A/N: Welcome back to the second installment! This is a bit wordier and it's just a set-up chapter but I actually love it a lot. Hope you guys don't find it too boring!

You can also find additional content on my tumblr blog, whistlingwillows.

Alysanne

265 AC, Whiteholt

The bells tolled. It was a quiet morning before then, the air frigid and numbing. Summer snow melts soaked the dirt floors of the wolfswood. The crows flocked to the evergreens around the Ryder's seat of Whiteholt, a modest castle with few peasants but one that was tight knit. So, when the bells tolled, all knew the meaning.

Jeyne Ryder had gone into labour.

Lord Corban, three years into his Lordship since the passing of his father and brother, held his sixteen-moon old son in his arms as the midwives rushed into their chambers and shut the door behind them. It was rumored the birth was easy but long, lasting from dawn to near before dusk. The people crowded around the keep's walls, talking amongst themselves as they wondered.

Girl or boy? Black hair or blonde? What would they be like?

All the same, they knew when the bells continued to ring past dusk that it was important. It meant a girl. The firstborn girl to House Ryder. Ever since they'd been casted from their ancestral seat in the Rills, there were conflicting reports on what and how it had happened. The truth was no one was left alive from the Age of Heroes. The truth was House Ryder — Lord Corban — needed a daughter. And everyone knew she'd be sold by livestock.

The poor girl, they'd say one day.

After a sennight, when it was determined the baby was healthy and well enough to survive, Lord Corban, Lady Jeyne, Maester Branfield and the first little lord, Jaxar, stood in the courtyard of Whiteholt. Peasants milled into the open grounds and most pushed to the front where they could see.

There was a feast that night. The liege lord, Lord Rickard Stark, arrived with his sons, Brandon and Eddard, and began conversation with Lord Corban while his wife spoke to a glowing Lady Jeyne and all would remember the night for years to come. It was perhaps the happiest day Whiteholt would experience. The Ryswells did not bicker with the Ryders, and the Starks and the Boltons did not stare testily over their roast mutton.

They named their child Alysanne, after Black Aly. Lord Corban prayed that she would grow up to be like her, dutiful and proud. He needed her to be his little lady.

"What are you thinking, Corban?" Lord Stark murmured in his ear and he turned to his old friend. He couldn't remember the last time he had a spat with his liege lord. Perhaps during the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

"Nothing that matters." He waved away the matter and forced a smile, only to meet his lady wife's gaze. How happy she looked would be ingrained in his mind forever, holding her first daughter. Lady Jeyne was his sweetest love but to hold a little daughter…

He knew that his heart belonged to little Alysanne. But it couldn't be. If he loved his daughter as he wanted, he'd never let her leave. Vengeance was sweeter than love.

"Are you sure?" Lord Rickard pressed, setting down his cutlery. "You've barely touched your food and we both know how big of a stomach you've got."

"What are your thoughts on a betrothal, Rickard?" An array of emotions flooded Rickard's face, from confusion to surprise to a state of neutrality. "Bran, or Ned, it makes no difference for me."

"Corban, she's only a sennight old—"

"Aye, it's best to start young." A hard expression fixed itself on Lord Stark's face and he glanced over his shoulder to see Lady Lyarra holding Ned in her lap, Bran and Jaxar babbling to each other over some nonsense only they could understand. Corban fixed his gaze on his face, determined not to falter.

"And Jaxar? Who will you wed him off to?"

"Jaxar's my heir," Corban said stiffly and he stared into his mead before taking a long pull from the silver goblet. "I'll need someone to sit on the Rills when I've taken it back." Rickard's mouth twitched and Corban wondered for half a moment if he would slap him. But the moment was gone and Lord Stark gestured for more ale. "Well?"

"We'll discuss it later."

"Rickard—"

"I said later." His tone gave no room for any more talk of it but there was a moment when he saw a flicker of interest in the Warden of the North's gaze.

.

273 AC, Whiteholt

Alysanne once asked her father why she had to marry someone she didn't even know. He told her all he wanted was her to be happy.

