While Alysanne and Robb had been away there had been little to do. They'd taken Bran with them as well and there was only so much time one could spend in the training yard. To while away the hours, Arya had taken to learning Riverrun inside and out. Wylla told Arya to keep her ears open, after all. The less she was seen, the more Arya heard.
She'd explored the godswood, the sept, the dungeons, she'd walked the parapets and wound her way through the courtyards. She'd picked her way through the rooms of the Wheel Tower and found the quickest way down to the Water Gate. Arya knew exactly which servants' passages led where, as well as the quickest way to and from the kitchens. That's how Arya knew that just down the hall from where she stood was a servant's passage; the quickest way from the top of the Eastern Tower down to the servants' quarters.
Arya studied the guards standing outside of Jaime Lannister's chambers. She wondered if they knew that as well. She doubted it. Both of the guards wore raiment that suggested they were from House Frey. The Frey's she'd been stuck with the past few moons were dullards as far as Arya was concerned. The only Frey she even half liked was her brother's squire Olyvar, and he was leagues away.
Tired of standing, Arya leaned against the wall opposite the door. Wylla waited just a bit further down the hall, tapping her foot impatiently. Arya resisted the urge to snap at her. If anyone deserved to be impatient, it was Arya. At least Wylla had been allowed to go with Alysanne from the start. The past few days Arya had spent arguing to even be allowed to come along this time. Alysanne spending a few more moments saying farewell to her father wouldn't make a lick of difference. They would still depart before noon. As far as Arya was concerned, Alysanne could spend as long as she bloody well liked with her father.
The door finally creaked open. The guards returned to attention, and Wylla faced an emerging Alysanne expectantly. "Alys," Jaime Lannister's voice called out to her once more. Wylla huffed and Arya rolled her eyes, but peeled herself from the wall, anyway. She tilted an ear towards the door. A part of her felt that she should be ashamed for eavesdropping on her good-sister's conversation, but she was only doing what they had asked of her.
Alysanne peered back into the room, her body tensed. Arya could just make out the voice of Ser Jaime. "You asked me why. I was a coward and a fool. Every time I look at you I see her and I was too craven to face the past, and too craven to fight him. Not a day goes by that I don't regret it." Alysanne didn't respond. She swiftly closed the door and swept past Arya in a swirl of skirts, tears welling in her eyes.
Arya's own eyes widened. When was the last time she'd seen Alysanne cry? Not for some time, that was for certain. Arya could hardly remember. Perhaps it had been when her grandfather sent word about her Uncle Gerion. They'd assumed he was lost at sea, Lord Tywin said. It'd been moons since they last heard from him. Alys also teared up when they all gathered in Sansa's room the morning they left for King's Landing. Perhaps it was then.
Wylla quickly fell into step beside her, and Arya frowned. She's my good-sister, not hers. Wylla leaned her head towards Alysanne and whispered, to which Alysanne only shook her head. Arya hastened her steps.
Alysanne inclined her head over her shoulder. "Arya," she called. Alysanne wiped her eyes.
Arya quickened her pace. "Yes?" Wylla raised a brow—Arya assumed at her informality. She didn't back down. Wylla always addressed Alysanne as your grace when they weren't in familiar company, but Arya didn't see the need to. Wasn't Arya also technically her grace, now that she was a princess? It seemed silly to address each other as such. They'd never used such formalities before Robb had been crowned, why should it be any different now?
"Did you check with Maester Vyman?" Arya tilted her head. The Maester? Her confusion must have been apparent, as Alysanne clarified with a raised brow, "for word from Dorne. I'd asked you to do so, remember?"
Seven hells. Arya's shoulders slumped, and she kicked herself. She'd been far too excited to leave that morning, and she thought she'd remembered everything. "It slipped my mind, I'm sorry."
