FOURTEEN: ALYSANNE (II)

She ran a hand over the thick shroud. It was purple silk, embroidered with pretty things like stars and mwhoons and suns, even swords, and there, on each corner, a wolf.

Melina has truly come to accept mother. How odd, considering her letters often consisted of distain and harsh words that had been exchanged between the two. Yes, her mother often complained of dear Melina...

Alys blinked. Then she sighed. There was no use in pointing fingers; not just yet. There would be time for that later.

Her hand stopped on her mother's stomach, where her womb was. She had been carried there for nine months, with Jon beside her, though she had no memory of it. Why would she? No one did. But she wished then that she could just... Remember the feel of him beside her. In a womb, in the beds they had shared when they were scared or excited. She wished they were back in Highgaden as little children, curled up beside Margaery, Loras, Garlan, Willas and Allyria — their dearest friends.

Did Jon have friends of his own, now? Did she, or were they the same ones she'd had for so long? She could not think of anyone she considered a friend that he did not know.

Now you are thinking inane thoughts, hissed the stable part of her mind — what little part of it was. Who cares about any of this? You must go to him.

Yes, she had to. She had to find her brother and hold him in her arms and whisper words of love and loss and past.

But she could not.

"My lady," Garlan came up beside her, tenderly taking her unused hand in his own. She liked the feel of his touch; it sent little sparks up and down her spine and throughout the rest of her body. She turned to him, seeing those now mirthless blue eyes staring down at her. He was concerned. Worried, even.

"Sweet Garlan," she whispered, resting her heavy head on his chest. "Thank you for coming with me."

"I will follow you anywhere," he replied, kissing the top of her head. He could do that, for he was so tall. When he had grown so she did not know. Once he had been a small spindly boy who giggled when he saw a rainbow through a prism. Now he was an anointed knight and tall.

"Your uncle awaits," Garlan told her at last. "Do you wish to see him?"

Some of her did and some of her did not. It was hard to determine how she felt, anymore. Where was reason? Where had it gone? Had it died with mother? Or had it left with Jon? Or... Was it still there? Dancing just out of reach, she decided. There but also not, like her heart.

"Do you know the way?" She asked Garlan.

"Of course." Garlan's brow furrowed. "My lady, are you well?"

"No." She smiled. "Lead the way, Garlan."

Her uncle met her not in his solar but in his rooms. He had a desk there, as well. Why he did not just use that, Alys did not know. Perhaps the bed made it less intimidating. She nearly giggled at the thought.

Aron stood. Swiftly he kissed each of her cheeks and dismissed Garlan, who waited for her bid nonetheless. When it was given, he nodded and marched out.

"Have you thought any more about my words?" Aron asked. "About not going after your Father?"

Oh, my foolish uncle, I will go anyway. "Yes." She sat and laced her fingers. "As I have said I will stay. Why do you bring it up again?"

Her uncle worried his lip. "I have received news that the Queen and her brother have been taken captive. It would appear that they were involved in an... Incestuous coupling, niece. Your father and the king have them housed in cells beneath Winterfell."

"Good," Alys said, quite disinterested. Something told her she should not be. A light by Aron's window caught her eye.

A prism, she thought, smiling pleasantly. Oh, I love those.

She rose to her feet and went to watch it, thinking to perhaps catch the colours as she and Jon had once pretended to do. Her uncle was frowning. Gods, why was he always frowning? What was he so upset about?

Oh, yes, her mother. Her dead mother.

Her mother was dead.

Alys's hand closed around the prism just in time. When she fainted, it was ripped from its post and came down with her.

The room smelt of blood and roses.

She lay in a pool of crimson, her hands weak at her sides and useless. She had held her baby once. Her sweet little Jaehaerys, oh how she loved him. So innocent, and likely to be used as a pawn in the game beloved by so many. How could she protect him as she desired when she was dying?

Lyanna coughed. Red sprayed; all over her pale white skin and shift. Her babe's wails filled the air. How she loved him... So sweet... Like a winter rose. He would grow strong like one, too.

The door burst open. There he was in all of his glory, covered in dirt and grime and blood like her. One more thing they would have in common before she died. "Lyanna," he said, not understanding. "Lyanna..."