"I can see a good man from miles, little filly," he said as he walked her to her lessons.

She loved her father so. He taught her how to ride early, and how to train a horse, how to care for one. He employed tutors from the South who knew everything about court and being a lady. Her mother was there too, being Southborn herself, but her father always had her best interests at heart. Her father would praise her for being his little lady, Jaxar his little lord.

When Mya Ryder was born, Alysanne found herself in the same position as three years before when her baby brother was born. Mya was a loud baby, one that took all of her mother's attention, and whilst she did her best, Alysanne's younger brother was often left alone. So she did what she could to help ease the burden.

She fed and clothed Cregan every morning, who by then was learning how to read and write while her mother doted on her newest daughter. She turned her cheek when she heard her parents arguing, reading Mya back to sleep when she'd woken up from the screams. She pretended not to notice when her mother dismissed her or when her father would take Cregan outside for the day to watch his eldest son. She ignored the concern of her tutors when they would glance at the dark circles under her eyes and advise her to rest. It was an aching feeling in her heart that kept her up, not her brother and sister.

In the months following Mya's birth, Alysanne lay in her bed, eyes staring blankly at the wall as she heard her father wish her little sister good dreams every night and then passed her room without so much as a pause.

Her tutors were enough for her. It had to be. She learnt how to sing and dance and play the harp, embroider and sew. She memorized all the houses and their mottos and their colours. She read every single book in the library — the history of Essos and Westeros, of the houses and of the Dothraki. She taught herself languages she didn't need to know, and then taught them to Cregan until he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

Alysanne sat primly, straight-backed and with a gentle arch to her neck. She read poetry and rode through the wolfswood when one of the peasant girls wanted to. She walked amongst her people with her septa and rode out to the farms in the riverlands nearby, buying their bread and giving them her blessings from her father.

She was the perfect lady. It was what she was born to be. And it was what she thought Mya would be — after all, her father used to come to her room and kiss her goodnight before Mya was born.

So she didn't understand, when they were both older, why her father looked the other way when the youngest daughter picked up a sword.

.

275 AC, Winterfell

It was when Alysanne was ten did she meet her betrothed. In her finest pale grey wool and furs, she rode into Winterfell full bridle as she was taught since she was young and atop her first partner mount. Rhaenys, black as sin with the temper of a sweet filly, rode strong through the wolfswood. Completely undaunted by the howls of wolves, the host of Ryder men and Lord Ryder's daughter travel hard and arrived outside the gates.

They rode into the courtyard, dismounting easily and Alysanne pushed herself forward, her father's words drilled in her head. Eddard Stark was only two years her senior yet still he looked much older. He was long of face, with dark grey eyes that stared at her openly. Curtsying, she did her best to make herself seem as graceful as possible.

He offered to show her to her rooms. On the way, it was mostly quiet and Alysanne looked to her feet, not knowing what to say.

"I'm honored to meet you, my lord," she said.

"And I you, my lady." He nodded, sullen and Alysanne swallowed. All the good that did, she thought moodily. She had imagined this day for weeks, thought of how Eddard Stark would sweep her off her feet as her father had promised. This… was not it. She scowled for a moment before remembering that her father once warned her for scowling.

"It'll line your face. Your lord husband won't like a wrinkled lady."

She had promised to herself she'd never scowl again, so she settled for glaring at the stone and out the window where summer snow lined the sills while she pasted a pretty smile on her face. Her arm was looped through Eddard's, but it was loose as she could allow and their footsteps echoed down the halls and up the stairwell. When she finally arrived to her rooms, she retracted her hand as quick as was appropriate.

"Thank you, my lord," she said quickly once he opened the door for her. "I'll see you at supper." Entering the room, she turned to close the door when Eddard's grey gaze caught hers. She started for a moment to find a hint of warmth and he offered a small smile.

"I will see you at supper."

"Alright." She went to close the door but her gaze found his again. "Is there something you need?"

"And you look nice, my lady."

