Riding at the head of his army, Rogar Baratheon cut a much more impressive figure than what Alysanne had observed in the previous days. If one didn't count the gray hair, from a distance he looked as formidable as he used to be.

The crowds had apparently remembered him too. Yellow flowers and ribbons were thrown on the road before the procession even left the Red Keep, and the people exploded into cheering as the gates opened and Lord Rogar appeared atop his white courser. Alaric and Alysanne rode right behind him to see him off, and even Aemon was by their side on his little golden pony that he had previously only ridden in the training yard.

Behind the vanguard, there was the brightly decorated cart carrying the singers and musicians – like Alysanne, Alaric and Aemon, they would follow the army to the city gates. Alysanne was a bit afraid that the cheers could drown out the songs, but it turned out there was no reason to fret – Violet's clear, high voice rang above even the crowds' loudest yells.

Blacksmith, forge me seven swords,

Forge me seven shining blades,

For my seven sons are riding

To throw back a Greyjoy raid.

The fat little man from the Sunflowers started the next verse; although he sometimes sounded a bit off-tune, his voice, as Alysanne ascertained with relief, was very good; he didn't make the mistake of booming his words instead of singing them, as so many bards did when faced with the need to perform a rousing song.

Seven swords I'll forge you, lady, he sang,

I shall forge the swords with speed.

For your sons to stand in battle

For our sake in times of need.

To allow everyone in the crowd a chance to greet the royals, the procession was of course going at the speed of a snail. Seven Swords for Seven Sons was over when Lord Rogar had only just reached Central Square.

...They came home, my seven sons,

When the glorious fight was won! Violet finished triumphantly, and, right on cue, Hugh and his Little Dragons, waiting at the square, lit up their firework sticks. Thanks to some acids and salts rubbed into the sticks beforehand, the flames that flared up were of several different colors.

As the fireworks display was finished, with more applause from the crowd, out came the septons to bless Lord Rogar and the departing army, and in her mind, Alysanne once again praised Alarra's idea of letting Septon Wyldon assist Septon Barth in the ceremony – Septon Barth had always found it hard to keep his voice loud for a long while, and Wyldon, public performances being his bread and butter, clearly had no such problems. In coordination, they managed just fine, with Barth only having to say the main prayers and blessings.

Alysanne was sorry Alarra couldn't see what she herself had prepared and organized – after all, it was the leavetaking of an army, not a festival, so the children save for Aemon had to stay at the Keep; it was hardly the proper time for the whole royal family and retinue to parade themselves in the streets.

After about an hour, the procession reached the River Gate, where Alaric, Alysanne, and Aemon, flanked by Jonquil and four of the Kingsguard, stood aside to let the army pass. The nobles who rode with Lord Rogar were mostly from the stormlands, but Alysanne noticed a few crownlander knights too, mostly secondborn sons and poor cousins of noble houses, eager to snatch a bit of glory for themselves. After Lord Rogar's arrival, she had announced that any noble wishing to join him was allowed to do so, but, just as she had expected, few did.

Then she spotted a green-and-silver banner with the crossed dagger and mace, and thought at first that it belonged to Dorton Chelsted, Lord Chelsted's nephew. However, as the men beneath the banner got closer, she realized that the one riding in front was none other than Ser Mandon himself.

Looks like the boy really tries to rise in our favor, she mused. Let's hope he comes back safe and sound, and I'll ask Uncle Rogar about his conduct on the battlefield. Before even finishing the thought, though, she suddenly recalled, with a pang, that Lord Rogar wasn't planning to return alive. It was still difficult to fully comprehend it.

The three months allowed for the staging of The Royal Penance would soon draw to a close. Myribeth didn't know of the other troupes, but she was very proud of what the Sunflowers had managed to do. The play, in her opinion, turned out to be quite nice, and looking at the costumes, nobody would have believed most of them were prepared at breakneck speed. Little Lady Stark, who often sat to watch at the rehearsals, looked very impressed.

