A/N: If you didn't notice, I decided to change the chapter names from the pov to other titles. I think it's more fun this way :)

Alysanne paced in front of the tent, the guards pretending as though they did not stare. Thunder rolled in the distance. Dark clouds shrouded the horizon with the promise of a storm. Banners snapped in the wind, her skirts with them; a cold, biting wind that reminded her of home. A not so gentle reminder that winter would soon be upon them. And we're so far from home. She regretted that she'd left her cloak in her pavilion.

Ser Addam stood to the side, waiting patiently for her to decide. I must look mad. She felt a bit mad. Was this not what she had hoped for? It was a victory, by any standards. Had she not hoped to see her father defeated in the field, brought before her in chains?

She'd said as much to Robb, to Jon even. Was that only my anger getting the better of me? Mayhap she never thought her father would be foolish enough to be captured. But that would mean she did not think Robb capable. Her head ached something fierce, and her heart would not slow. She nearly turned on her heel back towards her own tent, but thought better of it. I'm here now, and people have seen me.

It had been a full day and a night since the Battle at Stone Hedge, and Alysanne had left her tent but once, to visit the wounded. What must the lords think of me now? The men? They would think she'd been hiding. They would think she was far too upset at her father's imprisonment, that she stayed hidden away in protest. They already thought she held too much affection for her father, for the Lannisters. Nothing she'd said or done had seemed to change that. She did not doubt there were those who thought she'd betray them at first chance.

It did not matter to them that her name was Star. Alysanne Stark, she repeated to herself. The Lannisters had little care for her, couldn't they see that? They sent her away as soon as they could, sent her away and forgot about her. Uncle Gerion would have visited me had he not disappeared. He'd always made time for her. She'd thought perhaps her Aunt Genna would have, but she'd hardly even written. The Lannisters were not a small family by any means, yet only her grandfather had cared to visit her. And to what end? What had he hoped to gain from her?

Alysanne wished she could burn away the name. Some days, she felt like she could. She'd had dreams she could, anyways. Dreams of burning Lannister banners, of molten gold and fire. She felt cleansed in those dreams. Fresh and new. But then she'd awaken, and the name followed her through the camp once more. It did not matter that half those lords had seen her exchange one cloak for the other. It did not matter that she'd spent most of her life in the north, that many of those same lords had seen her grow up in Winterfell.

What would I be left with, if I burnt away the name? Only a Stark, and a Targaryen. Perhaps that was the interest her grandfather had in her. Did he fear she'd be like her grandfather? It was easy to forget the other half of her blood. Most in the north seemed to, or perhaps they only pretended.

None spoke of the rebellion often, and when they did, neither Targaryens nor Lannisters were mentioned kindly. Except for the Starks. They never spoke ill of her family, at least in her presence. Unlike Joffrey, or Robert. But who could blame Robert for hating my uncle, really? The older she'd grown, the less she'd hated him for his distaste of her long dead uncle. Other things, however, could not be forgiven. Elia and Rhaenys and Aegon.

Another distant rumble of thunder returned her to the present. She chided herself for hiding away nearly the entire day. They have seen more of me. Men had fought and died for Robb, for the North. And I am its Queen. She would not forget the names of those men, gods help her. Least of all, Eddard Karstark and Daryn Hornwood. The gods knew Lord Karstark and Hornwood both would let none forget. Her father had not gone down without a fight. It's war. Men die in war.

She'd liked Daryn and Eddard, if not only because Bran liked them. Daryn had been good natured and kind, and Eddard just as fierce as his brothers. She'd ridden with them once or twice on the march south. Bran, Daryn, Eddard, Patrek, and Torrhen. A pack of wolves, she'd named them, no matter that Patrek Mallister was of the Riverlands.

That it had been her father who struck down Eddard Karstark was not lost on her, nor anyone else. They wanted her father dead, that much was clear. They'd called for his head throughout the night. The thought of his head on a spike, displayed for all to see, sent her into a cold panic.

