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The sun had long set when Riverrun came into sight, or rather, the torches which had been lit atop the walls. On another night, one illuminated by the moon and stars, they might have been able to make out the red sandstone walls of Riverrun. But not on that night. Clouds blanketed the sky, same as they had throughout the day, veiling the moon and any star that might have shone otherwise.
On nights past, they would have long made camp by this hour. Many in her host might have preferred to make camp, but they pressed on anyhow. The day had been a long and miserable one. Spells of rain had turned the ground to muck and soaked them to the bone, and the wind which otherwise might have been pleasantly cool was instead cutting. Even Alysanne, far used to the frigid winds in the North, found herself huddled down in a cloak.
But they were so close, and it would be silly to camp merely a few hours' ride from Riverrun. It would please her men to not have to rise early on the morrow, and Alysanne did not know if she could stand another day of marching.
At the first flicker of torches, Arya lurched forward. She caught herself, cursed and jerked on her reins to steady her horse, who had been all too eager to break from their steady pace. Their host marched as fast as Alysanne dared (and still, it would take some time for them to ride through the gates,), yet Alysanne knew Arya yearned to race ahead of them all.
Were Alysanne anyone else, she might have kicked her horse into a mad sprint and let nothing stop her, not even the Others themselves. Not when Robb waited for her, and Lady Catelyn, and Bran, Beth, Eddara, Jeyne; it almost felt like coming home, though her true home was hundreds of leagues away, in the North.
But she wasn't anyone else. The cold metal of her crown resting heavy against her forehead reminded her of that. Alysanne had led her people from Riverrun several moons before, and they'd loyally followed her into the depths of Casterly Rock. She would lead them home as well. But Arya isn't the queen, and she wears no crown.
For a moment, Alysanne appraised her good-sister. Even just moons ago, Arya might have thrown caution to the wind and made no effort to restrain herself. Now, though, she remained staunchly at Alysanne's side, her hands white-knuckled around the reins and her mouth pressed into a thin slash. The deep-blue dress she'd begrudgingly agreed to wear had collected a dusting of dirt and mud around the hem, and she had swept her hair into a neat braid which hung over her shoulder.
Alysanne hadn't expected Arya to agree to wear the dress, and truthfully, Alysanne had requested it because it would please Lady Catelyn if Arya dressed as befit her station. She'd been prepared to accept defeat on the matter, but to her surprise, Arya agreed with hardly a scowl and nary a word of complaint. At least, not where Alysanne or anyone else could overhear.
"Go," Alysanne called to her good-sister. Her horse trotted through a puddle and sent mud spattering up onto the hem of her skirts. It did not show, for Alysanne still wore black out of mourning for Ser Addam.
Arya whipped her head to stare at her in bewilderment. "What?"
What harm will it do? In the coming days and weeks at Riverrun, Arya would only have to play the part of Princess of Winterfell further. And whether or not they gave voice to it, both ladies knew Arya would be betrothed before long. Robb could not hold off on the matter forever. Let her at least have this small rebellion.
"Go on," Alysanne bowed her head towards Riverrun with a laugh, "they're waiting."
Arya did not ask a second time, nor did she tarry another second. Before Alysanne's words had disappeared into the wind, Arya took off, her cloak flapping behind her.
All that remained of Arya, who was already a shrinking figure on the horizon, was the good natured laughter and hollering of those left behind in their host. Alysanne could not help but try to be content enough for the two of them.
It took nearly all of Alysanne's willpower not to chase after Arya. The march was maddening, and each thud of her horse's hooves below her wound her chest even tighter. Robb. Robb is there. She could almost scream with how much she craved to dig her knees into the flank of her horse and fly ahead.
Shaeleys sang from where she rode in her cage alongside Jorelle, and a new dread mingled with her excitement. How am I to explain the dragons? Jon had told Robb of them in his letter, but he'd never shared how they came to be. Alysanne did not imagine it would please Robb to learn she'd walked into a burning pyre.
And there was the babe. The babe that had slipped from her womb before it even had the chance to quicken. He deserves to know, but how was she to tell him? Would he find her at fault as she herself did? A part of Alysanne felt that perhaps their child would have lived had she remained behind in Riverrun.
Then there was her father. What would he think of her for taking their ancestral home? Would he think her a traitor to their family? To him? As much as Alysanne tried to pay no mind to what he thought, to what he might think, the thought persisted all the same.
Butterflies swarmed in her stomach and left it hollow. They fluttered up to her throat and stripped her of her breath, and Alysanne did not think she'd be able to catch it again. Not when the Stark banners hanging overhead Riverrun continued to grow larger and larger, set aglow by the lit braziers and torches.
The shadowy silhouettes of guardsmen stood posted upon the battlements, and Alysanne wondered who it was that stood guard that evening. It was Harry and Tom when we departed, two low-born boys from a nearby village whom Alysanne had grown fond of.
Despite the flickering light above, Alysanne could not tell whether it was Harry and Tom, or two other guardsmen unknown to her, and she did not pause to check. The moment her horse's hooves touched the drawbridge, Alysanne's fears fled into the wind and her resolve shattered.
Alysanne spurred her horse into a sprint and surged through the gates with all the force of a raging river. She burst into the courtyard and drew back on the reins, a cloud of dust erupting into the air as her horse slewed to a stop. Alysanne all but flung herself from her horse, but she restrained herself from rushing forward to Robb.
Torches and braziers illuminated the yard and cast a low light onto those gathered, and sent shadows dancing between them. Those gathered in the yard dropped to their knees, including Catelyn, Bran, and Arya, whose previously neat braid was half undone and a tousled mess. A tall woman behind Catelyn, the Greatjon, Lord Edmure, Lord Manderly, Lord Bolton, Lord Cerwyn, Beth, Eddara, Jeyne, along with many and more whom Alysanne glossed over in search of Robb, who'd remained standing.
