey asked where they were going multiple times as Aly led him through the halls of the keep and down towards the courtyard. But she didn’t respond, simply sending him smirks. 

Eventually they came out into the yard and Joffrey paused, glancing around trying to spot her gift. She grinned and let out a loud whistle. One of their guards jumped, as did Cersei as she came up beside Joffrey. 

A stable boy appeared, leading a large bay gelding. He came to a stop before them and bowed. “Your gift, my betrothed,” Aly smiled at Joffrey.

Joffrey took a half-step forward, his green eyes widening as he stared at the horse. “You got me a horse?” he breathed.

“A new gelding, fast enough to keep up with Balerion, not like your old one,” she teased. 

Joffrey’s grin split his face, making the remnants of annoyance disappear from his expression. He stepped forward to run his hand along the horse’s shoulder. “We must race at once,” he said, turning back to face Alysanne.

She grinned. “You heard the prince, saddle Balerion and his new bay.” Stable hands began to scurry about immediately, hurrying to obey her order. 

“Joffrey,” Cersei reached for her son, but he was too far away to touch and he didn’t seem inclined to move closer. “Surely you wish to spend the day at court, with your family.”

“Alysanne is my family,” Joffrey said. “Or she will be soon enough, and we won’t be long. I’ll soon beat her.”

Aly laughed. “You may pray, my love.”

Cersei’s lips twitched as Joffrey’s dismissal and her expression twisted even further when he turned away from her in order to watch the saddling of his horse. Alysanne smiled to herself, unnaturally pleased to see the queen even slightly annoyed.