A/N: Thank you for all the follows and favourites. This chapter is dedicated to aetherish who left the most wonderful and long review! I love long reviews so thank you so much for your kind words.

Alysanne

281 AC, Harrenhal

Alysanne had never seen so many people before. The only thing she ever though rivalled this was a feast held at Winterfell, when all Northerners came to celebrate. She couldn't remember the occasion, but she remembered it was the first time Jaxar hadn't come back by sunrise. But Harrenhal was similar in the fact that people loved being loud and raucous and sloppy.

Walking through the crowds, she swerved around squires and knights, lords and ladies as they all spoke to one another. Her eyes lifted to faces, she tried to find anyone she'd know. She'd rather see a Bolton than suffer through this mess like a blind mouse. Searching for the Stark flag, she felt completely surrounded and helpless.

Keeping her smile on, she nodded to lords and ladies who greeted her in passing, though she didn't know any of their names, and held her breath. The air was sticky and hot, smelling of sweat and mead, and stuck to her skin like oil. All she wanted was to dive into a river.

She could remember the first time she learnt how to swim. Her father had taken her and her brother into the streams that ran through the wolfswood and to the Rills' lakes. The currents were cold, numbingly so, and her father had been quick to teach them their first lesson. You need to keep moving, or you'll freeze.

Wading through the crowds, she tried to remember where she last saw a Stark. They'd arrived together and Brandon had pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before disappearing in the crowd. Ned said he'd find her later in the gardens right before, and Lord Rickard had been taken with some other man.

Stopping near a stall selling gambling stubs, she pretended to interest herself in them despite the stallkeeper's dubious gaze. Still, he prattled on about the rules and such, and Alysanne nodded before saying something about another time. She could barely hear herself over her surroundings.

Backing away, she tugged her skirts after her and pushed herself through a crowd where a firebreather was performing his tricks. There was a flash of direwolf grey and she raised her head just as someone bumped into her. Pushed aside, she tried to regain her balance only to collide with someone else. Ow.

"Lost, my lady?" A golden mane of hair was what caught her eye first, glowing in the summer sun before their eyes met. Jaime Lannister offered a hand, his green gaze inspecting her face. Probably racking his mind for my name, she mused as she slipped her hand into his.

"Ser Jaime, a thousand apologies." Her mother had told her of the Kingswood Brotherhood mere weeks before they departed, and of how the Lannisters had a knight for an heir. All of Tywin's cubs have spun hair for gold, and emeralds for eyes.

His lips pressed against her knuckles before he straightened up, flashing a smirk. "Now I'm at a loss. You know me yet I don't know you." His armour was as golden as his hair, almost hard on the eyes as it gleamed in the sun. A Lannister Lion emblazoned on his chest and a sword at his hip, Alysanne thought he looked quite the sight. But his smile…

Something about Jaime Lannister's smile made her feel like she was being held at knifepoint.

"Alysanne Ryder, my lord."

"Ryder, Ryder, I'm sure I've read that somewhere." He let go of her hand. "I must ask, do you need a knight's aid?"

"What gives you that impression?"

"You look…" He searched for the right word and she chuckled when he said, "disoriented." Offering his arm, he gestured to the crowd. She looped her own arm through and they set off at a walk.

"That's true," she admitted at last. "It's my first time south of the Neck. I've never seen quite so many people." But the crowd parted when they saw Jaime Lannister, and the women whispered to each other, sighing and fawning and pointing. Alysanne did her best to ignore it.

"You get used to it when you realize most of them barely have a thought of their own." Jaime patted her arm, making her look to him. "Are you hungry? I could bring you to a table."

"I was just looking for the gardens. My mother once told me Southern gardens are the most beautiful places and I've someone waiting for me there."

"Then that is where we'll go. Your mother. She's southern born?" Jaime asked as they wandered through the crowd.

"Yes, my lord. She was an Algood before she became a Ryder."

