Alys

She had wondered what it had felt like for Lyanna that day.

The attention, even without the level of scandal and drama that Lyanna had had, was a lot. Eyes turned her direction, the sound of people whispering over it. The weight of the flowers, however light they were, heavy as she took it from Jaime.

A part of her had warned her to refuse, that it was risky and tempting rumors to grow. Like Ned had said.

But the larger part of her had looked at Jaime, with his hand outstretched holding a crown of red roses, and saw the mix of resolve and worry mingling in the deep green of his eyes. He wanted to do this, but he was worried how it would go. She wasn't used to seeing him so uncertain, and she did not like to see it either.

She wanted to see him smile, light and happy and unburdened by the weight of anything else. So she smiled to reassure him, small and shy because she was still well aware of the crowd both far and near, and leant that bit forward to take it from him carefully.

They were soft, the petals of the roses. Little bits vines of leaves threaded through them cutting the red on occasion. It sat delicately in her hands as she raised it to place gently upon her head. It sat lightly but felt weighted with meaning all the same.

She did not look at Ned, instead watching as Jaime returned before Robert Baratheon. He bowed, as was expected, and soon enough he was leaving the tourney yard. When her head turned she saw people still looking her way even as Robert dismisses them all to return to the Red Keep for the feast following the tourney. She sees Robert stand and start walking, most of the court following suit as he does so but the queen sits for a second more and Alys looks to her and finds green eyes sharp upon her that make her wish to shift and bolt.

"Alys," Ned's voice is low, and she can hear the tense anger before she even sees it on his face. He's trying hard though to cover it, keep it controlled until out of the eyes of others. She frowns and looks to Rhaenys, the little princess apparently having been tugging at her skirts in hopes of walking up to the keep.

"Right," Alys nods, and takes the girls hand and leaves the stands.

They wait for Oberyn before returning, the Dornishman looking at the crown upon her head with a curious sort of acknowledgment on his face before he nods her along. She walks beside him for a while, Ned only a step behind her. Rhaenys skips along ahead of them. A bit of leftover ribbon with her that she drags happily through the air.

They're halfway up the castle when Ned steps up beside her. "A moment." His hand rests sturdily upon her letting her know it wasn't a request. She sighs, stepping with him and the pair of them heading off from the main train of people heading up into the Red Keep from the tourney grounds.

Once they're alone he stops them.

"I didn't ask him to." She starts.

"You didn't discourage it either." His voice is stone, and she's reminded suddenly and harshly of their father on the occasions when he had to be stern and unmoving with them. It happened most often with Lyanna, moments where Lord Rickard would go stone faced and his voice was as heavy as the sword he wielded. "Giving your favor, accepting this crown."

"I couldn't just say no." She says shaking her head. "I understand it was a misstep, but I couldn't…"

Ned looks at her, stares with grey eyes of slate and ice before they close and he lets out a low breath. Pinching the bridge of his nose he turns away from her, stopping and just standing away for a few moments. Alys crosses her arms over her, feeling the chill of the day more clearly than earlier. She glances up, seeing the grey skies deepen and wonders if it will rain.

"You're leaving." He states. Cold and clear. "I'll make the arrangements, hopefully a ship will be able to take you north within the fortnight, but you and Jon can not stay in Kings Landing any longer."

"But…"

"I will head North myself once Stannis has resolved the situation on Dragonstone and Robert is truly secure." He turns back to her, and again she's brought to the memory of her father. The one where he sat before Lyanna at dinner and told her that she would be marrying Robert, even after her protests, even after Alys had offered to take her place. Stone and cold like the statues in the crypts below.

The face of Lord Stark.

Not Ned, her brother. Who wanted only happiness for her, who'd let her choose her path ahead.

She glances away, not really wanting to look at it. For the mix of grief and conflict it puts in her.

"Do you understand?" Ned states.

She feels a droplet of rain hit her face and nods, "yes." She turns completely away from him and starts up the rest of the way. Feeling the intermittent drops of water as rain begins to fall slowly and lazily from the sky.

The crown of red roses sits heavily upon her head the whole way up.

Oberyn

Sipping at his wine he watches Alys as she smiles timidly with a blush across her face while the ladies of the Reach fawn over the crown of red roses upon her head. They make nearing scandalous jokes, and poke for more information, and act as though they were not very likely gossiping behind their hands before Alys and him arrived and sat at the table with them all for the feast.

Alys takes it relatively in stride, passing off questions and trying her best to redirect the conversation. Though it is a task that is very likely impossible with the object of conversation resting delicately upon her dark hair.

