Food would not be of any concern for the next moons to come, or for the rest of the war if they were lucky The morning after her men took Casterly Rock, Alysanne called for the larders to be emptied and whatever they could carry, they took.
Castles were plundered in war, and Casterly Rock would be no different. Oberyn, for instance, had delighted himself with wandering the keep and searching high and low for anything which caught his fancy, which as it appeared, was a great many things. Alysanne had no doubt many of her lords would return to their keeps with more gold than they'd left with, and Casterly Rock would be short numerous gilded swords, daggers, and armor.
It may have been petty and childish, but Alysanne herself had claimed a fair amount for herself. The gowns Cersei had left behind, Alysanne collected for herself and her ladies. Out of style though they were, they were still in fine condition. Rich silks in the greens Cersei favored, as well as deep crimsons and cloths of gold, velvets and heavy brocades, Alysanne suspected that she and her ladies would be busy reworking them into new gowns for many evenings to come. What a pleasant surprise they'll be, for Beth and Eddara.
It was in Cersei's old wardrobe that Alysanne found a mourning gown, which Wylla had graciously spent the night reworking to fit Alysanne. Perhaps she had tempted the gods by traveling without a proper dress for mourning. If there are gods to tempt, that is. How foolish was she to presume that this war would take no one else from her? Alysanne would gladly trade all the food and provisions, the gowns and jewels and gilded swords, all the riches in Casterly Rock to have Ser Addam back beside her.
The gods had no interest in any of that, however, and so Alysanne remained shrouded in a dress of black brocade. A rather elaborate mourning dress, by northern standards. Fine silk lined the inside of the dress with dagged sleeves that nearly reached the floor. Black pearls dotted the neckline and crept along the shoulders, and they themselves matched a hairnet, which Alysanne had forgone, instead choosing to let her hair tumble down her back.
Plunder and provisions were of no concern to Alysanne at that moment, though. In truth, she dreaded entering the door which awaited before her. Genna Lannister was never one to tarry her words, and Alysanne doubted this conversation would go as well as the one with Joy did.
Joy Hill had, curiously, been among the first of the Lannisters to request to speak with Alysanne. It had sparked a hope that perchance Joy remembered Alysanne and the warm, glittering days spent sailing with Uncle Gerion. She'd entertained that hope the entire day, for she'd found herself far too busy to speak with anyone aside from Jon or her lords and Lady Mormont.
Perhaps she should have known better. Joy had not been past her fourth name-day when Alysanne departed, and she hardly remembered Alys at all. What she did remember were mere glimpses, faint memories of her father telling stories of their days spent sailing just off the coast.
Still, Joy had kindly requested to speak with her. It was to Alysanne's surprise that Joy lived in Casterly Rock rather than Lannisport. It all made more sense when she explained she served as a handmaiden to Lady Dorna. When Alysanne asked if she was happy with her position, her cousin had wrinkled her nose and said, "Uncle Tywin sees that I'm fed, that I want for nothing. They don't mistreat me, but I know they don't like me much either."
Briony, Joy's mother, had succumbed to a fever nearly five years prior. Out of love for his long missing brother, Tywin had offered a position in his household to Joy. One which, by Joy's own words, she would have been foolish to refuse. What other options did she have?
That comment had prompted Alysanne to offer her a place amongst her own ladies. Like her grandfather, the offer was born out of a place of grief for her long-lost uncle. Alysanne found herself fond of Joy, though, in the brief conversation that they shared. They had the same green eyes and Joy's hair was light as well, from days spent in the sun. She had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks, and wide eyes which betrayed nearly each of her true feelings.
At Alysanne's offer, Joy had wrapped her arms tight around herself. She had studied Alysanne but for a moment, before replying, "there's not much for me here since my mother died. And I should like to see more of Westeros, I think."
And so she had brought Joy to Wylla and Jorelle, and now Alysanne stood outside of her Aunt Genna's chambers. No good in putting it off any longer. Already she'd delayed until after dinner on her third day in Casterly Rock. She braced herself before knocking and entering.