Her feet ached to sprint forward, but as the rest of her retinue clattered through the gate behind her, Alysanne kept her pace steady and head high. A rather remarkable show of restraint, in her humble opinion. She glided forward and drank in the sight of Robb all the while.
No visible scars, no missing limbs. He was unchanged, to Alysanne's great relief, aside from his stubble, which he'd allowed to grow into a short beard. He wore his crown the same as her, a near twin of her own.
Coming to a stop before Robb, Alysanne dipped into a curtsey as expected of her, and she had not been lowered for even a moment before Robb yanked her upwards and into his arms. Alysanne bit back tears.
Her grief and sorrows from the past moons threatened to boil over, but with a deep breath she smothered them back down. There was no time for that now, and the yard was not the place. There will be time enough later. She allowed herself to breathe him in for a moment before she stepped back.
"Rise, all of you," Alysanne said. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and inclined her head in deference to Robb.
As always, at her word, those kneeling rose to their feet once more and stable hands rushed forth to tend to the horses of the men who had ridden through the gates. Alysanne could make out the gruff voice of Ser Brynden bellowing orders and the accented lilt of Syrio, whom Ser Brynden had put to work. The other lords who had been traveling with Alysanne filed forwards, eager to reunite with the rest.
"You're wearing your crown," Robb said, low enough for solely her to hear. A faint grin played at his lips as he regarded her from head to toe.
"I am." Alysanne lightly touched it to ensure it sat correctly, and Robb reached out and shifted back into place for her. "I waited to wear it until today. I wanted to wait until you could see it."
Grey Wind slunk forward from where he'd waited obediently next to Robb and plopped himself down next to Alysanne. "Hello, Grey Wind," Alysanne greeted. He lolled his head back happily as she scratched behind his ear. It never failed to amuse Alysanne how such great beasts could act as such simple dogs, at times.
Robb smiled, but any reply was withheld by the approach of Jon, who led forth Aegon, Oberyn, Arianne, and Jon Connington. Robb straightened, and those gathered behind him looked on eagerly. From behind Robb, Alysanne spotted Arya whispering to Bran and Lady Catelyn whilst gesturing to the different members of Aegon's party.
Unlike Robb and Alysanne, Aegon did not wear a crown, but he did not appear any less of a King. His stride was noble, and Blackfyre hung brazenly at his side. He wore a fine black doublet with the crimson three-headed dragon of their house emblazoned on the side, their flames licking up his chest. His cloak was striking, a banner of blood which trailed after him.
Alysanne moved to stand beside Robb and face those approaching, and Grey Wind similarly adjusted to remain at her side. She watched on fondly as Robb and Jon shared a brief embrace before clapping one another on the back, wide smiles splitting both of their faces. Jon stepped back, and Robb waved forward his mother and Bran, along with Edmure. Ghost, who until then had remained loyally by Jon's side, dashed forward to sniff happily at Grey Wind.
Once they stopped before them, Alysanne held her head high and said, "Cousin, allow me the honor of introducing you to my husband, Robb Stark, King of the North and the Rivers, and the Lord of Winterfell. Robb, this is my cousin… King Aegon Targaryen." Alysanne fumbled over his title only for a moment before settling on calling him which he claimed himself to be.
Her cousin had extended her every courtesy, when it came to calling her by her claimed title. Neither she, Robb, nor Jon disputed his claim over the lower six kingdoms. It was the North they lay claim to, and the Riverlands which declared for them.
The gathered lords and ladies behind Robb did not kneel at Aegon's introduction, and Jon Connington looked on with distaste painted across his face. The same distaste with which he eyed Robb's crown, the same as he had hers that morning.
For a moment, Robb scrutinized Aegon before he inclined his head slightly, a gesture which Aegon returned. "Well met," Robb said. "This is my lady mother, Catelyn Stark, my brother Prince Brandon, and uncle Ser Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun. And I believe you've met my sister, Princess Arya."
"I have had the honor, yes," Aegon said with a genial smile. Aegon extended the same pleasantries he had Robb to Catelyn, Bran, and Edmure before he gestured to those gathered behind him. Aegon introduced Prince Oberyn, Princess Arianne, and Jon Connington, before a muffled shriek from behind them caught the yard's attention.
"Is that them?" Robb gestured behind Alysanne, towards Jorelle and Wylla.
Jorelle, Wylla, Joy, and Aegon's cousin Obara hovered some distance back beside the horse which had pulled a cart on their journey, a cart upon which rode the dragons in their makeshift cages.
They had draped cloaks to hide the dragons from sight, but they were by no means silent. Their hisses and wails were growing in frequency and volume, and they were drawing too much attention to continue being ignored.
"It is," Jon said. Alysanne nodded towards Jorelle, Wylla, and Obara, and together they walked forward, leading the horse and cart behind them.
It appeared that Robb had told no one of the dragons, save for Bran, who gawped at the cart in a wide-eyed state of awe, and Lady Catelyn, who held a wary hand atop Bran's shoulder and watched on in askance. Everyone else in the yard murmured amongst themselves and watched with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
Wylla wheeled the horse about so that the cart stopped beside Alysanne, Jon, and Aegon, and she tightened her grip on the reins. Though the horse had grown accustomed to carting about the dragons, its ears still pressed backwards in apprehension at the screeching and hissing.
A pit opened in Alysanne's stomach, and the butterflies surged in once more. There will be no hiding them now. Even if she'd wanted to, the dragons had already nearly doubled in size in the few weeks they'd had them. Will they continue to grow at such a rate? If so, it would not be long before they were far too large to remain in the keep.
The sound from the covered cages lessened when Jon, Aegon, and Alysanne approached, and they each exchanged a glance with one another before carefully drawing back the cloaks covering their dragons.
Sharp intakes of breath came from Lady Catelyn and Robb, and Bran let out a loud curse. Those who could not see pressed closer, and excited whispers of dragons swept through the yard.