"Ned." She smiled when she said his name, not to herself or her husband or the wind but to him, for he was here. Alive and before her. He was broader than she remembered him to be. And more solemn. She supposed that was to be expected with the deaths of Brandon and their father.

That had been her fault, hadn't it? Oh, how foolish she had been. But she loved Rhaegar. He was so good and kind and smart, and he knew her. He cared for her like Robert never would. Like Robert never could. That man was incapable of anything but fucking and drinking.

He smiled down at her. How hard he was trying. Ned had always loved her the best. Always looked out for her the most. "You're not a dream..."

"No," Ned came closer, took her hand. His were so warm... Or were her own just freezing with death's grip?

"Why... What happened to you? Did they hurt you? Where is your Maester? Water! She needs water! Can you not see—?"

He was yelling at her handmaidens, pleading them and being the blind boy he was. "No," she said. Just that made her breathless. "No water, just listen—"

"But Lya..." He cupped her cheek. "Please don't..."

"Just listen, Ned." She stroked his soft cheek, with what little strength she could muster, and smiled at the image of him. Slowly she leaned forward, though that... Oh, it hurt. "His name is Jaehaerys Targaryen. Robert will kill him if he finds out. You have to protect him, Ned."

All of the sudden it seemed to dawn upon him. When he looked back at her as she settled against the moist, bloody pillow, she could see that he was afraid. The babe was placed in his arms. So quiet, he was, like Ned and Rhaegar and Father and Ben. A Stark, he was. Long of face just as she was and dark of eye. She had seen him. So innocent...

Ned looked back up at her. "You're going to be fine, Lya," he said. "You're going to—"

"You have to protect him, Ned," she insisted, tears stinging her eyes. She blinked them away. "Promise me."

"Lyanna—"

"Promise me!" It took everything — everything — to get him to understand how much this meant. This was her babe. Her son with Rhaegar Targaryen. He had to protect Jaehaerys. He had to keep him safe from their enemies, for enemies there were.

"I-I promise." Ned looked from her to Jae and nodded.

She was going to die. The realisation came so suddenly that it stopped her heart. After that it beat more slowly, tapering off into nothing. Oh, how afraid she was. Father would be furious when he saw her again. "I want to be brave..."

"You are," Ned said, wildly. "You're going to be fine."

She smiled. He was still so young. He was going to protect her son. They would be fine. They had to be.

She felt her hand slip away from his cheek, losing all feeling in the limb. Then her legs went numb, and her chest and her face and she could not blink. There was Rhaegar, wonderful Rhaegar, reaching out a hand to pull her into his mount, as he had done when they had escaped from Harrenhal.

Lyanna died.

Alys's eyes fluttered open, weakly and hesitantly, expecting to be met with the piercing brightness of the sun.

Instead her gaze found the dark fabric of a bed curtain, drawn tightly around a frame that was not her own. Uncle Aron, she realised.

It was as she made to sit up that the dream came rushing back to her all at once. "Not a dream," she whispered to herself though her tears. "A memory." The memory of the death of Lyanna Stark. She knew it to be so, for the feeling of it had been so real, the sight so vivid.

Jon's mother was Lyanna Stark.

She sobbed, head between her knees, digging her palms into the back of her skull as though she could force the knowledge out and away from her. But it would not leave. It would stay with her, in her heart and in her bones.

Jon was not her brother. Jon was the true-born son of Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen. Jaehaerys Targaryen, fourth of his name, King of the Andals, Rhoynar, and First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

Her brother the king. Her cousin the king. Her twin the lie.

No, she thought suddenly. No, he will always be my brother. I do not care who denies it, even if it is he himself. Jon is a Dayne of Starfall. That is his name. He is my twin brother. My best friend. My other half. Our mother is dead and I miss him with all of my heart.

These were the truths she knew. She cared not for anything else. Those words were all she had.

She was going to find her brother.

Quickly Alys slipped out of bed. It was nighttime, mercifully. She grabbed her discarded jerkin and laced it over her tunic, and then did the same with her boots. She worked quickly, for surely someone must have heard her cry and sent for her uncle or Ally.

Ally.

She did not know, did she? Did Aron? Rage filled her at the thought of them keeping such a secret, but she kept composed. She had her truths and her purpose. There were no time for foolish goodbyes. She had to do this soon or not at all.