Alysanne smiled.

.

278 AC, the Wolfswood

Alysanne received Eddard's first letter shortly after, and after encouraging from Septa Margrave, she wrote back.

Then, another letter came. Alysanne sent one back, and soon they were exchanging letters every week. He was well-spoken and polite, and witty. His stories from the Eyrie with Robert Baratheon almost always painted him as an exasperated caretaker for the Baratheon heir, and before long, gifts accompanied his letters. One was a beautiful shard of a rock, shining black with rippling grey and white streaks, that reflected the candle light and sat at her desk. He said it reminded him of her. Obsidian, he called it. Another was feathers from when him and Robert went hawking and he had caught a young snowy owl. He wrote that he thought it would look nice against her hair. She sewed the feathers around the collar of her newest dress.

Her betrothal had the unintended symptom of earning the admiration of the little Lyanna and newly born Benjen Stark. Lyanna followed her around, pestering her with questions about riding and horses, and Alysanne found herself caring for little Benjen as she had for her youngest siblings. Her visits to Winterfell were often, even if Eddard wasn't there. Father always said that it was important to build a foundation with a husband's family.

She was thirteen when she met Brandon Stark.

She didn't know what she expected but he was all she never knew from Eddard. Tall, broad and handsome, the boy had a loud laugh and a rakish smile. When he spoke, it was with the rough edge of stone and his grey eyes were alight with passion. He was nothing like Eddard, with his strong jaw and blacksmith hands.

Ned, she reminded herself. In his last letter to her, Eddard implored her to call him Ned. They were close enough for that now — good friends. It had been three years since they met, she reminded herself.

She was riding Rhaenys in the wolfswood, Benjen and Lyanna Stark pulled in a wagon behind her when they first spoke. Up ahead, Brandon Stark and his father spoke while Jaxar spoke to Vayon Poole and Rodrik Cassel. Alysanne lifted her head to the breeze, only half-listening to whatever Lyanna was babbling on about. In times like these, she felt something within her lift.

"By the way you ride, full bridle and all, you must be a Ryder."

Lowering her head, she turned to the voice beside her, unable to stop staring into Brandon Stark's eyes the moment their gazes met.

"I am Alysanne Ryder, my lord."

"Ah, you're Ned's lady." Brandon had a large, toothy smile with the beginnings of a beard growing on his jaw. "I've heard a lot about you."

"And I you," she replied, sitting straighter. Poor posture leads to an unattractive lady, her father's voice chastised. "It's an honour to meet you."

"It is nice to put a face to the name I've read about in letters. It's an injustice we've gone so long without meeting, especially when we're to be family soon." Smiling, Alysanne shifted her reins to one hand and placed the other into Brandon's outstretched hand. His lips brushed against her gloved knuckles before he straightened up again. He did not let go afterwards.

"Ned seldom mentions you. That is the true injustice here," she replied, trying to ignore the hot, squirming feeling in her stomach.

"A wound to my pride and my heart, my lady!" he exclaimed. "I'm indeed the greatest man you'll ever meet." Arching an eyebrow, Alysanne looked ahead. His stare bore into her cheek, and a smirk flickered across her face. She retracted her hand to her reins once more.

"Because there are no men like you."

"Aye, there is only me."

Rolling her eyes, Alysanne turned back to check Lyanna and Benjen were still safely seated in the wagon before facing forward again.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've heard tales of you from my brother, my lord," she said and Brandon Stark wrinkled his nose, looking a child compared to a man of age.

"I hope he told you about how I beat him into the dirt." Brandon sounded a bit miffed, and she let out a small laugh. Alysanne could still recall the day a few moons back when Jaxar had returned, flushed and sweat-slick, but beaming from ear-to-ear for having beaten Brandon Stark on a track by the Rills.

"He called you a great rider. He was only better," she said and Brandon Stark cracked a smile at that.

