Rogar Baratheon's sojourn at court turned out to be short and somber. He really only needed to stay there at all for longer than a couple of days because his men scouted the city and its vicinity for hedge knights and sellswords eager to join the Dornish war. They were even able to find a small but fierce sellsword company stationed at Rosby; and Alysanne saw that the agreement with the company was already signed by little Boremund, on the pretext that Rogar was training the boy for future lordship and had placed him in charged of the treasury of Storm's End.
"Should we perhaps hold a small farewell feast for Lord Baratheon?" Alarra asked uncertainly a few days before Rogar's retinue was due to leave.
"No," said Alysanne. "With his sickness, he can barely eat anything he used to like so much – it will just make him feel inferior when he sees everyone else enjoy the food. I'll have the court musicians play some upbeat marching tunes while his army will be going through the city... oh, and maybe the Ladies Fair can perform a cheering song or two."
"But Lord Baratheon doesn't like mummers," Alarra pointed out.
"They won't need to stage any play – just sing something. He won't investigate whether they are singers or mummers, after all," Alysanne smiled faintly. She did want to see Rogar off with a jolly procession rather than mournful goodbyes, but between his sickness that prevented him from enjoying feasts and dances and his ever-present dislike of the stage, it was quite the task to organize it.
"I think it might be better to let the other three troupes to take part in the procession too," her stepdaughter said after thinking for a while. "They could suspect that we're playing favorites."
"No, my dear, then it's better if we don't get the Ladies to sing. The other troupes are mummers, and there's no disguising the fact. Uncle Rogar can get pretty hurt: he'll think that his tastes aren't taken into account at all anymore."
Alarra drummed her fingers on the windowsill:
"Um... but we don't need any of them to stage anything. They'll just have to take part in the procession somehow. Master Hugh and the Dragons can prepare some fancy fireworks, and Mistress Myribeth and the Sunflowers can sing just like the Ladies, and Septon Wyldon can take part in the service at the sept – I'm sure Septon Barth won't mind, he's always glad to have help."
The idea had a lot of merit, Alysanne thought, giving Alarra a smile – truly, the girl was an immense help to her in managing the courtly life... The couple of hours necessary for Rogar's army to leave King's Landing wouldn't take any serious toll on The Royal Penance's productions, and since they were already paying the earth to the mummers, getting them to assist with Rogar's leavetaking would be better than hiring an all-new set of craftsmen (for the fireworks) and singers...
Alysanne chuckled as it dawned on her she had clearly picked up some of Alaric's logic.
"But are you sure that the Sunflowers are as good as music as Violet and the Ladies?" she asked.
"Oh, yes! Well... maybe not as good, but nearly so. I've been to several of their rehearsals," Alarra admitted.
"I hope you aren't critical of them: I promised them no supervision before the production's fleshed out."
"Of course not," Alarra assured her. "I just sit and watch. They're doing great."
"In that case, you go and tell them about the seeing-off of Lord Rogar. Meanwhile, I'll talk to Violet – hopefully, she and Myribeth won't be offended about singing side by side."
"They won't be, Alysanne! It's a royal procession – well, nearly royal, Lord Baratheon had been Hand for so long... Anyone will be delighted to take part in that!"
Giving her a quick hug, Alarra hurried off to talk to the Sunflowers. It was such a relief that she actually enjoyed her duties as chief lady-in-waiting and loved talking to people from all spheres of society – Alysanne would have hated to feel like the wicked stepmother pushing Alarra into a life she didn't want.
The Ladies Fair, Alysanne knew, were currently rehearsing – she had memorized the schedules of all the troupes staying at the Red Keep. There was another hour left till the Ladies' customary break, so she decided that the next most urgent thing in her plans was confirming the arrangement of Uncle Rogar's farewell procession with Alaric. Since, thanks to the already-hired mummers, the procession would barely cost them anything, it was more than likely that Alaric would approve, but she still wanted to be completely sure of it and discuss his objections if he had any. She didn't want her husband to feel excluded from all the discussions and decisions, even in such trifling matters. He had already been, she noticed, rather nervous after Rogar's arrival at court – even with the latter's illness, Alaric could be wary that Rogar would try to seek his former power again.
For the past days, Alaric had felt restless almost constantly. Rogar Baratheon's condition was a chilling reminder of his own – of everyone's – mortality, and Alaric was thinking about the many things he had been putting off in his life. Putting off till some other time, when it was painfully clear that one day, there would be no "other time" left.