Genna did not rise from her seat by her window, though Alysanne had not expected her to. Her chambers were exactly as Alysanne had predicted as well. Tapestries depicting Lannister victories—particularly the women of their house—hung from each wall, gold brocaded bed curtains matched draperies over the windows, plush myrish rugs in Lannister crimson, nothing at all to suggest the house she'd married into.
Neither spoke as they regarded one another, and Alysanne remained just inside the doorway. In the chaos of the past few days, Alysanne had overlooked the recently widowed Myranda Lefford. Not that she would have been able to identify her amongst the others, anyhow. She'd never met her before, nor had Alysanne met her distant cousins Daven, Cerenna, and Myrielle. Genna knew them, though, and like Alysanne, she wore her own mourning gown, though for Stafford Lannister, instead of Addam Marbrand.
Finally, Genna tsked and shook her head. Alysanne kept her head high and face blank. "Oh Alys, what have you done?" Genna truly looked her years then, with creases and gray hairs and tired eyes. "You were always a child with temerity. But this?"
Alysanne strode all the way into the room. A chair had been placed just across from where Genna sat, and Alysanne claimed it for her own. "What have I done? My duty. Is that not what grandfather always bid me to do? Well, he himself gave me to the Starks. I'm only doing my duty by my lord husband."
"Your duty?" Genna flashed Alysanne a sardonic grin. "Is that what you tell yourself, child? Is it your duty to betray your family?"
Alysanne sat straight-backed in the chair and clenched her jaw. "Tell me, aunt, whom am I to betray? To which family do I owe my loyalty? Am I only to be a Stark when it suits grandfather?"
Her grin lessened into an infuriating smirk. "Come now, Alysanne, you're no fool. Doing your duty would be sitting in Winterfell, running the keep while your Lord Husband wages war. Instead, you wage a rebellion by his side, as his Queen, leading your own host to take your true family's ancestral seat. All for what?"
Alysanne gripped the arms of her chair and leaned forward slightly. "As far as I see it, the Starks are my true family. Cersei's bastard took Ned Stark's head for telling the truth." Genna sneered, but Alysanne plowed on. "And he continues to beat and humiliate Sansa Stark. The Starks raised me, cared for me, Lord Stark was more a father to me than Jaime, and I've never known a mother aside from Lady Catelyn."
Genna raised a groomed brow in a manner that reminded Alysanne eerily of Cersei. Mayhap that's where she learned it. "So what of us? Are we not your family?" Fire licked at Alysanne's belly, setting her blood to boil.
"You all abandoned me," Alysanne spat. "Uncle Kevan only wrote to me but the once, on my sixteenth name day. You never visited, and no one bothered to inform me of Uncle Gerion's disappearance until nearly a year later. Uncle Tyrion visited me once out of pity, after my father failed yet again to visit. He was the only one aside from grandfather, who only truly visited to lecture me on the family legacy, and because it was expected of him. The rest of you forgot about me."
Alysanne took a shuddering breath and whipped her head to the side, blinking furiously. She cursed the fact that mourning veils had long gone out of style, for at least then she could have hid the pooling tears. "None of this matters, what's done is done. Casterly Rock is mine. Perhaps you should send a raven to my sweet cousin the King and my dear Lord Grandfather to inform them of my victory."
Genna sat in silence, as though contemplating her words. "Tywin will never forgive you for this, you know that, don't you? He used to speak so highly of you, always told me what an intelligent girl you were."
Alysanne's lips curled. "Grandfather thinks highly of no one save himself."
"You impertinent girl," Genna snarled. "He sent you north because he had high hopes for you. He made you a much higher marriage than you should have expected with Robert as King, and you've squandered it."
"That isn't the slightest bit true," Alysanne gainsaid. "He sent me north because he wanted more power, as if his daughter on the Iron Throne and a King in his debt weren't enough. He always prattles on about the family legacy, but I know you aren't a fool, Aunt Genna. We both know he means his own legacy. Go ahead and tell me otherwise."
