Spying was nothing new to Jonquil Darke. Back in Duskendale, when she was a little girl, her brother Derryk had nicknamed her "the forest child" for her ability to sneak around undetected. As she grew up, Father advised her to practice with the sword, bow and lance, saying "Trust me, my girl, warriors are better than whisperers" – and he was right, nothing was sweeter than an honest battle. But the old sneakiness helped too – when you were protecting someone, for one, it was a large advantage if the enemy didn't spot your attack until too late.
Queen Alysanne's request to spy a little wasn't the first one either. Although Her Grace didn't like the sneaky tactics either and usually only had Jonquil on guarding duty, sometimes, the royals had to fight a little dirtier than that.
After the queen and Lord Stark went to meet with Robert Redwyne, Jonquil changed into a simple maidservant's dress and a dark-brown cloak and slipped out of the Red Keep. Now that the Sunflowers were likely to stay in the capital, they would be sharing quarters with the Little Dragons – the crown couldn't feed the lot forever. However, the wooden shack that barely fit one troupe hadn't been meant for two, so the Sunflowers were, for now, still living in their cart until the house was expanded.
Jonquil crept up towards the cart and strained her ears. As she got used to the quiet sounds, she found out that, at least outwardly, nothing sinister was going on: the Sunflowers were simply discussing their next play.
"...the giants," said the shrill voice of Mistress Myribeth. "Garnet and Brennan can be the children."
"With all due respect, Myrie, the Others can't feel love," and that was the pudgy man who sang at Lord Rogar's leavetaking. "The northmen will die laughing."
"Have you forgotten that king who bedded a white woman?" Myribeth snapped. "She must have felt something if she let him into his bed at all."
"Who'll play the King of Winter?" the soft, drawling woman's voice was vaguely familiar to Jonquil, though she couldn't recall to which of the mummers it belonged.
"Someone from the Dragons."
"Can we trust them, though?"
Jonquil was immediately alert. This voice she remembered: it belonged to the very man after whom she was sent to spy.
"What do you mean? The scumbags were all kicked out."
"But we need someone to play the part truly well, lest we offend Lord Stark and Lady Alarra."
"Caleotte, I hope you're not suggesting yourself."
"Of course not. I thought that Garris could play the King of Winter and someone else the Great Other."
Then the old Greenblooder's distinct voice spoke up, saying that he was ready to try it out, Myribeth started to argue, and Jonquil stopped truly digesting the words. Her ears registered them, but she wasn't going to tire out her mind by actually listening. In all probability, Lady Stark's suspicions would turn out to be a false alarm – unless the Sunflowers were speaking an elaborate secret language, there was no wicked plotting whatsoever going on in their cart.
But Jonquil was paid to obey. If the queen wanted her to spy on the Sunflowers for a while, she would do so.
She sat in silence for a while longer as the sky got progressively darker. At one point, the red-haired twins left the cart but only went towards the nearest butcher's shop and carried back what looked like several pounds of ham. Jonquil's mouth watered: she loved red meat and was certain a lot of the strength in her muscles and bones came from eating it. She made a mental note to maybe shoot a pigeon or seagull on her way back: after the queen married Lord Stark, the food from the royal cellars was always measured much more carefully and every tiny blackcurrant had to be accounted for. Not that anyone would be angry at her for helping herself to a bit of meat – as one of the most trusted people at court, Jonquil was allowed to do so – but she found it demeaning, for anyone to find out that she felt so hungry at midnight like a glutton from some bawdy song.
The cart gradually grew quieter. Jonquil heard the mummers wishing each other a good night's sleep.
And, finally, the moment she had been waiting for came. The door went slightly ajar, and Caleotte tiptoed outside. After closing it again, he wrapped himself into a hooded cape of practically the same dark-brown color that Jonquil herself used to blend in with the surroundings.
This was getting interesting again. Jonquil got ready to follow him.
Unfortunately, he turned out to be as slow as a turtle, as if he was just leisurely strolling around on a seashore and not going on some mysterious assignment into the night. If it was a leisurely stroll, though, then why all the secrecy? Why the late hour and the dark cape?
At an even slower pace, Jonquil followed him, only to be hit by another stroke of bad luck. She had always trusted herself to be a capable spy – not a genius, of course, but good enough to fool average people, especially someone who wasn't a soldier or guard. But just as he was about to turn from the square into one of the streets, Caleotte stood still and then sharply turned in her direction.
"Who's there?" he called. "I warn you, I'm armed."
Jonquil held her breath.
"If you try to attack me, I'll call the City Watch! We are under royal protection!" Caleotte continued.
She stood without moving an inch, breathing just little enough not to faint. But still, to her disappointment and anger, Caleotte turned back towards the cart and nearly ran to its door.
