Chapter 8: Alayne
Alayne screamed as she was struck in the face. She was running around the large windmill to escape her attacker as she was struck again—in the back this time—and her screams gave way to fits of laughter.
She had been helping brother Brandon clear snow off the walkways and grounds when she mentioned how long it had been since she'd had a snowball fight. Moments later she heard his shovel fall to the ground, but it had been too late by the time she turned around. She took cover behind the windmill and drove her hands into the snow, packing it loosely between her palms as she stepped out and took aim. He was gathering more snow as well, and she launched it at him, giggling when it came into contact with the top of his head. He jerked up abruptly and flung another, but she ducked this time, springing back up to return the volley.
This went on until she was breathless and pink-cheeked, calling out a truce. Brother Brandon bowed low as a show of agreement, and she stepped out from behind the windmill.
'I think we're done for today,' he signed to her, gesturing at the work they accomplished before the assault had begun. Eyes glittering with mischief, he added, 'watch your back tomorrow'
Alayne laughed and returned, 'I'll wear some armor'
Next to Gravedigger, Alayne had bonded most with brother Brandon, who worked mostly in the kitchens. After spending time with him, she learned he was of the North, age eight-and-twenty, and could play the harp. He didn't wear Novice's robes, as Gravedigger did. He had arrived here after fighting in the war; Elder Brother had healed him, and in return, he devoted his life to the Seven. He had fought for the Starks, which likened her to him most of all. He said no more on the subject, however, as most brothers wouldn't. Atonement, brother Brandon had explained by signing, was a path you had to walk alone.
She would help him prepare meals sometimes, and took joy in learning this new skill in addition to the hand-language. Alayne had never prepared meals for herself before, and she found she enjoyed it. It even tasted better, knowing the true effort that went into its making. Alayne once told him in passing that her favorite dessert was lemon cakes, and the next day, he had surprised her with a whole handful of lemons, and proceeded to show her how to make them. There had only been enough for a small batch, but they enjoyed them together while she told him stories that she had been told once, in a past life. The nice ones, not the scary ones.
He was retreating inside to begin preparations for dinner now, but Alayne wanted to remain outdoors. She looked around, searching for tasks she could put herself to as she shook snow from her hair. When her eyes fell upon the stables, she wrapped her cloak tightly around herself and set out towards them. She hadn't been to see the stables yet, and mayhaps Gravedigger could use some help tending the horses. In any case, she was in high spirits this afternoon, and the prospect of good company appealed to her.
For as much time as she spent around him, Alayne hadn't learned much about Gravedigger. Whenever she asked him personal questions, he either changed the subject or responded vaguely. Sometimes, he would just stare at her until she chose a new subject, such as the time she'd asked him what he prayed for. She had no details that a friend would have, nor did she have any of the playfulness she shared with brother Brandon; the most she got from Gravedigger was the occasional jape.
In spite of that, however, she couldn't deny that she felt an inexplicable closeness to him, as though she had always known him. It was an unspoken sort of bond; a different kind of friendship than she had with Myranda Royce, or brother Brandon. More than anything, she felt comfortable around him. Safe, in a way. She went to sleep each night with fear clutching her heart, anxious that tomorrow she would be discovered hiding here at last, and her time of peace would surely end as soon as it began. Each morning when she saw Gravedigger walk into the common hall, however, she felt at ease once more. She hoped that if enemies did come ashore, it would be during mealtimes, for all she would need do is hide behind him. Or Elder Brother. She felt safe around him too, even if he asked too many questions.
The dreams Gravedigger inspired in her were another matter, something she didn't enjoy and was careful to disregard each morning as she braided her hair. She worked hard to rid herself of the bad habit of comparing everyone she met to everyone she knew. There are no connections, only coincidences. Gravedigger was her friend—Alayne's friend—even if it was only temporary. All friends are temporary.
When she reached the stables, however, Gravedigger was nowhere to be found. There were only a few stalls with mules inside, and many more stood empty. Disappointed, she walked down the row anyway, patting noses as she went. She breathed deep, taking in the smell of hay and the stench of horses. When she reached the empty stalls, she looked inside each to see if maybe he was stooped down in one of them, cleaning. Maybe she would catch him unawares and spook him, to see if he would take humor in it. Each stood just as empty as the one before, however.
She was nearing the stall in the back when, suddenly, she heard a deep, rough, challenging cry that nearly made her leap out of her skin. She shrieked in unison, although it carried none of the laughter from before. Suddenly, in front of her were dark eyes—angrily rimmed in white—and a snarling mouth filled with long yellow teeth, striking out at her face. Alayne only barely jerked herself backwards in time, stumbling to the floor.
Her heart raced in time with her breathing as she looked up at the jet black destrier that she hadn't noticed standing there before in the shadows, its ears pinned back flat against its head. She was sprawled there for a moment, stunned, as the horse tossed its head and settled down, pawing the ground in frustration.