"An Algood? Small houses wedding small houses," he remarked and Alysanne rolled her eyes. "Well, Algood is sworn to the Lannisters. We are natural born allies."

"I suppose so. This could be a profitable relationship, Ser Jaime." She smiled at him then, and was taken aback by the cat-like intensity of his green gaze. He wasn't hard to look at at all. She just hadn't expected him to look so much like the young lion they called him.

"On that, I agree."

They passed Harrenhal's great walls and into the gardens just within where ladies were lounging around in the shade, catching up on their gossip and husbands and children. Alysanne spotted a tree with an unoccupied bench under its shadow and pointed it out to Jaime.

Once they'd reached her final destination, he let her slip from his arm and onto the stone bench. Sighing, she blinked away the sunglare and looked up at Jaime. His hair was beaten gold, even in the shade of the tree, but his eyes were darker as he took hold of her hand.

"My lady," he whispered, kissing her knuckles. "It was a pleasure."

"It was, my lord," she said. With that, he was off. Alysanne watched him go before turning to see two redhaired girls and a boy approach her. Putting on a smile, she rose as the eldest greeted her. By the way they dressed, in silks and elegant dresses for the girls and a collared coat for the boy, Alysanne guessed their station to be much higher than hers and began to curtsy when—

"We don't need to do that," the eldest said. Standing straight, Alysanne felt a flicker of confusion. Didn't Southrons love their fancy etiquette and rules?

"As you say." Alysanne looked from the taller redhead to the shorter. They had the same hair and bright blue eyes. Sisters. The taller one had a bright smile and she seemed not as uncomfortable as Alysanne had felt minutes earlier in the heat and crowds. Then again, festivities never were her sort of pastimes. Just as she was about to introduce herself, the taller of the two redheads opened her mouth again.

"I'm Catelyn Tully."

Alysanne felt her smile freeze. You, she thought. You're the one. Despite the twitching in her cheeks, she forced her smile to grow. You're the one Brandon has to marry. Because of your bloodlines, because of who your family is. She bowed her head in greeting instead of frowning, introducing herself and asking her to sit. You're who I wish I was. In Catelyn's eyes, Alysanne saw the future she wanted. She saw the waters of the Riverlands, the clear sky unblemished by clouds, the feathers of some bird in the forests. In Catelyn's eyes, Alysanne saw summer, and children, and pretty little birds. She did not see the shadow behind it.

.

Jaxar

Jaxar watched the prince sing, silver strings strummed by porcelain fingers as he ate his meal quietly. There was no raucous laughter when the heir to the Seven Kingdoms sang his pretty songs. He could hear some of the women crying and even a child crying somewhere. Alysanne sat beside him, poking half-heartedly at her sweet cake.

"I'd rather read every fable I know to Relena then suffer once this song is over," she had whispered during the first chorus. Of course, his dearest sister was quite taken by their newest little sibling, so it wasn't a shock. Still, Jaxar frowned sympathetically at her. Alysanne had never liked loud, crowded spaces. It gave her headaches and made her foul-tempered the next morning.

"Are you crying, Lyanna?"

Down the long table, Jaxar turned just in time to catch Lyanna tip her goblet over Benjen's head. The youngest Stark smirked, tongue flicking out to catch the droplets of wine. He was soaked to the skin in dark red, wine dripping through his dark hair as he mock-cried. Lyanna set her empty goblet down, eyes a bit red and runny though otherwise untouched, and glared daggers at her brother. Ned held his own smile while Brandon laughed, loudly.

The song was coming to its end and applause began before the last chord was strummed so even if any took offence to the heir of Winterfell's laughter, none could take up with him without shouting themselves hoarse over the applause.

"Thank the gods," Alysanne whispered underneath her breath. Jaxar stood, helping her up as Lord Walter Whent announced that the dances would begin shortly. Men and women were already knocking tables aside in favour to dance in the hall, but Jaxar simply took his sister's hand. Her eyes were closed shut but when he squeezed her palm, she opened them.