Rage crackled between the two of them as they glared at one another. Eventually, Genna let out a defeated sigh. "You've chosen your side, I knew that before I asked to speak with you."
"Then why did you call me here?" Alysanne snapped. Was it to beg to be sent to King's Landing? Or to Tywin? Alysanne would do neither of those things. She'd already extended the kindness of allowing Genna her own rooms and access to her grandchildren.
Genna stood and motioned for Alysanne to remain where she was. From beneath her ornate desk off to the side, Genna dragged a chest. It scraped against the floor as she tugged it closer. She set it in front of Alysanne and plopped back into her seat. "I had intended to send it north on your next name-day. I came across it when searching for your mother's jewels for Jaime."
Alysanne warily lifted the lid. A pile of fabrics lay neatly folded within, and she gazed at Genna in question. "Your mother's dresses; I suspect you'll be able to make use of them. They're yours by right. Her maiden cloak is in there, her Targaryen one. As is a scrap of her wedding dress, I believe."
She sifted through the dresses until she found the cloak in question. It was made of fine black silk, the three heads of the Targaryen dragon in bold crimson on the back. Rubies glittered and hung heavy, and onyx gems surrounded them.
Genna continued speaking as Alysanne stared wide-eyed at the cloak. "You look like her, you know. Your mother. I only met her twice, at the wedding and at Cersei's coronation. She never came here and I can't stand to be in King's Landing. But, I remember her well. She was quite beautiful."
Alysanne let the cloak fall back into the chest and closed the lid with a snap. "Thank you, Lady Genna." She rose and peered down her nose at her great-aunt. "I'll send one of my ladies to retrieve the chest." Alysanne spun on her heel and stalked towards the door.
"Alysanne, one last thing." Alysanne froze, but did not turn to face her aunt. "Your old rooms are just a few doors down. You might find them a better fit than the ones which you use now. More appropriate, than the Lady of the Rock's chambers."
Without a second glance, Alysanne stormed out of the room and let the door shut harshly behind her. Alysanne wanted nothing more than to strip the suffocating gown off and curl up in her bed for the rest of the day. She wondered if everyone found Genna so taxing, or if it was merely her.
I am not wrong, for choosing Robb. Alysanne loved Robb dearly, but it had not been her choice to go north. She had not chosen to marry him, her grandfather chose for her. And now they denounce me for choosing for myself. Her grandfather arranged for the marriage so the Lannisters would have a foothold in the north. He had gotten his wish, only not in the way he'd anticipated. And I'm no longer a Lannister.
Can I still be angry at him, when I've grown to love Winterfell so dearly? Her longing for Winterfell ached down to her very bones, and her longing for Robb even deeper. Alysanne had never been apart from him for so long, and now, more than ever, she yearned for him. Robb, who had never failed to comfort her in her darkest hours; the babe, then Ser Addam, Alys felt his absence more acutely than ever.
Yet he was leagues away, somewhere waging war in the Riverlands while she languished in a place she was no longer welcome. Just for a moment, Alysanne stopped and closed her eyes. Would he be proud, when he received word of her victory here? She tried to picture the smile on his face when he received the missive Jon sent, but it was to no avail. What will he think when he hears of Ser Addam? Will he blame me as I do myself? Would he be angry about Dorne and Aegon?
A shiver slid down her spine, and she came to a stop at the end of the hall. As her Aunt Genna said, her childhood room was only several doors down. Alysanne stilled and considered the closed door with her hand hovering over the knob.
The last time she'd closed this door, she'd been a girl of six name-days, excited for an adventure to King's Landing. Alysanne remembered that morning well. She'd been so excited the night before that she'd hardly slept, and she'd been among the first of the household ready to depart the next day. Would I have been so excited, had I known it'd be over ten years before I returned?
Poor Septa Elswyth had a horrid time trying to keep Alysanne inside the wheelhouse on that first day's journey. She had a dreadful time getting me to behave at all, really. All Alysanne had wanted to do was ride her pony, Silverwing, beside her father and the rest of the household traveling with them.