Never had she wished her father dead. She'd been angry, furious even. She'd made clear her hate, her wish to see him in chains, however misguided those wishes were. But never have I wanted him dead. In her darkest moments, though she would never admit it, she had wished him dead. But faced with the anger and violence, the genuine chance of his death, her stomach churned. He is still my father, others take him.

The tent loomed in front of her. She could hear her father in there, humming quietly to himself. The Rains of Castamere, that cursed song. He'd been asking for her, Robb said. Ever since they chained him alone in that tent. He hadn't stopped since, much to the annoyance of the guards.

Perhaps I am foolish to give into his request. What good would come of it? He'd never sought her out before, except for the day of her wedding. But before the war, before the truth about Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen, things had been better. They'd even started writing to each other more, but even then he'd been hesitant to answer the questions regarding her mother. Is that what I wish to speak to him about? Alysanne was not entirely certain.

A part of her wondered if now he was ready to talk. If he was ready to speak to her of her mother, of days past. He was the one who asked for her, was he not? She could not avoid him forever, not if he was a prisoner in their own camp.

"I'll go in alone," Alysanne decided.

Ser Addam looked at her in askance. "Are you certain?"

Alysanne nodded. "He will not hurt me." What could he do to me? He had no weapon, and he was alone. He was not the only hostage to come from the battle. Willem Lannister, Cleos Frey, Tion Frey. Cousins of her father, each of whom remained chained up away from one another.

The guards exchanged a glance between themselves before pulling the flaps of the tent aside. The humming stopped and chains rattled as her father sat up. It was not a very large tent, nor did it contain much. A pole stood in the center, her father chained to it. On the far end, out of his reach, sat a table with a candle in the center. The only light came in from the small space between the flaps and the candle on the table.

Her father had not been provided with clean clothes, or cleaned at all, since they had dragged him through the camp. He'd been stripped of his armor, and mud and filth stained his jerkin brown. Whatever color it had been before was long lost. Thunder rumbled overhead, louder and deeper than before. The smell of rain hung heavy in the air.

"The Queen in the North," he drawled. Alysanne considered him. The bags under his eyes were as deep and dark as ever, aging him beyond his years. "The first queen in centuries, and yet I do not see a crown on that pretty head. Has the young wolf not seen fit to give you one? I would so like to have seen my daughter crowned, before my death." Her temper roiled, but she tempered it down. Let him make his jokes. He won't get a reaction from me.

His eyes flashed. He smirked. "Does he mistrust you? Odd, given that he's allowed you to follow after him and play at war." Still, she did not respond. What is he playing at? Her temper reared its head, and she fought to push it down once more. I won't give him the satisfaction. "Or perhaps it's his bannermen who mistrust you," Alysanne took an aborted step forward. She knew what game he was playing, and she liked it not.

He continued talking. "Why wouldn't they? Their own queen, marching against her family. How could they trust you? Is that why your dear Robb keeps you so close at hand? So you won't betray-" Alysannestepped forward that time, before he could finish. "Shut up," she snapped. His smirk grew, and he continued talking. "Ah, so which is it? Your King in the North would certainly not let you wander about with only your dear Ser Addam to watch you if he distrusted you so. That is who stands outside, yes? So it must be the bannermen. What a precarious situation, dear-"

Alysanne's feet moved before she knew what she was doing, and slapped him. A sharp crack resounded through the tent. She leapt back and gaped at him, clutching her hand against her chest. She was just as stunned as he was. I did not mean to do that. Ser Addam pulled the flap of the tent aside just slightly. "Your grace?"

"I'm-" she cleared her throat, but her voice was still hoarse, "It's alright, Ser Addam." He mumbled his reply and let the flap of the tent fall closed once more. I did not mean it. Truly, I did not..

"I was right then. He stands guard," Jaime said under his breath.