Oberyn though had noticed when he reunited with her after dropping Rhaenys back with Elia and Alys finishing whatever conversation she'd held with her brother on the return that she was rather stiff. Holding a brave face more than content one.

Not exactly looking to be feeling the way a lady should feel after being crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Oberyn sips his wine and glances towards Ned Stark where he sits amongst Jon Arryn and the King Robert. He at least looked similarly stiff, though Oberyn had found that was a common look for the Northern lord. His sister was far more enjoyable company to be had.

He was evidently not happy though, likely at the Kingslayer who seems the most frequent source of Lord Starks glaring glances.

His own gaze slips along towards where Jaime Lannister sits with his brother and father. A dark mood crossing him as he looks towards Tywin before he pushes it away for the moment. Doran had his plans, even if they were always too slow for Oberyns tastes, and what Tywin Lannister attempted the night of the siege would not go forgotten, not if Oberyn could help it.

Jaime though was sat rather leisurely, looking much less miserable than Oberyn had found him the day before.

It didn't necessarily surprised Oberyn when Jaime had come to a stop before Alys. Though perhaps he'd been a bit under the impression that the man hadn't been entirely certain of his own feelings towards Alys before. Evidently he'd figured them out, how Oberyn wasn't aware but a part of him was amused by it.

Except for the bit of misery it seemed to be bringing Alys.

Which strikes him as odd, as just like Oberyn had been under the impression of Jaime's feelings, he'd had the same in regards to Alys. Perhaps the only reason he hasn't tried harder at garnering her favor, as she was already fairly smitten.

Elia had said it was cute when Oberyn had commented on it once. And he'd rolled his eyes earning a light shove from her, "not many find feelings like that." She'd remarked, something soft to her gaze making him wish he'd been there when Robert Baratheon had smashed Rhaegar Targaryens chest in.

For feelings like that Alys was miserable looking. Likely for the cost of them. The rumors, and the risks they brought.

Passion was wonderful, but often burned.

Oberyn loved the burn himself. Had grown into it with frequent encounters of it.

But Alys was of the snow, soft and delicate. And far too easily melted.

He leans forward and whispers, "would you like me to get you out of this fussing?"

She glances to him and just by the grateful look of her eyes answers him enough that he stands. "You wished to retire early this evening didn't you, Alys?" He speaks, "to help Rhaenys with her preparing for the journey North?"

"Right," Alys nods, perhaps a bit too desperately. "Apologies ladies, it had completely slipped my mind."

Lady Alerie looked between the two as though she suspected something but only smiled, "of course. It quite a kind thing of you to help the poor girl." She reaches and takes Alys's hands, "but do please come to see me before you depart, or I will miss your company even sooner."

"Yes, I will." Alys smiles, that sadness more present as she says her farewells and takes Oberyn's arm.

"Depart?" Oberyn inquires as they start away from the table.

She looks down, "I thought you would have heard when I mentioned it to them." She glances over to where her brother had been sat, his spot empty now though. "I'll be leaving sooner than expected."

"Oh?"

"Its for the best," She sighs, sounding very much like she's telling herself more than him.

"You'll miss the south though." He states.

She pauses, "more than I expected."

"Or will you just miss Ser Jaime?" He adds, and her arm tightens upon him and he smirks.

"I will miss him," she says, glancing around but the man in question nowhere in sight. "But I'll also miss more than that. I didn't really realize how much I'd grown to like it here."

"You could always run south," he muses, "i'll steal you away to Dorne and you can live your days out with Jon in the Water Gardens. And me, if you'd like." He winks her way and is very happy it's met with a bit of laughter, however still weighed she sounds with it.

"I imagine that would a rather pleasent life," she remarks. "But I'll have to decline."

"Shame," he clicks his tongue, "I think we'd make rather good lovers."

She blushes fiercely and looks much lighter than before, which makes him rather proud. She may be one more prone to thoughtfulness and solemnity, but she was very well suited to the brighter spirit.

It was a shame so much had occurred to dampen it over the last few years.

Jaime

He'd been waiting for a moment to get Alys alone all evening.

There wasn't much opportunity. If she wasn't with her brother, then she was with Oberyn Martell or the ladies of the Reach. And Jaime had been sequestered at his own table, with his brother who was often giving him smug looks of amusement as though his choice of crowning at the tourney had been predicted by him, and his father was as stone-faced and distant as ever even with the moments where he looked Jaimes way to study him.

When he'd first gotten out of the tourney yard, after crowning Alys, his father had looked at him. Green eyes appraising and searching, leaving Jaime with the looming sense that he would be talked with soon.

Jaime hoped at the least to get things figured with Alys before he had to have any sort of talk with his father.