If the play is as successful with everyone else, we'll all have a nice nest egg, she thought with some sadness. Traveling mummers' lives were full of uncertainty. The Sunflowers had barely survived the last horrid winter, and nobody knew if there was at least another year in store for them.

She glanced into her little mirror – one of her most prized possessions, bought ages ago when her father, a hedge knight, ended up in second place at a tourney and gave her some of his winnings.

Wrinkles. Undoubtedly. From a distance and with a painted face, I'm still good enough for the audience to pretend they believe me, but soon I'll just look outright ridiculous playing young beauties. When she had just started acting, soon after her husband Jon's death, she was only two-and-twenty and lovely, but more than two decades on the road had taken their toll.

The worst thing was that Myribeth didn't know who among the Sunflowers' women could replace her. Ellara and Melara were good girls, but less-than-average mummers – neither of them would manage a leading part. Besides, they could get married and decide to settle down at any moment – she had lost many more promising girls this way. Obella, a slender dancer born of Sandstone, was five-and-thirty, reasonably pretty and a fine performer – she could have kept the troupe going for another ten years or more; but since the poor thing was raped by an ironborn, she couldn't even kiss anyone without revulsion, not even if it was all pretense for the stage's sake. Garnet, her unfortunate daughter by that ironborn, was only eleven – even if she decided to stick around in the troupe, it would take years for her to master all the skills.

At the women's court that Lady Stark all but commanded Myribeth to attend, Queen Alysanne softly asked her – several times! – if there was anything troubling her. But Myribeth hadn't spent more than half of her life as a wandering mummer for nothing: experience had taught her caution. If the lords employing you were asking such questions, they were simply looking for a pretext to let you go. It was a well-known trick: you said the pay was too low, and they threw you out for being too demanding, you said some young lord groped one of your girls, and they threw you out for being disrespectful... or, if you said you were worried about the troupe's future, they could easily throw you out for being unreliable.

Most likely, Alaric Stark was tired of paying them, and this was his wife's first subtle hint that the Sunflowers had to go.

No, we have to stage The Royal Penance, we need to get the royal family to let us stay until it's finished. At the women's court, Myribeth assured the queen that nothing troubled her and that the play was almost done.

Queen Alysanne smiled at that, but still seemed somewhat in doubt and asked Myribeth to tell her or Alarra Stark immediately if she had any problems.

Myribeth promised her she would.

The rest of the women – a veritable mix of nobles, servants and commoners – were generally much more talkative. Myribeth could only stare in astonishment as they poured out their hearts to Queen Alysanne, talking about money troubles, and quarrels with their husbands, and of this, and of that. Didn't they realize how everything could be used against them later?

Truly, nobody is as careful as a mummer, she said to herself as she recalled that court.

"Myrie!" Garris called out to her. "I have made some pigeons with cheese and honey. You want one?"

"Oh yes, thank you," she smiled. Good old Garris; she had known him ever since she started her life as a mummer. Besides her, he was the only one left of the original Sunflowers. He had a knack for playing blood-chilling villains and for cooking delicacies one wouldn't be ashamed to serve to high lords; and he was the most honest and reliable man Myribeth had ever known. With a sigh, she thought that his work as a mummer, too, could be over very soon. Garris was seven-and-sixty, and although he was remarkably strong for his age, it would sooner or later catch up with him. With him gone or bedridden and Myribeth herself too old to play the leads, the troupe would definitely collapse.

Aemon, Baelon and Jocelyn were engrossed in building some castle-ish construction of wooden bricks. Jocelyn had said goodbye to her father early in the morning, but Alysanne could see she didn't entirely realize what it meant: with Rogar's illness, she rarely ever saw him as it was.

"It's Nightfort, Mommy," Aemon explained as he saw her watching. "We're going to play Battle for the Dawn. Lynnie'll be the last hero and Baelon will be children of the forest, and I'll be the Others."

"Alysanne, can we take some bay leaves from the kitchen, please?" Jocelyn asked. "Baelon needs some leaves to look like a child of the forest, and Nurse Myranda told us to ask your permission."

