SEVEN : ALYSANNE (I)

It had been near seven years since she had left Starfall for the Reach.

Since then she had only visited thrice. The Reach had become her true surroundings, Highgarden had become her home, in a way. Of course, Starfall was where her mother was, and she loved her mother dearly still.

But Jon was not there. His absence had made the whole place empty and vacant. She had felt so alone upon her last arrival, without her brother to greet her. Gods, she missed Jon. He was her other half; her best friend. And now he was stowed away in the North with their half-siblings, whom she had never met. Did he love them more than he loved her? Had he forgotten her?

The occasional letters she received from him only made her pain grow worse. She wanted more than anything to see him again.

But that was not an option. She knew it. And she had Margaery and Garlan — even Loras. It was not the same, of course. None of it was the same. But it was something.

Her bond with Margaery had always been special; Margaery had been there for most of her life. An occasional presence at first, and now she was there every day, a comforting and reliable sister to Alysanne.

Now, as she brushed Margaery's thick brown tresses softly, she could think only of the letter she had received from Starfall. Margaery must have noticed something was off, for suddenly she laughed. "You have ran the comb through that spot six times, Alys," she said fondly. "Why so distracted?"

"Forgive me, my lady," Alys tried for a smile, but it faltered. "I... Received a raven from home. It seems my mother has fallen ill."

Margaery's eyes widened. She turned around in an instant and clasped Alysanne's hands. The brush fell to the floor, forgotten. "Oh, not Ashara," she whispered. "It cannot be true, can it?"

"As much as I would like to say it is not," Alysanne sighed, "I am afraid that it was my uncle himself who wrote the letter. He says she has been bedridden for a week."

"She will get better," Margaery said firmly. "We will pray for her, I promise."

Alys nodded. She retrieved the brush from off the ground and rightened her best friend. She set to work once more, this time properly; her woes had been lessened by Margaery's strong beliefs. Her friend had always been faithful and true to her. She tied back Margaery's soft curls in the usual style.

"Do you like it, my lady?"

"Alys," Margaery chuckled, "how many times have I told you to call me by my name? For gods' sakes, we've bathed together! If anyone has the right to call me Margaery, it is my best friend." She pulled her hair around her shoulders. "Do you think I look grand enough for Renly? I want to please him."

"I doubt you will have to worry about such things yet," Alysanne assured her gently. "You are only four-and-ten."

"A woman flowered and grown," Margaery said with a sly smirk, "with plenty of practice in the art of womanly love."

Alysanne laughed. "You will not have trouble pleasing him, I can promise you that," she said.

They both giggled, though they knew that there was likely plenty more to learn, and it would be many years still before Margaery and Renly might ever marry. Even still, they had flowered. Women had ways of pleasuring themselves. Alysanne herself rarely — almost never — participated in such activities, and she knew even Margaery was only practising for Renly out of sheer nervousness.

Even so, there were plenty of other things about Margaery that were worth admiring; she was proficient in many languages, such as High Valyrian and Braavosi, which they had learned together and mastered. She was also very skilled with a harp, as well as archery — which Alys had taught her.

Margaery stood and sifted though her gowns. She held up one; blue satin and green slink, with golden trim. It had a plunging neckline and bare back, which seemed a little old for Margaery now. Alysanne laughed and shook her head.

She picked out one that was more reserved, which might serve better. It was blue, with Myrish lace trim and golden roses embroidered on the front, attached to green thread vines. Margaery had made it herself. "This one," she said.

"Oh, very well," she shrugged, ducked behind her shade, and changed into the gown. Alysanne made herself busy readying the perfumes and lotions, and once Margaery was ready she did her duty. Soon enough Margaery was perfectly presentable. "If Lord Renly does not fall head over heels in love with you, he is a fool," Alysanne complimented, though her heart was not in it; her mind was far away, split between Winterfell and Starfall.

Margaery twirled and grinned. "Will you attend me today?"

"If you so wish it," Alysanne said, "but I think Mia worries you are showing favouritism. Perhaps allow her to wait on you today?"

"Mia is jealous," Margaery wrinkled her nose. "But she speaks true, I suppose." Sighing, Margaery gestured for Alysanne to open the door. "I will miss you today."

"And I, you," Alys smiled for true that time and led her lady out, down the polished wood corridors of Highgarden. She knew her way around perfectly by now. Alys left Margaery with her other handmaidens at the entrance to the gardens.