She spared a thought for her old Septa. Is she settled in King's Landing? She must be by now. It'd been moons since she left Alysanne behind in Winterfell with a tearful farewell. For as much as Alysanne had complained and lamented her watchful Septa, it had still been hard to part ways. In a way, it had felt as though she were parting with the last vestiges of her childhood.
Alysanne turned the knob and tiptoed forward into her childhood room. It was nearly exactly as she'd left it, or as near as she remembered. The old, carved chest still sat at the end of the fourposter bed, one which Alysanne now found far too grand for a child. The drapes surrounding the bed were nearly as rich and elaborate as the ones in Genna's room, only they were a deep crimson rather than gold. The same carpet, desk, and chairs remained as well. Most surprisingly of all, however, was the plush toy lion that sat in front of the pillows on her bed. Loreon! Alysanne smiled despite herself and rushed forward to retrieve it.
She had left him here out of fear of misplacing him or damaging him on the journey, not knowing she wasn't to return. Alysanne had wept once she realized she could not go back home for him before heading to Winterfell. To her childish self, that had been the biggest betrayal. Not that they had sent her away from home, away from her father and everyone she'd ever known, but that they had forced her to leave her little lion behind. Alysanne clutched him close to her chest and closed her eyes.
The little plush lion had been a gift from her Uncle Gerion, though she did not recall when he gave it to her, only that he had. Loreon swiftly became one of her closest friends in the Rock. He'd been her most frequent guest at her imaginary teas, as well as her partner in her quests to explore every crevice of Casterly Rock. Alysanne could even remember bringing him to see Joy down in Lannisport.
A sharp knock from the doorway sent Alysanne whirling about with a start, only to find Jon standing and observing her curiously. She flushed and set Loreon gently down on the bed before smoothing her skirts. Jon stepped in and peered about slowly.
Once finished surveying the room, Jon came to stand before her. "I went to find you in your rooms, but you weren't there. A servant said she saw you head towards the family wing."
Alysanne took a seat on her old bed. "My Aunt Genna wished to speak with me."
He hummed and raised a brow. "These aren't her rooms, I presume?"
"No," Alysanne chuckled. "These were mine, once. Perhaps still; no one's changed them over."
At the new information, Jon examined the rooms once more before his eyes landed on the stuffed lion. "That was yours then?" He asked, an amused smile dancing across his face.
Alysanne flushed and glanced down at her lap before picking up Loreon once more. She held him in her lap and inspected the plush lion. He certainly had the look of a once-beloved toy. A few stains graced his paws, and the fabric was more worn in some places than others. The fur meant to be a mane had clumped together in places, and one of the button eyes had been lovingly reattached. "He was."
"He?" Jon asked with a teasing lilt, to which Alysanne shot him a playful glare.
"Shut up," she laughed. "I named him Loreon, after the first Lannister king. The first known one, anyhow. My Uncle Gerion gave him to me."
Jon's smile softened and worked into something more melancholy. "He's the one who went missing?"
Alysanne's own smile turned sad as well. "He is." She cleared her throat. "I was searching for you earlier myself. Where were you?"
"I was with Arya." Jon sat beside her on the bed and rested his arms on his knees. "She wanted to see my… dragon." He hesitated around the word dragon; Alysanne herself still struggled to say the word. It was hard enough to hear Jon speak of his dragon without balking in disbelief.
"She still hasn't spoken to me." Alysanne met Jon's eyes. They were filled with remorse, which Alysanne was certain reflected her own.
"She's angry. Hurt, more than anything, I think." Jon spoke softly, but the volume of his words mattered not, for Alysanne would have felt them just as sharply if he'd screamed them.
That night, Alysanne had half expected the yard to be empty once the fire burned out. And truly, who could have rightfully blamed her men for leaving? Ordinarily, it would be a rather gruesome sight to watch one's Queen burn alive. But when the fire melted away and Alysanne sat amongst the ash naked as her name-day, with three dragons clawing into her skin, the sight of men and women staring at her agape had greeted her. They stared, and she stared back.