And Cersei… he was avoiding her a bit.

But Alys… Alys he wished, needed, to speak with.

So when he spots her and Oberyn making their farewells from the Great Hall he sees that as the best opportunity he'll get this evening and excuses himself away from the table.

He only gets a few steps out of the hall when the wrong Stark's voice reaches him.

"I'll ask you once," Jaime looks back and sees Ned Stark stood just past the doorway of the Great Hall. Stone face and dark eyes looking Jaime's way. "Keep your distance from my sister."

Jaime's eyes narrow at the man, tilting his head and pursing his lips. "I'm afraid the only one I'll listen to in that regard is Alys." He tells the man, "if she wishes me away…" gods he hopes she would not, "then I will do it." He steps towards Ned. "But you… I'm afraid I don't give a damn about listening to you, Stark."

"You will listen to me," Ned states, voice stone and ice as he steps up to Jaime as well. "She is my sister, and one of the few members of family I have left, and I will not see her or Jon put to risk by the whims of a man with no honor."

Jaime's face darkens, his chin tilting up to look down upon Ned and jaw tightening. He was getting quite sick of Ned Stark's high horse. "My honor," he spits out, "of course. Kingslayer." He hisses the word out and Ned's own eyes grew steelier at the reminder. Very well, Jaime thinks. "I did kill Aerys, ran my sword through his back and across his throat when he wouldn't stop chattering." Jaime steps closer to Ned, "But I claimed that dishonor did I not? I didn't balk at it, I didn't run from it, and I certainly didn't pass it off to my sister to bare for me."

Ned Stark's jaw tightens to the point where Jaime is surprised that his teeth don't break. "Best tread carefully, Kingslayer."

"Oooh," Jaime smiles, toothy and full of bite. "There it is, the title I've been so graciously bestowed. What title do you think they will give Alys for claiming your bastard as hers?"

It happens quick. Ned Stark's hand shooting up around Jaimes throat and pushing him so hard back against the stone walls that his head slams into it, pain shooting through the back of his skull and spots of black covering his vision from it as Ned leans close.

"Do not speak of things you do not know." His hand tightens on Jaimes throat as a threat.

And Jaime just keeps the toothy cat grin. "I know enough," he croaks out between the pressure on his throat. "I know it's not her child." He feels something vicious unfurl in him, between the kingslayer and the way Ned Stark has looked at him since he found him in that throne room and this whole interaction, and he leans as much as he can with Ned's hand around his throat, "because the only man in her bed all those months was me."

The fist hits him hard across the face, and Jaime just laughs even as he spits blood with it.

"Ned." Alys voice cuts through, and Ned's fist seems to stop before he can hit Jaime again. But the hand on his throat tightens, and his face darkens further at his sisters entrance. "Enough." Her voice is sharp, ordering.

Jaime glances to where it comes from, seeing her and Oberyn Martell stood near. Martell was stood appraising the situation, his dark eyes looking between Jaime and Ned and his posture stood as though he was prepared to intervene if Alys asked it of him.

Jaime holds his hands up. Not that he'd done a thing, just spoke. A part of him though longed to take his sword and meet Ned Starks in battle.

But he was not armed and Alys was there before them, so there was little he'd do in this moment.

"Ned." Alys speaks again, voice sterner than before and Ned finally releasing Jaime who does his best to not stumble as the pressure no longer pushes him to the stone. He clears his throat, a hand rubbing at it tenderly.

Ned walks towards Alys, and she shakes her head. "I know." She says shortly to him. "You do not have to worry." Jaime can't see Ned's full face, but he can still see the tightness of his jaw before he releases a breath and storms away.

"Alys." Jaime says, his voice croakier than he'd like. "Can we speak?"

She looks to him, her head shaking more to herself than him before nodding. "Yes, we should." She glances to Oberyn, "thank you."

The Dornishman nods, glancing to Jaime once before looking back to Alys. "The offer I gave you stands, should you ever need it."

Alys smiles, soft it seems before turning back to Jaime with less lightness to the look. She takes his arm, and the two walk off from the Great Hall for a while.

They stop in a small alcove, a small window looking out at the rain that had started earlier and off to the Blackwater where a deeper and bigger storm could be seen to be building.

Alys doesn't look at him, rather out at the storm with what looks like a reflective storm in her own dark eyes. "Alys." He calls softly.

He wasn't blind, even if he wouldn't exactly admit to being the most clever of the Lannisters, and had noticed the turn in Alys's mood from the night before to even just this morning when he'd asked for her favor. But her mood has grown darker since he crowned her, darker now even after that encounter with her brother. He worries he's misread or misstepped.