Alysanne had been checking in nearly every day with the poor old maester, nearly driving him mad. He'd even gone so far as to tell Alys that he'd come to her, if any word happened to arrive. Arya didn't think Dorne would send word at all. They would have responded by now, if they had any intention to at all.
Alysanne's shoulders drooped. "It's alright," she sighed. "I'll check myself before we depart." At word of yet another delay, Wylla scowled at Arya. Perhaps I should insist Wylla refer to me as your grace. The thought nearly drew a laugh from her. "Did you see to the other matter?"
"Other matter?" Arya mumbled, trailing off. There had been the maester (which she'd forgotten), she'd spared a moment for Jeyne, she'd seen that Alysanne's things were packed safely, as she'd been asked to… Oh, yes! "I did," Arya said brightly. She didn't enjoy disappointing Alysanne. "They're packed safely amongst your clothes, alongside your crown." The three of them began the descent down the stairs of the Eastern Tower.
"Good," Alys nodded resolutely. "Thank you, Arya." Arya stood up straighter. She didn't know why Alysanne thought it necessary to bring her and Jon's dragon eggs. She hadn't brought them the last time she set out, and they only seemed an extra thing that needed minding. Arya didn't particularly care, though. Alysanne agreed to let her come along this time, that was all she cared about. She could have requested Arya pack all of Riverrun, and she'd have done so.
"Will you go see Maester Vyman now?" Wylla asked. "Jon is already gathering the men in the yard."
"Hm. I suppose," Alysanne stopped at the bottom of the stairs, where it joined with another larger hall. "Have you seen Jorelle?" Alysanne asked Arya.
Arya thought back. She hadn't been anywhere besides Jeyne's room and the yard, and even then she'd been so focused on the task at hand the Others themselves could have marched by and she might not have noticed. "I haven't," Arya said. She'd even passed through the training yard and remembered seeing Mormont men-at-arms, but no Jorelle.
"She mentioned helping her mother ready for the march," Wylla supplied. Maege Mormont. Arya liked the Mormonts, Jorelle especially. She was good with her morning star and more than willing to spar with Arya. She even found the name Needle just as humorous as Arya did.
Alysanne peered down the hall that led to the Maesters' chambers. "Thank you, Arya. That will be all. I'll see you in the yard."
Arya chafed at the dismissal, but didn't argue. She didn't see why she couldn't go with her to see if Dorne had finally replied, it wouldn't take long. Reluctantly, she headed the opposite direction of Alys and Wylla, out to the main yard.
The morning sun was not as harsh as it might have been at the height of summer, but Arya still winced against it. She squinted as her eyes adjusted, holding up a hand to shield herself from the worst of it.
The chaos of the yard was just the same as it had been when Robb and Alysanne set out last time. It reminded Arya of when she left Winterfell, before Joffrey had her father's head cleaved from his neck. The same sense of excitement welled in her belly, but this time fear had found a home as well. Not enough fear to cause a change of heart, however. She'd fought too hard to get her way. Arya scanned the yard and laid eyes on her horse. She swiftly set off in that direction, smiling and voicing brief farewells to the servants she'd come to know in her exploration of Riverrun.
Arya nodded in thanks to the stable hand who'd readied her horse. A beautiful palfrey, gifted to her by her Uncle Edmure when he found out she intended to follow Alysanne. It didn't escape Arya that a palfrey was no warhorse, only truly fit for long journeys. But Ayra did love to ride, and the mare was of fine stock. From Highgarden, her uncle said. A shimmering black coat as dark as night and a mane to match, as lithe and graceful as the best of dancers, Arya could hardly be disappointed. She vaulted herself into the saddle to watch the commotion of the yard.
Across the way, Jon's squire fiddled with the tack on his courser. The squire caught her staring and started, promptly going back to his task. He tightened the straps, then tightened them some more, doubling back and rechecking buckles he'd already checked thrice over. What was his name? Alyn? Whatever his name, he followed Jon around like a lost puppy. Arya didn't miss how he glanced in her direction more than once as he readied Jon's horse. Each time she caught him, he flushed a new shade of red. Arya scowled. What is he so nervous about? Was he frightened of her? She couldn't see why. Even younger than her, he was taller. Perhaps he was only frightened of Syrio, who'd led his horse to stand by Arya.