Vēzos, ever restless, let out an ear-splitting shriek before breathing a burst of flame that glowed brighter than any torch or brazier in the darkened yard. Shaeleys and Frostfyre followed their brother's example and let forth streams of fire of their own, plunging the yard into an uproar.
"Seven hells," said Robb, who had slowly crept closer. Bran tried to follow in Robb's step, but a firm hand on his shoulder from Lady Catelyn stalled him. The tall woman who stood behind Lady Catelyn shifted uneasily, and Alysanne espied a sword hanging from her waist. Curious.
With shaky hands, Alysanne unlatched the top of the cage holding Shaeleys. Nervously, the dragon's head peaked over the edge before she climbed onto the edge of the cage. All at once, she took to the air, looping and twirling above before diving down to Alysanne's shoulder. The noise from the crowd crescendoed, and Shaeleys shrieked back.
"What's its name?" Robb asked. He reached a halting hand toward Shaeleys, and once he was certain she would not harm him, he stroked along the side of her face with two fingers.
"Shaeleys, after my mother," Alysanne said. Loud exclamations from the lords still gathered in the yard sent Alysanne's nerves into a spiral, and she herded the dragon back into the cage.
Aegon made to unlatch the cage which held Vēzos, but Jon stopped him. He glanced hurriedly at the crowd, which had grown braver and forced closer. "We should find somewhere quiet for them. At least for tonight."
"I'll see to it," Arya, who had crept forward with Robb, volunteered.
"Obara?" Aegon addressed his cousin. She nodded and waved over Ser Daemon to help them.
Obara took the cage which held Vēzos, Arya took Shaeleys, and Ser Daemon took Frostfyre. They hurried into the keep, and Jorelle and Wylla flitted away to find Eddara, Beth, and Jeyne. At the departure of the dragons, the rest of the crowd dispersed. Lady Catelyn, Bran, and Edmure pressed closer, and Jon shuffled a short distance away.
"Your grace," Edmure addressed Aegon with a shifted, awkward glance in Alysanne and Robb's direction. "We've not much room, but I've had chambers prepared for you, as well as Prince Oberyn, Princess Arianne, and Lord Jon. I might show you the way, if it pleases you."
Aegon waved Oberyn, Arianne, and his Jon over. "Thank you, Ser Edmure." They followed Edmure into the keep, and Alysanne could hear Aegon asking after Lord Hoster's health as they went.
Like a flock of crows, Robb's lords descended on him the moment Aegon and the Dornish were out of hearing. Well, not all of them. The Greatjon sought out his son, the Freys flocked together, and Lord Wylis Manderly hollered across the yard to Wylla, overjoyed to be reunited with his daughter.
It was Lord Bolton, Lord Karstark, and Ser Wendel, Lord Wylis' brother, who set upon Robb and Alysanne with a fervor.
"Your grace, you should call a council meeting. Dragons, this changes everything," said Ser Wendel Manderly. "And then there's Aegon Targaryen. He won't be pleased you've taken the North and Riverlands for your own. We needs discuss it, and soon."
"Ser Wendel speaks true. Did you know about the dragons, your grace?" Lord Bolton asked. Though he spoke to Robb, it was Alysanne he watched, with eyes like flints of steel.
"Aye, I did," Robb said. Lord Bolton's face pinched, and Lord Karstark scowled.
"I presume one dragon belongs to the Targaryen boy, and one to her grace. What of the third?" Lord Karstark asked.
Robb and Alysanne exchanged a long stare. They would come to the correct conclusion on their own, Alysanne was sure. Still, it is Jon's to share. "We'll meet first thing on the morrow, my lords," Robb resolved. "It's late."
That answer did not please Lord Karstark. When has anything? "Your grace—" he protested, but Robb would not suffer it.
Though they grumbled amongst themselves, Lord Bolton, the Greatjon, and Ser Wendel retreated into the keep. Lady Catelyn and Bran, who had stepped aside when Lord Bolton, Karstark, and Ser Wendel approached, moved closer.
From behind the now empty cart, Joy hovered awkwardly, staring at Alysanne with pleading eyes. Alysanne enthusiastically waved her cousin forward, but before Alysanne could fully face back towards Robb to make introductions, Bran launched into her with such ferocity it forced the air from her lungs. Alysanne laughed rather breathlessly, and Bran stepped back with a wild grin.
"You've grown taller," Alysanne lamented. Bran stood an entire head's length over her now. His shoulders had broadened, and he'd grown to be more muscular where before he'd been lanky. He'd even grown stubble, where before his skin had been smooth.
"Or you've grown shorter," Bran teased. Alysanne lightly swatted at his arm, which he easily dodged. His sheathed sword knocked against his leg, and it struck Alysanne just how much a grown man he looked.
Just to the side, Lady Catelyn awaited with a tense smile, and Alysanne drew herself up straight. "It's lovely to see you, Alysanne," she said.
"And you," Alysanne said. She made herself return Catelyn's smile, and Lady Catelyn introduced her to the tall women who stood beside her. Lady Brienne, her sworn sword.
"Who is this, then?" Lady Catelyn asked, with an uncomfortable clearing of her throat.
Whilst Bran had nearly barreled over Alysanne, Joy had calmly approached. She stood politely behind Alysanne, and Alysanne wrapped her hands around her cousin's arm and lightly guided her forward.
"This is my cousin Joy Hill, my Uncle Gerion's daughter," Alysanne said. "I've taken her on as one of my ladies. Joy, this is my mother-by-law, Lady Catelyn, and Prince Bran, my brother-by-law. And of course, my husband Robb."
Joy slipped from Alysanne's grasp to elegantly lower herself into a curtsey. "It's a pleasure to meet you, your grace," she said. "And you, Lady Catelyn, Prince Bran."
"Likewise, Lady Joy. Alysanne has always spoken fondly of you and your father," Robb said. Joy rose, and exchanged further pleasantries with Lady Catelyn and Bran.