An incredulous sound escaped her, and guilt fled like hares from a wolf. "Is that all you wish to say to me? All of this? You asked to see me only to taunt me, to mock me," sheturned her back. She wiped at her eyes, furious that tears welled. I will not cry because of him. She still faced away from him when she continued. "Of course he stands guard. It is why you sent him with me, all those years ago, isn't it?"

His chains rattled again. "His duty to me was over the moment you married Robb. You were alone otherwise. I sent him to protect you-"

Her nostrils flared and her nails dug into her fists. This time, he let her interrupt him. "Protect me? You should have protected me!" Her voice was scathing. He opened his mouth, but shut it as she continued. "You should have been the one to protect me, but you let grandfather send me away."

His brow furrowed. "I did not want to send you away. I argued, I fought to keep you-"

"I don't believe you," her voice broke. What authority did her grandfather have over her father when it came to his children? "You did not. I love Robb, I do. The Starks are my family. But you're my father. And you let him send me away," the tears fell freely now. No matter how furiously she wiped at them, more fell in their place.

Her father strained against the chains. "I fought for you, Alysanne. But no matter what I did, he would have sent you. There was nothing I could do. He cares naught but for family legacy, and he would not let me stand in his way."

Alysanne studied his face. I don't believe him. I don't. Blood and dirt still streaked across his cheeks. His hair was matted and stuck to his forehead. "Did you send me away for Cersei? Did you choose her over me?" He sputtered, but she did not let him speak. The thought had crossed her mind several times on the journey south. Perhaps I would have been in the way. Perhaps Cersei did not want me there. "Joffrey is yours, is he not? And Tommen and Myrcella? Don't deny it, Bran saw you with her. Lord Stark found the truth. Tell me it's a lie, tell me you didn't choose them over me."

Thunder cracked overhead. The wind picked up once more and raindrops began to tap, tap against the canvas of the tent. The wind howled, deep and mournful.

He opened his mouth and closed it, before saying, "They do not lie, not entirely." She let out a shuddering breath. "Tommen and Myrcella are mine. Not Joffrey."

She shook her head. "And you chose them over me." She laughed. "You chose Cersei over me. You chose them over me," she laughed again, sounding half mad. Not Joffrey? Cersei's children looked more like siblings than some of the Stark siblings. Who else could have fathered him? "Why should I believe Joffrey is not yours?"

He strained against his chains once more. "I do not know who his father is, only that it is not me. Your mother was still alive, I would never have betrayed her," Alysanne took a step back, and under her breath said, "Do not speak of her." Still, he continued. "I loved your mother, Alysanne. I did not betray her-"

"Don't speak of her," Alysanne cried. She'd asked him about her mother countless times before. Each time, he'd chosen silence. Alysanne knew little about her mother, hardly anything at all. But she could not imagine that she would have wanted to send her so far away. Lady Catelyn would rage. She had enough trouble sending her children south, all those months ago. "You say you loved her, say you would not betray her, and yet you still chose them over me."

"I didn't," he pleaded. Alysanne looked away from him. Why else? What other reason? "I did not send you away for them. I did not send you away at all."

"You may as well have," she paced. "You claim you did not send me away, but you let him. You should have fought harder." She rounded on him. "I waited for you. Nearly every name day, every time grandfather visited. Say what you will about him, at least he had the decency to visit me. I would stand there, in the cold, and wait to see you ride over the horizon. But you never did," she inhaled. She shook with the memories of the chilly wind on the battlements, biting at her cheeks while she stood and waited. Always waiting. "Why did you never visit me?"

His head hung. Never had she seen a man look so dejected, so weary. "What could I have offered you? You were better off without the shadow of your honorless father looming overhead."

A new, white hot rage reached a boiling point inside of her. "Better off?" She'd needed a father when she arrived in the North, so strange and new. She'd needed a father when she learned of the rebellion, of her Aunt Elia and her cousins. She'd needed a father, a mother, when she married Robb. "I needed my father. I had no mother, and then I had no father," she argued. The words mother and father echoed in her mind as Ned and Catelyn Stark, as Ser Addam.