At least he wasn't as nervous as Robb's squire Olyvar, who always stumbled and stuttered over his words when speaking to her. Olyvar was twice her height and some years her senior, but even so, Arya had him beat in the training yard. She hadn't had the chance to have a go against Alyn yet. She decided that it would be the first thing she'd do when they made camp that night.
"The boy admires you," Syrio said, gesturing lightly to Alyn. "He fancies you, as you Westerosi say."
Arya snorted. "I'm the King's sister. He's frightened of me," she decided. Why else would he grow so jittery? Mayhap he thought she would tell Robb or Jon if he made a mistake. Arya's eyes flitted to Syrio and his horse. "You're leaving, then?" He had mentioned it just the previous night; his uncertainty as to whether or not he should return to his home.
He gave an easy shrug. "For now, I will come. I have not seen these Westerlands before." Arya grinned at him. She hadn't wanted him to go. She still had so much to learn from him. Syrio returned to readying his own horse, letting the silence stretch between them. He never felt the need to fill their time with idle chatter, something which Arya appreciated.
A glint of bronzed armour caught Arya's attention. She tore her focus away from Syrio and Alyn. Ser Addam strode across the yard, and Arya couldn't help but feel envious of his armour. What she wouldn't give to have armour as fine as his. Burnished bronze that gleamed in the sunlight, with a burning oak etched upon his breastplate. It wasn't as fierce a sigil as a direwolf, but combined with House Marbrand's words of burning bright, Arya found it quite fitting. With the way his armour shone and his cloak of smoke grey flitted behind him, Arya thought that he himself could be a burning tree.
Ser Addam met her eyes across the yard and waved at her with a genial smile, which Arya happily returned. When her father asked him to teach her swordplay, he was nothing but kind to her. He hadn't mocked her when she first began, but neither had he gone easy on her. He'd treated her just as he had Robb, Jon, and Bran; something she was ever thankful for.
He trailed after Alysanne as he always did, an ever loyal shadow. Wylla walked just behind Alysanne as well, her green hair as garish as ever. Though she would never admit it, a part of Arya was envious of the colour. The trio headed towards the little group of Alysanne's other ladies, Eddara, Beth, Jorelle, and Jeyne, who dropped into curtsies upon seeing her. Arya snickered. They never showed such deference in private, and the slight glimmer of discomfort Arya could make out on Alysanne's face amused her. It was reassuring to know that she wasn't the only one unused to the new titles and courtesies afforded to her.
Eddara was first to step forward and pull Alysanne into a tight embrace. Eddara. Arya knew little about Eddara, save for she was from Torrhen's Square. She and Beth were close, though, and Jeyne seemed fond of her, so Arya supposed she couldn't be too horrible. She seemed to prefer to stick close to her rooms or the godswood, and Arya was far too restless to spend all her time in only a few places.
Beth was next to give her farewells to Alysanne and Jeyne before she quietly stepped away from the circle. Arya's eyes followed her curiously. She smiled slyly when she saw where she was headed. Cley Cerywn stood by himself, readying his own horse. Arya could understand why Beth had taken a liking to the man. Tall and soft-spoken like his father. Handsome as well, she supposed; dark-haired and well-muscled. Arya didn't think she'd ever heard him speak an ill word against anyone. He'd been kind to Sansa, at least, when his father had put an offer forward for Sansa's hand. As far as Arya remembered, he had taken the rejection well. He'd even danced with Sansa once more after.