Garlan was waiting for her by the stables, one hand on his sword and the other clutching the reins of a mare he had given her two years before, as a gift for her twelfth name day. He smiled when he saw her; it spoke of warmth and love.

She knew it had been she keeping him from marrying. Garlan was seven-and-ten; old enough for a wife and yet he refused his father's offers. Twice in the past three months he had kissed her, though he would not do any more for fear of staining her honour.

"The honour of a bastard?" She had asked him, watching him wince. "I have no honour, Garlan."

She would not marry him. He was handsome, yes, but he had a duty to his house. The bannermen of the Reach might grow offended if too many Tyrells were tied to House Dayne. And besides, he was three years her senior and better suited for someone his own age.

For this she had tried to avoid him, but Garlan was everywhere. Her friend and companion. She wanted nor desired no more from him than that, she had told herself many times. But it was not true. And even still she was young. Perhaps her uncle would find a more suitable match.

Perhaps she might go back to Starfall.

Perhaps Jon might come home with her.

They were only dreams, she knew. Ridiculous wants and longings that had long since been buried but occasionally, when she let her thoughts would wander, found their way to the surface and brought tears along with them.

Hastily she dried her eyes and made her way to Garlan. "A dress, still, my lady of Dayne?"

"I need new leathers," Alys told him. "Mine have grown too small."

Garlan smiled again. He was always smiling. "I will inform my mother, if you wish," he said, assisting her in mounting, though she had no need of it. "She'd be delighted to provide you with new clothing — even if it is riding leathers."

"That would be most kind of you, Ser Garlan," she told him. He handed her a quiver of arrows and a bow.

"Back to 'Ser' and 'Lady', are we?"

Alys hummed, strapping the quiver around her chest. "I was trained to be formal, Ser," she said with a sly smile she had learned from his sister. "Now make haste and get on your horse. We have not the time for delay and winter is coming."

She loved uttering the words of her Father's house, though she had only known him for a short time as a child. She had never been to Winterfell. She had never seen snow as her brother had, though deep in her heart she wished she could.

Alys kicked off and rode out over the drawbridge. Her hair flew behind her; black as night and curled. Jon's had been much the same, she remembered sadly.

The orchards were being picked, today. Many servants and commoners were walking through the rows of hundreds of trees, collecting all sorts of fruits; plums, pears, apples, apricots... Her mouth watered just thinking about them, but she shoved her thoughts aside and made her way to the wood, where Garlan had set up the targets.

Garlan caught up with her just as she entered the many folds of trees and greenery. "It's only a mile inland," he told her.

They rode toward a clearing, as large as any, full of wildflowers and white grass. Garlan had set up six bullseyes and two dummies for them to practise on. Alys was overjoyed at the prospect; since she had flowered, Lady Alerie had told her she was no longer to use any form of weaponry, save for a dagger — as protection — for it was not ladylike. Alys had been born and raised in Dorne, however, where women fought alongside men.

A part of her was hopeful that if she deified Lady Alerie enough times she might send her back to Starfall, but that was never the case. Alerie only seemed amused or exasperated when she found out about the ways Alys had broken her rules.

The woman was stubbornly kind.

Alys loosed nine arrows before she missed for the first time. "Relax your bow arm," Garlan called from his horse. "You're holding too long, as well."

"I'm holding just fine!" Alys snapped, frustrated.

Garlan only laughed.

Angered, Alys hit the centre of the target just to spite him. It wiped the smile from his face and gave her a feeling of immense satisfaction. She let loose another, which was so precise it tore into the other arrow; splitting it in half and sending splinters of wood flying.

"You've improved," Garlan told her. He slipped off his horse. "But how are you on your feet?"

Alys frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Come on down," Garlan instructed, waiting for her in the middle of the clearing. She joined him afoot after tying her horse to a tree. They stood six yards away from their intended bullseyes. Alys had shot twice this far and done perfectly.

"Stand with one foot before the other," Garlan ordered of her. "Draw the string back to your chin and loose."

It felt odd to shoot on foot, she had to admit. It was something she so rarely did. When she was younger, she had learned on the ground, of course, but in her stubbornness she had combined two dangers into one; riding and archery. It had terrified Uncle Aron and delighted Jon.

She wondered if he had improved at all.

Alys loosed. Her arrow was so bloody close to the centre it almost pained her physically. Garlan chuckled. "You are no marksman, Alys," he told her, "you're a damned Dothraki screamer."