"I expect you're the same. One filly cannot ride better than the other when they are raised in the same pen." Brandon turned to his younger siblings, smiling unlike how he smiled at some of the wenches in Winterfell. Alysanne told herself she both didn't mean to notice nor did she care. Following his gaze, she saw Lyanna had climbed up, holding Benjen in her arms.

"You should tell Alysanne about the time—"

"Sit. What did I say about standing while we're moving?" scolded Alysanne. "You will fall and crack your head right open."

"Then stop riding," Lyanna mumbled but she sat again and Brandon chuckled. Alysanne flushed at the soft sound, so different from raucous laughter she had heard often and when she met his eyes, they crinkled from his smile.

"Perhaps we should race, when the time allows us to."

"My lord father doesn't like me—" Her voice stuttered, and the handsome lord cocked his head. His smile grew arrogant once again, but there was a touch of something else in his gaze.

"Well, when your lord father hears it was to please me, then he'll think otherwise," said Brandon Stark and Alysanne could not help the blush that spread through her cheeks.

.

Brandon Stark rode with her back to Whiteholt a sennight later. They raced most of the way, his lumbering chestnut against Rhaenys. Alysanne could not recall laughing so loud in her father's proximity but there she was, a dark blur as Brandon Stark raced after her. Stopping by a stream on the border of the Rills, Alysanne dismounted with a heaving breath, hair stuck to her sweat-slicked skin. Pulling as many strands as she could free, she sunk to her knees. Somehow, her father had been persuaded to allow breeches and a tunic for the ride back. Actually, Septa Margrave had said he insisted.

She knew it was Brandon Stark's doing. The boy crouched beside her, splashing cold water into his face and she smiled at how he gasped like a fish out of water.

"I never congratulated you, my lord," she said, running her hands through the streams she grew up swimming in. The currents were cold by Whiteholt, but still and she remembered racing Jaxar from one end to the other. It was one of the few things her father let her do with her brother.

"On what?"

"Your engagement. It was announced rather recently, wasn't it?" she asked. Brandon Stark's smile immediately waned and Alysanne felt something in her deflate. She hadn't meant to tread onto a subject he misliked. "I hear Lady Catelyn is beautiful."

"Aye, I suppose. We've met only once, but Father says I should ride down to Riverrun. Make myself acquainted. And you? What are your thoughts on Ned?"

"Your brother is kind," she said truthfully. "He's quiet and courteous, not at all like you." She placed a hand over her mouth. The words came out wrong, all wrong, and when Brandon Stark looked to her, eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together. Eyebrows knitting together, she averted her gaze.

"I haven't been courteous?"

"That's not what I meant, my lord." At all.

"Then, I haven't been kind."

"My lord, I only meant you are louder than he is." Embarrassment flared across her face and made a strange sweat gather on the back of her neck as she waited for his response.

A pause. Then, Brandon Stark threw back his head in a laugh. The boisterous sound rattled in Alysanne's chest and she let out a relieved sigh before continuing, "He's very polite, and he brings me gifts from the Eyrie." Turning back to the running river, she sat down. Night was falling fast and although they were close to Whiteholt, she could hear her father making orders to set up camp.

"That's Ned. He wants to treat his lady with gifts and such. He's coming back soon, did you know? For his name day and the beginning of another summer year."

"I did, my lord." He'd written about it in his last letter.

"Then, it appears we'll be seeing each other sooner than we'd hoped." The smile he gave her made Alysanne forget about all of it. Her family, Ned. For the rest of the ride, Brandon Stark rode beside her and his eyes did not stray away. The attention made her warm and loved, and she asked him if they could perhaps begin writing to one another.

"Even better," he said, "I'll visit you."

At the gates of Whiteholt, he presented her with a winter rose. When she thought about her life at Winterfell, one that brought her to that huge castle with Ned and the children she'd have with him, she looked to the rose and felt the leather of Brandon Stark's glove when their fingers had brushed.

.