It'd been sweet to have Joy for the journey back to Riverrun. Wylla and Jorelle had taken to her easily enough, and Alysanne did not doubt the rest of her ladies would do the same. Alysanne failed to understand how anyone could mislike Joy with her flaxen hair and warm brown eyes, or be anything less than charmed by her sweet smile and the dusting of freckles across her nose.
Grey Wind plodded forward from where he'd settled, and Joy let out a quiet gasp when he approached her and sniffed at her hand. Just as Bran had grown, so had Grey Wind. His head was easily at a height with Alysanne's waist when sitting. She almost shuddered to think of how large he'd be when finished growing.
Brave as ever, Joy reached a gentle hand forward to pet Grey Wind. His tongue tumbled out the side of his mouth, and he leaned his head back contentedly. Lady Catelyn's eyes flitted between Robb and Alysanne. "You must be weary, Joy. Shall we find you some rooms?"
"Please," Joy said. She pat Grey Wind one last time before retracting her hand. "I would welcome the rest."
With a last farewell from Alysanne and a promise to join her and her ladies to break her fast in the morning, Joy followed Catelyn into the keep. Bran remained behind. He beamed at Alysanne and Robb, and it wasn't until Catelyn called back to him over her shoulder that he left. Robb gathered Alysanne into his arms, and she let the tension bleed from her.
In the time they had been apart, Alysanne hadn't been alone. She'd had Ser Addam for a time, and Arya, Jon, Wylla, Jorelle, even the Smalljon had grown to be a dear friend. And Joy. Joy was certainly a boon. But none of them were Robb; and as the days came and passed, each one darker than the last, she'd yearned for him to be by her side more and more.
"I've so much to tell you," Robb said.
"Aye, me too." Alysanne tightened her grip around him. "I heard Edmure finally agreed to wed one of Ser Walder's daughters."
"He has. She'll arrive within the next moon."
"Is he still quite cross with me?" Edmure's farewell to her had been stilted at best, and he'd made little effort to greet her besides simple platitudes. Not that I can rightfully blame him.
Alysanne felt Robb's chuckle more than she heard it from where her head pressed into his chest. "A bit, but less so after your victory. Mother says he'll forgive you before long. Besides, it's Olyvar's sister he's to marry, and Olyvar swears to the Seven she takes more after their mother than their father, and Uncle Edmure appears to have a fondness for pretty girls. If what Olyvar says is true, you might prove to be his favorite out of us all."
That coaxed a laugh from Alysanne, and Robb gently eased her back to better see her face. He studied her with a soft look and corrected her cloak, which had folded awkwardly on her shoulder. "I must needs speak with Jon." Robb gestured over his shoulder, where Jon waited with his back politely towards them. "Will you be alright, until then? I shouldn't be too long."
Off to the side, Eddara, Beth, and Jeyne stood huddled together with Jorelle and Wylla, already talking amongst themselves. Alysanne peered over in time to witness Wylla stalk away with Lord Wylis.
"I'll be just fine." Alysanne said. "I believe I've neglected my ladies for far too long," she said wryly.
"Will you visit your father tonight?" Robb swept some of her hair behind her shoulder before taking her hands into his own.
"No," Alysanne swiftly answered. "Not tonight." Not when she was still weary to the bone from her travels. She wasn't ready to describe to him how she'd marched against their family, taken their ancestral home, taken their kin for hostages. Alysanne desperately forced those thoughts from her mind. There will be time enough for that later.
"Alright," Robb said. He leaned forward and pressed a sweet kiss to her forehead. "You'll wait up for me, then?"
"Always," Alysanne said.
Alysanne watched as Robb caught up to an awaiting Jon, and smiled fondly at the brotherly embrace they shared. Ghost and Grey Wind bounded after them into the keep, nipping at and tripping over one another.
They disappeared into the keep, and Alysanne approached her group of ladies. Beth was the first to notice her, and she sprung forward to wrap her arms tight around Alysanne's neck.
"I was so worried the entire time you were gone," Beth cried, her words muffled against Alysanne's shoulder. "I missed you dreadfully."
Beth stepped back, only to be replaced instantaneously by Eddara, who held on just as tightly as Beth had. "Wylla told us about the babe," Eddara whispered.
It's only fair. Beth and Eddara both knew what she'd gone to speak to Maester Vyman about, and her ladies weren't simple. They would have put the pieces together upon sighting her and her still-flat belly.
"I've not told Robb yet," Alysanne said in a hushed voice. "Or Arya, for that matter." She'd wanted to surprise Arya, but not before she told Robb. Now I'll only bring them more misery. /And Jeyne, Jeyne didn't know. Jeyne never had been able to keep a secret./
"We've told no one else," Eddara swore before stepping back. Alysanne nodded tightly and spotted Jeyne wavering a few steps away.
She had pulled her dark hair into a simple braid much like Arya wore, rather than the southron styles she'd so painstakingly practiced before she and Sansa departed south. Like Alysanne, she still wore black, only she wore it for her father. Vayon Poole. Slaughtered along with the rest of Lord Stark's household.
Jeyne's lower lip trembled, and like Beth and Eddara, she embraced Alysanne closely. "I'm so sorry about Ser Addam, Alys," Jeyne said. "We all wept to learn of what happened." Hot tears streamed down Jeyne's face and spilled onto Alysanne's dress, and tears pricked at the corners of Alysanne's eyes. With a shaky breath, she steadied herself.
"Thank you, Jeyne," Alysanne said. Jeyne mopped away her tears with the sleeve of her dress and stepped back.
Alysanne fidgeted with her skirts and cleared her throat of the lump that had formed. "Where's Wylla?" she asked, eager to move past talk of Ser Addam and her lost babe, lest she succumb to her grief right there in the middle of the yard.
The ladies shared a knowing look amongst themselves. "Lord Wylis wished to speak with her," Eddara said, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. "He's had an offer for her hand."
