Alysanne's horse danced nervously beneath her at the smell of death and smoke which permeated the air. Or maybe it sensed her worry, though she did her best to keep it at bay. It did her no good from where she sat. Her men below weren't worried, they had more pressing matters at hand.
Up there on the hill, with Arya, Ser Addam, and Wylla at her side and a small guard of men at her back, Alysanne watched the battle rage on. Though calling it a battle was generous. It was a rout, more like. Fires raged and lit up the sky, providing a clear view of the chaos below.
Perhaps if she squinted, she could make out Jorelle by her mothers side, swinging her morning star at the knees of a Lannister soldier. Jorelle had only just settled on a name for the morning star, Maiden's Fury, inspired by a good-natured taunt from the Smalljon as they'd sparred early one morning. And hadn't that been a sight? The fog had been thick that morning and had shrouded their feet as they danced around one another; a graceful dance that would not have seemed entirely out of place at a feast.
At the time, Jorelle and the Smalljon had seemed an even match. Though seeing Jon Umber now, watching as he cut down man after man with his greatsword, Alysanne couldn't help but wonder if he'd merely let Jorelle win. He was not a hard man to miss and was far easier to spot than Jorelle. He hardly let anyone get a hit in edgewise, and if he did, Alysanne fancied it was for his own amusement rather than a lapse in defense.
"I should be down there," Arya groused. Her fine black palfrey shifted agitatedly, no doubt sensing its rider's disquiet. It threw its head back, champing at the bit. What had she named it? Thunder, that was it. After Ser Duncan the Tall's warhorse.
"You're fine right here," Alysanne hummed. Arya complained further under her breath, but Alysanne paid it no mind. The argument was said and done.
Though she'd begged and pleaded to be allowed to fight alongside Jon and Jorelle and the rest, Alysanne had refused to let Arya join. It was one thing to go against Lady Catelyn's word and let Arya join her march in the first place. Alys wouldn't betray her further. It didn't matter that Arya had promised to stay alongside Jon and Jorelle. It was a promise she couldn't keep, no matter how much she intended to. Promises and their intentions faded away in the chaos of war.
It wasn't as though Alysanne ever said she'd let Arya ride into battle, anyway. She'd merely said that Arya could come with her as she marched west, and she'd kept true to that promise. Alysanne had other plans for Arya.
A horn sounded below, followed closely by the howl of a wolf. Jon Stark was almost as easy to spot as Jon Umber, thanks to the great beast that was Ghost. Jon sat tall on his horse and held a tattered Lannister banner in the air, and Alysanne's men cheered in victory. Alysanne let herself grin in triumph. A quick victory, and a sound victory.
Her great Uncle Stafford's army had been entirely unprepared; they hadn't any reason to think Alysanne had made it past the Golden Tooth. Lord Lefford and his men never engaged Alysanne's army, instead, she'd stolen past them. She supposed she had Jon to thank for that. It was he who'd discovered the old, abandoned goat path just to the north of the Golden Tooth. Or rather, it was Ghost who'd found it. Perhaps I ought to have the beast knighted in thanks. The thought very nearly made Alysanne snicker.
They snuck past in the dark of night, and even if Lord Lefford had noticed, there certainly hadn't been enough time to warn Ser Stafford. None of Stafford's scouts had been able to report back to him. They swiftly apprehended any they came across, few that there were.
It didn't take long for Jon to begin to lead her men and the captured Lannister soldiers back towards where she awaited. Dawn broke over the horizon, and Alysanne searched for the faces of her men whom she hadn't been able to make out from the hill.
Gregor Forrester laughed loudly with Ser Brynden as they rode side by side, and Maege Mormont rode beside Jorelle. Jon Umber seemed as lively as ever, though if he were injured, Alysanne suspected he'd be the last to show it. Alysanne could just make out old Ser Stevron slouched in his saddle in exhaustion, and she even felt some mild relief at seeing Harrion Karstark alive and well.
