Hell yes, I have finally released this.
Disclaimer: not mine, dammit
-Lord Protector's Daughter-
301 years after Aegon the Conqueror's landing
"They say he's very handsome, you know. Your betrothed to be."
She glanced at her dear friend. Mya Stone had, as it seemed, forsaken her uneven stitches already a while ago, deciding instead to eye the younger girl with heed.
"They do", admitted Alayne, focusing back on her needlework. "But that is only one of many things said about him."
"You mean the child."
Alayne nodded reluctantly. It was not entirely a lie, not really, for she did pay a certain amount of thought to rumours concerning the babe. Still, there were others calling for her attention far more urgently.
"One of our handmaidens knows the people who took her in," she revealed, tugging on a thread. "The girl's name is Rosey and she is nearly two. There were talks of sending her to Lady Anya Waynwood for upbringing ever since her mother passed away from greyscale, thankfully unconfirmed."
Mya sighed at that, putting away her miserable so-called needlework and awkwardly embracing Alayne with one arm.
"That is only a bastard kid, my sweet. Men don't ever care about those, even if it may seem otherwise at first. Your father is the only one I've seen act differently and he... well, he hasn't got any other children to care for, I suppose. And, honestly, who would be able not to love you? Harry will fall for those pretty eyes of yours, that is certain. He'll care more about you than of any natural kid he could've ever fathered. You will have so many beautiful babes together, sons and daughters, I'm sure. Worry not."
Such words were always sweet to hear, but still could not change the facts. Harry the Heir was supposed to be handsome and gallant and skilful with a sword in hand. So many beautiful things were said about the man and that, as she was once taught, did not mean anything good.
That evening, when Mya was already putting on her nightgown, Alayne dared to glance at their sewing, still lying in the corner of her chamber. As tidy and fine as her mockingbird was, the mountain her friend tried to embroider looked rather miserable. She tended to make mistakes almost instantly after starting, unable to stay focused. Just like another girl Alayne once shared a chamber with.
Too far. She almost crossed the line. That must never happen, or she won't be able to get to tomorrow.
The events of the next several days, however, made her question whether it wouldn't be easier to actually die the night before.
The next day the messenger arrived far too early in the morning to be a casual one. No one had been expecting any shocking news. Not much had happened lately, apart from "Aegon Targaryen" (her father had called him a liar and a pretender and, therefore, so did she) marrying the Dornish princess, Arianne and his and poor Tommen's forces bleeding each other out in Stormlands.
This time however the message appeared to be crucial and, after reading it, Father told her to immediately escort Sweetrobin back to his chambers and put to sleep once more.
"I am certain it is nothing interesting," she assured the boy when he complained about not being able to receive the letter himself. "Lord father would not have you rest again if he didn't think you would be bored by the news, I'm sure."
Robert Arryn grimaced. It was supposed to look intimidating, she assumed, pretending to be disturbed by his moods, but appeared rather pathetic on the tiny child's face. He liked it when people found him impressive, even if they never actually did.
"I am the lord of the Vale. I want to see it!"
Alayne forced herself to smile sweetly, tucking little Robin in.
"Of course you are my lord. One day, when you grow even bigger and stronger, every message will be brought straight to you. And if you close your eyes and dream, it will come faster. I promise."
When she finally managed to make him fall asleep, everyone except for her already knew.
Mya dragged Alayne to the edge of the pine forest that grew just outside The Gates, while lord protector was busy punishing the overly talkative messenger.
"Apparently King Stannis Baratheon died in some still uncertain circumstances. His bannermen blame that Red Witch of his though, the one that's been burnin' all those people earlier, but no one knows truly what happened. So now Shireen Baratheon, his daughter, inherited his claim to the Iron Throne. Wonder how long that will last, heard she's no more than a kid, and sickly too. Oh, but that's just the beginning."
There was something large and dark moving behind the first layer of trees, just on the border. If not for the heavy snowfall, she would've been able to see it properly, but the weather had been horrible since the morning two days earlier.
"The whole North is in chaos, that man said. It's 'coz o' that girl who wasn't really a Stark, he said."
Sansa spun around to look her friend in the eye, completely forgetting about suspicious moving shadows.
"What? What girl?"
'No, don't ask! Don't be interested,' she reminded herself instantly. Why would Alayne care about such things? Both her mother and father were from places either far south or east. Alayne Stone did not know anything about the Starks. She was just an insignificant bastard girl to the lord protector, nothing more.
"Arya Stark. Well, not the real one obviously, as she is probably long dead. Y'know, that main family in the North that used to rule there before the war? Everyone thought that the Bastard of Bolton married one of them, but it seems he only got some steward's daughter, Jeyne or something. And now because of that the Northerners feel cheated."
Alayne stumbled to the nearest rock, her pace suddenly far from graceful. She had to sit for a moment, or her legs would fail her.