"You'll need way too many bay leaves for that, and it wouldn't be right to take away the provisions our cooks need – just for playing," Alysanne shook her head. "But I've got an old green dress I wore at a masque once, and it's embroidered with leaves and flowers. You can make a much better costume of it."

"Thank you, Mommy!" Baelon beamed.

"Oh, and have any of you seen Alarra?"

"She said she'll be going on a walk the Ladies Baratheon – Heloise and Ermesande, I mean," said Lady Hogg.

"No, I think she passed in the direction of her room, like, a few minutes ago," Aemon said, waving vaguely at the door.

"All right, I'll check... I'll be right back with the green dress."

Alarra was indeed in her room. She was sitting on the carpet, hugging her knees, and staring at the fireplace.

"Alarra? What's it, my dear?" Alysanne hurried to her side. "What's happened?"

"Oh? Oh, nothing, I'm just tired. Lord Rogar's departure and everything," the girl forced a weak smile. It was just about as real as the one Mistress Myribeth gave her at the women's court, saying all was well with her.

"Are you upset that you didn't get to watch the procession, darling? You've put so much work into it, I know."

"No, it's not that," said Alarra. "It's... I've been spending time with Heloise and Ermesande – I've talked with them, and showed them the Keep, and the city, and did embroidery and sewing, and played the high harp... and it doesn't come to anything, anything at all! They are always sullen and gloomy, and I can't break them out of their shells, and I don't, oh, don't know what to do!"

Before Alysanne could say anything, Alarra added:

"I mean... does it make me heartless? They... I know how much they have lost. I know what's it like to lose my mother! Why can't I... I can't feel sympathy for them, I just want them to stop moping and..." she looked at Alysanne and stopped abruptly. "Oh... Alysanne, I'm so horribly sorry! I didn't mean... you know..."

"It's all right, I understand what you meant," Alysanne said, sitting by her side. "You're not heartless, Alarra. You're simply exhausted. It's the same with joy, you know – at the end of some seven-day feast, say, you feel you don't want to make merry anymore, you just long to curl up and sleep, right?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Alarra murmured, nodding.

"It's just the same with sadness, especially when it's not your sadness. You can't sympathize with other people – especially people you don't even know that well – all day long. I mean, you know people like me for listening to their troubles and sharing their sorrows, and I don't do that from dawn till dusk."

"But they are to be here at court, and as chief lady-in-waiting, I ought to..."

"To delegate your duties – when you can't deal with them – to others who are able to do that. Heloise and Ermesande can be taken into the care of Septa Lyra, for example. Or Lady Ylona Sunglass, she has several children and she herself suffered losses at an early age. Or... listen, I'll talk to the girls myself today, and we'll decide together what they will do in the nearest future."

She pulled Alarra into a hug:

"I promised the boys I'll bring them my old floral costume, they want to play children of the forest. I'll be back in a couple of minutes. Shall I call your father?" Alaric was talking with Ser Robert Redwyne now, about the cleaning of the city's streets after the procession, but the streets could definitely wait for half an hour more, if necessary.

"No, no, I know he's got a meeting with Ser Robert. He'll think I've had a heart attack or something. I'll talk to him later."

"If you're sure... Right, I'll just bring the costume to the boys."

She hurried to her bedroom and found the old dress. After thinking for a few moments, she also took a pair of scissors – Baelon would definitely want to adjust the costume to make it less girly.

"There you go," she grinned, looking into the nursery. "Have fun with your Battle of the Dawn."

"For the Dawn, Mommy," Aemon's voice corrected her as she was already on her way out.

She made some tea and asked the servants to bring a plate of blueberry tarts from the kitchen.

"We're human beings, Alarra," she said. "We need to support each other... not make one person do all the support."

"But I didn't feel this tired... you know... last year," Alarra muttered awkwardly, nibbling on a tart.