"Truly? To whom?" There was no shortage of suitors, no doubt. A northman? Or a riverlord?
"If he told her, she did not share with us," Jeyne shrugged. "She shared no more than that he'd received an offer and wished to discuss the matter with her."
"I'm certain she'll tell us when we break our fast together on the morrow," Jorelle supplied.
The yard had largely quieted around them, most everyone having retired to their rooms or the tents outside the walls. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, a persistent reminder that the evening meal would have already been served before they arrived.
In their haste to reach Riverrun, they hadn't stopped for a midday meal. All Alysanne had eaten since that morning had been a portion of bread and cheese while she rode, and it had done little to sate her appetite.
Eager to retire to her chambers, Alysanne said her farewells to her ladies. However, before she could leave, Beth stepped forward and stopped her. "Alysanne. I did not see Cley Cerwyn when you arrived. Is he alright? Do you know where he might be?"
Behind Beth, Eddara, Jeyne, and Jorelle tittered, and Beth flushed. "It's only—his father hasn't yet regained his strength. I wished to make sure he's okay, is all."
Alysanne could not help the slight smile which flickered across her own face. "Cley is well, Beth. He was to help the men set up camp outside the walls, and then he was to see our prisoners settled. He'll be along shortly, if he's not already gone to attend to his father."
With a muttered thanks, Beth hurried along in the direction of the maester's tower. Jeyne and Jorelle left after her, but Eddara remained behind for a moment and watched with Alysanne as Beth hurried away.
"Beth's been assisting Maester Vyman with all the wounded from Robb's host, we both have. But she's been paying special note to Lord Medger," Eddara said. "It's not looking well for him. I fear he's not long for this world."
There had been a fair number of wounded following Raventree Hall, according to Robb's missives, Lord Medger Cerwyn among them. A good man, loyal. Castle Cerwyn wasn't far from Winterfell, and Lord Medger had been a frequent visitor, along with Cley and his daughter, Jonelle. And yet another man who won't return home.
Quietly, Eddara bid her good night and slipped off in the same direction as Beth with a muttered explanation of wishing to inquire if Maester Vyman needed any assistance. There had been wounded men with Alysanne's host, after all, and no short number. And there was only one of Maester Vyman.
Alysanne did not linger long in the yard. She hurried into the keep before anyone could beg her attention. Through the halls and up the stairs, she knew the way to her and Robb's shared chambers well. Already guards stood posted outside the door, and Alysanne bid them a goodnight before slipping into the solar.
Empty save for herself, the solar remained largely unchanged. The same grand desk sat against the wall, the same bench below the window, the same hearth, tapestries, carpets, the same small table, all of it was familiar to Alysanne. Atop the grand desk, a small, ornate chest sat open. Inside lay Robb's crown, and Alysanne removed hers and set it beside his. She swept her cloak from her shoulders and laid it beside the chest.
It appeared someone had had the foresight to know she'd wish to eat, for on the small table in her and Robb's shared solar awaited leftovers from that night's meal. Wylla must have had it sent after she spoke with her father. Half the time, it was Wylla who made sure Alysanne ate whilst they were on the march. Otherwise, she might have forgotten.
The fare sat before her was finer food than she'd had since she left Riverrun, save the few nights they'd stayed at Casterly Rock. Warm lamprey pie sat alongside roasted trout, loafs of steaming bread sat ready to be dipped into a beef-and-barely stew that reminded Alysanne of the stew oft served back home, in Winterfell. Apple cakes lay beside berry tarts that made Alysanne's mouth water, and a pitcher of spiced wine sat ready to be poured. It's too much for one person.
Still, Alysanne piled her plate high and helped herself to a goblet of the spiced wine. She ate until her belly ached, and the lack of gnawing hunger gave room for a weariness that made her limbs feel heavy. She yawned and made her way into the adjoining bedchamber.
The bedchamber was as it was when she left Riverrun, except now all of Robb's belongings had been strewn about. Their chests sat beside one another at the foot of the grand, four-poster bed, which had been outfitted with cloth of silver draperies, for House Stark. The hearth opposite the bed remained unlit, but candles placed on the bedside table and the table beneath the window provided enough light to see. The window, to the right of the bed, overlooked the Red Fork, though it remained invisible on such a gloomy night.
Servants had already placed her belongings in their proper places, and they had lain a clean shift out atop one chest. She could call for a servant to help her with the laces on her dress. Or I could wait for Robb, as had been their custom before they parted ways. Resolving to wait for Robb, Alysanne took a seat at the small vanity.
A soft knock resounded from the door of the bedchamber just as Alysanne picked up her brush. Has Robb returned already? She had expected his conversation with Jon to carry on for some time. No, he wouldn't knock. Wylla or Arya, mayhap? The door was unbarred, and so Alysanne called for whomever it was to enter.
Lady Catelyn glided into the room, and Alysanne sprung to her feet. Her chair scraped against the stone floor and Alysanne hovered where she stood, unsure if she should approach her good-mother, or if she would even welcome an approach. Her stomach roiled, and Alysanne wished for more of the spiced wine she'd left in the solar.
The parting words they'd exchanged all those moons ago had been harsh, and neither of them were truly without blame. Alysanne lost her true mother to the birthing bed, and she did not want to lose this one to insults borne of grief. But Lady Catelyn only insulted me. Alysanne had gone beyond words and taken Arya with her, anyway.
The red wash of Lady Catelyn's hair against the dark blue of her gown was itself a banner of House Tully, and she stood as tall and still as the stone walls of Riverrun, her face as unyielding as the Red Fork beyond the keep. Alysanne could almost imagine that a young Catelyn Tully would look no different, but as she stepped further into the room, the illusion flickered with the light.
Wisps of gray twined through the red of her hair, and new creases adorned the corners of her eyes. But the years had not taken Lady Catelyn's beauty with her, as they had taken so much else. The hints of age suited her, Alysanne thought, though the weariness did not.
