Alarra sat down by the fireplace and closed her eyes, inhaling the smell of the burning logs. It was a wonderful feeling, to know that you could rest – no dances to attend, no lessons to supervise, no nobles to greet... Even the Rosbys' little son Lothor wasn't her responsibility. For all that she loved Aemon and Baelon, sometimes they could be a handful.
There was a knock on the door:
"May I sit with you, Alarra? Or would you like to be alone?" Ella Rosby asked.
"No, it's fine. I've missed you," Alarra smiled, opening her eyes and moving a bit on the bench to make space for Ella.
"Yes, Fernan and I have barely seen you in the past months," Ella chuckled, sitting down by her side. "You're always so busy at court. It seems only yesterday you were ten years old and just beginning to explore the Red Keep."
"Oh, yes," Alarra nodded. "Alysanne was so kind to me – she let me get used to my new life before giving me any duties of note."
"Remember how I wanted to show you around and we both got lost instead?"
They both laughed. Though a frequent visitor at court, Ella actually seldom explored the Red Keep by herself and had little knowledge of the less-often-used halls and corridors.
"Whenever we went, somehow we constantly ended up in the rookery," Alarra recalled.
"And Grand Maester Benifer showed us how to feed the ravens."
"And showed us the little nestling and told us she would be our bird."
"Are you still keeping an eye on her, by the way? How is she doing?" Ella asked.
"Thriving," Alarra assured her. "I call her Onyx. She left for Winterfell, in fact, only a few days ago."
"Poor Grand Maester Benifer... He was so kind. I can only imagine what that new Grand Maester of yours would say if anyone got lost in his domain."
"He's not that bad," Alarra said in mock defensiveness. "He can't even breathe fire... as much as he secretly wishes it, I'm sure. But, seriously, he's all right. He is a good teacher. I sometimes think Benifer was too soft-hearted during the lessons."
"That's your Northern hardiness talking, I think."
"I do miss Benifer, don't get me wrong! Especially when I'm sick or cut myself or something like that. He used to be so gentle and compassionate... With Grand Maester Elysar, you always feel it's your own fault you can't stay healthy."
For a while, Ella gazed wistfully at the fire, but then her eyes brightened:
"Let's go light a candle for Benifer?"
Her friend, Alarra knew, was unable to sit still for long and would always quickly get a new idea about going someplace or doing something. She was still feeling a bit drowsy and relaxed, but, on the other hand, the crispy spring air outdoors was also something to look forward to.
"Let's," she agreed.
Before leaving the North, she discussed the matter of visiting septs with Father. He conceded that if Alysanne or some other member of the court wanted Alarra to accompany them to a sept for a private devotion, Alarra could do that, on the condition she wouldn't speak any prayers or take part in any rituals herself.
"And a few candles for the brave warriors in the Dornish Marches," Ella continued excitedly as they went down the stairs towards the castle's garden, where the small sept was almost fully hidden in an apple grove. "I do say, I'm a little glad Fernan decided not to join them. Well, he is the only grown man left in the family. But several sellswords from Rosby had gone with Lord Rogar. And your Ser Mandon, too."
"What?" Alarra was startled. "Who?"
"Don't you remember?" Ella gave her a teasing smile. "The gallant Ser Mandon Chelsted, who has won your favor twice in a row now. Don't tell me you aren't at least slightly partial to him."
"I remember... I mean – he had gone to fight the Vulture King?"
"Wait, you didn't know? We've had a letter from Lord Chelsted, and among other things he mentioned that. He isn't too pleased, you know – Mandon's his heir, and the next in line is only some cousin."
She remembered the handsome young man with short hair of a lovely dark chestnut shade, with bright green eyes and broad shoulders, and her heart ached at the thought he could be killed or crippled. He was so dashing and sweet… But why hadn't Father or Alysanne told her that he went to the war? They had certainly seen him in the army while it was parading through the city...
It was quiet and dark in the castle sept. The young septon was scrubbing the floor.
"Doesn't he get some help from the servants?" Alarra whispered when he set the cloth and the bucket of water aside to go and fetch the candles.
"He doesn't want to," Ella explained. "The sept is so small, he says, he'll manage, and it's good discipline."
"There you are, my ladies," the septon bowed, handing what looked like a dozen candles to Ella. One of them was already lit. "I am here if you need anything," and he went back to his cleaning.
Of course, having placed a candle in front of the Crone's statue and asked her to watch over the soul of Grand Maester Benifer, Ella swiftly remembered many more people she wanted to pray for. A candle for the Mother ("Please protect the souls of my sister Lucinda and my lady mother and guide them to the seven heavens"), three for the Father ("Please watch over my beloved son, my darling husband and over the soul of my lord father too"), another for the Maiden ("Please look out for the soul of my slain friend Rosamund")... Alarra had already observed Ella at her devotions, so there was no wonder the septon gave her such a generous helping of candles. There were only two left by the time they got to the Warrior's statue.