The closer the men drew, the more relief Alysanne allowed herself to feel. Nausea crawled up her throat as it did every morning, but Alysanne pretended it was merely from the fading fear of watching those she loved at war. She swallowed thickly and pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, and from Wylla's worried tut, Alysanne knew it hadn't gone entirely unnoticed.
Gregor Forrester and Ser Brynden were first to approach, and with them came the men kept as prisoners. It must have been half a hundred men in total, if Alysanne counted correctly. Men and boys, some of them no older than Bran. One boy was brought forward and made to kneel before her. They brought a handful of other men from the back and forced them to kneel as well.
"What are your names?" Alysanne called. She only recognized some of the livery: the Lannister lion, of course, the brindled boar of Crakehall, the lion head and yellow and black of House Jast. The others had slipped her memory, or perhaps her grandfather had never deemed them important enough for her to learn in the first place.
"What's yours?" The man closest to her spat. Red and white livery. House Vikary, perhaps?
Arya urged her horse just slightly forward. "She is Alysanne Stark, Queen of the North and the Rivers, and Lady of Winterfell. You should show more respect," Arya said coolly, with a defiant jut of her chin. Alysanne couldn't help but smile slightly at her theatrics.
Alysanne scanned the men for her Uncle Stafford, but recognized none of them. How long had it been since she last saw him? Before she left Casterly Rock, certainly. She could hardly remember what he looked like, nor did she have the faintest idea what he would look like now.
Alysanne raised her chin and forgot the man who spat at her feet. "Which one of you is Stafford Lannister?"
None of the men before her spoke a word. They shifted uncomfortably and eyed one another. There weren't many men with fine enough livery to be Stafford Lannister, and fewer still of the proper age.
The Smalljon stepped forward then and cleared his throat. "Ser Stafford was killed by my own sword, your grace, when he made to strike Prince Jon."
Alysanne spared a quick glance at Jon, still sitting atop his horse near the back of the group of hostages. If he's still sitting on his own, he can't be too injured. She nodded sharply. "Very well. You have my thanks, Lord Jon."
Kinslayer, a dark voice hissed in the back of her mind. She did her best to ignore it. She'd heard the Smalljon, they all had. Ser Stafford would have killed her Jon otherwise. Men died in war, and it wasn't she who struck the killing blow. But it is you who leads the army.
Alysanne hardened her voice. "I'll ask again. What are your names?"
One by one, the men before her named themselves as her father's cousin Martyn Lannister, the sons of the now deceased Lord Jast, Ser Lymond Vikary, and dozens of other highborn men. Alysanne entrusted their care to Lord Forrester, and called to begin the short march back to their camp.
Fog rose from the ground, and the morning air grew damp and cool. It soothed Alysanne's clammy skin as her nausea grew with the rising sun. She swallowed it down once more and matched her pace with Arya as they rode.
"That's quite the long title you gave me," Alysanne noted. She smiled at Arya slyly.
Arya grinned. "We hadn't discussed it, so I took the matter into my own hands. Why? Don't you like it?"
Alysanne hummed disapprovingly, which sent Arya into a fit of giggles. She wheeled her horse about, and Alysanne knew she was off to find Jon and demand to hear every detail of the battle. Alysanne let the rest of the ride continue in silence, and her thoughts drifted to Robb.
The last she'd heard word from Robb had been at Wayfarer's Rest, just before they entered the Westerlands proper. The news that he'd held off Tywin Lannister had sent a roar of triumph through the camp and the men had stayed up late into the night celebrating. She, on the other hand, had never felt more conflicted.
Alysanne had never been happier to hear Robb was well, and how proud she'd been at hearing of his victory. But what did that make her? She felt no guilt at her grandfather's defeat. But shouldn't she? Should she not have cried tears of grief for her families at war with one another? For every moment of joy she felt at Robb's success, guilt was quick to follow for her lack of remorse.