He wrote a letter to his sons – without any particular reason to do so, just asking how they and their families were doing; he didn't even inquire too much about Winterfell and the crop prices and suchlike. He tried to spend more time with Alarra – it wasn't easy, since his little girl had her hands full with The Royal Penance and the guests from the stormlands, not to mention the everyday duties at court. And today, he went to the yard with Aemon and Baelon – the boys loved sparring with their wooden swords, but it looked like their archery training had been neglected at least since Jaehaerys's death.
Aemon's arrow went into the yard's fence, several feet away from the target, and the boy's lips trembled:
"I... I... how can I get it right?"
"You got distracted by a raven flying out of the maester's tower," Alaric told him. "You can afford to do it here in the training yard, sure enough, but in a real fight, you need to have all your focus on the bow and the target. Now, try again..."
Ser Robin Shaw, the white-cloaked knight overseeing the training (and playing catch with Baelon so that the latter wouldn't get bored while waiting for Aemon), moved to fetch the arrow, but Alaric stopped him:
"In the midst of a battle, even the king can't have others bring weapons to him. Let Aemon take the arrow himself, it's hardly a tiring ordeal."
Aemon put on a sorrowful expression at first, as if Alaric had told him to build the Wall, but when he saw it wasn't working, he went for the arrow and brought it back uncomplainingly.
"You need to hold your bow steadily," Alaric reminded him as he saw his hand was barely gripping it. "It's very light already, and you don't want your arrow to go astray again."
The boy nodded and frowned in concentration. He spent several minutes trying to aim perfectly, but when he finally mustered the confidence to shoot, the arrow hit the exact center of the small wooden circle.
"Splendid, Your Grace!" Ser Robin exclaimed. "A perfect shot!"
Like Ryam Redwyne, Robin Shaw was a recent addition to the Kingsguard – the two of them were given the white cloaks after the Shivers claimed the lives of Samgood of Sour Hill and Victor the Valiant. However, when Alaric expressed his unease about this newcomer standing so close to a whole stock of weapons, both Alysanne and Lord Commander Morrigen assured him that Ser Robin had been Jaehaerys's steadfast supporter since Maegor's times. He was the last one of House Shaw, his wife died giving birth to a stillborn child after only a couple of years of marriage, but rather than remarrying and restoring his small crownlands house of landed knights, he decided to pledge his life to the king.
Right now, though, Alaric shot him a disapproving glance – excessive flattery wouldn't do Aemon any good, especially when it came to his battle skills. No real enemy would wait several minutes for you to shoot them.
"You are getting there, Aemon," he said instead. "Excellent work, keep it up."
"Can I try again, my lord?" Aemon asked, his eyes bright with excitement.
"Of course, that's what we're here for."
On his next attempt, the arrow veered slightly off course, but Alaric noticed that Aemon ran to fetch it himself without any prompting.
"A steady grip, remember," he told him.
Just as Aemon loosed the arrow again (it hit the circle right in the middle, and the boy shouted with joy), Ser Robin Shaw missed the ball that Baelon threw at him and sank into a deep bow. Moments later, Alysanne came into the yard, wearing a light-grey dress and with only her faithful Scarlet Shadow in tow – a sure sign that she only planned to see her sons and Alaric. Of course, she would never refuse to hear out a servant with an urgent petition, but when she wanted her subjects to know that they could stop her on her way and talk to her about nearly anything, she walked the keep's halls clad in much more splendid dresses and flocked by ladies-in-waiting. Personally, Alaric thought that such grand queenly appearance was too intimidating for the smallfolk, but when he told Alysanne about it, she said:
"Not at all. People already know that for me, being the queen means talking to my subjects and especially listening to them – and if they see me dressed plainly, they realize that, unless there is something truly important going on, I only want to talk with my family and closest friends."
Apparently, Robin Shaw still hadn't figured out that Alysanne's simple attire was a sign for everyone to dispense with the ceremonies – or perhaps still wasn't used to it.
"Ser Robin, there is no need to bow," Alysanne smiled, opening her arms to meet Aemon and Baelon's running hug.
"Mommy!" Aemon cried happily. "Mommy, I can shoot a lot better now! Lord Stark showed me how to hold the bow, and I've already hit the target twice!" he pointed at the arrow, still sticking out of the wood.
"That's wonderful, sweetie! I'm so proud of you," she kissed the top of his head. "And were you playing catch, Baelon?"
"Yes, with Ser Robin," Baelon said. "Will you play with us too?"
"I wish I could, darling. But the ground here is slippery, and until your baby brother or sister is born, I need to be careful not to fall."
"I'll play with you!" Aemon assured his brother. "Mommy, can Aunt Jonquil join us too?"
Jonquil Darke turned to Alysanne with a questioning look. Alysanne nodded:
"Of course she can."