"Please watch over Lord Rogar and his army that had gone to the Dornish Marches against the Vulture King," Ella said passionately, sticking one candle in the sand-filled basin in front of the statue. "And in particular over Ser Mandon Chelsted, of whom Alarra here is so fond of," she put the second candle next to it.
Alarra smiled. She took care not to participate in the prayer, but she was touched Ella had even mentioned Ser Mandon separately. It was a pity Rosby didn't have a godswood... she would just have to sit somewhere in a quiet place in the orchard and pray for him there...
On their way out of the sept, they met Obella, the woman from the Sunflowers who played the Mother in the Penance.
"My ladies," she curtsied.
"Obella," Alysanne had always instructed Alarra to try and remember the commoners' names, "how are the Sunflowers' living quarters? Are they to your liking?"
"Oh, indeed, Lady Stark. We are very comfortable. Thank you ever so much, and you, Lady Rosby."
"No trouble at all!" Ella grinned. "I'm quite excited to see this play of yours. Alarra won't stop going on about it."
"Your daughter Garnet isn't with you," Alarra observed. "Is everything all right with her?"
"It is, my lady, she is fine, thank you ever so much for asking. She simply doesn't accompany me to septs, because she is of the Rhoynish faith."
"Rhoynish? But – er – isn't the Rhoyne rather far away?"
"The orphans of the Greenblood still keep their ancient faith, my lady. Garris has taught my daughter all about it, and when she was eight, she announced she will follow the Rhoynish beliefs."
"And you are all right with that?" Ella exclaimed.
"I am not, my lady, and who would be?" Obella said. Her voice always held some sadness in it, but now it became especially noticeable. "But if I try to oppress Garnet's decision, it would just lead to strife. I can't blame Garris for converting her, either. He has been incredibly kind to both of us... I suppose my only remaining path is to pray for my daughter and hope for the best."
With her head still bowed, Obella edged inside the sept, looking as if she was ashamed of something. Was she afraid her daughter's rejection of the new gods would cast a shadow on her, too?
"The Rhoynish faith!" Ella repeated, incredulous, as they walked away. "I barely remember it even exists! Honestly, how can you worship some river in Essos? Does it make any sense at all?"
"Since Garris managed to successfully preach it to Garnet, apparently, it doesn't sound nonsensical to everyone," Alarra mused. She had learned of the Rhoynar from Grand Maesters Benifer and Elysar, of course, but she didn't really understand their faith either. It sounded quite primitive. Placing all your trust in the Rhoyne and later, what was all the more baffling, in the small and dirty Greenblood was weird.
"I mean, I can at least understand the old gods of yours. They are sort of everywhere, and the godswoods are only the most sacred places, right? But the Rhoyne, according to her worshippers, can't move from her place and is just stuck over there in Essos."
"They practiced water magic, so it seemed logical to them," Alarra suggested.
"Water magic?" Ella's eyes glimmered with another fresh idea. "Do you know if that Garris from the Sunflowers knows it? Wouldn't it be amazing if he did?"
"I don't think so. You think he'd be part of a poor mummer troupe if he could do something like that?"
"Truly, you're a killjoy, Alarra Stark," Ella concluded.
Alarra sat down in the small pear-tree grove on a river bank. There was no heart tree, but it was the best she could get: a quiet corner in the furthest part of the castle gardens.
Please bring Ser Mandon back safe and sound, she thought as hard as she could. She tried not to imagine him getting wounded or slain – instead, she thought how wonderful it would be to see him come back, a glorious victor, praised by Lord Rogar for some amazing heroic feat. He would compete in a new tourney and win, and crown Alarra his queen of love and beauty... His eyes would shine at her, and he would give her another of his sweet smiles...
She had only been given the crown once. Soon after her appointment as Alysanne's lady-in-waiting, there was a small joust – more akin to a training fight than to a real spectacle. Nevertheless, when Ser Ryam Redwyne emerged victorious, he gave the lovely wreath of flowers to her – she could still recall the tiny weight of the roses that landed into her lap. Back then, she felt more intimidated than anything – Ser Ryam seemed so grand and imposing. Now she thought him very pleasant-looking, with his dark eyes and his waves of hair, and would have enjoyed it a lot if he proclaimed her his queen again, but he no longer crowned her – only Alysanne. Belatedly, she had realized Alysanne must have told the knights to give her the crown at that small tourney, to help her feel welcome at court.
Ser Mandon will certainly crown me, she reminded herself happily. If only... oh, if only he survives Lord Rogar's war!
If one thought of it, a crown from Ser Mandon would be even better than one from Ser Ryam. As a member of the Kingsguard, Ryam Redwyne could take no wife, so it didn't really matter much whether he picked her, or Alysanne, or anyone else as queen of love and beauty. Ser Mandon, though, was unwed and, as far as she knew, not betrothed to any maid as of yet... And he was so dazzlingly handsome. Even more so than Ser Ryam.
She berated herself for thinking of such frivolous, if not outright sinful things, while Ser Mandon was fighting the enemies somewhere far away. She concentrated herself again on praying for his safe return.