It took a moment for those gathered to truly comprehend what they saw. The riverlords and rivermen kneeled, as did her northmen. The Dornish did not kneel, though Alysanne had paid it no mind; she'd been more preoccupied with the dragons clawing into her skin. So had Aegon, who had been amongst the first to approach her. Alysanne hadn't hesitated to pass along his hatchling, and in exchange, he gave her his cloak to cover herself.
The hatchling had let out a deafening screech as it was passed over, and that had knocked Arya out of her stupor. Alysanne only just caught her out of the corner of her eye before Arya barreled into her. Arya had clung onto her almost as fiercely as the hatchlings, sobbing and wailing into Alysanne's stomach. She'd thrown invectives in between the sobs, and that had been the last Arya spoke to her in the two days hence.
Wylla was warmer towards Alysanne than Arya, though seeing as Arya was as frigid as the wall, that wasn't saying much. And if Jorelle held any animosity, she certainly hid it better than Arya and Wylla, and Jorelle had always been a poor liar. She was almost as enchanted by the hatchlings as Alysanne was. The little pearlescent hatchling, Alysanne's hatchling, was often under Jorelle's watchful gaze, if not under her own.
Jon cleared his throat and stood, offering a hand to help Alysanne up. "Aegon wished to speak with us. That's why I came to find you."
Alysanne groaned and rubbed her temples. How many more meetings with family can I take? She was bone-weary, and her eyes stung with exhaustion. She had slept naught but three hours the night before, and perhaps even less the night before that.
Her dreams, while no longer plagued with the strange visions from before, were none too pleasant. Or rather, they were far too pleasant, for in her dreams Ser Addam lived. He lived and laughed and danced with her once more, and called her his little lion, and played with her in the snows of Winterfell. Until she awoke choking on her own tears. It was easier to remain awake, rather than find peace in her sleep, only to have it so cruelly ripped from her hands once more.
Against her wishes to simply flop backwards onto the bed and curl up, she took Jon's proffered hand. As if he knew her every thought, he chuckled and placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her out of the room.
They snaked through the halls together, stopping at Alysanne's rooms to retrieve her hatchling. The slight little thing preened in the sunlight, much like a cat, under Jorelle's watchful eye. Alysanne could have sworn it purred as well when she picked it up into her arms.
From there, they went towards Jon's rooms after Alysanne sent Jorelle to tell Aegon to meet them there. Jon said it was he who requested to speak with them. Had he figured it out? He must at least suspect something. Or perhaps he wished to demand that they abandon the cause for northern independence, now that Casterly Rock had been conquered. Whatever it was that Aegon wished to speak to them about, Alysanne feared it would be nothing good.
Jon led her to the rooms he'd been given, and into the adjacent solar. The chair which had once sat behind the desk had been dragged to join the other two, and Dark Sister sat across the arms of one. That was the chair Jon chose, and he moved Dark Sister to rest against the arm. His dragon, the red and silver, awaited him in a makeshift cage. Jon freed it and let it scramble up onto his shoulder.
It wasn't long before Aegon arrived, and he slipped calmly into the room and closed the door firmly behind him. He chose a seat and cast a slanted look at the dragon perched on Jon's shoulder and the sheathed sword propped against Jon's chair. Aegon's own hatchling, the orange and gold, had crawled from its place on his shoulder to rest in Aegon's lap, just as Alysanne's was.
"I wasn't aware you had two eggs," Aegon said to Alysanne, his eyes darting from Jon's hatchling to her own.
Alysanne scratched under her dragon's chin. "They came together." Alysanne paused as her dragon scrambled up her arm and coiled around her shoulders. With a long glance at Jon, she continued. "And one of them was never mine."
Jon shifted uneasily under Aegon's scrutiny. It didn't take a maester to discern who the other egg had belonged to, as if the hatchling perched on his shoulder didn't make it clear enough.