More than anything, her good-mother looked tired and drawn, with bags beneath her eyes and grief weighing down on her heart. The war had not been kind to any of them, but perhaps Lady Catelyn least of all.
The sole sound betwixt them was the scuff of Alysanne's shoes as she shifted her weight. Lady Catelyn's gaze ran from her hair that hung loose about her shoulders to the dragging hem of her black skirts, and then back to her face once more. Alysanne stopped herself from anxiously chewing on her lip. Lady Catelyn had always chided her for doing so.
"You took Casterly Rock." Lady Catelyn's voice, though seldom more than a shadow, still cut through the silence like a rushing river. The only shift in her mien was her raised chin, else wise she remained as stalwart as ever.
"I did," Alysanne affirmed. She clenched her fists to avoid picking at her sleeves nervously. You're a silly girl. She was the Queen of the North and the Trident, a voice reminded her, and yet she'd never felt as uneasy as she did now. She'd not even felt so in front of Robb's most prickly bannermen. But she supposed that a mother's fury invoked a unique type of fear.
"You took Arya with you." The accusation in her statement split through Alysanne more so than if she'd shouted. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, though she could not reason why.
Alysanne might have argued that she was the Queen, and needed no one's permission save Robb himself. She could argue that Arya was a woman grown, past her sixteenth name-day and older than Bran, who unquestioned had been allowed to ride into battle, and perhaps more skilled with a sword than he. Alysanne might have pointed out that Arya had remained safely by Alysanne's side, or at the very least Jon's side, and that had Alysanne refused she would have snuck out and followed anyway. A far riskier endeavor than joining her host from the start.
The thought of parrying words and arguments with her good-mother only heightened the exhaustion she already felt and she could not bring herself to argue any of those things. What good will it do? It would not change the fact that Alysanne had brought Arya with her.
With a dejected sigh, Alysanne nodded. "I brought Arya with me." Alysanne forced her eyes to remain on Lady Catelyn, though they so desperately wished to find refuge in the patterns on the stone floor. "I am sorry for going against your wishes."
"But you're not sorry for bringing her?"
She swallowed and chose her words carefully. "I'm not sorry for bringing her. I understand your anger, I do. I am sorry for going against your wishes, I'm sorry for my words before you departed, and I am sorry I disappointed you. But I am not sorry for bringing her." Alysanne did her best to keep her shoulders back and spine straight, but the more she tried, the more they ached, so she let them fall.
The stone walls of Riverrun yielded as Lady Catelyn's shoulders fell along with hers. She moved towards the bed and took a seat on its edge. "I owe you an apology as well, I regretted my words the moment I said them. I don't think you to be foolish, or arrogant."
Slowly, Alysanne made her way to the bed and took a seat beside Lady Catelyn. "I should not have made such promises to Lord Walder without you present, whether or not I intended them as such."
Lady Catelyn swiveled to face Alysanne. "I'm so very tired of fighting, and I wish to fight with you least of all. I was so frightened that you wouldn't come back, and those would have been my last words to you."
"I feared you'd hate me," Alysanne confessed. A choked sob caught her last word, and to her despair, she found this one harder to push aside.
"My sweet girl," Catelyn admonished. She cupped Alysanne's face with one hand. "I could only hate you as much as I could hate Sansa or Arya, or any of my children." She pressed a kiss to the crown of Alysanne's head and clutched her tight in her arms. "I may grow frustrated, angry even, but I could never hate you." Melancholy swallowed Catelyn's face, and she raised her other hand to the other side of Alysanne's face. "You've grown to be a wonderful, capable lady. Queen even. I remember when you first arrived in Winterfell. Little more than a babe, all bundled up in your furs. You looked more like a bear cub, than a lion," Catelyn teased.
Unbidden, tears escaped down Alysanne's chin. She wished the great, stone walls of Riverrun surrounded her now, for the sorrows of the heartache of the past moons barreled into her and spun her about and it felt as though she was trapped in the churning waters where the Tumblestone met the Red Fork. A deep ache seized her heart, and reflections of an old, stabbing pain radiated through her belly.
"I missed you. I did not feel like a lady or even a Queen. The whole time I wished you were there to tell me I was making the right choices. I had Ser Addam for a time, but—" Her cheeks grew slick with tears, and no matter how hard she squeezed her eyes shut, they continued to spill forth. Alysanne collapsed further into Catelyn's arms. "Ser Addam is gone," she wept.
"I know." Catelyn pulled Alysanne onto her lap, as she so often had when Alysanne was a girl, and came to her weeping. Any other time, Alysanne perhaps would feel silly. But for all she was a woman grown, she'd never felt like such a child. "Sweet girl. You're alright," Catelyn soothed.
"He died in front of me," Alysanne said. Sobs wracked her body, and she could not stop them. Catelyn's breath hitched, and she held Alysanne closer still.
Shehad yet been able to bring herself to say those words aloud. She'd been there when his chest rattled with his last breath, felt as his hand became limp in her own, watched his lips turn blue and skin go pale and his eyes turn dull and lifeless. She'd been there as the stench of death grew ever stronger.
Alysanne tried so very hard to picture Ser Addam as he had been. But no matter her efforts, in her dreams Ser Addam always appeared to her ghastly pale with dead eyes and a wound that festered and had long turned rotten.
In the dark, on the nights that Wylla, Jorelle, or Arya hadn't slept beside her, a shameful part of Alysanne wished for the madness which plagued her family. Were she mad, she might have been able to fool herself into thinking that Ser Addam yet lived, that naught was amiss and before long she'd hold a squalling babe in her arms.
"He loved you so very much, he'd be proud of you. He was proud of you." Catelyn said. "He was a good man."
Swallowing down a sob, Alysanne sniffed. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, and before she could stop them, more words spilled forth. "There was another," Alysanne said. "There was a babe."
