Ser Sweetrobin
by Hikako
"Alayne?" The soft voice called out into the still air of the bedchamber. It was night, well past midnight, and the only light in the room was the soft glow of a small fire in the hearth nearby. It was hard for someone with perfect eyesight to see clearly, and for the sickly child laying beneath the furs and blankets it might as well have been pitch black. For that Sansa was thankful, if Robert could see her tears he would get upset; tears always upset Robert especially when they were Sansa's.
"Alayne." Robert said once more, as Sansa slipped his small frail hand into her own, smiling a little at his use of her alias. He always insisted on using Alayne, no matter how many times she told him who she really was. At first she thought he was being his usual childish self but in a rare moment when she was forceful with him he simply smiled at her, took her hand, and said "You can be Sansa everywhere else. But for me you'll always be Alayne."
Soon, I will never be Alayne again.
"Sweetrobin." Sansa whispered gently, stroking his hand and wrist with her own, trying in some futile effort to keep the blood flowing in his veins. Sansa heard him moan in pain as he tried to swallow and wet his parched throat, as much as she wished she could give him water the maester had said that even a small sip could choke him. "Tell me... a story..." Robert forced out from between his dry and cracked lips. For a moment Sansa was swept away on a torrent of memories to a time when she truly was Alayne Stone, telling stories about great knights and heros to a little boy who was Lord of the Eyrie, all the while trying to keep him from nuzzling between her breasts too much. The tears pouring down her face she couldn't hold back but when she spoke it was with a carefree tone she knew he would respond to, without a hint of the grief that wracked her body. "And what would my little lord care to hear about tonight? The Winged Knight again? You always loved those!"
"No..." he croaked out, pain lacing his voice as it cracked around the word. "Tell me about... Ser... Sweetrobin!" He drew a deep breath in, shuddering as he filled his lungs. "About the knight... I will be..."
The tears blurred her vision so badly Sansa couldn't even see where the hearth was, only a smudge of light that she looked into hoping to see a future for the child she had cared for and protected for several years. "Oh... well..." Sansa hmmed and haaed for a few seconds before beginning to weave her story. "Ser Sweetrobin was the bravest knight in all the Vale, some say in all the Seven Kingdoms, tall and handsome in his shining armor as he rode his snow-white stallion..."
On and on the story went: Ser Sweetrobin rode to battle alone against a hundred wicked tribesmen who threatened his castle and lady love, he ruled the Vale in a never-ending summer with justice and kindness, everyone loved him and crowds would gather and shout his name as he rode passed. Monsters from far beyond the Wall were tearing through the country and besting any knight who stood in their way, except for Ser Sweetrobin. Hours crept by and Sansa's voice strained under the stress she put it under, but she wouldn't stop: she couldn't stop, not until she had filled Ser Sweetrobin's life with adventures and stretched his life out into decades and possibly a century. Driven by a hope that if she could come up with such a fantastic story she could move the gods above and they'd make Robert's life equal to Ser Sweetrobin's.
Finally dawn crept through the windows filling the room with light, and Sansa realized her tears had long ago dried up as she surveyed the richly furnished room.