Beth tapped him on the shoulder lightly and he turned slowly, a smile breaking across his face when he found it to be Beth. He was rather handsome when he smiled like that, Arya conceded. Beth shyly pressed a piece of cloth into his hand, and Arya laughed to herself when both of their faces turned red enough to match Beth's hair. He seems to return Beth's affection, Arya noted happily. She supposed he wouldn't spend so much time with her walking the grounds of Riverrun otherwise. There was only so much to see, after all.
Beth deserved a good match like Cley. She'd make a wonderful lady, Arya knew. Beth had never joined in with Sansa and Jeyne's childish games. Those hurts were long forgiven, but Arya never forgot that Beth had always been kind. Aside from Jeyne, she was the only person these last few months who understood Arya's fear for Sansa.
Arya averted her eyes back to the huddle of ladies, affording her friend a moment of privacy. Jeyne had grown teary, and while Alysanne had stepped away to see to other matters, Wylla lingered, embracing Eddara fiercely. Now who's holding up the departure? Arya's attention was once more drawn away by the sound of her uncle's throat clearing.
"I do wish you would stay," Edmure said. "I'll be terribly lonely without you." She rolled her eyes at his dramatics.
He would be fine without her. He was only worried for her mother's wrath when she learned Arya had gone against her wishes. It wasn't as though they'd spent much time together over the past moons, anyway. He'd been busy organising sorties to try to draw out Stafford Lannister. Something he wouldn't let her listen in on, much to her displeasure.
Despite his refusal to let her in on anything related to the war, she did enjoy her uncle's company. He'd made time to take at least one meal with her, once per week. Arya had even begun to look forward to those meals. She'd enjoyed the stories he shared about her mother when she was younger and how she'd play in the river and make mud pies, or climb trees in the godswood. "I'm sure Alysanne wouldn't mind you accompanying us," Arya said, more out of politeness. She knew her uncle had his role here at Riverrun. And besides, he wasn't overly fond of Alys.
Edmure grimaced. "I'm needed here, unfortunately. But do promise you'll be safe. I'm afraid Cat would geld me, were you to come to harm and I was the one who let you slip away," he chuckled. The worry on his face betrayed him.
Arya slipped off her horse to embrace him fully. "I promise, Uncle Edmure."
Her Uncle Edmure strode away, stopping briefly to say farewell to Alysanne. Their conversation seemed stiff, even from where Arya sat. But no more stiff than it had been only a few days past when Alysanne returned. Their argument the previous night hadn't seemed as heated, either.
It'd taken some time, but Arya had eventually worked out what exactly the cause of the tension between the two was. It all went back to before her father was murdered, before Robb was crowned, when her brother's army needed to cross Lord Walder's bridge. Alysanne insisted she made no promises of a betrothal between Edmure and one of Lord Walder's daughters, only that she would suggest it. Edmure thought even that was too much of a promise for Lord Walder. Perhaps Alys had overstepped like her uncle claimed, but they'd needed to cross, hadn't they? Selfishly, Arya counted herself lucky that a betrothal hadn't been made for her instead.
She couldn't right blame her uncle for not wanting to marry a Frey. Why should he have to, if he didn't want to? For heirs, for his family, Arya knew. But it still didn't seem fair.
Jeyne caught Arya's eye from where she stood with the other ladies. She gave Arya a small wave, which she returned. Arya had said her farewells to Jeyne that morning. There would be no need to do so again. She would miss Jeyne. A thought that was almost comical to the girl who had once been little Arya horse-face. Even after Sansa stopped teasing Arya, Jeyne hadn't been overly warm. Something shifted after their escape from King's Landing.
Just after Alysanne left from Riverrun, Jeyne had asked Arya to join her in breaking her fast. Somewhere along the line, it'd become a routine for them. Always in Jeyne's solar and never too early. Jeyne did like her sleep, it would seem. Sometimes they would sit in a companionable silence, stuffing their faces with fresh bread and fruit jams. As the days wore on, though, idle chatter became more and more commonplace.