Fear had swiftly followed the news as well. Joffrey wouldn't be pleased, and Joffrey's displeasure meant Sansa's suffering. Robb had made no mention of Theon in his letter to her, but she hadn't expected him to. The plan would have been ruined had his missive fallen into the wrong hands. Alys knew neither of them were likely to hear from Theon until he had Sansa safe and away, if he succeeded at all. But the silence was deafening, and all there was left to do was fill it with her fears of his failure. It would mean his death, his and Jory Cassels. And Sansa's as well.
Alysanne forced her worries away as their camp came into view, and as they, in turn, came into view of those who remained in camp, a cheer echoed in the air. Healers and other women flew out from the camp like crows, retracing their steps back to the field of battle to scavenge for the injured and dead.
Once they reached the center of camp, Alysanne dismissed the men and her generals. They'd fought a hard battle and deserved the rest, the council meeting could wait until midday at the least. She slipped from her horse and swayed slightly, bracing herself with a hand on the saddle. Sick pooled in her mouth, but she swallowed it back. Word and the fear of illness spread through camps nearly as fast as disease, and Alysanne needed no more problems than she already had.
Wylla dismounted her own horse and was quick to shuffle to her side. Her hands fluttered over Alysanne's shoulders. "Are you well, Alys? Perhaps you should rest," Wylla suggested with a pointed look.
"I'm alright," Alysanne shrugged her off. Another wave of nausea crashed over her, and a cramp pierced at her belly. She cleared her throat and swallowed once more.
Wylla's hands tightened on her shoulders. "You're pale. Please rest and let me send for the maester."
Alysanne shook her head. She didn't need the maester; the nausea wasn't new. The cramping is. She ignored the thought. Maester Lyman had injured men to tend to, she couldn't afford to waste his time. "I'll rest. But no maester," she insisted.
Wylla herself saw Alysanne to her tent, not trusting her to truly rest. She refused to leave until she saw Alysanne lay down with her own eyes, and even then, she remained, finding a seat at the small table in Alysanne's private pavilion. She must have dozed off, because before long she found herself shaken awake by Wylla standing above her.
She let Wylla help her redress, all the while listening to her speak of what information she'd gleaned off of her girls throughout camp whilst she slept. I must have slept longer than I thought. Some younger Lannister soldiers with tongues loosened by milk of the poppy spoke of Tywin Lannister abandoning Harrenhal, the veracity of which Alysanne questioned. Why would he abandon Harrenhal? There was not much else of import, and after telling Wylla to try and find more about Harrenhal, the two women ducked out of the tent.
Alysanne was pleased to find Jon waiting for her and making idle conversation with Ser Addam. He was largely uninjured, Alysanne was relieved to see, save for a slight cut above his right brow. She had not had the time to see him since the battle ended. He had his own duties, after all.
"Jon," she breathed. She embraced him briefly. "You're well?" Alysanne looped his arm through his and they started towards the pavilion Alysanne had designated for council meetings, Wylla and Ser Addam trailing after them. With Robb, they had used their pavilion for both, but Alysanne preferred her own space.
"Aye, I'm well. It was as we thought, they did not know we'd passed the Golden Tooth. They didn't stand a chance. They were mostly green boys and sellswords." Alysanne had already been told as such, but she nodded along anyway.
Faintly, Alysanne could hear the agonized cries of those who had been injured that echoed from the tents where their healers worked. There were hostages and Lannister men there too, she knew. Alysanne would not have been surprised if most of the men in those tents were Lannister men. It was as Jon said; they hadn't stood a chance.
"A brilliant victory. I should thank you," Alysanne said. They sidestepped a large puddle of mud before dodging a young boy sprinting past. A squire, most like. "And your squire, Alyn, is it? How is he?"
"Uninjured. He fought well, I dismissed him for the day." Another puddle lay ahead, one they could not avoid thanks to the two men leading horses who had stopped to bow as she and Jon passed. Her skirts dragged through it, as did Jon's cloak. "And it's your victory, not mine."
