Riverrun, 281 AC
Lying down under a tree, the Tully children enjoy the warmth of this afternoon. From what the ancient say, this year has been the warmest since a very long time. The fruits have been sweet and juicy all year long, and the small folk have been very happy with the harvests. But the end of the year is getting closer, and the peaches and strawberries have been replaced by the apples and the peers. Edmure had seen the cook and asked for an apple pie. No one could resist this adorable little boy, the cook even less. And here he is, running to join his sisters, waiting for them. The cook had cut the pie and they share it together. By them run the Red Fork, wide and placid. Their uncle Brynden often told them the mud of the river is red because of the hair color of the Tullys, and that too many of them have bathed in the river, hence giving it this colour. It is a lie, of course, but they still enjoy those legends. In front of them, not far, stand their castle. Petyr is inside, despite the warm sun shining brightly, and the perspective of a hot apple pie waiting for him. Edmure tried to make him join them, but he stubbornly refused.
When their bellies are filled with pie, they all lay side by side, the auburn hair and Aylis's dark one spread all over the green grass. The youngest of them close her eyes, enjoying the stroke of a gentle wind on her face, the freshness of the grass tickling the back of her neck and making her shiver with contentment. She lets out a loud sigh and she hears Cat chuckling. She smiles: she has always loved Cat's laugh. But, right now, as she keeps her eyes shut, she does not see Cat, or Lysa, or Edmure, or Riverrun. She sees Stannis, she imagines his hands, his sword, the blue of his eyes, the black of his hair.
"What did you think of the Tourney, Aylis?"
She opens her eyes and groans as Stannis's image vanishes suddenly. She turns to Lysa, and shrugs:
"The King looked old and ill. The Prince is a cunt."
They all laugh suddenly, half genuinely amused, half outraged. Catelyn places a hand on her mouth:
"Aylis, you spent too much time with Robert Baratheon back then! You cannot say this word."
The little girl turns her big blue eyes to her, and her eyebrows fold in a big frown:
"Why not?"
Lysa bursts out laughing:
"He will be your king one day, Aylis. You need to respect him."
"Why would I respect him? Have you not seen what he has done? His wife was crying! It was so sad! And no one cared."
They stop laughing and exchange knowing looks: indeed, a lot of people cared. Aylis must have not remembered how everybody went silent when Rhaegar gave these flowers to Lyanna Stark. Simple flowers, but which meant so much. Lysa clears her throat and changes the subject:
"Don't you think Prince Rhaegar is handsome?"
Aylis shrugs: she has never understood why the Targaryens look so handsome for everybody. They especially look unnatural to her: their purple eyes, their silver hair. The Targaryens do not even look human. Lysa raises an eyebrow at her shrug:
"Really? You would not like to marry one of his children?" she asks again and Aylis shakes her head.
"Who would you marry then?" Lysa asks again, obviously amused by her sister's reactions.
The two nouns rush out of her mouth before she even thinks about it. He obsesses her, night and day. A long silence settles in and her siblings burst out with laughter. She looks at them, and scowls, more and more nastily, feeling her cheeks burning with anger and shame. Shame of being openly mocked by the people she loves the most in this world. Edmure is rolling over, unable to stand as he laughs so hard.
"What is so funny?" Aylis glares at them.
Cat is the first one to calm down:
"Is he not a bit old for you? And are you not a bit young to think about teenagers?" she teases her.
Aylis softens slightly but still crosses her arms against her chest:
"No", she stubbornly says.
Edmure lets out muffled shouts: he cannot stop laughing. Aylis stands up and runs back to the castle, before they see her tears rolling down her cheeks. They call at her, but she does not listen, runs back through the great door, and to the room where they all study. There, not even paying attention to Maester Kym, she grabs ink, a quill and parchment and runs away. She passes through the Great Hall to the Godswood. Her heart hammers in her chest, she feels sweat running in her back and between her thighs but she does not care. Her eyes are blurried by her tears and she suddenly stops once she finds herself in the garden. The trees have always comforted her, when she was feeling sad, and she hopes she could find comfort here again. She sits under a huge redwood, and stares blankly at the carved weirwood, as if it is staring back at her. She sniffles noisily and grabs the quill, puts the tip of it in the ink and writes on the parchment:
"Deer Stannis,
I hop you are allrigt."
She stops here: should she go on and tell him why she feels so sad, why the parchment might be damped with tears? She shrugs and decides to write everything. She cannot hold it anymore and, anyways, she does not expect an answer.
"Seenc the Toorneye, I am always sinking abaout you. I weashe you coold bee her with me. Touday, my sisters hav ask me woo I want to mary end I sayd yoo. Zey mock me and naw I eight theim. I lov you Stannis, I hav lovt you seence the momant I sow you.
Fo revere yourz,
Aylis Tully."
She needs almost half an hour to write the letter, doing her utmost with her handwriting. But she is pretty proud of herself; she has not done many spelling mistakes. She folds carefully the letter when the ink is dry, and runs back to the aviary. Here, she finds wax and a seal, and she seals the letter, before wrapping it around one of the raven's leg. She watches it flying away, and for the first time in hours, a smile roves on her lips.
She remains mad at her siblings for days and moans noisily when she realizes, as she is with them for her lessons, how many spelling mistakes she indeed has done in the letter. Stannis is going to think she is a perfect dipstick. Every day, she stays with her father, hoping a raven comes to her with an answer. She does not even know how long it takes for a raven to fly from Riverrun to Storm's End. She also asks for a hawk at her father, but he just frowns:
"Since when do you like hunting?"
Last time they killed a stag, she had cried for days when they had taken the beast back in the castle. Edmure had been with their father, and he was proud as a peacock. Aylis had hated the sight of it, the blood, the eyes wide opened of the beast, his mouth discovering his teeth, and she had thought he must have cried out for help. A shiver had overwhelmed her and she had run away. And now, she wants a hawk?
"Oh, I would not use it for hunting, Father! He would be my friend!" she enthusiastically exclaims.
Hoster Tully looks down at her, smiling tenderly. What will this world will do to such innocence and naivety: she is six years old, and she needs to grow up. Before long, he will start looking for a husband for her. And once she would have bled, she would not be his anymore. She would be another man's and, he hopes, a good one, who would treat her well. Aylis's father does not answer her wish: he just cups her lovely face in his hands, strokes his mother-like cheekbones and lays a gentle kiss on her brow, before ordering her to go play with her siblings.