Alayne's head was spinning as she stood up—slowly, so as to not spook the horse again. This beast was completely out of place among the other equines kept here; this was an animal bred for war. She stared at it for a long moment, and it stared back in suspicion. Suddenly, a realization hit her like a slap in the face.
I recognize this horse, Alayne's eyes grew wide as she inched forward. I have ridden beside this horse. I knew his owner.
All the pieces were putting themselves into place as Alayne stretched out a shaking hand toward the stallion. It eyed her warily. "Stranger?" she whispered, so quietly she barely made a sound. It can't be Stranger. That would be impossible.
As her hand made contact with his velvety muzzle, tears fell unbidden from her eyes, the world seeming to shatter around her. The horse shook his head slightly and snorted, but didn't make a move to bite again.
What did this mean?
Alayne took a step back. She had to get out of here, she realized, her heart racing once more. If he came back, now...
She wasn't sure she could face the truth; not yet. Not here. She was utterly overwhelmed by the discovery, and was in no state to have such a confrontation. Seeming to sense her panic, Stranger struck out with his big front hoof against the stable wall, creating a hollow thunder so loud that she did not hear his deep throated nicker when she turned and ran.
She sprinted from the stable block, nearly slipping on the ice out front, but she didn't stop until she reached her chambers in the women's cottages. It was only once the door was shut behind her that she felt she could finally breathe. Alayne frantically tried to collect her thoughts, but it was hard to keep them reined in and organized. It was like trying to chase cats, as her sister had once done. Not your sister, the voice in her head snapped like a whip.
The weight of the revelation was crashing down all around her, her mind flashing back over the last fortnight, going over every interaction...
The reasonable part of her tried to convince herself that black horses were common enough, and that it was just a coincidence, like anything else. The part of Alayne that wasn't Alayne, however, refused to entertain the notion. I know what I saw, it insisted. It couldn't be a coincidence that a man that size, and a horse that wild, were in the same place without being connected. Her eyes fell upon her dressing table, where the driftwood sparrow was perched. That can't be a coincidence, either. She had the sudden urge to smash it, and all her new knowledge with it. This wasn't knowledge for Alayne to have, she never should have known in the first place. She had failed to forget, and now she was drowning in her memories, struggling to come to terms with it all.
She wondered how she had recognized his horse without recognizing the man himself, he who had been sitting at her side during every meal since she'd arrived. The left side, not the right, the voice that wasn't Alayne's pointed out. She'd looked into his eyes many times, but the only thing they had in common were the color.
Alayne slumped down on her pallet bed, running shaking hands through her hair. It now seemed so obvious. But she had thought him dead, and she had been smothering those thoughts every time they came to her unbidden. She refused to let herself dwell on them, for they belonged in the past. In Sansa's past. And now they were sitting right here in the present, not dead after all, her friend. She had thought herself acting the child again, but realized now she had the correct first impression all along.
He must have recognized me, she thought. I look different, but not so much so.
Through the hysteria—despite the confusion—one thing was certain: she was no longer alone in the world. There was only but a shred, a smoldering ember, but something had begun to awaken in her that she hadn't realized was so lost before: hope.
The longer she sat there, the more and more she could feel herself losing grasp on Alayne Stone. This was not Alayne's revelation, were not her memories that had brought it about. Alayne was not the one who felt safe in the presence of Gravedigger, and was certainly not the one he looked at with such intensity.
After a time, she stood. It was almost time for dinner by now, and Sansa Stark mustn't miss her lessons tonight.
As she swept down the walkway to the common hall, her mind continued to whir, already trying to convince herself that this changed nothing and to forget it. At the same time, however, it seemed to change everything.
She had prayed for this, among many things; for Sandor Clegane to find peace, to not be the reaver of Saltpans, to be alive. Despite the staggering disorientation of it all, it seemed her prayers had revealed themselves to be answered just as she had begun to question her faith. Was it a sign? In truth, Sansa hadn't visited the sept once since she arrived, aside from the brief time she spent there during her tour. She hadn't avoided it on purpose, but she had also not made it a priority. She wanted to skip dinner and go there now, and beg the Mother for forgiveness. She wished this place had a Weirwood tree as well. Sansa wanted to thank all the gods.
This wasn't the only thing her epiphany changed. Sansa felt safe here, it was true, but all the while she still had reality nagging at her: this wouldn't last forever. Either Littlefinger would find her here himself, or he'd find her the moment she left this place. She couldn't take up permanent residence here, and if she were honest to herself, she didn't want to. In spite of all its comforts, this was no place for her to live. But, it seemed, there were no other places for her to live. There were only places to die.
That much had not changed, but if she weren't alone, with the Hound of all people...Sansa felt her odds at survival would at least improve.