It was really the only time she saw Jeyne during the day. Arya didn't much like joining her, Beth, and Eddara for needlework or whatever else they filled their days with, and Jeyne wasn't any more likely to pick up a sword and train beside her with Syrio than the Others were to rise. Jeyne had followed her down to the yard once or twice and watched on as Arya trained. Jeyne would never say so, but Arya suspected she found it boring. Arya wasn't offended. On the few days it had rained, Arya had stayed in to join Jeyne, Eddara, and Beth with their needlework and she'd found it boring as well.
Alysanne led her horse to where Arya waited. "Arya, you'll ride with me, yes?" Alysanne looked at her expectantly. Arya hesitated and briefly glanced at where Jon stood talking to Harrion Karstark.
Arya had planned on riding beside Jon. In the past few days, Arya felt as though she'd hardly seen him at all. He'd been too busy readying the men for the march on behalf of Alysanne.
Jon shouted orders as he swung up onto his horse, the men he shouted at stumbled over themselves to follow. He made an excellent commander, a good Hand. She saw it in the way the men looked to him. She'd been so happy to hear that Robb went ahead with legitimising him as Jon Stark. She'd been worried Jon would be too stubborn to let Robb do so, given the news Lord Reed brought.
Father would be proud of him, Arya thought passingly. A Prince, Robb's Hand, and Alysanne's most trusted commander. Father would be proud of Robb and Alysanne as well. Robb hadn't yet lost a battle, and Alysanne was leading her own host to war. Just like Nymeria did, and Visenya and Rhaenys.
"Aye, I'll ride with you," Arya agreed. There was a long march ahead and plenty of time still for her to catch up with Jon. She hadn't had the chance to spend much time with Alysanne alone, without the presence of her ladies. Not since Alysanne had that dream. The memory still brought Arya some worry.
Arya was no stranger to peculiar dreams. She often dreamt of Nymeria, as Nymeria, with increasing frequency. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone. What would she say? They would think her mad, to be certain. But that underlying fear was overshadowed by the fact that Arya knew Nymeria was near. Lady, Nymeria, and Summer fled Winterfell not long after her father's execution, and had been travelling south ever since. With no great hurry, it would seem, as they had yet to cross the Neck. Arya was eager to be reunited with her direwolf. Bran would be as well, Arya was certain, and it would be sweet to have Lady waiting upon Sansa's return.
But Alysanne's dream had seemed frightening. Arya had been terrified the first few times she dreamt as Nymeria, yes, but she'd never been as horrified as Alys had been. Arya had never been sick because of one. Alysanne had been sick nearly every morning since. She would not share with Arya what she dreamt, and it ate at her. How was Arya meant to help when Alysanne would not tell her what troubled her so?
Alysanne mounting her horse seemed to be the cue others were awaiting, for as soon as she wheeled her horse about, the other lords in the yard mounted as well. She kicked her horse into a trot towards the front of the line. Arya followed close behind. A courser, Arya noted of Alysanne's horse.
With a shouted command from Alysanne, they were riding under the portcullis and over the drawbridge. Arya imagined that the echoing of hooves over the drawbridge could be heard throughout the entire keep, even behind the thick stone walls. She looked onwards and was momentarily taken aback by the numbers of the men waiting to follow behind them.
She shouldn't have been. Arya had seen almost thrice this amount when she finally reunited with her mother and Robb. But the idea that she was riding to war had only just settled. Until that moment, it had seemed so abstract. As if those in the yard were it, and she wasn't moments away from riding at the head of an army. She'd done so before, in the godswood of Winterfell. Only then, her army had comprised Robb, Theon, and Jon, Alysanne and Sansa, Bran and Rickon, and sometimes Jeyne and Beth. Then, she'd been Nymeria with ten thousand ships. Here she was just Arya, a Princess of Winterfell. One of two with the title, she thought dejectedly.