279 AC, Winterfell

At Ned's name day feast, Northmen proved that they weren't always stoic and silent. The Greatjon roared as he drank, laughing until his face was blood red while the Karstarks sang some Northern song, the words so slurred none could tell what it was. Alysanne sat beside her brother, who wanted nothing more than to join in the festivities. Jaxar sang and drank and joked, eating as much as a growing boy could. Alysanne, on the other hand, did just the opposite. She drank one mug of mead, and paced herself through her courses, as a lady should.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Of course, my lord," she replied to whoever sat to her right. She stabbed half-heartedly at the poached rabbit. Ever since she arrived, she had blocked out all that occurred around her. Festivities never appealed to her. Too much eating and drinking and trouble, was all she knew. And Southron celebrations were worse, if her mother was to be believed.

"Ned, remember."

Turning to the voice, her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

"Ned! Ned, I hadn't even realized."

"You've been in a state since the feast started," he said, his eyes alight with concern. "Are you feeling unwell?"

"No, no! I just… I don't like feasts or festivities. It won't be a problem when we're married, I assure you." Don't complain, her father chastised and Alysanne brought a slice of rabbit to her mouth. "I will learn to love them."

"You don't have to worry about such a thing, Alysanne. If you want to leave—"

"No, it's alright. It's your name day, Ned. I'll stay." She gave him a smile and the thoughtful crease on his forehead disappeared, replaced by one of his own small smiles.

"Alright, but you are free to leave."

Her smile stiffened as he turned back to his own plate. Her father would never let her leave before the night's through. It wouldn't be proper, to leave her betrothed's name day feast. She knew that. Glancing down the table, she saw her father speaking to her mother, the ever present smile on his face and then looked to her own plate. At least they were getting along tonight.

Her elder brother slammed an empty goblet down too heavily and she winced when her plate rattled, if not for the fact that her head pulsed with every sound then for the fact that it meant Jaxar was drunk.

"And now, dessert!" Jaxar wiped at his mouth, a sated smile upon his lips. "Come on, Aly, smile! Look at all the beautiful girls."

"Jaxar, if I have to dig you out of some girl's bed, I won't be very happy," Alysanne warned as they cut the pies and served the slices first to the host lords. Thanking the server, she picked up her fork and gently pushed it through flakey crust and warm berry compote. "If anything, Father will blame me for not keeping you in line."

"Who's the older one here, Aly?" he asked, winking at some girl across the room. Alysanne was sure the girl fainted. "I'll be back before morning, that I promise."

"One you've failed to keep before. I suppose it's up to me to bring Cregan and Mya to bed, then." When Jaxar didn't respond, either too drunk to or too busy flirting with the girl he winked at, Alysanne continued eating her pie, finishing it with water to clear and cool her head.

"Aly, I think she likes me!"

"All the girls love you, Jaxar," Alysanne replied, leaning over to kiss her stupid older brother's drunken head. "I'll find you before sunrise." Tapping Ned on the arm, she leaned in close to whisper, "I'm to take my siblings up. They need rest."

"Alright." He blushed easily, she noted, but she couldn't tell if it was the beer or how close she was to him. "I'll save you a dance, my lady." He kissed her knuckles and she stood, pushing her chair back. Walking to where her parents sat, she extended her arms for Mya. Her father gave her a nod, lifting his youngest daughter as his mother coaxed Cregan out of his chair. Shifting Mya to one arm, Alysanne offered her free hand to Cregan. The little blond boy shook his head, dusty hair falling over his blue eyes.

"Let's go."

"But, I want to stay!" Cregan protested, crossing his arms and sitting down with a slouch.

"Cregan, go." Mother's eyes narrowed but Cregan didn't seem to listen, clutching onto his chair as their mother tried to yank him off. "You must sleep. You've an early ride tomorrow."

"I don't want to go! I want to stay here."

Alysanne bent down to his height, brushing hair away from his flushed face. He looked close to tears and she sighed. Despite how heavy her heart weighed, she pasted on the kindest smile she could in the ruckus of the hall.