Alysanne scowled. "It is not. You led the attack, you're the one who found the goat path. And you still haven't told me exactly how," she noted with a pointed raise of her brow. When she asked how he came to know of it, Jon had only explained that Ghost led him to it and that it was unused and long abandoned. Had it been anyone else, Alysanne might have discounted the idea for a trap. But it was Jon, and she trusted Jon's judgment more than any of her advisors, save perhaps Ser Addam.
"I told you. Ghost found it," Jon reiterated. Alysanne suspected there was more to Jon's explanation than he was letting on, but she didn't pry. He would tell her when he was ready. "And you're the Queen. It's your army, these are your men, it's your victory."
Perhaps they should be his men. Alysanne huffed. She never led the men farther than a clear vantage point, it was Jon who rode into battle with them. She pulled Jon to an abrupt stop, splashing more mud onto the hem of her skirts. "We moved past Lefford's men because of you. It was your plan to strike at night, therefore it's your victory."
Jon's argument was cut short by the arrival of Arya, with Ghost at her side. The sight made Alysanne smile just slightly. Alys didn't like Arya wandering about the camp alone any more than Robb or Jon liked her with no guards. Arya had been just as resistant as Alysanne had been, but Jon had convinced her to at least let Ghost tag along when she was alone. Arya didn't mind, Alysanne knew just how much she missed Nymeria.
Before long, they reached the pavilion, and one by one, they filed in. Alysanne entered the tent last to find her bannermen already awaiting. They had left empty seats for her, Ser Addam, Jon, Arya, and Wylla, and they swiftly took them. Ser Addam claimed the seat to her right, and Wylla the one on her left. Next to Wylla was Jorelle, followed by Lord Gregor, Harrion Karstark, the Smalljon, and Maege Mormont. Jon and Arya claimed the two seats beside Lady Mormont, which left Ser Brynden to their left. Ghost settled just behind Jon. One seat remained empty, and Alysanne frowned.
"Where's Ser Stevron?" Alysanne looked around expectantly.
Lord Gregor shifted forward in his seat just slightly. "Ser Stevron was injured. He took an arrow to the shoulder."
Alysanne's frown deepened. Why hadn't they informed her? He had not been among the other injured men she visited earlier, and he'd seemed fine just after the battle. A bit tired, perhaps, but not injured. Alysanne asked why she hadn't been informed, and Lord Gregor explained he hadn't thought to bother her when Ser Stevron would be back on his feet in just a few days.
It's no matter. She resolved to visit him after the meeting and perhaps ask for his thoughts on whatever they decided on. She valued his opinion, more than she thought she would have when Robb said he was to join her in her march west.
Ser Brynden cleared his throat. "Where to now, Your Grace?" He asked, redirecting the conversation away from poor, injured Ser Stevron.
Anyone else, and Alysanne might have admonished the brusk tone with which Ser Brynden spoke. She only settled for a harsh look. Ser Brynden meant nothing by it, and he was Robb's family.
"Might you wish to share your thoughts on the matter, Ser Brynden?" If he was so eager to change the subject, then she might as well let him lead the conversation.
Ser Brynden waved his scarred hand over the map. "We could backtrack, march further north and attack Lannister bannermen. Ashemark isn't far, and the Crag would be a sound victory as well."
Ser Addam tensed slightly at the mention of Ashemark. Alysanne hadn't failed to notice just how close they passed to Ashemark as they'd passed around the Golden Tooth. It was closer than Ser Addam had perhaps been in over ten years. They'd been less than a two days' ride from his home, one if it was just the two of them.
No matter how hard she tried, Alysanne couldn't picture what Ashemark might look like. She did, however, have her own idea of what his brothers and sister might look like. His eldest brother Lorent must certainly be entirely gray by now if Ser Addam was anything to go by, and Alyn would have the same smiling eyes as her Addam. His younger sister might have the same brilliant red hair as his, and she would have the same bright smile and pointed nose. Alysanne had long wished to meet them, she just hoped it wouldn't be on opposite ends of the field of battle.