"Last year, darling, you weren't the only one I leaned on. I also had Septon Barth, and Septa Lyra, and Prunella Peake came to visit me, and, of course, I had my dearest boys to keep me going even in the darkest hours. Heloise and Ermesande don't have anyone now. Only Jocelyn and Boremund, and I have the impression they haven't been in much contact with them before coming here."

"Maybe we can get Heloise married to someone?" Alarra offered. "You've been so much more cheerful since you wed Father, you know."

Alysanne felt herself blush:

"I wish it were that simple, Alarra. If any marriage could make people happy, there would have been far less misery in this world. My marriage works, since your father and I always talk to each other and discuss what we want. It's cheered me up because Alaric is a good man who loves and respects me. Sadly, not all men are like this. We can't just marry Heloise off as quickly as possible and hope for the best."

"Oh," Alarra murmured. "I just... I never thought Father and you would get along so well. I can, er," she grimaced, "I can understand the – the baby and all that, but you are just always so friendly and nice with him and he with you."

"You know what, I think that any couple can potentially get along if they only make the effort," Alysanne said thoughtfully. "I've seen the oddest couples happy, and I've seen people who seemed perfect for each other but somehow weren't. Bear it in mind, by the way, darling, you'll need that knowledge for your own future."

"Oh," the girl said again. "Thanks, Alysanne. I never – never thought of that."

For a while, she silently ate her tart.

"Could I... maybe... go to Rosby for a few days?" she asked after she finished it and took another one. "Just for a few," Lady Ella Rosby was very fond of Alarra, often saying she was like the little sister she never had, and Alarra was always happy to visit her and her husband.

"That's a brilliant idea!" Alysanne said enthusiastically. It seemed the girl herself realized she needed a break.

"But... oh... The Royal Penance is to be shown soon, and..." Alarra went quiet, her eyes saddened. She clearly longed to see the finished version of the play. "I'll just perhaps go later."

In Alysanne's mind, inspiration struck.

"You know what? You'll just take The Royal Penance with you. After we watch the play to approve it at the Red Keep, we'll need to have word of it spread around anyway. In the streets of King's Landing, it will be shown by the Little Dragons, who, I assure you, wouldn't want any competition. I'll tell the Sunflowers to go to Rosby; they'll stay there for at least a week, and you'll be able to watch them every evening if you like."

"But, uh, what if they want to choose where they'll go after King's Landing?" Alarra asked uncertainly.

Alysanne quickly thought of what to say. She hadn't yet told Alarra she was thinking of asking the Sunflowers to stay at court; there was still a lot to discuss about that, particularly the reaction of the notoriously proud Little Dragons who, indeed, wouldn't like another theatre troupe to rise higher than themselves in the court's favor.

"I'll talk with them and see what their plans are," she finally said.

Alarra's eyes gleamed with joy as she took a third tart from the plate.

Looking at her, Alysanne suddenly thought about Jonelle Mormont. It was a pity she had never met the lady – at the Golden Wedding, the one time Alysanne met Alaric before her northern progress, Jonelle wasn't present: she couldn't make the journey because she feared for toddler Alarra's health.

Are you happy with how your daughter is raised? Do you think I'm too neglectful towards her and treat her too much like an adult? Or would you have preferred her to stay in the North altogether?

Roderick and Edwyn, at least, were grown up and responsible for themselves now, but Alarra was still a child, and Alysanne wondered if Jonelle would have approved of her decisions regarding the girl. Would the fierce Mormont woman even be glad that her daughter became so immersed in the southern ways?

Alysanne didn't know how to answer.

If the roles were reversed, if Alaric and I had died and Jaehaerys married Jonelle, she would have raised my children differently from how I do it. I'm sure she would have done her best, but if I could see and if... she got lost in the endless ifs and snapped out of it. From what she heard of Jonelle, the late lady would have wanted her children to be happy and free, and that was what Alysanne was going to ensure to the best of her abilities. Choosing between the northern and the southern tradition... well, it was one of the (slightly) less important details.