"Do you want to come see the stars? I have a new book on astrology that Septa Margrave gave to me." Cregan's eyes, blue as oceans, flickered from Alysanne to their mother, before he nodded. Smiling at her brother, Alysanne helped him down the high table's steps and down the center of the hall.

Murmuring her greetings to all the lords who cared to greet her, she made sure they knew she were to return.

The air outside was fresh and cold, clean with the smell of evergreen and peat. Alysanne never minded the smell of the stables or nature, and she paused outside, despite how the wind nipped at her arms. Cregan hugged closer to her, staring up at the stars and the moon.

She crouched down to be his height, and kissed his temple.

"This will be your view every night at Highgarden, Cregan," Alysanne whispered. "And you'll make many new friends. Won't you like that?"

"I want to stay here, with you," Cregan whimpered, and she sighed, stroking his head. "Why do I have to go South?"

"Because Father said so."

"Why?"

"Because… because you want to be a knight, don't you? They've come all this way to bring you to the Reach and you wouldn't want it to be for naught. You'll love it there, I swear it," she promised and Cregan sniffed, sucking in his tears. Wiping the stray ones away, she glanced at Mya in her arms who was still sound asleep. "Remember what I read to you last night? The fruits there are so sweet, and the flowers in bloom — it must be wonderful."

"But, I don't want to go."

"Sometimes, people don't care what you want." Her smile flickered when her brother looked to her, eyebrows knitting together. "Sometimes, they just want you to do what they want. And sometimes you have to, because you can't do anything else."

"What about when you can?" he asked.

"You'll do anything to make some people happy, even if you know you shouldn't."

"Aly? Are you happy?"

Her smile turned bitter but she prayed Cregan couldn't tell the difference. With his wide, doe-like eyes, she could not speak anything but the truth. "I love you very much. You make me very happy, and I'll be sad to see you go."

"Then, I won't go!" he exclaimed. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"You have to. You'll be a big strong knight one day. Won't you like that?" There was a long pause where Cregan ran over her words before nodding reluctantly. "Then, you must go, even if it makes me sad. Do you want to look at the stars a bit longer?"

"Yes, please."

"And promise me something, Cregan."

"Anything!"

"You're blessed to be able to do whatever you wish. Don't squander this chance to go to the Reach."

"But, Aly—"

"Promise me."

"I… I promise."

Nodding, she stood and told him to tell her when he got cold. Mya sat up and Alysanne wrapped her sister closer, trying to keep her warm. Walking to the guest house, she replayed the words she had spoken to her brother over and over in her head. The wind was getting even to her and she shuddered, an exhale passing her lips. When Cregan ran back to her, she opened the door and put them to bed, with Septa Margrave keeping watch over Mya in case anything would happen in the night.

The wind was just as cold as she left it and Alysanne stood in the center of the courtyard, admiring the stone walls and the red leaves that peaked over the walls surrounding the weirwood. This is to be my home, she thought, my children will run in this courtyard, and train with their swords and bows. She turned to stare at the tower where she had most often stayed with Lyanna. That is where they'll learn to knit and sew and everything else a lady needs to learn. This will be my life. Hosting feasts and making babies. The thought alone caused her face to burn and she chased the thought away. She was four-and-ten. She only bled for the first time a moon ago. And Father will be happy. He'll have the backing of our liege lord. He'll be happy — I'll have made him happy. The thought alone made her want to cry.

"You'll freeze, standing out here."

She whipped around, startled, only to see Brandon Stark exiting the Great Hall. A cloak was in his arms and he draped it around her shoulders with a slight smile, adjusting it on her shoulders.

"Lord Brandon," she mumbled, curtsying clumsily under the heavy cloak. Fur tickled at her cheek and she tried to stop herself from shivering. Her fingers were numb. She hadn't even realized.

"Why aren't you at the feast?" he asked as she clutched the cloak tighter around herself. Neither moved. Alysanne wasn't eager to go back in there.

"I was bringing my siblings to their quarters, my lord."