"Ravage the Westerlands as they've burned the Riverlands," Alysanne replied. "It would slow his supplies and his reinforcements."
"Yes. Or we can continue on our current path." He paused to reach for a map marker across the table.
Before he could continue, the Smalljon broke in excitedly. "If we continue as we go, we can tear Clegane Hall stone from stone. Burn Lannisport and Crakehall as well!"
"I'm not talking about Clegane Hall and Crakehall," Ser Brynden gruffed. "I'm talking about striking Tywin Lannister in the heart. We take Casterly Rock."
Ser Brynden spoke with such confidence that it took a moment for everyone gathered to fully realize what he'd suggested. Harrion Karstark was the first to bellow his protests, with the Smalljon all too eager to oppose Harrion even louder. Lady Mormont added to the din by trying to quell their argument, and Lord Forrester took that as his queue to join in as well. They stood from their seats in an attempt to make themselves better heard over the other, and at a passing remark from Harrion Karstark, Jon sprung to his feet. Arya watched the commotion with eager eyes as pointed fingers and snarled insults engulfed the pavilion.
Alysanne heard neither the passing remark nor the arguments tossed about the room, Jorelle and Wylla's whispers behind her, nor Ser Addams' hushed scorn beside her. She kept her eyes steady on Ser Brynden, who had sunk back into his seat and remained as stony faced as when he'd suggested it in the first place.
Alysanne rose from her seat, and the men who had stood to make themselves better heard shrunk back to theirs. "That's enough," she remarked. "Tell me more, Ser Brynden."
With a grateful nod, Ser Brynden stood once more. "Tywin left Ser Stafford to hold the Rock. We defeated him and his men." He paused for the small cheer that swept across the table. The Smalljon clapped a large hand on the back of Jon's shoulder, who smiled down at the table. "We should march now, before whoever Ser Stafford left in his stead has time to call for more men."
"He won't have left the Rock undefended, and they have enough stores to outlast us for the rest of the war," Harrion argued.
Ser Brynden snorted. "Those were green boys and sellswords we routed last night. If that's who Stafford was bringing to face King Robb, who do you think he left at the Rock?"
Jon scratched at his beard before he said, "that still leaves the issue on how we draw them out, or even find our way in."
"Casterly Rock is impregnable," Harrion bit out. "How do you think to take it?"
Harrion and Ser Brynden went back and forth, but Jon's words brought Alysanne back to the morning after her wedding when she'd taken her breakfast with Robb and her Uncle Tyrion. If what he'd told her that morning proved true, then perhaps the Rock wasn't nearly as impregnable as they thought.
"Even if we can't take the Rock, taking Lannisport on its own would be a blow. The threat alone might force Tywin back towards us," Maege Mormont interjected.
The volume in the pavilion swelled once more and Alysanne felt a pressure behind her eyes grow. If only Ser Stevron were here. He had a deft hand with cooling the tempers of her advisors.
"We'll march on Casterly Rock," Alysanne decided, putting a stop to another brewing argument.
Harrion Karstark ignored the finality of her tone. "This is a mistake. With all due respect, you have not been to Casterly Rock since you were a girl. You may not have much knowledge regarding war and sieges, but even you must know this is a fool's errand."
"You're speaking to your queen," Wylla hissed, voice laden with venom. Alysanne pursed her lips. Here we go. Wylla had no love for Harrion, she'd made that very clear to Alys. And the glares Harrion frequently shot towards Wylla were equally icy.
"Well, perhaps the queen should remember that this is King Robb's war. We don't have time to settle her personal vendettas," Harrion sneered.
Alysanne slapped her hand down on the table with a crack and the room went silent. She huffed and took in the scene in front of her once more. Wylla stood at one end of the table with a face so red it clashed against her green hair. Her face was so red it nearly matched the hair of Harrion Karstark, who towered on the opposite end of the table. Both seemed as though they were like to spring across and strangle the other, and everyone looked on wide eyed.