Her father did not speak, and so she continued. "No one scorns you for killing the Mad King as much as you scorn yourself," Alysanne said. She could almost forget that her father killed the Mad King. No one mentioned it to her outside of her lessons. Not Lord Stark, not Robb or Theon, not even Ser Addam.

He raised his brows. "Do they not? He was my King, and my good-father besides."

Another sharp crack of thunder rent the air. Rain fell in sheets, threatening to drown out their conversation instead of the soft tapping from earlier.

Alysanne wanted to scream. "And what oaths had you sworn to him? You weren't a bloody kingsguard. Ned Stark never spoke a cross word about you, at least where I could hear. No one has."

"To the rest of the realm, I killed my wife's father to better my own family," he snorted, and then said mockingly, "the paragon of Lannister greed."

Alysanne paused. Was that not why he killed Aerys? For the rebellion? She had heard the stories, from her grandfather and Ned Stark, of her father driving his sword through Aerys Targaryen's back. They had found him sitting on the steps of the Iron Throne, her mother bundled in his lap, bloodied sword in hand, and the King dead on the floor below him.

It occurred to her then that she had never heard the story from her father, the why. It'd always been assumed. When would he have told me? Her father was many things, but never greedy. He would not have joined the Kingsguard, were that the case. Hesitantly, she asked, "Why did you kill him, father?"

He grinned at her. "I just told you, didn't I? To make my sister Queen."

Alysanne nearly stomped her foot. She itched to kick dirt at him. But that would be childish. "Why do you insist on lying to me?"

His face sobered. "You're right." That admittance shocked her more than anything he'd said that night. "Are you certain you would like to know? It is not a pretty tale."

Alysanne sat in front of him, without caring for the dirt. This was the longest conversation she'd had with her father, that she could remember at least. It will not hurt to hear him. It was why she'd come, after all. "Tell me."

"You know, I'm sure, about how Rickard and Brandon Stark died." Alysanne nodded, and he continued. "They weren't the only men Aerys burned. I saw my first just days after I married your mother. I believe it was one of his many Hands, or perhaps a guardsman. It was hard to keep them straight, after a time.

It doesn't matter, really. He had him bound in the middle of the throne room, and burned him with wildfire. Day after day, man after man," her father tensed and closed his eyes. "You have to understand, Alys, that much of the early days of our marriage consisted of watching men burn and stepping carefully around the King. I was a hostage, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise. He did not trust my father, and perhaps he was right not to," he sighed. He opened his eyes and stared at her. "My father marched right to the gates of King's Landing. Aerys had Shaena and I brought before him. I told him not to open the gates, but Pycelle," he laughed. "Pycelle convinced him otherwise. You could imagine his anger when Lannister men sacked the city instead of saving it.

Aerys liked to watch men burn, and the alchemist's guild loved him for it. He had them working day and night, placing Wildfire around the city. Do you know what he said, when he learned of how he'd been betrayed?" Alysanne shook her head, though she was uncertain her father could see it. His eyes were far off and distant. "He said, 'the traitors want my city, but I'll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat,'" her father focused on something long in the past. "Burn them all, he kept saying. Over and over, until I drove my sword through his back. Rossart tried to run, but I killed him too. People seem to forget that," his eyes refocused on her, returning him to the present. "No one asked why I killed him. I hunted down the other two alchemists after. No one asked about them either."

Alysanne eyed him warily. If this was the truth, would she not have heard it by now? Ser Addam at least would have told her. Or Lord Stark. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

He snorted. "What did it matter? The King was dead. My father didn't care why; he'd won. Neither did Robert." He winced and shifted against the pole. "I stayed out of the way, in my chambers with Shaena. It was not a safe time to be a Targaryen. You know what happened to Elia and her children. Slaughtered for the crime of sharing Rhaegar's name. The realm knew Aerys was mad. What would have happened to Shaena had Robert learned just what Aerys planned to do?"