"And that includes flouncing around the courtyard in nothing but a dress?" His tone softened despite his harsh words and he made sure that she looked at him. They bathed in the warm glow that spewed through open doors and Alysanne thought that the golden light of the candles made him look very noble. "Why are you truly out here?"

"I was admiring what is to be my home, my lord." She pasted on that pretty smile and his grin melted away. "This is where my children will grow up, where my daughters will learn how to sew and sing and read as I did, where my sons will learn how to fight."

"Tell me truth, girl," he murmured. Her mouth made the moves but not a word slipped from her lips. Inhaling sharply, she closed her eyes and exhaled, trying to hold in the shivering that ran up her spine.

"Your brother, he's all I could ever ask for. He's kind, and gentle, and intelligent. I mean it in no offence to him," she began, unable to stop the wavering in her voice. It was not from the cold. "But… I can't love him."

Grey met grey, and Alysanne thought it curious that Ryders and Starks had the same grey eyes. Brandon Stark's eyes were the shade of storm clouds and mountains and wolves.

"And, why not?"

"All my life, I've been a shadow." Her eyes fell to the direwolf sigil on his vest. "You can't just tell someone to love someone else, and expect them to, when you've never taught them how to build it."

"You're unhappy."

"I am, my lord."

"And what would make you happy, Lady Alysanne?" His fingers brushed her chin and she looked down at the ground. His thumb caught the tears that slipped over her cheeks and she swallowed down the rest, despite the bruising sensation that blossomed in her throat.

"You shouldn't ask me that, my lord."

"Brandon," he amended, and he offered her his other hand.

"You shouldn't ask me that, Brandon."

"And, why not?"

She glanced uneasily at his hand. "I want my father and mother to see me. And I've no doubt you have many ideas on how to do that." A nervous laugh ended her sentence as she slotted her fingers into his grasp. The hand on her face cupped her face so her gaze did not stray.

His smile returned. "I've a few. Don't you think we ought to find out what makes you happy?" His tone was light and when she met his eyes, she found nothing but warmth. He led her to the Great Hall and took his cloak from her shoulders, smiling all the while. When the dances began, Alysanne made sure to dance with Brandon Stark enough times to rival the number of dances shared with Ned. Her father noticed, she hoped, for every time Brandon Stark met her eyes, they screamed defiance.

When the night was near its end and the sun was beginning to rise, Brandon Stark came out to see her and her family off. He kissed her knuckles and promised to visit her often to begin their plan. When she arrived back at Whiteholt, she found the winter roses in bloom.

.

The months passed. Brandon Stark, Alysanne realized, was not a liar. He'd bring her little gifts, necklaces and bracelets, flowers under the guise that Ned had sent them. She kept every single one.

When her name day approached, Alysanne watched the peasants mill around the feast. She knew most of their names. Gerard and Duncan, Duncan's little baby girl who was born a few moons ago, and Lilith and Polliver who had just gotten married. The cobbler who used to make all her shoes before he had gotten old and now his son made shoes for her. The farmers and their wives and daughters and sons, who had made the feast possible. All of them were faces she grew up with and she greeted every single one as they came into the yard. The bells tolled from dawn till dusk when the Starks arrived.

Ned kissed her hand and gave her flowers he picked along the way, his mother gave her new dresses, and Brandon…

Alysanne had never kissed a boy before. When the rest of Whiteholt was asleep and her guilt was hidden by the shadows of night, a drunken Brandon Stark kissed a drunken Alysanne under the weirwood. She never kissed a boy until then. Not even Ned, but she decided that she liked Brandon Stark's kiss much more than she thought she should. Half of her knew it was because her father would lose his mind, knowing she had kissed the wrong Stark boy.

He whispered against her mouth that he hoped his plan was working.

She told him as her hands sneaked into his hair that it was.

The morning after, she gave Ned a smile and kissed his cheek good morning, as a good lady should do with her betrothed. The guilt returned, glaring at her in full daylight.

Brandon Stark and Alysanne did not speak for the rest of his stay.

A/N: Thank you for the followers and favorites so far! As always, review!