Alayne was in the back of her head, laughing at her. She was dismissing an important element: He was already promised to the Quiet Isle, and the Gods besides. The men here took vows that didn't break for ten years. And you won't have ten years.
This thought quieted her somewhat, putting her at a sort of impasse. Should she allow herself to think more on this, or put it out of mind before she let hope flow too freely? Could she be so selfish as to ask a man to break his holy vows and compromise his values, just for the sake of her? The Hound always protected me, she thought. But it wouldn't be right to expect him to.
She felt a bit defeated to admit it to herself, but it would be too selfish. There was nothing she could offer the Hound in return, and she would ask him to sacrifice all.
The Gods had answered her prayers, but the Gods were sometimes cruel as well. I know that better than anyone. They would show her proof that Sandor Clegane had been bestowed with the Mother's mercy, had found peace at last, but would not let her keep him.
He was already seated there when Sansa entered the common hall, his eyes on the table, thoughtful. She always made it to dinner before he did, and realized she had spent more time in her room than she thought.
She decided to sit at his left side tonight instead of his right, hoping to get a better glimpse and have the confirmation that he was who she thought he was. This clearly made him uncomfortable, judging by the way he stiffened; but Sansa already knew why.
He knows it's me. She knew it for a certainty then. And he doesn't want me to know it's him. It's why he doesn't eat, or ever look me full in the face. He's hiding it.
He glanced at her quickly before turning his eyes back to the table—obscuring the burned one—and signing a greeting.
This gave Sansa pause; if he couldn't break his vows and he didn't want her to know who he was, should she really act against his wishes by making him aware of her revelation? He recognized her all along as Alayne, yet had never mentioned it. She wondered for a moment if he hated her, but quickly put it out of mind. He wouldn't be sitting here if he did. He certainly wouldn't look at her the way he usually did. She now knew that, when he seemed to see someone else behind her eyes, he had been seeing her.
Regardless, she felt the hope in her chest shrivel a little as she rose from the bench, feigning chagrin.
"Oh! I was wondering what felt so strange," she said airily, walking around him to sit on his right side, cloaking herself in Alayne once more. "It's been a long day!"
Not giving the moment any more attention, Gravedigger went over individual letters with her again before her meal came, and spelled out new words while she ate, as she didn't offer up any herself. Alayne repeated them with her own hands, but Sansa was too distracting to put them to memory.
She couldn't stop staring at him. How could she not? The new knowledge she had gained was still too fresh; so huge, it left no room for anything else. Learning hand signals suddenly seemed silly. She had learned something so much more significant. She felt absurdly frustrated by it all. What was the point in the charade, if he couldn't leave anyway? Perhaps he thought she would be afraid; in any other context, maybe she would be. He was certainly capable of the horrors at Saltpans, and if she discovered that he'd been responsible after all, she most certainly would feel frightened. They had parted on frightening terms as well, there was no denying it. She had perspective, however; she realized long ago the ways he had gone out of his way for her. He had helped her even though it never benefitted him to, and no one ever asked him to besides; she couldn't think of many people who could say the same. She had enough experience to know there were far worse people in this world far more worthy of her fear.
She clearly remembered the dagger at her throat, to be sure, but she remembered the wetness on his cheeks more vividly. And the kiss at my lips. In any case, she could observe nothing fearsome about him now. If she could change as much as she had, why couldn't he? She was no child, not anymore; perhaps he was not such a brute.
Dinner was nearly finished, and she had been staring at his eyes so intently that she didn't realize she was doing it until he waved a hand between them to catch her attention. He'd been trying to show her a new word. She willed herself to snap out of it, but her curiosity was too great. How did I not recognize him before? She kept asking herself, over and over again, trying to put her finger on it. In dreams, his eyes were the most prominent feature she saw; she always supposed that, if nothing else, she could never forget that terrible look he had.
That's it. That's what was missing. His eyes had always been so full of rage...she had never seen anything else there. Even when he was frustrated—as he now was, it seemed—it wasn't terrible to behold.
It made all the difference.
As the brothers began to file out of the hall, the Hound also began to rise. Something possessed Sansa to put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"Are you going to sleep?" She asked. He appeared nonplussed as he shook his head 'no'.
"Where are you going?" He hesitated, then signed a word he had taught her recently: 'Sept'
She couldn't do it, she realized. She couldn't play at Alayne when Sansa's past was standing right in front of her. She couldn't concentrate on anything else. I won't ask him to break his vows, but I can't pretend I don't know him, she reasoned. There would be no harm in that. She couldn't pretend to be a friend to Gravedigger, when it was the Hound she wanted to know. She wasn't sure how he had been able to keep it to himself—not being allowed to speak surely helped—but she didn't have his discipline.
She didn't know how to approach it yet, but she didn't know how not to.
"Might I join you?"