Something sparked in Aegon's eyes. "There were rumors that Ashara was your mother. She denied them when Illyrio inquired about it, and I never gave them any more thought. You'll forgive me if now I'm giving it more thought." Aegon's face was stony, his eyes colder than Alysanne had yet seen them. Has he pieced it together, after all? Aegon had proven himself intelligent enough.
When the Targaryens ruled Westeros and dragons last ruled the skies, there had been the odd fool who tried to claim a dragon for his own, now and then. But one needed Valyrian ancestry to succeed in that endeavor, or so it was thought. Alysanne knew that, and she suspected Aegon did as well. With that bit of knowledge, it wouldn't be hard to piece together the truth of Jon's mother and father.
Jon looked at her, and she inclined her head. There wasn't much avoiding the truth now, no matter if Alysanne would prefer them to wait or not. How else were they to explain the dragon which had claimed Jon for its own?
"My father wasn't Ned Stark." Jon's voice was strained, and Alysanne reached across the table to clasp his hand in her own. She nodded once more, and Jon took a deep breath. "My mother was Lyanna Stark, and my father—" before Jon had even finished, Aegon hissed out a low curse and sprung to his feet. "My father was Rhaegar Targaryen."
Aegon's hatchling voiced its protest at being disturbed and had clawed its way back to his shoulder. Aegon paced to the window on the other side of the room and halted before it. He stared out, his hands braced against the windowsill and his head hung between his shoulders. The very castle seemed to come to a standstill.
"Lyanna Stark," Aegon mumbled, "so that's why he left." He pivoted to face them, and where Alysanne expected to find resentment, she found only distress. "My half-brother, you say."
Jon nodded solemnly. "Aye. Your half-brother." Slowly, Jon retrieved the letter from the inside of his doublet and stood from his seat. He met Aegon by the window and held forward the letter from Lyanna Stark. "It's from my mother. It explains it all."
Carefully, Aegon took the letter from Jon. Jon held his breath while Aegon read it, and it wasn't until Aegon returned the letter to Jon that his shoulders dropped. Aegon kept his eyes trained out the window when he said, "you have a claim to the throne as well, it would seem."
"They never married. You still have the better claim, I don't mean to challenge that." Jon said vehemently before he dropped his gaze to the floor. He did not notice the way Aegon watched him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Aegon's jaw hardened, and betrayal mingled with the sorrow in his eyes.
At that, Alysanne stood to join them by the window as well. She would not have Jon take the blame for something which was her doing. "It's difficult to know who to trust." She saw no point in bandying about the truth. She took her cousin for the type of man to appreciate honesty, no matter how late it came. "Jon wished to tell you. It was I who stopped him, he holds no blame."
Aegon shifted his jaw. "Were you ever going to tell me?" The defensive bite in his tone stung, but Alysanne couldn't blame him.
He had told her the truth of who he was from the start, and she hadn't extended him the same courtesy regarding Jon. Guilt prodded at her chest, but she shoved it away. If she felt the guilt, the grief would come rushing in, and there would be time for that later.
"I had initially wanted to wait until we returned to Robb," Alysanne said honestly. In truth, she had hoped to wait until Aegon brought forth the topic of northern independence. Had Jon agreed to her plan, the truth of Jon's parents would have provided them leverage, should Aegon demand them to kneel. "Jon didn't want to tell you without my agreeing, and it didn't feel right to deny him. We were going to tell you after we took Casterly Rock, but then… well."
Aegon nodded. "Yes, the pyre." His dragon had once more clambered down his arm. A restless little thing. He held it aloft. "How did you know to put the eggs in the fire? And that you wouldn't burn?"