Arya Stark had been her sister once. And Jeyne… Jeyne Poole, daughter of their steward. She had expected nothing else from Arya's fate after all these years, even if it was still to terrible to think of, but never thought to consider that of Jeyne's. Her best friend. Sansa's best friend, who cried at the sight of blood, Jeyne who dreamt of marrying a handsome lord.
"What happened? To that girl, that is. Jeyne."
Mya shrugged and for a moment Alayne almost hated her friend for such nonchalance. But why would a natural born from the Vale be concerned by such news? No, neither of them should.
"Nobody knows. Or at least nobody remembers. But I bet she died. Her husband's a monster, everybody says so."
Monster. Jeyne Poole married a monster. I bet she died. Gods. She felt her breath quickening. Faster and faster. Mya was still talking, but her words did not reach Alayne properly. Jeyne Poole married the Bastard of Bolton. I bet she died. I bet she died, I bet she died, I bet she died, I bet she died. Her head was spinning and she had to keep herself from fainting.
Somehow, she slowed her breathing down, trying to ignore a sudden pain that appeared in her chest. After all, Alayne didn't know any steward's daughter. Alayne would not care.
She looked down at her palms. Her hands were trembling and the nails had marked them red, something she didn't realize earlier, when it had been happening.
"If that's so, then maybe Father will punish him," she heard her voice as if the words weren't coming from her. "Maybe someone will do something."
Mya chuckled at that, tilting her head towards Alayne, but the expression on her face was only partly gleeful.
"I'm sure that if you ask your sweet Ser Harry, Ramsay Bolton will drop dead within a moon."
It was Father who had asked to see her, not the other way around, yet Alayne still hesitated before knocking. Petyr's solar always managed to make her shiver.
"Come inside, my sweet child."
Myranda Royce had once confessed to her that she had thought Lord Protector to be a truly frightening man upon first meeting him and, while Alayne did not exactly agree, she could sometimes see why people would consider him scary. Petyr Baelish had that unsettling look in his eyes she learned to understand a bit too well during her time in the Vale. But he was also caring and wise and took her with him despite the fact that she was solely a bastard girl. Even Mya had thought that to be unusual, Alayne reminded herself. People never understood how much he tried to keep everything and everyone together.
"I suspect the mule rider has already told you some of the stories," he sighed heavily, pouring her a cup of Dornish wine. She nodded jerkily.
"Yes. The one concerning the death of Stannis Baratheon. And… and some others as well."
"About that false Arya Stark, you mean."
"Jeyne," she corrected him unconsciously, biting her tongue a moment too late. "That was her name. Jeyne Poole. I... I heard some of the guards talking."
Father glanced at her above his papers. There was empathy in his smile, one she would normally embrace, but this time it only brought back a memory. Suddenly, she remembered another day, a life ago, when a stupid little girl was given a promise.
He said he'll find Jeyne a place.
She swallowed those words in the last second, just as they were about to leave her mouth. Her Lord Father would not approve of them.
Still, they were true. He promised to take care of Jeyne Poole and she died. Her Jeyne.
Petyr sighed deeply. His face was marked with exhaustion. He's been working so hard lately. A mistake, she told herself, it all must have been a mistake, only a one that cost the steward's daughter her life.
"The whole story has been unravelled way too soon. But that is something for another time. There is more. Whatever has happened at the Wall is still too unclear to name, but it is beyond doubt that many lives were lost during those last couple of months. It is still too hard to guess what will that chaos provide, especially since all information I've got from there so far is that the Wall, the giant ice blockade was set on fire. I haven't heard the peasants talk of an equally ridiculous story in years. Oh, and one more thing. Roose Bolton is almost certainly dying. Greyscale got him. Those would all be good news, possibly even great, if not for the time. Too fast, it's all happening too fast."
"What shall we do then, father?"
He wove his fingers through hers, smiling tiredly. His eyes remained cold, though. 'They always do, she reminded herself, you just learned not to think of it.'
"Now, my dear, we wait. You should meet your betrothed soon, I suppose. Lady Anya has been pressing on the matter lately. And then, when you marry, we will see."
As did Jeyne. Dear, sweet Jeyne who did not deserve her fate, whatever it was.
I bet she died. Alayne glanced at her father.
And then she smiled back.
It was Mya who found her sobbing in the corner of their chamber several hours later. Sansa wasn't so stupid anymore, though; had she told anyone what truly bothered her everything would end. The unfortunate messenger's body hanging for the crows' game in the yard was enough of a reminder.
"I just couldn't stand to watch that poor man" she lied instead. It was becoming alarmingly easy. A good lady does not need to foul her mouth with lies, she was always told. But maybe, maybe it didn't work that way with bastard girls. "I know father had to punish him for his indiscretions, but it is simply too awful of a sight."
Mya took Alayne's hand in hers.
"You have a gentle, sweet heart, is all. Mayhap too sweet, even. But I'm sure Lord Baelish only does these things to protect us, you especially."