Arya waited until the march was well under way to break the silence between her and Alysanne. It was just the two of them, the closest person being Ser Addam behind them. Arya didn't fret over what they said in front of him. Her secrets were Alysanne's, and Alysanne's secrets were Ser Addam's. Arya could only just see the banners of the outriders in front of them. They were well out of ear shot.
"Do you think Sansa is well?" Arya asked meekly. She thought of her sister often, alone in that god's forsaken city. Alone with Joffrey and Cersei. She belongs here as well.
Alysanne paled before fury melded to the lines of her face. "Before I tell you what I know, I should tell you that we sent Theon and Jory to King's Landing for her. Robb and I won't force her to wait until we can take the city." Alysanne's bottom lip trembled, though she was quick to steady herself. "Joffrey is cruel, Arya. He's had her stripped and beaten, more than once. Before the entire court," her voice wavered, another crack in her composure.
Arya felt Nymeria snarl leagues away. Beat before the court? "How can they allow that?" Arya raged. Her blood pounded in her ears and her hand twitched towards Needle strapped to her side. She'd kill Joffrey. Slice his head clean from his neck.
"He's the King," Alysanne sneered, fingers curled around her reins tightly. "Who is there to stop him? Odds are he'd have whoever dared to stand against him beat as well," she hissed through her teeth.
Worry sunk its claws deep into Arya's chest. Not that Arya hadn't believed the warning Alysanne gave them before they left Winterfell. She'd seen it herself, with Joffrey and Mycah and Nymeria at the ruby ford. But having Sansa beat before the entire court? "Do you think Joffrey will kill her?" Arya asked.
Alysanne's chin trembled once again. "I don't know, Arya. We have Ser Jaime to use as… retribution," she choked around the word. "That should be enough for Cersei to keep such a thing from happening. My Uncle Tyrion isn't cruel either." Alysanne was silent for a moment. "They couldn't stop Joffrey from taking your father's head, though. And it seems they aren't able to do much to stop him from mistreating Sansa in the first place."
Arya let her words settle over her. If Sansa is in the city when Robb marches on it… What was to keep Joffrey from taking her head as a result? Who was there to stop him? Lord Tywin could, but he was at Harrenhal, according to Robb's last word. But we have hostages of our own. "Can't we trade our own hostages? We have Ser Jaime," Arya winced. It was easy to forget that Ser Jaime was Alysanne's father. She'd only been three name days when Alys came to Winterfell. For the first years of knowing her, Arya hadn't really understood who exactly Alys' father was, let alone that she had one. She'd had far greater concerns as a young child.
Alysanne nodded. "Yes, we have our own hostages. I considered doing away with my plan for Theon when Robb took my father hostage. But I don't know that Joffrey would agree to the trade, and certain bannermen of ours would prefer we take his head ourselves. We sent terms anyway, though. We have other hostages to trade."
Which bannermen? Arya twisted around in her saddle to see those who rode behind them. The Karstarks had lost a son in that battle, according to Robb's letter. But so had other Northern houses. Arya faced forward in her saddle. It made sense, she supposed, to send terms as well as Theon and Jory. "You didn't do away with it, though. If they succeed, we'll have the upper hand."
Alysanne's eyes gleamed. "That's right." Arya beamed, but her smile soon dropped. She didn't like talking about Sansa in that way, as if she were just a piece to be traded. Nor Theon and Jory as though they were only pieces to be moved. "And in any case, it'll be moons before we take King's Landing. I won't make Sansa suffer Joffrey all the while."
They spoke of other matters then. It was easier than dwelling on the horrors Sansa faced. Arya asked after Bran, to which Alysanne perked up. She spoke of Bran and how well he'd fought in his first battle, or so she'd been told, as she had waited behind in camp. Jorelle said he fought bravely and fiercely, though he'd lost not one but two friends that night. He'd finally settled on a name for his sword, Winter's Blade. Arya didn't think it half as clever as Needle.