Jaxar and Alysanne, Alysanne and Jaxar. It was easy to see them in each other and be mistaken for twins. Both had the eyes of flint and steel, same as their father, impossibly hard as stone and soft as wool. Their hair, black as sin, dark against their milky faces, was oft tied up in their riding. That was when they looked most alike. When Jaxar looked to his sister, he saw nothing but a reflection of himself. He saw his twin, though they were born sixteen moons apart, and he saw his closest confidant. He saw the hand that held him up and the smile that lit up his bad days. He could read his sister like a book, and she the same for him. He could tell her anything and she'd welcome it with an open heart and mind. He would protect her against anyone. He'd promised himself this the first time their father caused tears to spring into his sister's eyes.

And he did, until their father ordered Alysanne to stay inside while Jaxar ran around outside, fighting and training. He could still see her in the tower of Whiteholt, the highest one, staring out the window to the horizon as the sun set somewhere far from where they were.

"You should go, retire early," he said quietly. "Father won't raise a ruckus in front of Southrons."

"He will later," she whispered, pulling him into a simple dance. "Besides, this is my first tourney. I can't miss out on it because I have a headache." Dubious, the young lord placed his other hand on Alysanne's hip and stepped in time to the music. "I'll be fine."

"You fare terribly at these sorts of things."

"And yet I've survived every single one." The words coming from her mouth made Jaxar truly inspect his sister. She was humming to herself, eyes drifting to the other dancing lords and ladies around her. She probably knew all their names and houses and words, and her eyes were wide with delight. There was a youth to her, then. "This is just like the songs," she whispered reverently. "Everything's so warm, and loud, and colourful. And there's knights and fair ladies—" Her smile grew when she saw someone over Jaxar's shoulder and he turned to look. There was only Robert Baratheon drinking with Ser Lonmouth, while Lyanna danced with some other man— "love and first sights.

"I wish Father took me on his trips," she said at last, looking just enough in a certain way that Jaxar felt his heart soar. All his life, he'd been travelling with his father down the Neck, to Southern cities for tourneys with their liege lords. She looked as he did once, starry-eyed and full of wonder. "Everything here is beautiful."

"I could ask Father to bring you more often."

"The South is brighter than the North," she admitted and he laughed. "But Mother needs help with Whiteholt and the children. Besides, Ned is of age. I'll want to go spend more time with him in Winterfell."

Father would like that. "You truly love him?"

Alysanne smiled and the light in her eyes died, replaced by something darker. She wasn't a girl any longer, yet still she was delighted by knights and flowers. "Well, I am marrying him," she said and Jaxar breathed out a sigh of relief. Not a girl, but a woman. With a husband she will love, he told himself, if only to assuage his own worries. "And you? Have you found your lady?"

"Not yet, though I'm sure Father will see to the end of that."

"The end of your night escapades sounds terrible," she whispered nefariously and he laughed as the song ended. Stepping away, Alysanne's eyes drifted off again and Jaxar turned, wondering what could possibly hold her attention.

"My lady, may I have this dance?"

Turning, Jaxar smiled at the lord and stepped aside. Sitting down again, he found himself next to Ned who was nursing his own mug of ale. He watched as his sister was swept into turns and steps the man lead her through. Her laugh was evident though he could not hear her, and he went to grab a mug of mead for himself. He'd drink easier if he knew she was enjoying herself.

"You aren't going to ask my sister for a dance?" he asked as some serving wench poured his cup full to the brim. Thanking her, Jaxar took a giant swig and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"She looks like she's preoccupied at the moment, and I'm not keen on interrupting her dance with Prince Lewyn," Ned remarked, although there was a sly blush across his cheeks. "She'll come to me when she's ready." Tapping the rim of his cup, Ned looked into his drink before setting it down. "Your father wants us to marry by year's end."