She looks to him then, and smiles small and mild. "Jaime." She responds.

"The red suits you," he remarks, deciding to ignore the tension lingering like lightening in the air.

She looks up, and reaches with a hand to gently touch the petals of the roses upon her head. "Thank you." She says it softly, and almost with melancholy, before she glances again out the window.

He steps closer, a bit of caution in his moment, and touches her arm. "I…" he swallows, steeling himself.

He'd never been fearful. Always the brave lion that was expected of him. Brave and brash and bold.

A man who slayed a king.

Yet Alys sends his heart to stutters at just the thought that he'll have thrown this caution away and is taking this chance that she will want what he does.

"I don't want to be a Kingsguard." He starts, and she looks to him again. Grey eyes searching his green with the usual compassion and clarity. "I don't want to swear the vows again. I don't want to serve a king I care little for. And I don't want to be bound in that way for life."

"Okay," she says, smiling with warm sympathy even despite whatever storm lurks in her own heart and head. "You don't have to. I told you, you can choose your own path."

"I want to choose you." He says. I already have.

Thunder can be heard crashing off over the Blackwater as Alys's eyes shut with what looks like hurt. It worries him, that he was wrong, that the kiss didn't truly mean…

"I wish I could choose you." It was quiet. So quiet that it could almost be lost under the next crash of thunder even as far as it was.

"You could," he says, latching quickly and heavily onto that little bit of hope those words give. "You said your brother would let you choose." He reaches, a hand coming to her cheek and her eyes opening to catch with his. "Marry me, Alys, please?"

Her face crumples and her head shakes even as it leans into his hand. "He would, just not you."

"Then it's not really letting you have your choice." Jaime snaps.

"I know…" She pulls back, shaking her head more and crossing her arms over her defensively. "And I wish… I wish I could make him understand, make him see what I do."

"Yes of course," Jaime spits bitterly. "Anyone but the Kingslayer." He looks over, watching lightning flash across the dark waters of the Blackwater. "He acts so mighty, so infallible. As though he has not ever had any reason for shame, any dishonor."

"There is more, much more, to consider than just Ned's views on you." She sighs. "Jon…"

Jaime stills, his face furrowing. "Of course." He shakes his head, "the bloody bastard."

Alys frowns a sharp look to her eyes, "Jon was my choice. One I cannot, and will not regret."

"It was his as well," Jaime bites, "letting you claim his own mistake."

"You do not know as much as you believe you do."

"I know that you care for me," Jaime tells her sharply, "and I care for you. But because your brother's precious honor is more important you have to carry the burden of his misgivings, and you have to carry its price."

She shakes her head, "you do not…"

"Then tell me." Jaime near shouts. "Tell me what I don't know that would make me understand Ned bloody Stark's choices."

"It was my choice." Alys bites out, "Mine. Not Neds, not anyones."

"Tell me." He says.

"I can't…" Alys sighs, "I can't…" she shakes her head and steps further back. "I wish… Jaime I wish I could choose you. But I chose Jon first," she sighs. "This," she motions to the crown of roses upon her head, "was a misstep, and the last one I can take. I can not risk Jon."

Jaime flounders, searching for some way around this all. And he thinks, oddly, of Tyrion. Of his brothers assumptions. "What risk would our marriage be for Jon?"

"Even if Ned agreed to that, which after that interaction you two had he never will," Alys says, "do you honestly believe your father would welcome a bastard into his home? Would let you marry a woman with one?"

"My father would be happy to see me out of the Kingsguard and wed to a highborn lady," Jaime says, "It's what he always wanted for me."

"Would Jon be safe though?" Alys demands, "can you tell me, honestly, on your word and honor, that he would be safe in the walls of Casterly Rock. That your father would do nothing."

Jaime pauses. And that hesitation was enough it seems for Alys, and she straightens, steels herself away from him.

"Jaime, I wish things could be different." She looks as though she wishes to reach out to him, and oh does he wish she would. "But it's not just me I have to think about, it's Jon. I must keep him safe. And if I can not do that with you…" She shakes her head, a tear falling loose down her cheek with it.

Jaime can't stop himself, he reaches, brushes it away. "We can figure something out."

"We can't." She says, soft and fragile. "I'll be leaving soon, with Jon." She looks to him, pained and yearning. "I wish…" her head shakes again and she steps fully back, and before she leaves him in the alcove says, "goodnight, Jaime."

It feels far more like a goodbye even though she's not truly left the city yet, and it crashes through him like the storm out over the Blackwater.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know your thoughts, they always make me so happy to read!