Alys rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said. "I'll finish on foot."

She did, and by the end she was just as good as she had been on horseback. "You see?" She smirked at Garlan. "I was a little rusty, is all."

"Yes," Garlan said. "Now would you care to fight with swords?"

It had never been her strong suit, but she was learning. So far she had only made it up to a tourney sword, not proper live steel. She'd been practising for three years and still Garlan would not give her the honour.

They sparred for a great many hours, until Alys was drenched in sweat and her dress had been ruined. It was an extra challenge; fighting in a gown; one had to avoid tripping or tearing, which increased the habit of better footing.

When the sun reached its apex Garlan called off their training session. "You did well," he complimented her, pulling the arrows from where they had lodged themselves into wood and sand. Alys watched him, beaming, and allowed him to put the salvageable arrows back into her quiver.

They made their way to the horses. Garlan insisted on playing the role of a proper gentleman in that he readied her horse for her and helped her mount it. She hated being treated so fragile, but with her sore muscles and sweaty hands she welcomed the help this time.

Garlan looked at her with his warm hazel eyes once more. He smiled, and for a moment she forgot all sense of right and wrong. She wanted so badly to embrace him as a wife did a husband, as she had seen Alerie do with Mace or Margaery do with some handsome knights. But Alerie always frowned when she kissed Mace and Margaery's kisses were always so brief and chaste. Alys didn't want her kisses with Garlan to be like that.

Garlan turned his horse around and rode off, leaving her in the dust to catch up.

Lord Renly dined with House Tyrell that night.

The feast went on for hours to welcome the friend and ally of Lord Mace, and the likely future husband of Margaery. There was no official betrothal; not yet. All the same Margaery was chatting up Renly, beaming her most charming smile and touching him whenever she could, in whatever way was proper.

Alysanne sat between her Aunt Allyria and Lady Olenna. The old woman was busy cutting into her pork chop, and so Alysanne turned to Ally. "Have you heard from Uncle Aron of late?" She asked her. Ally was the only family she had here; her and her nieces Jystine and Maeryla, but they were only babes.

Aunt Ally studied her plate intently. "I have,"

"Then you know that my mother is unwell?" Alysanne sipped her wine, grateful for the chance to become more lightheaded and unbound.

Ally's gaze shot up, startled. "Yes," she said. Her voice was thick with sorrow. "I worry greatly for Ashara. I plan to ask Mace permission for your leave, so that we might travel down to Starfall to visit."

Alysanne nodded. "I apologise for not inquiring about my mother's health sooner," she said lowly. "I had no idea whether or not you knew, and in the absence of my certainties I should have come to you."

Aunt Ally smiled thinly and lightly kissed Alys on the cheek. "It's alright, Alys," she said. "You were frightened and worried and in that state very few hold rationality."

Alys laughed a bit. Her aunt's words were true; a day of sparring and archery had cleared her mind, though. Now she was sore, exhausted, and worried out of her mind. "Do you think Mace will grant your request?"

"I hope," her Aunt rested a hand on her newly swelling belly. A third child had taken root, there, though her oldest was only three. Allyria and Willas were praying for a boy, this time. Alys prayed right alongside them; Starfall had an heir in Edric, and the Reach needed a grandson for Mace.

"What is this I have overheard?" Asked Olenna.

Alysanne turned to the old woman, solemnly. She loved Olenna like her own grandmother; the woman was shrewd and sharp-minded, and had taught both Alysanne and Margaery in the art of politics and what she referred to as the 'game of thrones'.

"Lady Ashara Dayne is bedridden," her aunt said quietly. "I plan to ask your son for leave to visit her."

"It is not my son you should be asking, but me," Olenna said. She leaned back and smacked her lips, trying to taste the remnants of her spiced apricots. "And, given that you have been nothing but loyal to by house, I find it more than fitting to grand your most gracious request in returning home, my ladies."

"We thank you," Alysanne said for her aunt. "House Dayne is indebted to House Tyrell in more ways than one, Lady Olenna. It would be most shameful to see that alliance crumble over a bit of spilled milk like an ignored request to visit my sickly mother."

Olenna's lips quirked up into the most secret of smiles. She leaned forward and whispered in Alys' ear, "You are learning, my girl."

Alysanne assisted Margaery in getting ready for bed.