Alysanne rose to her feet. "That will be all, Lord Harrion, Lady Wylla. We'll continue on our march at first light." Her advisors took it for the dismissal it was and filed from the tent.
There would be no more productive conversation that afternoon with tempers so heated. A good night's rest would do them well, and with their victory the previous night, they were in no great hurry. Alysanne waited to leave until her lords passed her, but Arya remained in her seat with an angry twist of her mouth. Soon only the two of them remained, with Ser Addam waiting outside.
"He shouldn't speak to you that way," Arya complained.
"No, he shouldn't have," she agreed. "But Harrion Karstark likes me little enough as it is. It wouldn't do to embarrass him."
"He insults you!" Arya cried. "He's a cunt."
"Arya," Alysanne chided, her tone not the least bit reproachful due to the laughter that laced her tone. "You shouldn't say such things."
"It's only you," Arya frowned. She flopped into a seat of her own and kicked her feet onto the table.
"Yes, but you never know who might be listening." Alysanne waved to the canvas walls of the pavilion. "These aren't walls of stone." Arya's only response to Alysanne's point was a huff. "As much as I agree with you and Wylla, the Karstarks are important. It wouldn't be wise to insult them when they're already upset about my father." Alysanne couldn't help the way the words my father stuck in her throat. It felt weird to refer to him as such, when for the past few weeks it'd been strictly Jaime Lannister.
"I know," Arya grumbled. "The last thing you need is to give them another reason to be upset. He needs to know you still respect him, and all that."
Alysanne couldn't help her slight, proud smile. "You have been listening." Arya scrunched her nose. Alysanne had been doing her best to involve Arya in her decisions, and it seemed it was paying off. "I was thinking about what you said before we left. That you would make a terrible lady."
"I would," Arya argued. "I would have let Wylla tear him to shreds."
"I don't think you would have," Alysanne said softly. "You would be a far better lady than you claim. You're a swift learner, and you have a knack for sums. How many times did Sansa and I bribe you to do ours for us?"
Arya smirked at the memory. "More times than mother and Maester Luwin would care to know." Her smile fell. "I don't want to be a lady. I don't want to sit around and do nothing and bear my husband's children while he gets to rule."
"And is that what I'm doing, then?" Alysanne asked. "And your mother?"
"You got lucky," Arya insisted. "Mother did too."
She opened her mouth to reply, but another sharp cramp stabbed through her belly and flashes of last night's dream came unbidden to her mind. The woman in lavender, curled in on herself in a bed of flame. Blood streaming down her thighs, a dragon bursting from her womb, leaving behind a mangled corpse. Panicked screams and shattering glass, burning trees and ash coating her hair, the warm embrace of fire, the crackling call of the flame-
"Alys?" Alysanne snapped her eyes up. Arya crouched before her with her eyebrows scrunched in concern.
"I'm alright," Alysanne reassured her. "Come, I need to speak with Ser Addam."
Alysanne gestured for Ser Addam to follow as they left the pavilion. They made it to the edge of camp before Alysanne asked Arya to wait while she continued forth with Ser Addam. They stopped just out of earshot, the sounds of the camp just a whisper.
Ser Addam was patient while Alysanne gathered her thoughts. She thought of his two brothers who she'd yet to meet, his younger sister who wrote to him so often. He tried to keep it from her, Alysanne knew, but he missed them dearly. His sister had married just two years prior, and they had only informed him after the wedding. Alysanne could still see the hurt on his face as he read that letter so clearly. His brothers had stopped writing years ago.
She couldn't help but feel as though the growing distance between Ser Addam and his family was her fault. She was what kept him away, after all. She was what had taken him away from his home. That fact was more glaring than it'd ever been. How could I be so selfish as to forget? She should have remembered before he re-swore his vows to her back in Winterfell. She should have never forgotten in the first place.