"So soon?" Jaxar felt the words slip out before he could stop them. It wasn't at all that he misliked Ned, but for his sister to be whisked off so soon. Jaxar didn't think he could take it, having her so far away.

"I wouldn't want you displeased with that," Ned said, eyes off to the distance. Jaxar scowled. Everyone seemed to be doing that in his presence. Was he that uninteresting?

"Alright, what is it?" Letting his mug drop harder than necessary, he whipped around to follow Ned's gaze. And then he understood.

There, speaking to Prince Oberyn Martell, was the most beautiful woman in the world. Jaxar had never seen a woman so breathtaking. She was the Maiden in flesh, with a long black river of hair, and a smile fit for the sun. The Prince spoke, and she hid her mouth behind a slim hand and all Jaxar wanted to do was push it down so he could take her in.

"Lady Ashara," he breathed at last. His eyes were stuck and he couldn't take them off the tall woman with violet eyes. "She's beautiful."

"Aye, she is," Ned said, tearing his eyes away from temptation herself. Jaxar, however, was not so strong-willed. She was wearing a long, drifting gown and silver in her hair. She was everything the whispers said and more. Going to stand, he felt his knees shake. "You should talk to her."

"Come with me."

"No, I'll wait here." Ned had a startling pink blush over his cheeks and Jaxar laughed. "You go."

"Are you scared of the Lady Dayne?" Turning, Jaxar's smile grew when he saw who it was. "Come, little brother. Let me introduce you."

"Brandon—" Ned tried to protest but already Brandon hauled his brother off the bench and towards the now alone woman. Ned frowned all the way but Jaxar couldn't care less. His eyes were only for the slim woman standing in the candlelight.

For a moment, their eyes met. Bewitched by haunting purple eyes, he tried to speak words she'd never hear before Brandon's unceremonious shove of Ned in her direction made her look away. Brandon's laughter echoed in his ears as he spoke to her on Ned's behalf, so clearly drunk.

Beautiful, he thought with a dreamy sigh.

That night, he dreamt of the tall towers far away and purple sunsets above the Dornish sea he'd never seen.

.

Jaime

Jaime's anger was a ferocious beast. It slept warmly by his heart, a fiery thing, but when awoken, every part of him was set aflame. With one last forlorn glance at the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, he marched across the fields. It was cool with a slight wind, but Jaime didn't feel any of it as he stormed outside the gate. His tent wasn't far, but he wondered why he even bothered to pack one.

Then, he remembered that he thought he was important enough, good enough to the King to stay. Instead, he was being sent away like a bad cat all because his father's petty feud with the King. The thought caused a scowl to mar his face as he entered his tent. His horse had whinnied a response from his water trough, but the newly named Kingsguard ignored him.

The honour soured by old men who couldn't figure things out like the supposed grown men they were. I hope I never grow up to be a man like them. Jaime threw the blanket he'd been rolling up aside with a furious shout. Valiance neighed in response, as if mirroring his rider's mood, but Jaime only felt rage for everything and everyone.

"Shut up!" he yelled through the tent's thin barriers. Still, Valiance snorted back at him, pawing the ground or stomping or something. He was making noise and Jaime reached for his sword. With a sharp slash, the boy screamed again, "Shut up! Or I'll cut your head off!"

Quiet.

A bitter taste flooded his mouth and he dropped his sword. He thought the proudest day of his life was being knighted by his hero on the battlefield, but when he'd heard the crowds scream for him, heard them cheer and sing, he knew that day was no comparison. Until tonight. He'd take the shit-smelling battlefield over the flowers and crowds if it meant it was real.

"Hello?" a tender voice called out and Jaime paused from where he'd been shoving his clothes into his bags. "Are you alright?"

For a moment, he debated between screaming again, falling silent, and simply poking his head out to see who it was. He didn't quite feel like showing his face to someone important, knowing they'd heard him lose his temper. His father wouldn't like hearing about that.