Alaric's heart soared as he watched the little family scene in front of him. He knew many men that were put off by the image, no, the very idea of motherhood – apparently, they preferred their wives to look maidenly and fresh forever, never mind that they were aging at the exact same speed – but to him, Alysanne's face lighting up with parental love only enhanced her beauty from a new angle.
"All right, boys, I need to talk to Lord Stark now," she said, giving Aemon and Baelon a final tight hug, and looked at Alaric warmly.
I shouldn't put my plans off indefinitely, he reminded himself again. Although he spent as much time as he could by Alysanne's side, she still believed that load of half-baked excuses he made for their marriage – that the Starks needed more recognition, that her children needed a father and Alarra a mother, that he and Alysanne made a good team, and so on. Even if she would never return his feelings, he had to tell her the truth about them.
She was incredibly glad to find Alaric helping Aemon with archery – it had previously seemed that the boys were rather frightened of her husband, and he, in turn, initially made few, if any, attempts to bond with them. She hadn't addressed the issue directly – she realized that both for the kids and for Alaric it would take some time to get used to the new family structure – but she had tried to get him to spend more time with them, and happily saw that Aemon at least had gradually started to warm up to his stepfather. However, today was the first time that Alaric visited the kids without any prompting from her to either side ("Alaric, I have a meeting with Lord Arryn – could you please help Aemon at today's court?", "Aemon, I am afraid I know little about the geography of the Frozen Shore – why don't you maybe ask Lord Alaric, he probably knows more of it than the Grand Maester?").
"You and Aemon are getting on better," she said aloud, too, as she and Alaric walked a little away from the boys, Jonquil, and Ser Robin.
"He's a nice boy," Alaric admitted. "Reminds me of Walton, when he was his age..."
Considering how uneasy Alaric must have felt about raising Jaehaerys's children, that was the highest compliment Alysanne could imagine.
"Besides," Alaric added, taking her hand, "Lord Baratheon's visit and the way he is now... it has made me think. Even in days of peace and prosperity, Alysanne, we never know how much time we have left. We need to spend as much of it as possible with our family and friends."
Her heart clenching as she remembered everyone she had lost – Jaehaerys, Daenerys, baby Aegon, Aerea, Mother, and all the others, and soon Lord Rogar too – Alysanne entwined her fingers with Alaric's; it felt as if they shared the pain for their losses and gave comfort to each other.
"You wanted to tell me something?" he asked after they stood in silence for a couple of minutes.
"Tell?.. Oh, yes," she felt hollow, switching to superficial trivialities so quickly, but she recounted the main points of her and Alarra's plan about Lord Rogar's leavetaking procession.
"A fine idea," Alaric said. "Alarra's developed quite the knack for all this planning..." like her, he clearly felt uneasy, going from reminiscing on their loved ones to organizing yet another festival. "Listen, Alysanne, can we talk somewhere... less in the open?"
She was pretty surprised – everyone in the training yard was already keeping a respectful distance from them. Had Aemon maybe done something to warrant punishment? It would make sense for Alaric to conceal the little king's flaws from the others, even if "the others" were trusted members of the court. Alaric didn't look alarmed, so it was unlikely that he had discovered a plot against the family and wanted to warn her about it.
"Certainly," she nodded. "Jonquil, we need to go inside the keep – wait for me here."
"Yes, Your Grace," Jonquil said promptly, managing to catch the ball and pass it to Aemon while bowing to Alysanne at the same time. Her faithful sworn shield wouldn't have let any game or celebration distract her from her duties.
"We can go to my music room – it's the nearest of our private chambers," Alysanne offered as she and Alaric walked into the keep's hall. "Unless there is some book you want to look at, or..."
"No, the music room is fine," he said immediately.
The cozy little place on the first floor was where Alysanne kept her collection of musical instruments and where she went to practice playing – usually by herself, only rarely taking Alarra, Septa Lyra or another lady-in-waiting along with her. The music lessons for ladies of the court were naturally held in other, much more spacious chambers.
"Well," Alysanne smiled as they walked into the music room and she shut the door, "what's this great secret you intended to discuss?"
"Forgive me for dragging you away like this, but I meant what I said – after seeing Lord Rogar, I don't wish to put off anything I want to say or do," Alaric said quietly and slowly; it seemed it was one of his rare moments when he was close to a loss for words. "Alysanne... there is something I have been keeping from you since our engagement."
Oh, so he wanted to talk about their relationship! No wonder he asked her to go somewhere private – even the boys didn't need to know about the details of her and Alaric's marriage.
She took him by the arms and smiled encouragingly:
"Yes, what is it, Alaric? Don't worry, whatever it is, we'll sort it out."