Wasted, Jonquil thought bitterly. Well, she had learned something, but it only served to deepen the mystery rather than clear it up. Caleotte, it turned out, had better hearing than many of the watchmen she knew, despite allegedly being a simple mummer.
I'll try talking to him during the day. Maybe he'll let something slip.
Early in the morning, the letter asking for the help of Lannisport's City Watch was sealed and sent on its way.
"We should also require your presence in the small council chamber after the dinner hour again, Grand Maester," Alysanne told Elysar.
"Yes, Your Grace," he nodded. "Something else about the Watch?"
"No, this will be a different matter. A building project."
Then she summoned Raldos Hightower, one of the pages serving at the Keep since their memorable visit to Oldtown, and said:
"Go to the other small council members and tell them there is a new meeting today at the usual time."
"To everyone else who's on the small council, Your Grace?"
"Yes... on second thought, no, I'll now inform Septon Barth myself. Go to everyone besides Grand Maester and him."
"Immediately, my queen."
As he bolted off, Alaric turned to Alysanne:
"Is there something happening in the sept today?"
"No, I just wanted to visit it," she smiled.
"Do you want me to go with you?" he didn't like septs any more than he used to, but sometimes, Alysanne asked him to accompany her there and just stand by her side while she prayed.
This time, though, she shook her head:
"No, I felt... I need to talk to Septon Barth by myself. Let's meet in about," she thought, "say, an hour – I... I said yesterday that I wanted a short while alone with you."
"Of course, darling."
She was probably going to ask Septon Barth something about theology. Perhaps she had read one of the recently-bought books and found some writings on the Faith of the Seven that puzzled her.
"I'll think about the Bookcrown in the meantime – maybe will get some new ideas to bring up today," he told her. With several Reachmen on the council, it could get difficult to explain why what was seemingly a copy of the Citadel was even necessary.
The sept was empty and quiet. A couple of ladies were there, praying quietly to the Warrior – probably had husbands or sweethearts gone to fight at Lord Rogar's side – but as soon as they saw Alysanne in a clearly plain attire, with only three guards by her side, they hurriedly bowed and edged towards the door.
Alysanne motioned for them to stay – she wasn't going to shout her secrets to the skies, and they certainly wouldn't be disturbing for her – but they either didn't notice, didn't understand, or wouldn't dare interrupt her private devotion.
"My queen?" Septon Barth said, surprised. He was clearing up after a service. "An urgent raven from anywhere?"
"No, it's your septon's advice that I need," she said, sitting on a bench. The guards stood at a respectful distance – any miscreant who'd dare to enter the sept would create a resounding echo immediately; moreover, the sept had its own set of watchmen guarding it from outside (admittedly, there were fewer watchmen than needed, but Alysanne hoped it could get fixed soon).
"It can get confusing, to balance one's duties to the Faith and to the court," Septon Barth smiled softly. He folded and put away his copper-colored ceremonial robes – during the period leading up to Mother's Day, the services were decorated in the rainbow's second color, – walked towards her, and sat down next to her.
"What's the matter, my queen?" he asked.
"It's," she felt herself blushing, "it's Alaric. Septon Barth, I don't know... I... I've loved Jaehaerys so much, and I still miss him and the way things used to be."
"So do I," Septon Barth nodded with sadness. "So do I, my queen."
"But that's just the point. I feel – I realized it only yesterday, it hit me – I've fallen in love with Alaric."
The septon looked down and sighed.
"Is it sinful?" Alysanne whispered. "So soon after losing Jaehaerys – I know it's wrong."
"You aren't to blame for having to remarry so early," Septon Barth said, looking at her again. "My queen, forgive me. Now my own private opinion was at fault. King Jaehaerys was my personal friend, while Lord Alaric isn't and, if I dare say so, isn't likely to become one. But you haven't sinned, I assure you. We pray all the time to the Mother to inspire love between spouses."
But his eyes were still sad. Nobody would be happy to hear their good friend had been put aside.
Tears came to Alysanne's eyes at the memory of Jaehaerys and how she had never felt even the smallest temptation to stray when he was alive.
"I shouldn't have," she murmured. "I won't – I will..."
"My queen," Septon Barth said firmly, "you mustn't torment yourself with guilt. King Jaehaerys wouldn't have wanted that. The realm wouldn't want that. Neither, may I add, would the Seven."
"I know Jaehaerys would want me to be happy – but..." she paused in uncertainty.
"You are afraid," he supplied, and Alysanne felt a surge of weird relief as she realized he understood.
"Yes," she nodded feverishly, "I'm afraid – afraid that if I tell Alaric how I feel, nothing would be the same anymore."
The septon sighed again and then pointed at the elaborate frescoes and statues of the sept as if she had never seen them before.