The thing was that for all the talk of the second Vulture King and Lord Rogar's war and everything, the fighting and bloodshed seemed very distant and unreal to Alarra's mind, like something she read of in a book. She had never seen an actual battle. Small brawls, yes, but nothing on a larger scale. She couldn't truly imagine many people fighting each other in a situation that wasn't a friendly tourney melee.
Please bring Ser Mandon back...
"How's it going in the Northern fields?" Alysanne asked. Alaric had received a letter from his sons – they were rather alarmed when they got a raven from him out of the blue, and quite soon after his previous letter, too, so their writing now betrayed their anxiety.
"The sowing's over at last," he said, folding the letter. "Good hopes for the first harvest," he added cautiously.
Alysanne put her hands on his shoulders in sympathy. She could do much to help Alaric's people, but even for her there was no control over the Northern weather. Even if she sent an army to plough new fields in the Starks' domain, the earth there was often frozen, the maesters said, to its very core and couldn't yield a bountiful harvest by its very nature.
"Maybe we could dry the swamps in the Neck?" she suggested. "That will surely clear up a lot of arable land. When the children tame their dragons, we might just manage it."
"The Neck's one of our best defenses," Alaric shook his head.
"You are hardly at war with the South, you know," she smiled.
"There's no telling what might happen in the future. The Neck's swamps have protected us for thousands of years."
"But aren't we two striving for a united land? Taking precautions against the Seven Kingdoms fighting each other again... that's hardly a cheerful mindset."
"Even if the Seven Kingdoms do stay united, we can't hope they will be eternally at peace with their neighbors. With the Neck's swamps in place, the North would be in excellent position to put up a fight. It is large enough to allow everyone's armies to hide there, if the worst comes to the worst."
Alysanne was in doubt. She was all in favor of long-term plans, but right now she thought Alaric was overdoing his cautiousness. With the dragons, Westeros was a formidable enemy whom few would dare to attack... and if the foes, in turn, had dragons too, the swamps of the Neck would be no obstacle to them. Meanwhile, every cruel winter left the North struggling to feed its denizens.
She told Alaric as much.
"We can't depend on the dragons, my darling," he said sadly. "Remember the Doom of Valyria? What if happens again? Or what if there is a winter so harsh our dragons wouldn't agree to leave the Dragonpit?"
Reminded again of Silverwing's adamant refusal to cross the Wall, Alysanne had to admit that it was a possibility, though hopefully a miniscule one. Still, it was all in the realm of conjecture, and the very real troubles in the North weren't going away.
"All right, I see your point. We do need a strong defense on the Neck. But, truly, why does it need to be a swamp? How about, for example, we build a new wall – not the Wall's size, but still a large one – somewhere in the north of the Riverlands?"
"And make everyone think the Northerners are akin to the Others – some danger to hide from? Besides, there is another reason why we can't dry up the swamps. The crannogmen, Alysanne, they would never ever condone it. They have been living there for mayhaps longer than the Starks in Winterfell. Their whole life is centered on the marshes."
"Oh... I suppose I can't try to convince them otherwise?"
"Well, you can," Alaric chuckled. "But I think it might be too much of a challenge even for you. It would be like trying to persuade the Valemen to destroy their mountains."
"Perhaps I could at least visit them?" Alysanne asked. She had passed the Neck on Silverwing's back without stopping there, but now she thought it was definitely a place she had to include in the next progress. The crannogmen were famed as some of the Starks' most loyal vassals, and at the same time were a reclusive people who preferred to keep to themselves and were rumored to be weird or even mad.
"Now that's a plan."
"Then, after the baby is born, we will go to Winterfell and to the Neck. The little one needs to be shown the lands of his forefathers," Alysanne smiled. She still hoped she could get the mysterious Reeds to cede at least some parts of their lands for ploughing.
Alaric smiled back and leaned against her arms. She was aware that it meant a lot to him that she wasn't cutting off their future children from their Stark heritage, but just how important it was to Alaric was something she would probably never comprehend. The Targaryens, having left Valyria almost two hundred years ago, had no such deep attachment to a homeland. Dragonstone was a place of fond memories for Alysanne because of the happy times she spent there with Jaehaerys, but she entirely understood that Rhaena hated it and that Aemon and Baelon never showed any particular attachment to it either. Her family had no saying similar to "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell".
My family... I'm a Stark by marriage now, she told herself. I should get more familiar with their House's nature.
She felt warmth surge in her heart at the thought that Alaric wasn't trying to separate her from her Targaryen heritage, either. It still amazed her that he willingly left his beloved Winterfell, joined her in King's Landing, and was trying his best – if not to make himself at home, but at least to get the people to accept him. Not many people, particularly not many men, would have done that.
Leaning closer to Alaric, she hugged him tighter and nuzzled his dark-brown hair.
"We'll spend several months in the North," she promised in a whisper. "And we'll visit the Neck and talk to the crannogmen, and you'll show me all the other places I have missed during my progress."
She didn't see his face now, but she knew his smile grew even happier.