As she prepared the sheets and pillows for the night ahead, Margaery gave her a full report on the night's events of which Alys had missed out on given her distance from Renly and the higher lords. "He held my hand all through dinner, Alysanne," she said joyfully, "and when dessert arrived he kissed my cheek so softly, I felt I was in one of the seven heavens."

Alysanne smiled. She had half a mind to tell Margaery the truth of what she had weasled out of one of the bakers; Renly fancied only men. His affections for Margaery were staged and fake. It was a shame that Margaery would most likely never bear him children should they marry, and if at all it would be a good marriage wasted.

Still she went back to fluffing the pillows. "I'm glad," she lied, allowing a false smile to play across her lips. "It is so wonderful to see you happy, my lady."

The last part was true, of course; Margaery was her best friend. Her happiness meant a great deal to Alys, and she knew the other girl felt the same way. Margaery laughed. "I am always happy," she said. "I was blessed to live this fortunate life. It is those of need whom I wish to put my concerns onto; the hungry, the poor..."

Alys nodded. Margaery had been growing more and more focused on the less fortunate of late. Alys was glad for that; when she was gone, Margaery would have something else to focus on. Perhaps when she came back they could work on it together.

"Admirable goals," Alys laid the blankets back. "And though I wish I could continue this topic with you, Lady Margaery, I have another one I must broach with you."

Margaery frowned. "What is it?"

"My aunt and I wish to return to our home to visit Starfall," she said bluntly, putting aside southron courtesies for once. "I wondered if you had any problem with that?"

"Well surely that is not necessary, Alysanne," Margaery's brow was furrowed. "You said only that your mother was ill! She will get better soon, no doubt."

Alysanne's hands briefly tightened around the edge of a water basin, which she wet to work on filling. "I am not so sure, my lady," she said. "My uncle would not write unless he truly worried for her, and so I worry alongside him. And aside from this, I miss Starfall; it has been two years since I've breathed the Dornish air."

Margaery nodded. She climbed into bed. "It is reasonable," she said. "I will have Mia take over your duties as chief handmaiden for a few months. You will return, yes?"

She wanted to greatly to have a reason to stay in Starfall, to never return as a handmaiden; the duties and tasks had become boring, and repetitive. She wished for some form of excitement and adventure. Instead she smiled a false, painful smile again and pushed away from the side table. "I will, my lady," she said. Someday.

Garlan was waiting outside the door to her bedchamber.

His arms were folded over his chest, and his hair was wet from having just washed. "Lady Alysanne," he called, unusually formal.

Alys dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Lord Garlan," she said, opening the door to her rooms. Garlan slipped in. Once the door was closed, he pulled a scroll from up his sleeve and handed it to her.

She had expected to see the sigil of House Dayne, or perhaps even Tyrell, but here was the snarling direwolf of House Stark. She grinned, already crying for she knew it contained word from her brother.

Alys eagerly tore it open.

Sister,

I am writing to inform you of the death of Lord Jon Arryn, Hand of the King — which you may have already known about, but all the same I thought it best to tell you before getting to my next point: His Grace Robert Baratheon is coming north. I believe that the King intends to ask our Father to become his next Hand. If this is so, Father will be in the south — not so far from you, Alys.

I hope you will meet him. He is a good man, as I have informed you so oft. I did not want you to be caught off guard by his appearance for a second time, however; I thought it might be fitting to warn you.

I miss you, sister. With every day that passes.

Love,

Jon

Alys let the letter furl up and wiped her eyes.

"Thank you for bringing this to me," she said to Garlan. He nodded. His hands were clasped behind his back as though he was trying to reserve himself. Alys bit her lip. And then, on an impulse of sorts, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly.

If Garlan was surprised, he did not show it. He only embraced her back just as solidly, pulling her close to his chest. She held on until she could not breathe any longer, and when she finally did it was with great regret. "Was that forward of me?"

"Not at all," Garlan grinned, leaning a little closer so that their noses touched. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. She felt gooseflesh spread up and down her arms. Garlan kissed her again, this time his hands straying to other places which made her blush.

Slowly she drew away. "I must retire," she told him. "Thank you again for bringing me my brother's letter."

Garlan nodded. With a last very soft kiss to her brow he departed. Alysanne was left alone to read her brother's words, over and over again. She cried herself to sleep thinking of him.

AN: It's Alys. Woop woop! I found this chapter to be increasingly enjoyable to write. I love Galys.

Review, my lords and ladies!

Much love! xx