"When I was a child, my parents sent me away to Oldtown because they couldn't afford to feed me," he said. "Ever since then, I've known it: changes like this are terrifying, my queen. But I've known you for years, and I know you don't really want to become like those people who hide in the past as a snail in its shell."
He stood up decisively:
"Let's say a prayer for you, your husband and your family, my queen."
"There you are," Alaric smiled when Alysanne came back to the study. Her face had brightened considerably – it looked like whatever questions she had for Septon Barth had been sorted out. "I've got a few thoughts about how to present our Bookcrown to the Reachmen. Since the last order of books didn't come cheap, even Florence Fossoway might realize..."
"Alaric – wait, please," she said, coming over to sit by his side at the table. "Please... let's put that off a little. We have until late afternoon to discuss the meeting."
"All right – I remember you wanted to tell me something privately," he nodded.
She murmured something inaudibly, and he saw her cheeks grow slightly redder. For a long time, instead of speaking, she just rested her head against his shoulder. Her curls tickled his neck.
Alaric entwined his fingers with hers. He noticed her hands were clammy – despite the calm appearance, she was very nervous.
Finally, gathering her courage, she sat up and turned towards him:
"I do need to tell you something – something very important for us. You know that I married you because I had to, and even though I've always strived for us to be content in the marriage, I never thought – well, at first – that I would have any strong feelings about it. But time has proven me wrong. I love you, Alaric. I know that now."
For a fraction of a moment, Alaric couldn't take the words in.
Then he feared he had misheard her.
He had dreamed of Alysanne confessing her love for him more times than he could count. Ever since the realization of his own feelings overwhelmed him and especially after she offered him marriage, he had imagined the scene in numerous variations. Before the wedding, for instance, he had nurtured a wild hope – something he hadn't dared to admit even to himself – that she actually loved him in secret already and would whisper as much after they were brought to their bedroom with the bedding ceremony.
But now that she spoke it in truth rather than in dreams, he briefly didn't dare to believe it. Alysanne – loving him? She had previously admitted that she valued him more than as a friend and co-regent, but it now dawned on him that he still hadn't been truly sure it would ever grow into anything stronger. After all, Alysanne was sweet by nature and there was nothing surprising in her growing attached to him. Love, however... It was a different level entirely.
He knew, though, that Alysanne wasn't a woman to be flippant with such words.
She loves me, he repeated in his mind several times, and with each time, it sounded more real, and he felt deliriously, almost impossibly happy.
"My darling," he whispered fervently, drawing her to him as she threw her arms around his neck. "I've longed so much for it to happen."
It was a bit awkward to get comfortable in an embrace with Alysanne's already prominent belly between them, but they managed it. Their lips met in an urgent, heated kiss, and it was all the more exhilarating to know that Alysanne's passion now stemmed neither from duty nor from fatigue or loneliness. Her lips moved to his cheeks, to his lips, to his neck, and between kisses she whispered half-intelligible words of love and joy.
"Let's leave the study," Alaric suggested. Courtiers and servants would always knock and ask for permission to enter, unless there was a fire or something of that kind, but the children, even Alarra, could still forget themselves and burst through the door unannounced. Even if no one disturbed them now, Alaric felt uncomfortable going beyond a single kiss or small caress in a study. Such matters were for the private quarters of the Keep, and this particular moment, the discovery that his dearest Alysanne loved him back, was something he especially wanted to treasure and savor, not to fumble through with a feeling of awkwardness nagging at the two of them.
"Yes, let's," Alysanne agreed at once, blushing deeply.
They held hands all the way to their living quarters. The moment the bedroom door closed behind them, he kissed her again, now in a less hurried and more tender way. The knowledge that this brilliant, kind and gorgeous woman in his arms loved him only heightened his own desire to cherish her and make her as happy as possible.
She moved away just a little to unfasten her dress – it was quite the task, because she hadn't changed since visiting the sept, and to the sept, she always wore her least revealing and most elaborate dresses, which in took took longer than any others to get rid of (not even all of the maidservants could be trusted with them).
"I had doubted I would ever win your heart," Alaric confessed, running his hand through her silken hair with one hand and taking off his own tunic with the other. "That's why I had put away confessing my own feelings for so long."
"But it was in good part because you showed me your love – and not just in words, but in fact – that I began to feel the same," Alysanne said. "When I saw you loved me – really and deeply and not in a possessive and uncaring way like my poor si... like some people do with their dear ones – it did a lot for my warming towards you."
In a sense, it's a lot like how you won over me, Alaric thought, recalling how his own determination to hate Alysanne had been gradually weakened and crushed by her open and friendly nature. But he didn't want to talk anymore – despite the elation that filled his heart, in the back of his mind he still remembered they didn't have all day, with the small council meeting to prepare for and attend in the evening – so when Alysanne was finally done with her dozens of fastenings, he claimed her lips again – and felt her smile happily against them.