Without them, for surely they had lied. She could not see her mother keeping such a secret to herself. It would tear her apart, as it was already doing to Alys.

They would not let her go, she reasoned, reaching for her bow. She had to leave in secret. They could not be made aware of her true absence or they would try to stop her. But she had to get to him. She had to tell him.

It was then that she paused, taking a moment just to breathe. These few seconds of selfishness were all she would have for who knew how long. Precious... She recalled her mother's laugh, and the feeling of comfort that was drawn from her brother right beside her. She needed at least one of those things again. That was all. Otherwise she would not make it through this life.

I am desperate, she thought. Desperate and alone.

No... I have Garlan.

Alys pulled her door open slowly and cautiously. There was no guard outside. Perhaps they had left to find Aron.

Gripping her bag, with her weapons slung and stowed, she scurried across the hall to Garlan's chambers, praying that he had not been the one to sentry for her tonight. Thankfully, the door was opened in little time.

"Pack your things," she said, hurried. "Now. We are leaving."

Instantly his expression changed from one of shock to pity. "Alys," he said, voice low, "you are not well."

The memory of her laughing over a prism and what her uncle had told her came back just then. She flushed with shame and fury. "I know I wasn't," she said to him, pushing inside and grabbing his hands in her own. Truly she did. She knew that she had been acting half mad. "Perhaps I am still not quite well, but I am well enough for this."

"For what?" Garlan's brow was furrowed.

Alys thought how to explain without sounding insane. "I had a dream," she said slowly. "I dreamt of my Aunt Lyanna on her deathbed, as she gave birth to a son."

His eyes flashed. "What is this you speak of?" He demanded, seating her on the trunk at the end of his bed. "Tell it all and tell it true."

And so she did, stumbling over her words once or twice and biting back sobs at the other. How wonderful it had been to see the face of her father again, even under such circumstances. And Jon... Jon had been solemn even as a babe.

It took Garlan not five minutes to absorb her words. "Very well," he said, grim. "If this is what you have seen... I cannot think of any such trick a mind would play. It must have been a message from the Gods."

Relief coursed through her. She was so glad, she rushed forward and kissed him. Garlan's entire body was warm and it felt so safe. She tangled her fingers in his soft brown tresses and let herself be free, blissful even for just a moment.

They were both kneeling on the floor, in the dark, when she pulled away. "I know I cannot do this alone," she whispered. "To have you with me... That is a blessing, as well."

His lips grazed her own, hot and wet and lovely. Alys pulled his neck downward, not able to wait any longer. They kissed for so long they were both panting by the time they pulled back. One of Garlan's hands was on her waist, the other near her breast.

She could see the lust in his eyes. Alys felt her stomach flip. A pain coursed through her centring from down there and she knew what it meant. "I want to," she whispered, for she did. So, so badly. "But we cannot. We do not have the time, and there are more important things."

"The sun will rise soon," he agreed, albeit regretful, and kissed her once more, softly.

Unsteadily she drew away and pulled herself up. "We must go," she said. "Grab your sword and lightest armour."

He nodded and did as she instructed. She helped him fasten it, delivering one last chaste kiss to his burning lips before they snuck out, slipping through the keep she knew so well under the cover of night and shadow.

They were half-way across The Star Hall, near her cousin and aunt's chambers. It was then that they heard the voices; Aron and Allyria, conversing with one another in hushed tones.

"I worry for her," Aron was saying. "She is nearing on insanity. If she finds out—"

"She will not." Allyria, Alys could see, was walking beside her uncle. They knew. So they known and they had lied. It had to have been what they were discussing, for what else? Aron had already told her about the king and queen — which now horrified her to no end — and her mother was dead. Alys would not forget that.

"Come," said Aron. "Jon says she was crying. We must make haste."

Do indeed, dear uncle, she thought, bitterly. See that I have escaped.

Alys watched them round a corner. "We have little time," she whispered to Garlan. He nodded. They ran down the rest of the hall, feet making no noise for they had mastered the art of stealth long before.

"Alys!"

She stopped short, fear gripping her heartstrings, but it was only little Edric. He stood in his nightclothes with a frown on his small pink lips. Alys gestured for Garlan to wait, though she knew she should not she did anyway for Edric was family and innocent.

"I heard voices," he said uncertainly, eyeing her leathers. "Where are you going? Should you not be sleeping?"