After a lull in their conversation to listen to the men behind them sing the Bear and Maiden Fair,Alysanne cleared her throat.
"I checked with Maester Vyman. Your forgetfulness robbed you of the chance to be the bearer of a long awaited missive," Alysanne fixed her with a stern glare and Arya dropped her chin to her chest. Alysanne soon broke her glare with an easy smile. Arya relaxed. Alysanne wasn't truly mad, she knew, only teasing. But Arya liked being of some use. She hoped this wouldn't dissuade her from giving her tasks in the future. "Dorne sent a reply. Finally."
Arya allowed herself a triumphant smile before she remembered that Dorne could have perhaps turned away from their offers of alliance. "And? What did they say?"
"They've agreed. They plan to send a delegation to meet with us." A proud smile enveloped Alys' face, her head held high. Triumph and pride for an alliance she facilitated radiated from her. Arya couldn't help but to smile as well, out of pride for her good-sister. "Upon their request, we'll meet at Harrenhal, if Robb just so happens to hold it."
"Harrenhal?" Arya exclaimed. Of all places, Harrenhal seemed the less conducive to making an agreement between the North and Dorne.
"Harrenhal," Alysanne said wryly. "The North remembers, but so does Dorne, it would seem."
Harrenhal brought to mind her lessons of the rebellion, and Arya wrinkled her nose. "I thought Dorne didn't like us." She remembered her long dead aunt, who people said she looked so much like. But she was said to be beautiful. Sometimes, when she'd been brought before her father with scuffed knees and torn dresses, his eyes clouded over. Her mother said it was because she reminded her father of her Aunt Lyanna, that she had the wolfs-blood, just like her.
Alysanne chewed on her lower lip. An old habit that Arya recognised from home. One that her mother often chided her for. "We fought on the opposite side of the rebellion, that's true. But the Mad King had Princess Elia and her children as hostages. My Uncle Rhaegar insulted Dorne just as much as the North." It was easy for Arya to forget that Alys was a Targaryen as well. The Mad King was her grandfather. Arya knew that, of course, but the rebellion always seemed so far removed. As though it was hundreds of years ago instead of just over twenty. "They blame my grandfather for the slaughter of my Aunt Elia and her children. Rightfully so," she bit out. "Sometimes, old enemies can forge new alliances for the sake of a common cause."
Alliances were best made with marriages, Arya recalled. That was why her mother and father married during the rebellion, after all. That was the cause for many marriages, Maester Luwin said. Would Dorne want to seal an alliance that way? "Robb will want me to marry, won't he?" Arya ventured. Who else was there? Sansa was still a hostage, Alys and Robb had no children. And Jon… Considering what they knew, Arya figured he wouldn't be the best choice to seal an alliance to Dorne with.
Alysanne heaved a sigh, a regretful look in her eyes. "Yes, Arya. If Dorne asks, I won't lie to you and say Robb won't strongly consider it."
Arya felt Nymeria rear her head. "I don't want to marry," she snarled. If it wasn't Dorne, some other lord would come seeking an alliance. "I don't know the first thing about running a keep. I'd make an awful lady. You know it's true."
Alysanne's mouth turned downwards and she winced. "I'm sorry, Arya," she reached her hand across the space between them. "I won't let him marry you to someone you dislike. You'll have a say. I swear it."
Arya wrinkled her nose, but took Alysanne's hand anyway. "I'll dislike anyone who offers their hand," she groused. Alysanne laughed, bright and musical, and Arya couldn't help but to crack a small smile as well.
Robb would take her opinion into account, he had to. She could turn down any he presented to her, claim that she wished to wait until the war was over. Yes, that would work. And if it didn't, she'd make them dislike her so much that they withdrew the offer.
Once they won the war, things would be different. There would be no need to make and seal alliances with urgency, and perhaps Arya could steal away on a ship. Robb and Alysanne might even have their own children by then to make alliances with. She'd always wanted to know what was west of Westeros.