Her dragon trilled, and Jon's shrieked back. Both men regarded at her expectantly, and Alysanne grimaced. She'd yet to explain it to anyone, really. Their earlier conversation was the most Jon had spoken to her since that night, and Arya wasn't speaking with her. Alysanne averted her eyes. They'll think me mad. "I'd had… dreams. I dreamt of a burning oak with dragons emerging from the flames. I'd dreamt of an unfamiliar woman, sitting amongst ashes with hatchlings of her own. I'd dreamt of—" a dragon bursting from the womb of a woman. How could she tell them of the babe she lost, when Robb hadn't even known of its existence? It didn't feel fair. "Fire and blood."
Jon gaped at her, but Aegon did not seem nearly as shocked as she thought he would. A burning oak, a dragon from the womb of a woman — it all seemed rather obvious to Alysanne now. The strange woman, though, still evaded her.
"I had my own dreams." Alysanne's heart leapt at Aegon's words. "Only in mine, dragons flew forth from the sun. I thought for certain my egg would have hatched in Dorne or Sunspear. Perhaps it means something else"
Alysanne smiled tentatively at Aegon. "I was afraid I was going mad."
"Maybe we both are," Aegon smiled back. Relief flushed through her for the first time since she'd taken the Rock. He doesn't hate me, then, for keeping the truth from him. Alysanne giggled, and Jon chuckled as well.
Aegon pointed to the sword still propped against the vacated chair. "So that's…"
"Dark sister," Jon confirmed. He retrieved the sword and returned to where they all stood by the window. He offered it to Aegon, who took it and unsheathed it.
Alysanne held her breath. It would be so easy, for Aegon to cut Jon down. There would be nothing Alysanne could do to stop him. Even if she had a sword, Aegon was a far better swordsman than she was. Before they left Winterfell, even Bran had beaten her more oft than not. Just one fell swoop, and Aegon could rid himself of Jon's opposing claim.
He would never be so foolish. Casterly Rock was crawling with men loyal to her, to Jon. They far outnumbered the Dornishmen Aegon had brought. He would never make it out of the castle alive. Regardless of Alysanne's worries, Aegon made not even the slightest gesture towards Jon. He merely looked at Dark Sister in awe, just as Jon had when he first laid eyes on it. Just as Ser Addam had, as well.
Aegon handed Dark Sister back to Jon, hilt first, and once it was properly sheathed once more, he stepped back to lean lazily against the wall. "I'll need to tell Jon, and my uncle, you understand."
With a heavy sigh, Jon nodded. "I had expected as much." Aegon cast Jon a sympathetic look, but did not amend his statement.
Alysanne, too, had expected Aegon would wish to do so. Jon Connington had been Aegon's father, more so than Rhaegar ever was. If Alysanne found out she had a half-sibling in the manner Aegon had, she would want to tell Ser Addam or Lady Catelyn, consequences be damned. It wouldn't be fair, to deny him this. Though she wanted to. Alysanne wanted to spare Jon the torment which would come with the revelation of his parentage.
"Will you warn me, before you do so?" Jon stared at Aegon beseechingly, who nodded firmly.
"You may come with me, if you wish. It doesn't have to be for a few days yet." Jon's shoulders sagged in relief, and Aegon grinned wickedly. "For now, though, I've yet to test Blackfyre against another weapon of valyrian steel. And you've yet to spar with me."
Jon blinked once in bewilderment before he laughed. "Aye, that I haven't."
"Come." Aegon strutted towards the door. "I'm certain we can find a quiet corner. Care to join us, Alysanne?"
With a tired smile, Alysanne shook her head. "I'm afraid not. It's late, I need to rest." The past two sleepless nights were beginning to make themselves known. Her eyes burned and her head ached.
With only mild gripes at her refusal to join them, Jon and Aegon took off to retrieve Blackfyre from Aegon's chambers. Alysanne made off in the opposite direction.
She ran fingers along her dragon's leathery wings as she made her way back to her room. Her dreams regarding dragons and burning trees and bloodied wombs had turned out to be truthful in some manner. Would she have more like that, or would her dreams from the past come back to haunt her that night instead?
Alysanne hoped this would be the end of them. If only I had known. Mayhap she could have stopped Ser Addams' death altogether. The dragons may have been born of his blood and the blood of her babe, but she would rather have had Ser Addam and her child. There was nothing in the world worth that price, and yet, unwittingly, she'd paid it.