Alys studied her little cousin for a moment longer. Then she rushed forward and pecked him between the eyes. She had read once, as a little girl, that in the north such a gesture was believed to aid for better sight. "I love you," she told him. "Do not tell them where I have gone. Now, back to bed."

"But wait, Alys..." Edric bit his lip. "I'll go with you. Please."

She paused. Seven hells, am I truly considering the plea of a child? And yet she was. Madly again. Perhaps Targaryen blood was strong with her, as well.

"Oh, damn them all," she hissed. "Get your clothes on. Do you have a weapon?" He shook his head. She could hear the calls of a guard from the floor above, signalling that Aron and Ally had discovered her absence. "Go! Hurry!"

Garlan removed his blade from its sheath. He grabbed her arm. "Truly?" He asked.

"He is my blood," she said. It was explanation enough.

Edric returned only a few seconds later, in proper clothes and a leather jerkin that was only slightly too small for him. Alys nodded in approval. She took his hand and they ran.

Through the corridors and out into the courtyard. By that time little Ed was panting and red-cheeked. He would not last long with them, she thought, already regretting her decision. But it had been made and that was that.

"Grab a horse," she told him. "Quickly."

Alys was about to make for her own when she noticed Quicksilver's daughter, Silverwing, in the stable beside it. There was a reason for their names. On pure instinct she saddled and mounted it, with Garlan and Edric beside her. She could hear nothing. There was only darkness and death hanging over her like a looming shadow.

"I must be mad," she whispered. "Go, Silverwing! Show us the meaning of haste!"

AN: You guys know what that last like alluded to. Ah, Shadowfax. Anyway, sorry this update is like years late!

Yo, Bill, sup. You're not rude, it's totally okay. Here's some low-level shade, though, because a) you reviewed under guest and I freaking hate that [it means I can't reply, which sucks, because you have things to say and I have things to say, and only you get to say things, but now I'm saying things to clarify for not just you but everyone], and b) apparently my writing is far too unrealistic for you.

*inhales* Okay, here we go. Of course it was within his right to execute them, omg, but doing so would LITERALLY cause a war. Obviously. Inevitably. And WHO wants that? Ned advised against that. He didn't back Robert because even though it's perfectly within Robert's rights to preform executions, it's a stupid move to make. The intelligent move would be to hold them hostage, work out the situation, maybe execute one, and keep one alive as a permanent hostage to ensure Tywin's good-will. Or some variation thereof.

Nobody is trading anyone for a truce. No one. Ned was delirious, panicking, and upset. He was thinking irrationally. And bro, if anyone hates Tywin, it's me. I don't think he's a god. I never said or alluded to his nonexistent godliness. No, he has no special transportation powers - currently he's meant to be approaching the Riverlands, he's not meant to be in the Neck, and **if anything to the contrary is written anywhere in this fic I need you guys to tell me asap** - but to clarify, Tywin and his big-ass army are somewhere between Golden Tooth and Pinkmaiden, heading north.

It's not just the Westerlands. Tywin has plans, too. But it's also not the whole of Westeros, either; it's the west, and north, and Riverrun is about to face some shit, so them, too. Just those three. All of the others have yet to declare. And last I checked, Cersei and Lysa haven't replied to my text messages; they haven't told me anything, despite my glorifying them. You'd think differently, given their egotism, but no.

Ned hasn't done nothing. Just because I haven't written that he's done the obvious thing one would do, doesn't mean it hasn't happened. Right now, there are plenty of men defending Most Cailin, but given its like, freaking impossible to get a massive army through the Neck, no one is particularly concerned about Northern invasions, just now. They've got their eye on Riverrun.

How is Ned weak? Like? He just stood up for his wife and family, against his king and friend, which took MASSIVE courage? He's lost his first love, and is under superb amounts of stress, smh. He's not some god, Bill. He can't do everything.

And he hasn't chosen Tywin at all, just to clarify that again.

Anyway, sorry for the massive AN. You guys don't have to read it, but I would encourage you to, because if you're confused about certain plot points, it might help. I love you all. I love Bill. Bill is great. I'm just tired and the holidays are like up in my friggin face so I'm sorry if my shade is at a higher level than intended, and that I did this ^^^

Bye xx