Like Jeyne. What did he do to her? He promised to take care of her, find a nice place for the steward's daughter and the steward's daughter is now dead. Her little friend she almost forgot she once loved, but who she now lost just like everyone else.
I bet she died.
He was friendly with her lord father too, she remembered suddenly, recalling those first moments in Kings Landing, when everything was still splendid and she was still naive. And now, after all this time, it seemed that she had learned nothing.
She was barely aware of Mya, who tried to calm her down by stroking her hair.
"I am grateful for my Lord Father's caution and care", she announced and her voice sounded empty in the chamber. A terrible liar, that's what he had always called her. But no, not anymore. Had the boy not been a proof of this? Her boy. Yes, she needed him.
She excused herself and left the room, crossing through the castle's yard and then outside, heading for the postern gate, now close to abandoned due to the weather. At winter, when the seat of House Arryn was relocated to The Gates of the Moon few would venture beyond it. Still, once dragged by Mya to explore the pine forest and the wonderful Alyssa's Tears, Alayne was since said to be enchanted by the Giant's Lance.
"Did anyone see you sneak out?"
Alayne spun around, almost reaching for the knife she had brought with her, but it was just Rickon, as always hiding in his direwolf's shadow.
"Obviously not," she snapped, irritated, wiping the tears that were still present on her face. "I am careful. You on the other hand could be doing much better. I saw you two earlier today by the edge of the forest. If not for the weather you would have been sighted by the guards and Father would have found out."
She handed him a loaf of bread and some dried apples stolen from the kitchens by an oblivious Mya.
"It's all I've got. Forgive me, this time I had to actually eat some of what my friend took to seem more convincing."
"'S alright," he decided, tearing the bread in half with his dirty fingers and stuffing one of the halves in his mouth. "Shaggy's doing his share of hunting, so we've got us some meat most days, you know."
Sansa did not answer, watching the little boy with growing concern. Muddy, unkempt and with leafs in his once shiny auburn hair, he looked more like a wildling child from one of the Old Nan's stories than a king's brother. After he first found her she tried getting him to wear more appropriate, cleaner clothes or at least to scrub his face with snow, but it had all turned out to be pointless. Rickon was as untamed as that direwolf of his and would sooner boil himself alive than allow her to wash his hair.
She fumbled with the bag, trying very hard not to look at him.
"There was news from the North today," she sighed. "That 'Arya' people have been talking about lately was... she was someone else. You were right. It was another girl."
She didn't tell him what truly mattered. He would not remember Jeyne anyway.
"Bran was right, you mean," he corrected her, finishing the bread and reaching for the apples. "And of course he was. He knows everything. He'll find the real Arya too, you'll see."
"Of course he will." After such a day Alayne didn't even have the strength to deal with that aspect of her brother's madness. Still, she realized she would have to explain to him at some point, that Bran doesn't really speak to the boy in his dreams and that Shaggydog and Rickon aren't the same person in two bodies. He certainly can't reach adulthood (however distant it still was) believing in talking trees, skinchangers and giants. A King in the North needs to have a clear mind.
As soon as she thought it, it hit her. Rickon, King in the North. Just like their brother Robb, brave and strong, only very, very alive and safe, protecting the kingdom from Lannisters and Boltons. He could do that. He could bring them home. The lords in the North would fight for him, she knew it. Sansa would help her brother as well, by taking care of the household and other things before he grew old enough. In Winterfell.
Strangely determined, she took out the knife.
"Turn around," she ordered, in a stern voice she often heard Petyr use for Robert Arryn. "You need to have your hair cut."
For some reason he listened, allowing her to deprive him from more than half of his hair.
"I thought only mothers can do that."
She meant to correct him, she did, but for some reason a half-lie came out instead, somehow sounding more genuine than all her previous ones.
"Maybe. But I am your sister and her blood flows through my veins just as much as yours. Now turn back."
He did and she finished her work, putting the knife back in her sleeve. The boy seemed far more innocent with the new look.
"That has to be it for now. But next time we meet, I shall start teaching you letters. It is high time you know them."
"Why?"
Sansa smiled at her brother sweetly, taking his hand into hers.
"Because, Rickon, every king needs to know his letters. And you are going to be a great king. So great that we will be able to go home and no one will even bother us. No more hiding in the shadows. Never again."
No one will ever bother them again. For a split second, she actually let herself believe it and that single moment was enough.
Rickon will get them to Winterfell. He will set things right and sit on the throne and rule, just like their brother should have had. And then they will finally be safe, forever.
AN:
POV: -Lord Protector's Daughter-
Year: 301 AL
Time period: 2 days
Characters: Alayne, Mya Stone, Petyr Baelish, Rickon Stark, Robert Arryn,
The OC's will not be playing any big parts in the story and will appear as rarely as it is possible- since I really try to avoid creating them.
The next chapter is to be Arya's.