Her eyes ran over his face. He appeared earnest, his eyes wide and truthful. But how well do I really know him? She felt wary, and Cersei's mocking smile danced in her mind. What does this have to do with me? "Is this your reason, then? You did not visit me, did not fight for me, because you killed the King?"

He grimaced. "I did not want to bring you shame,"

"Shame?" Her voice grew as shrill as the wind outside. "The only thing you should feel shame for is not telling the truth of why you killed him. You let others come to their own answers, and hide behind it." Not for Cersei, he says. For my own good, he says. She did not believe the reasons he had given her. Another thought pricked at her mind. My grandfather blames Tyrion for my grandmother's death. It was not something she'd considered before, but it ate away at her stomach like poison. "Do you blame me? For her death?"

His face paled. "No, I don't blame you-"

She sprung to her feet, tired of his half-truths and avoidances. "Then why? Why, father?"

He hung his head. "I don't know," he muttered. It is better than more cruel japes, she tried to tell herself. It did not keep the tears at bay, and sorrow crawled up her throat once more.

I thought we were getting somewhere. Alysanne shook the dirt from her skirts. Foolish girl. "We're done here," she croaked.

Alysanne practically ran out of the tent. Ser Addam jumped at her exit and hastened to catch up with her.A torrent of rain cut her to the bone. It plastered her hair to her face, her dress to her skin. Tears stung at the back of her eyes, but she would not cry. No matter that the rain drove men into their tents and there would be none to witness it. The men had not sought cover, bowed as she passed, but they were mere blurs in the tears that welled. The pavilion she shared with Robb lay straight ahead. She quickened her pace; the wind pushing her forward. The guards who stood at the entrance said nothing, only holding the flaps aside for her.

She burst through the opening and found it, thankfully, empty. Ser Addam followed her in, instead of standing guard outside as he usually did. He laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Alysanne,"

No sooner than he had her name out of his mouth had she flung herself into his arms. Sobs wracked her body, and she could not stop them. He tried to move her, to walk her to a chair, but she only clung tighter. Her throat burned, her eyes stung, but she could not stop the tears.

The wind beat against the tent as if it too sought refuge from the driving rain. Thunder rumbled through the air, lightning flashed from outside. Her skirts dripped water onto the floor.

She did not hear Robb's entrance, nor was she aware of his approach until he pulled her gently from Ser Addam. He led her to a chair beside the large oak table. She gulped steadying breaths and was faintly aware of Ser Addam sending away the two guards posted at the entrance. She watched as the shadow of his feet took his post.

Robb disappeared into the cordoned off portion of their pavilion that served as their bedchambers. He returned with a goblet and the wool blanket from their bed. He spoke softly, as if she were like to flee. "Here, watered wine." She took it from him and gulped it down eagerly. It soothed the burning of her throat, but not the flames that licked at her stomach. "Will you tell me what happened?" He draped the blanket around her shoulders and she pulled it tight.

Alysanne set the goblet on the table. "I was foolish, that's what happened." The brazier in their pavilion was lit, radiating warmth. It cast flickering light about the room, catching the droplets of water falling from Robb's hair. He'd fared better than she had in the rain. Her teeth chattered despite the lit brazier and the wool blanket.

He waited patiently for her to continue. "I thought perhaps, when he asked for me, he would tell me why. Or that he'd tell me anything. But it's only lies with him. Or half-truths, or he avoids the question altogether."

Robb clenched her hands tight. "You aren't foolish, Alys."

She bent over herself. "I should have known better." She let out a heavy sigh. "I asked him, you know. Why he sent me away, why he didn't fight harder for me."