Robb should know first. But Alysanne could not stop the words now that she'd said them, and if they did not come now they never would. She is my mother, too, the only one she'd ever known, and in the midst of it all, Alysanne ached for her mother.
At Catelyn's sharp inhale, Alysanne resumed her weeping. "I bled it out before it even quickened, and I fear it's my fault."
Lady Catelyn was silent for a moment, and ran a comforting hand up and down Alysanne's back. "My own mother suffered a miscarriage, and my sister several, through no fault of their own. I—These things happen, it's not your fault," Catelyn hushed.
"But it is," Alysanne sniffed. She wiped her dripping nose on her sleeve. "I saw Maester Vyman the morning we were to depart, and he confirmed it. And I left anyway. Had I not left, it wouldn't have happened." Alysanne had decided so in the days following the loss of her babe.
"And why do you believe it to be your fault?"
"Had I—Had I stayed, had I rested," Alysanne gulped a shuddering breath. "Instead, I left and rode for days on end and—it's my fault."
Again, Catelyn was silent whilst she gathered her thoughts. Finally, she said, "Perhaps. Or perhaps the same thing would have happened had you stayed and rested. There is no way to know, Alysanne. Plenty of women continue to ride in the early days. And others stay abed and rest day and night and still lose their babes. Sometimes there is no reason for it. You should not blame yourself for something in the hands of the gods."
A shiver overcame Alysanne, and when Alysanne said nothing and her tears continued to fall, Lady Catelyn's arms tightened around her. "I lost a babe," Catelyn whispered, nearly too quiet for Alysanne to hear. "After Sansa, before Arya. I do not know if it would have been a boy or girl. Like you, it had not yet quickened. And I blamed myself same as you, though I'd done nothing I hadn't while carrying Robb and Sansa. Only Maester Luwin and Ned knew, and now you."
Alysanne shifted her head against Catelyn's shoulder and closed her eyes. Her tears had slowed, and her sobs came in brief hiccups. "I'm sorry," she said softly.
"It was many years ago. I've felt my grief, as you will yours. All will be right, this I promise you." Catelyn pressed a kiss to the top of her head, and new tears pooled in Alysanne's eyes.
But what if all isn't right? What if she was like her mother, who never could get with child, and when she finally did, she bled out on the birthing bed? What if that is my lot in life? Alysanne opened her mouth to give voice to her fears, but before she could do so, the door to the bedchamber opened.
The door had barely opened before Grey Wind nudged his way through and waltzed straight to Alysanne. He shoved his great head in her lap and forced his head under her hand. Alysanne gave a watery laugh, and Lady Catelyn gingerly shifted her from her lap to sit beside her on the bed.
"Mother?" Robb came to a stop before them and frowned when he took in Alysanne's tear-stained face and puffy eyes. "What's happened?"
Gingerly, Lady Catelyn rose to her feet and faced Alysanne. She smoothed Alysanne's hair down with one last sad smile. "I'll leave the two of you to talk."
No sooner had Lady Catelyn stepped away did Robb take her place. The door closed softly behind Lady Catelyn. He knelt before Alysanne and took her hands in his, a crease of worry deep between his brows. "Tell me what's happened."
Already, new tears welled in her eyes. One tumbled down her cheek, and Robb brushed it away before retaking her hand into his own. He waited patiently for her to answer, but Alysanne was at a loss. How do I even begin to tell him?
Did she begin when the pain had? At Oxcross, the night before the battle when she'd so foolishly dismissed the cramping pain as nerves. Could the Maester have stopped it? I suppose I'll never know now. Or should she begin when the bleeding had, after they'd taken Oxcross and just days before she took Casterly Rock? Mayhap the gods knew what I intended to do, and they took my babe as punishment. Alysanne could hear her grandfather's voice in her head, reprimanding her for giving such credence to gods of all things.
The prolonged silence did anything but allow her time to think. The silence raged in an unholy scream, and in a bid to make it end, Alysanne blurted out, "I was with child when I left for the Westerlands."
Robb's gaze fell to her belly, where he would find no swell, no sign of anything, and Alysanne squeezed her eyes closed. She could not suffer it; to see the despair or disappointment that was sure to overcome his face, no matter how hard he tried to conceal it.
The silence returned, and Alysanne tried to chase it away once more. "I was ill the whole way from Stone Hedge to Riverrun, and when it didn't abate when we arrived in Riverrun Wylla all but forced me to see Maester Vyman. I didn't know what to do, Robb. I had to go, I couldn't—" Alysanne choked and bit her lip in a futile attempt to avoid returning to the bawling mess she'd been with Catelyn. She kept her eyes closed, and could feel Robb rubbing his thumbs on the back of her hands.
"Tell me, Alys," Robb urged. His hands slid up from hers, to her upper arms, where he gripped gently. Alysanne felt him lean closer. She opened her eyes and did not let herself break from his gaze.
"It never quickened. The pain began before Oxcross, and the bleeding just after." Robb's shoulders sank, and Alysanne clutched onto him. "I'm sorry Robb, I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault, Alysanne." Robb grasped her close to him, wrapped her tight in his arms as best he could from where he knelt on the floor and leaned his head to her stomach. "Gods, Alys."
"I bled for days," Alysanne's voice quivered, but she made herself soldier on. "I bled while I took the Rock, and I did not stop until after the dragons hatched. After I—"
There were no more tears for Alysanne to cry, nevertheless, her body heaved. Robb leaned back to peer at her at the mention of the dragons. Tell him now. There would be no time later. Not when they were to meet with the lords first thing on the morrow. Best he hears it from you.
The acrid scent of Ser Addam's burning flesh still haunted her. She could smell it even now. She'd watched as his body and bones and everything he'd ever been burned to ash. The comforting warmth of the flames plagued her, and the way it'd burned their child's lifeblood from her skin. What am I to say? Alysanne would never wish Robb had been there to witness it for himself, but just the once, she wished he'd already known. What else, but the truth?
