War has come and gone and come again. Targaryen royalty has returned; Dorne has allied with the Dragon Queen. As has the North, for a promise of help against the Others. The Mother of Dragons is a formidable force, indeed.

Alayne is fascinated. As Arianne's paramour and one of her advisors, she has a place with the Dornish court. The last Targaryen certainly is impressive to behold up close. Alayne knows a little of her story: orphaned, in the care of a mad, violent brother, sold for an army, but victorious. Always victorious in the end. Daenerys is strong, and life has made her stern, but Alayne sees something of a kindred spirit in her.

Daenerys Stormborn is gorgeous, too. Designing Dornish clothing for her, a gift from the House Martell, is a true privilege. Alayne works with cream silks, pearls and gold, with emerald cloth and copper thread, with blood red and dramatic black. It is easy to create for someone so striking, and the dragons have given her inspiration.

Arianne jests that maybe Alayne will leave her for more high-born pastures still, but there is no risk of that. Alayne is perfectly content with Arianne. They have a passion between them that she hadn't even fathomed before, and through Arianne she has cousins to spoil, and the female friendship she has come to crave, all in the Sand Snakes.

Alayne is surprised at first when she is invited to the council of Queen Daenerys. Alayne has been in Arianne's confidence from the beginning, but this is acknowledgement she hadn't dared hope for, acknowledgement she isn't even sure she wanted. It turns out that she has perspectives on the other six kingdoms (from that miserable life-never-lived) that the others lack. She knows something of all the Houses Paramount, and many more noble Houses besides, and is familiar with the layout of King's Landing, the Vale and the North.

It is Alayne who tells of the treachery of the Freys and their connection with the Lannisters, for all they are a Riverlander house. Alayne also offers insight into the Vale, and its new Lord, Petyr Baelish. She cautions of King's Landing and wildfire, as well as the cunning but also decency of Tyrion Lannister. And she confirms the scope and the harshness of the North, with the onset of Winter. It truly is that vast and unhospitable.

They listen to her. Even the Queen and her retinue listen to her. Alayne knows that Arianne vouches for her, but in the face of her youth, her bastard surname, it seems inexplicable they should believe that she truly has the knowledge she shares with them. (How could they even suspect?) Some of the knowledge, of Houses, of geography, is simply the domain of the Lord Paramount's daughter that Sansa was. Arianne might guess part of it, though she has kept their pact and asked no questions just as Alayne has strived to be as honest as she can. The sharper secrets and details are even more unfathomable Alayne should know, for they are the fruit of a life-not-lived.

Strange to think of Targaryen, Martell and Stark brought together again. Hopefully their entanglements will be less bloody this time around. For the Starks are coming to Dorne. They are after all the last part of the alliance.

For Alayne, Robb Stark's impending arrival is sheer terror. Maybe Sansa's death and Alayne's different manners and status in life will protect her from discovery, but she dares not think that. The face that looks back at her from the mirror is too similar to her Lady Mother's, even if it wasn't for her Tully red hair.

Alayne toys with the idea of doing her red mane up in scarves, of changing the shape of her eyes with heavy kohl. She could start a new fashion. She is a beautiful woman with a position at court, if she were to artfully cover her hair with brilliant silk, other women would soon follow. But she will not. When she had first woken in the body of a child, she had run as far and as fast as she could. But now, if those who could recognise her come to Dorne, well, then she will hide no more than she already does.

So. The time for hiding has come to an end. Maybe her relationship with Princess Arianne Martell will be enough protection, maybe not. If it isn't, if she is forced North to be sold for an alliance, then she already knows that she can make it out. If she did it once, she can do it again. Time has only made her wiser and stronger. Alayne has trading contacts in Essos, and valuable skills. She can make her way, make a new life for herself and her maid and first Dornish friend, Doree. She truly loves Arianne, but if they will be separated anyways, then Alayne will fight for her independence to the last. With any luck it will not come to that, though.

"I was born Sansa Stark."

Difficult conversations seem easier after dark, hidden away in their bed, Alayne has found. So is the case this time, too. Arianne just looks at her, silent.

"Was it what you thought?" Alayne asks.

"No," Arianne replies. "No, with hair like that I had thought of the Riverlands. Maybe a natural born daughter of the Blackfish. Or from a minor house in the North, for your accent. Or, well, even a house in the Vale, since you seem so familiar with it, a runaway trueborn daughter. Well, you are that. But a Stark? Daughter of a Lord Paramount? Hardly." Arianne pauses. "The last Stark maid to come to Dorne didn't fare well."

That is true. Lyanna Stark died.

"Dorne was as far as I could get without going to Essos. And I had heard that women were valued here. I have since found it to be true," Alayne says.

"But what hurt you so, to make you run? What allies will we have from the North?" Arianne looks stern. "I had thought the Starks to be honourable, but anyone who would drive a young maid like you to flee like that, my flame... We need the alliance, but I need to know if we should post extra guards, or if I should try for vengeance."

"It isn't like that! No! I mean it Arianne," Alayne says vehemently. She catches, and holds Ariannes gaze. "I'm a greenseer. I was born with the wolf blood, and I had dreams. I knew already before I came here that the old Hand would die. I knew of the Great Progress North. I knew that the Usurper's so called children were nothing but bastards born of incest, and that the oldest was a monster. And I knew what would happen if I stayed. Suffering, for me, and utter destruction for the Starks. I could not bear it, so I ran. The Starks didn't hurt me." (Lie. Or maybe, truth. This family didn't abandon her in a pit full of scorpions. Didn't all die.)

Something tickles Alayne's cheek. She wipes at it, and her hand comes away wet. Oh. She is crying. This is a conversation she never wanted to have. It has torn up all the old wounds, but she owes it to Arianne. The Northern delegation is set to arrive any day now, and if she is recognised as the dead Stark girl, House Martell cannot be caught unawares.

"Good. I'm glad it wasn't your family who hurt you," Arianne says lowly, tenderly, and embraces her. She presses a kiss to Alayne's temple, and then to her lips.

"So you're a greenseer? Is that how you know so much about the realm?"

"Yes," Alayne says. "It was as if I lived another life, one that I would not wish on my worst enemy. But nothing since that one dream. If the knowledge can benefit house Martell, I'm happy for it."

There are sails on the horizon. Alayne stands beside Arianne watching them grow ever closer. Soon she can see that the ship is flying the crowned direwolf of the King in the North. She clutches Arianne's hand in a white-knuckled grip, but the cold lump in her stomach only grows. What if she is recognised? What if she isn't?

/Edit to put in the line breaks that stupid ff-dot-net ate *sigh*