Robb dropped his gaze with slumped shoulders. A pang shot through her. "I don't regret marrying you," she hurried out. "I love you. All of you. I just… I wanted to know why he let me leave. I wanted to know why he left me up there alone," another sob swallowed her words. Robb pulled her from the chair and into his lap.

He pressed his face into her hair. "And what did he say?"

She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "He claims he had no choice. He says I was better off. Lies, all of it," she snapped.

Robb rubbed a hand on her back. He pressed his lips onto the crown of her head. "Perhaps he truly believes that."

"I don't care what he believes," she seethed. Liar, her mind hissed. She ignored it. "Others take him."

Robb frowned at her continued shivering. "You're freezing." He led her to their makeshift bedchamber and rummaged through her chest for a dry shift. Robb placed it on the bed and walked closer to her. He spun her around and set to work on her laces. "Would you like to know what Bran did today?"

She nodded, grateful for a change in conversation. He peeled the soaked fabric from her body, layer by layer. Even her stays and smallclothes were damp, causing her skin to itch and crawl. "He challenged the Smalljon to a spar."

Alysanne's eyes widened. "The Smalljon? He's twice his size." She could picture Bran, dwarfed by Jon Umber, hitting at him with a wooden practice sword. She could almost laugh.

Laughter danced on Robb's lips. He held out the dry shift. She pulled it over her head. "Aye, he is. Umber nearly had him, too."

"Nearly?" The Smalljon, despite his name, was not small by any means. His sword was bigger than most men, and he was as fierce as his father when it came to battle. The thought that Bran beat him…

"Bran got lucky," he explained. He guided her to their bed. She sat on it, yanking the heavy furs from their place at the foot of the bed to drape around her shoulders, her knees drawn tight to her chest. Robb sat across from her. "Umber stumbled, and Bran caught him on the shin.

Alysanne nearly laughed at the thought of such a large man stumbling and falling. Robb did laugh, but his smile grew melancholy at her silence.

Her hair, still wet and cold, dampened her shift from where the furs pressed it tight to her back. She pulled her hair loose to lie over the furs. "Tell me it will all be okay," Alysanne pleaded. A tear tickled her cheek and she rested her chin on her knees. "Tell me about after the war."

Robb wiped the stray tear. "One day, when this is all over, we'll return to Winterfell. Sansa, Arya, Bran, my mother, Jon, you and I, we'll go home." Alysanne sniffed. Thunder rumbled once more, quieter than before, fading into the distance. "Theon even. We'll all go home. You and Ser Addam will take your walks through the gardens again, Bran and Arya will still trouble my mother, Wylla and the rest of your ladies will continue their plots and schemes," Alysanne did laugh at the mention of her ladies, although lightly. "It will all be as it should."

She leaned her head against his. "Do you promise?"

He kissed her softly on her lips. "I promise." He kissed her on the nose, and once more on her forehead. "I have to go speak with Jon and Theon. Will you be alright?"

She nodded and smiled weakly. "I'll be alright."

Another kiss and he was gone. She was left alone, wrapped under furs with the warmth of another lit brazier. Flames danced, castling long shadows on the canvas on the pavilion. The fire drew her in, a familiar pull. She'd hated to leave her dragon egg behind in Riverrun, but what good was a dragon egg in a war camp? Still, she itched to hold it in her hands. Even miles from Riverrun, her heart pulled towards her egg.

She stood in front of the brazier. The flames shifted red, orange, gold, yellow, then red once more. They danced like the fire in her dreams. The fire that swallowed the Lannister banners and turned gold to liquid. She remembered her dream from the night before, of flames swallowing a tree. Her hands twitched towards the flames, but she curled her fingers inward.

Alysanne returned to the bed and curled up under the furs. She stayed facing the brazier, the flames filling her vision. The thunder soft in the distance, the rain pattering quietly on the canvas pavilion, soothed her to sleep. The fire from the brazier wormed its way into her dreams, burning trees and lions alike.