Her dragon bumped its head into her cheek, and she gave a small smile. No matter what she wished, the price had been paid. She found herself growing rather fond of the little dragon, a girl, Alysanne felt. A fitting name had thus far evaded her, just as it had Jon and Aegon. Arya would know. Arya was always good with things of that nature.
But Arya still refused to speak with her. Even a dragon hatchling hadn't lured Arya to her. Not when there were two others to fawn over. With a longing stare towards the direction of Arya's chambers, Alysanne stopped in front of her door.
When Alysanne entered her rooms, she had half expected to find Wylla and Jorelle and perhaps Joy awaiting her. She had not, however, expected to find Arya. But, as if her lamenting over her good-sister's ire had summoned the very woman, Arya stood with her back to the door as she stared out towards the Sunset Sea.
Alysanne steadily approached until she paused just behind Arya. Arya stewed for but a moment before she whipped around. She gave Alysanne a sharp shove, and Alysanne let her. Tears bloomed in Arya's eyes, and she tried to dance around Alysanne, but Alys side stepped to block her.
"Let me by," Arya demanded. "I should never have come. Move, stupid."
"Arya." Alysanne held her by the shoulders and ignored her attempts to free herself. "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry?" Arya wrenched herself free of Alysanne's grip but did not try to leave again, and instead took a few steps back. She scrubbed furiously at the tears falling down her cheeks. "I don't — you're stupid, is what you are. I don't even know why I came here."
"Arya, please, let me explain," Alysanne took an aborted step forward. Arya only backed further away, appearing much like a cornered animal.
"How can you explain? You walked into fire Alys! I thought you were—gods," Arya hiccuped a sob, and when Alysanne moved to tread closer, Arya withdrew again. "We all thought you were dead, don't you understand?" Alysanne would not have been surprised if half of Casterly Rock could hear Arya.
"I do, Arya, and I'm sorry." Tears swam in Alysanne's eyes, and soon they spilled down her face as well.
Arya laughed derisively. "You don't understand. I thought I watched you die. You're my sister, Alys, it may not be so for you, but you're my sister." Arya's voice was tightening the more she choked back sobs. "I hardly remember Winterfell without you. It was you, and Sansa, and Robb, Bran, Rickon," Arya sniffed hard and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "And you. And I thought you left me. You left me behind,"
This time, Alysanne ignored Arya's protest when she rushed forward. She ignored Arya's protests as she pulled her tight to her chest, and Alysanne fell into her own sobs as well. She muttered apologies over and over again until Arya relaxed into her hold.
"How was I to explain any of that to Bran? Or Rickon, Alysanne? He loves you too, you know. And we all left him."
Alysanne squeezed her eyes shut and clutched Arya tighter. She'd had little thought to spare for Rickon, but perhaps that was for the best, for the very mention of him made her heart clench. What she wouldn't give, to be in Winterfell, running through the godswood as he chased after her. He always had a way of cheering her.
"Please don't ever think I don't love you, Arya. You're my sister, as much as Sansa is. You and Sansa are the only sisters I've ever known." This time it was Arya who clung tighter to Alysanne, and just for a moment the pressing wave of grief lessened.
Arya was the one to break their embrace, but only to retreat to the vast bed on the other side of the room. She crawled to the middle of it and pulled her knees tight to her chest, and Alysanne followed. "Promise you'll do nothing like that again," Arya pleaded.
Could she promise such a thing? She hadn't even truly known she was going to step into the pyre until the very moment before. I can if it brings her peace. Alysanne caught Arya's hand in her own and clasped it. "Aye, I promise."
Arya did not leave Alysanne's room that night, not even to grab a clean shift to sleep in. Instead, she borrowed one of Alysanne's, and they shared a bed as they so often had as children. Her dragon slept peacefully inside the little makeshift cage, and for the first night in a while, so did Alysanne.