"I dreamt of a woman once. She said only death could pay for life," Alysanne said. "She screamed it, really. The agony she was in,Robb. I never thought to know that kind of agony. I did not choose to make the trade, but the gods decided for me. The life of our child, Ser Addam's life, and my own in a way, I suppose."
Robb's eyes seared into her, and his hands slid from her waist to grasp onto her forearms. "What do you mean? What do you mean by your own life?"
Unflinching, Alysanne met his stare head on. "The Targaryens burn their dead. Ser Addam was mine. Mine to mourn, mine to burn." Robb's grip tightened on her arms. "The words of my mother's house are Fire and Blood. No one knows how my ancestors hatched their dragons, but mayhap the answer was there all along. I placed the eggs on the pyre with him, and I walked into the flames."
A strangled noise was Robb's only response until he gathered himself. "This is a poor time for a jest, Alysanne. What do you mean, you walked into the flames? Tell me you did not walk into a burning pyre." Robb looked at her pleadingly, and Alysanne almost wished she could lie to him. "I don't believe—you're unburnt, you couldn't have."
"I cannot explain it, Robb." Alysanne sprung to her feet and paced about the room, leaving Robb kneeling by the bed. "I don't understand how, or why. Only that I dreamt it, I think, and at the moment it all made sense. I dreamt of an oak tree set aflame with dragons spilling from its core. I dreamt of a bed of flames with a dragon ripping from a woman's womb. I dreamt of a different woman, a strange woman in a strange land standing amongst ashes with dragons clawing into her flesh.
"The flames, Robb, they called to me. I watched them billow and build and swallow Ser Addam whole and knew they were meant for me. And when they died away, they did not take me with them. Jon saw it, and Arya and everyone else, if you don't believe me."
"I believe you." Robb climbed to his feet and placed himself in her path and stopped her from pacing. "I believe you."
Robb clasped her head between his hands, and he leaned down to kiss her. A languid kiss, not rushed or forceful, and Robb's hands tangled into her hair as they did every time he kissed her in such a manner.
He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. "I missed you," he said. "Gods, I missed you. I don't know what I would have done had something happened to you."
"I missed you, too. Not a day went by that I did not fear for you." Alysanne let her hands fall to rest around his neck. "Will you help me with my dress?" Alysanne asked softly. Robb guided her a step backwards and gently turned her around before shifting her hair out of the way.
The comfort of falling into an old routine brought a bit of peace to Alysanne. His fingers were cold as trailed along her back as he pulled the laces loose, and she shivered. "You don't blame me?" Alysanne asked.
His hands stalled halfway down her back. "For what?"
"For the babe," she said.
Robb set back to work on her laces. "Well, what did Maester Vyman say when you went to see him, before you left?"
Her dress fluttered to the floor, and Robb set to work on unlacing her stays. What had Maester Vyman said? He hadn't been pleased when Alysanne told him she had no intentions of remaining behind, but he also hadn't forced the matter. All he'd said was not to take any unnecessary risks or ride past her fifth or sixth moon. When it became too uncomfortable, really.
Alysanne relayed to Robb everything Maester Vyman had told her to as he set her now undone stays on the chest at the foot of their bed, along with her discarded dress. He returned with the clean shift which had been laid out for her and helped her into it.
"So, even if it was something you did, you couldn't have known, Alysanne. You did nothing Maester Vyman forbade you to. You did not charge into battle or spar with the bloody Red Viper." Alysanne giggled and looked down at her fingers, turning about to face Robb once more.
Her nails were chipped and dirty, rather than clean and neat as they'd been in Winterfell; Septa Elswyth and Septa Mordane would be beside themselves. They'd take issue with a great many things I've done. Robb lifted her chin to meet his eyes. "I do not blame you, though I cannot say that I'm pleased with how you seem to blame yourself."
"I feel as though I've failed you," Alysanne admitted.
"You haven't failed me. I promise you." Alysanne closed her eyes and nodded. "However, I do need you to promise me one thing."
She let her eyes fall open, and Robb guided her to stand close against his chest, where her hands came to rest easily. "Anything," Alysanne said.
"Just… promise me that is the last pyre you'll walk into." Alysanne's mouth quirked upwards, and Robb narrowed his eyes. "Promise me, Alysanne."
"I don't know if I can promise such a thing," Alysanne said. She bit her lip to hide a smirk.
"You must," Robb insisted. He picked her up off her feet and twirled around towards their bed, sending Alysanne into a peal of laughter. "You said anything, and I'm the King."
"Is that so?" Alysanne chuckled. Robb tossed her lightly onto the bed, but did not join her yet.
"It is." He stripped out of his doublet and trousers and left them where they fell. He blew out the candles around the room, saving the one by the bedside for last before crawling into bed with her. "So you really must promise me."
The bed creaked as Robb settled, and the blankets tugged when he rolled on his side to face her. "Alright," Alysanne said. "Alright I promise."
Happy with her surrender, Robb kissed her lightly. He pulled on her shoulder until she rolled to rest her head on his chest, and wrenched the furs up to cover them. She'd missed having Robb beside her in bed. On particularly cold or lonely nights, Wylla, Jorelle, or Arya had shared a tent with Alysanne. But it had never felt the same; all too often she'd find herself missing Robb's quiet snores, or the restless way he fiddled with her hair, or traced circles along her back.
The warmth of Robb's arms steadied her breathing, and the low timbre of his voice chased away any lingering thoughts. He began to tell her of Bran and the trouble he and Patrek Mallister caused, and how they'd roped poor Olyvar Frey and Ethan Forrester into it all; Torrhen Karstark with them, once he'd returned from Harrenhal with his father. A wild pack of wolves, Robb named them.
Sleep beckoned, and the physical toll of the day's journey made itself known, as did the emotional toll. Alysanne allowed herself to be lulled by the easy pattern Robb traced along her skin. Before long, and for the first time in quite a while, she found herself peacefully asleep