"It was quite the scream," the voice continued and he realized it was a girl. What girl's important enough for me to stay in here, Jaime thought. It was probably a serving girl, or some other lowborn. Everyone else had to be at the feast.

"I'm fine," he called back with a sigh.

"Ser Jaime?"

Fuck. Getting up, he poked his head out of his tent to see a girl standing there. She wore a cloak and a hood over her face, and her hands were on his horse. Valiance was bowing his head as she ran a hand down his nose.

"Your horse was throwing his tantrum," she continued with a small smile. "Just like his rider."

"I wasn't throwing a tantrum," he retorted, stepping out. In the light, he could see it was that girl he was talking to earlier. The one whose mother was an Algood who he'd walked to the gardens. What was her name again…

He supposed it didn't matter. He'd met so many women and children and men and lords that his mind was spinning. It'd only ground to a halt when he was standing there before Gerold Hightower and begun again after.

"Would you like to talk about it?" She had a graceful smile, Jaime thought. Planting a kiss between Valiance's eyes, she withdrew and tucked her hands away into her cloak. Nickering, the horse nudged at her shoulder, seeking her attention again. Jaime walked forth and patted his horse's muzzle. His rage had all but melted away, and he felt ashamed instead. What kind of Lannister was he, losing his temper in front of strangers.

"I have to pack," he muttered, turning back to his tent.

"You're leaving?"

You sound exactly how I feel, Jaime groused. Turning, he placed the smile he could barely muster on his face. "I must return to King's Landing. Queen Rhaella and her children need me."

"There are other guards," she pointed out, following after him. She tugged her hood down and Jaime glanced at her. You. You're the one who's marrying the Stark boy. Jaime remembered someone telling him at the feast when she'd danced with Prince Lewyn Martell. "You ought to stay."

"I can't defy the King. Now, that would be treason."

She had half a smile as she came closer. "Then let me help you pack, at least." There was something earnest in her eyes, a Northerner's look, he supposed. "You did save me from the crowds earlier. Let me repay the favour." Jaime paused and then gave a short nod.

"Alright, but be quick about it. I want to leave this place as soon as possible."

They packed away his tent quickly, faster with two pairs of hands than with one, and Jaime hoisted it all onto Valiance. They worked in silence, having nothing to say besides the one question of asking why she wasn't at the feast — Feasts make my head spin — but he found that he didn't mind. Saddling up, Jaime took hold of the reins while she patted down his horse. Cupping the horse's chin, the girl fed Valiance all the attention he wanted.

"You need to leave, before they catch you talking to me," she said, looking up at Jaime. Her eyes caught the moonlight and Jaime stared at her. I ought to know your name, he mused but it would be much too embarrassing to ask when all she'd been was kind. "Who knows what King Aerys might say, seeing you dawdling off."

"Thank you for helping tonight," he said. Her eyes crinkled and her smile grew fuller as she laughed quietly to herself. Patting his horse's cheek, she tilted her head at him.

"You don't remember my name, do you?"

"I—" Heat burned at his neck and he averted his eyes— "no, my lady. I apologize."

"As you should." Stepping away from his horse, the girl tugged the cloak tighter around herself. "It's alright. Not everyone can be famous like you, Ser Jaime. Youngest Kingsguard in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, Tywin Lannister's son, knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne…"

"Tell me your name before you continue to shame me."

"No. I quite like shaming you when you've not an idea who I am."

"Not even if I say please?"

"I highly doubt you will say please."

"You doubt my capacity."

Her laughter was clear in her voice and Jaime smirked when she looked to the ground. "Goodnight, Ser Jaime, and safe travels." She turned to walk away and Jaime stared after her figure, perplexed, but then shook it from his mind. Valiance pawed at the ground with an impatient snort and he remembered his task at hand. The beast that roamed in his chest yawned, setting itself by its place near his heart and he found that anger no longer boiled his blood. If not because of the warmth he'd seen in her eyes, then because Cersei would be waiting for him when he returned.

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