He looked at her, something akin to desperation in his grey eyes:
"You think I agreed to marry you for the sake of House Stark's power and suchlike, but – you are wrong, Alysanne. I hid the real reason from you – from everyone. I agreed to marry you because I love you, I've loved you since your stay in Winterfell three years ago."
"Three years ago?" Alysanne repeated in astonishment. "But you looked so irritated when I offered you my hand!"
"That's because you were still so deep in grief! I was utterly elated when you suggested we get married, and I felt terribly wicked because of it, and I didn't want you to know and think me that disrespectful!"
Her head spinning, she sat down – almost fell – on the room's only couch.
"I was so set on hating you back then, you know, during your progress," Alaric continued, sounding amazed at his own past self, and sat by her side. "But soon after you came to Winterfell... Alysanne, you wore out all my defenses. After I lost Jonelle, I thought I'd never love again, but you... you were like the sunlight in spring, when it melts the ice and snow, in spite of all the spring frosts and north winds."
"You make it seem rather merciless," Alysanne chuckled weakly, barely realizing what she was saying. She was completely overwhelmed. If Alaric had told her he had fallen in love with her since the wedding – she had been... not fully ready, but at least somewhat ready for that, since she had noticed his, now almost constant whenever they were alone, little gestures of affection.
"Determined," Alaric corrected her, chuckling as well. "After all, you were quite stubborn in winning me over, weren't you? You succeeded to a much further extent than you imagined," he said, turning serious again. "At first, when we got married, I didn't want to tell you about it at all, then I thought about waiting till the child's birth," he gently stroked her belly, "and now – like I said, I realized I don't wish to make any delays anymore."
Alysanne felt the blood rush to her face from a wild mix of emotions. Shock at the depth of Alaric's feelings for her – anger at him for keeping it a secret – anger at herself for failing to notice – being touched by his passionate words – relief as the last doubts on whether he was content in their marriage disappeared – guilt as she felt, once again, that it was a betrayal of Jaehaerys – confusion as to how she was supposed to feel at all...
"I'm not asking you to return my feelings," Alaric said. "I know well how much you loved Jaehaerys. I will be happy with whatever you can give, my Alysanne – you have already given me a lot."
I will never love anyone as much as I loved Jaehaerys, Alysanne told herself, but this time, she realized there was a tiny sliver of doubt in that assertion. Alaric had adored Jonelle Mormont, even now it was clear whenever he spoke of her, and still, three years after her death, he had come to love Alysanne so desperately... How had she not known it earlier?
"I can't make you any promises now," she whispered. "But I like you, Alaric, a lot, and definitely more than just as a friend and partner. I... this is just a lot to take in. You took great pains to hide how you felt."
"That I did. I thought... at first... that it was the best course."
"You know what... maybe it was," Alysanne said, recalling the earlier times of her widowhood. If Alaric had declared his love right when she came to Winterfell several months ago, who knew what she would have done? She could have been appalled at such audacity and went off to look for another consort candidate. "It wasn't the ideal way to deal with matters, but I can't think of any better one."
They sat quietly for a short while. Alysanne still felt her heart beating fast and her cheeks burning – such frantic confessions by their sheer nature weren't meant to end in companionable silence, she thought suddenly, they had to lead to either passionate lovemaking or a dreadful fight. There was no reason for a fight, and for outright lovemaking, she was still way too confused and overwhelmed.
She leaned to Alaric for a kiss, but made sure to whisper:
"Just once, before Jonquil decides we've been ambushed by Dornish spies."
Alaric nodded slightly, and his lips caught hers with sudden fierceness. His hands cradled her face as his tongue slid into her mouth and his teeth grazed her lips, the slight sting of it sending a wave of delicious heat through her body. It dawned on Alysanne that just like he had initially feigned indifference towards her in his words, he had been holding himself back in the bedroom.
At the same time, though, as the touch of Alaric's tongue against her own made her moan and shudder in pleasure, her thoughts turned to Jaehaerys again. Am I that shallow? One passionate kiss, and I'm ready to forget him?
When Alaric broke the kiss, she almost wept from all the desire, and the guilt, and the uncertainty.
"Have I hurt you?" he whispered immediately.
"No, not at all!" she hurried to assure him. "It felt wonderful... I'm just... like I said, I'm just shocked."
By the time they returned to the training yard, Alysanne had calmed down a little, but, judging by Alaric's reddened face and brightened eyes, she was probably not looking much better. Thankfully, Aemon and Baelon (still cheerfully playing catch with Jonquil and Ser Robin) were too young to notice, and as for everyone else... well, Alaric and Alysanne were married, so there was nothing shameful that their private meeting ended in... activities other than talking. In public, after all, they never used any gestures more intimate than holding hands.