this is a disclaimer.
AN: collection of glimpses of a happyending!AU.
future's architectured
Truth to tell, Alayne had not meant for Baelish to die. It was really quite inconvenient, as his death had deprived her of a teacher and a protector at a time when she still had need of both those things. Nestor Royce had moved swiftly to consolidate his position as High Steward, and he was loyal enough to his Lord Robert... for now. Alayne had seen no other choice but to go to his solar one early morning while most of the keep was still abed and tell him, tearfully, the full truth of Robert Arryn's health.
That had been an unpleasant conversation. If Lady Waynwood's ward inherited the Eyrie, the fortunes of Lord Nestor might well go into a sudden steep decline, and he had not been slow in understanding that. Consequently, he had pledged his silence on the matter of Robert's health, and promised everything the little lord required to make him happy for the time being.
Alayne had been most relieved to have it confirmed that her continued presence, along with that of the new friends Robert had made in Lord Nestor's home, were among those things, even if one of those new friends was a kitchen maid's son. If Robert had decided he hated them... well, it hardly bore thinking about. Many things didn't, these days. She would have to go through Baelish's papers carefully once they returned to the Eyrie in summer to make sure that there was nothing there which might give her away. As yet, no one could even tell her if the man had made a will.
Really, it was most inconvenient that Baelish was dead.
But there, she thought and laid down her quill for a minute, pausing to massage her aching wrist. I had to do something. I don't know if I would have been brave enough to risk my head for Robert's life, but...
"S-Alayne, who are you writing to? Robert wants to build a snow-castle. And play with dolls. Alayne, I was too old to play with dolls when I was three."
"Never mind, sweetling," said Alayne gently, ruffling the boy's dark curls. He stood on tiptoe by her chair to look at the table-top and the letters scattered across the wood, blue eyes narrowed curiously. "We'll play-pretend the dolls are bad men who need taking away."
"You made him go away, you said."
"That's what big sisters do."
"Even Osha said you were incred-ble."
"Incredible. And thank you; that was a lovely compliment."
"You're welcome. So who are you writing to?"
"All kinds of people," said Alayne. "The Umbers. The Mormonts. The Glovers. Jon, at Castle Black. Everyone I can."
"I remember the Umbers," said Rick triumphantly. "Grey Wind bit the Greatjon's fingers off. If Shaggydog did that, he'd've been sent to the godswood."
Alayne smiled. One more line... there.
"Rick, can you read yet?"
He frowned. "Not much. I didn't like it."
"I'll teach you."
"But why..."
"Because I said so – hush now, don't sulk at me. You don't want to sulk like Robert, do you?"
Rick gave her a glare that told her he knew exactly what she was up to, comparing him with that milksop Robert. She bent over and hugged him, laughing.
"Here, you can help me seal them all and take them to the Maester."
She picked up the quill again and paused, looking down at the parchment.
The final step.
She signed her name with a flourish half-forgotten, and smiled again, relieved that she remembered that flourish, trembling that she'd dared it. Bitch! Baelish had choked out as his muscles cramped, his breathing stuttered to a halt. Bitch!
Wolf-bitch, she'd said, hands shaking, sick to her stomach with what she'd done, but her voice was surprisingly steady. You should not have forgotten it.
Lothor Brune had gone very pale when he had heard of Baelish's death, and looked at her instinctively, but to make accusations was to suggest motives for Baelish's murder, and Alayne was reasonably certain Lothor Brune had no intention of admitting to anyone that Baelish had been quietly plotting the killing of two small boys – one the Lord of the Eyrie, the other...
The other the Prince of Winterfell.
"See, I can read," said Rick. "Sansa Stark. And that's my name – Rickon – right there."