Oh, how it would hurt to see him leave. But what else was there to do? He would never leave on his own accord, not if he thought himself still beholden to her. She had seen how he'd tensed at the thought of marching against his home. If she failed to take Casterly Rock, they could still find themselves headed towards Ashemark. How could she force him to make such a choice? I'll make it for him.
"It's not too late." Ser Addam faced her with his lips pressed into a thin line. He knew what she was going to say, but he let her talk, anyway. "You can still ride for Ashemark, tell your family you were held captive and only just escaped."
"Alysanne," he warned. "I swore those vows to you in Winterfell, knowing good and well what might happen."
"But that was before. There were men you knew on that field today, do not lie and pretend otherwise." Alysanne met his eyes in a challenge. He wouldn't lie to her, not so blatantly.
Ser Addam's eyes glossed over as he looked over the field in front of them, or perhaps it was only a trick of the setting sun. "Aye, I knew many of those men. I trained beside them, grew up with them. I would not have been surprised to see my brother or father on the field, to be quite honest."
He tried to sound as though he were unaffected, but Alysanne could still hear the pain in his voice. It cut her to the bone. Who was she to demand he stay and fight against his family? Selfish. That's what you are.
"Then why?" Alysanne pleaded. "Why stay? You don't have to fight against your family,"
Ser Addam interrupted her. Something he so rarely did. "Like I told you in Winterfell. You're my family too," his eyes flashed, more ice than their usual smokey-blue. His jaw cut a stern line as he continued. "I've watched you grow since you were naught but six name days. I will not abandon you now."
Frustration roiled in her chest. Why did he not understand? "I could command you to leave, to return home. You did swear to always obey me." Alysanne did her best to ignore the almost hurt look on his face. She took a breath and made every effort to soften her tone. "You can't expect to spend your entire life serving me, nor could I ask it of you. Do you not wish to marry? To have children of your own?"
If anything, his jaw clenched tighter. "I never wished to marry, and I still don't. I never thought to have children of my own, either. But Jaime sent me North with you. It would seem that the gods had plans of their own." Ser Addam held her head tight in his hands and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Alysanne closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment to pretend that she was only a girl, once again in Winterfell. "Do not command me to abandon you. I don't wish to break my word."
Alysanne squeezed her eyes shut and felt tears slip down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she choked. "I don't want to make you choose. I won't."
He pulled her tight to his chest. "I already chose," he whispered. Ser Addam ended the conversation at that. He stepped away but kept his arms around her shoulders, leading her back towards where Arya awaited.
Their trio made it just past the tents on the outskirts of camp before they spotted Jon Umber hurriedly making his way towards them. His pace was brisk, and he did not stop for those in his path, instead expecting them to move. He had a regretful look on his face, and Alysanne's heart plummeted.
Jon Umber stopped before her and bowed at the waist, but he did not have time to speak before Alysanne herself said, "What's happened?" Alysanne waved back Arya and Ser Addam.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but Ser Stevron passed in his sleep." He kept his eyes downcast, and Alysanne wondered if he felt as sorrowful as he sounded. Stevron Frey had not been overly popular amongst her other lords, but neither had he been disliked.
"I thought he was expected to recover," Alysanne stated, more than questioned.
"He was old. Maester Lyman said it's not uncommon at his age for such a wound to turn fatal." Alysanne knew little Maester Lyman, save that he'd proven adept at treating wounds sustained in battle.
Alysanne took a breath to collect herself and let it stretch a moment longer than she might have in other company. She trusted Jon Umber; he'd been loyal to Robb and respectful of her from the start. He hadn't questioned her command, at least not where she or any of Wylla's girls could hear. "Arrange to have his body sent back to the Twins. Pick two or three of his men," she said.
"I'll see it done," the Smalljon replied.
Alysanne walked back to where Arya and Ser Addam awaited. A lone wolf howled in the distance, and Alysanne shivered, both of them stopping to stare in the direction it came from. At the queer look on Arya's face, Alysanne raised a brow. Arya only shook her head, and they continued in silence back to camp.