"We should arise, my love." Grey Winds soft snores rumbled from his place in front of the hearth, and by the light which leaked through the curtains, Alysanne judged it to be midmorning at the latest. Far too late for them to remain abed, by any estimation.
"I disagree," Robb grumbled. His arms tightened around her and Alysanne curled into his side, making no move to follow her earlier suggestion of leaving the bed. Instead, she tangled her legs with his. The thought of staying in bed was far too tempting.
Few others in the keep would be up if the previous two mornings were any indication. Search parties had been out once again until the early hours of the morning searching for her father, and those that didn't join the search stayed up waiting for news. When the third day dawned with hardly a trace of him, Alysanne could not help but feel disheartened. He's long gone, by now.
"There's much to do today. The rest of the keep will soon wake as well." Her head already ached with the promise of what was to come.
Negotiations with Aegon and the Dornish party were meant to have begun two days ago until her father's escape sent Riverrun into disarray. They couldn't properly discuss what Aegon's return to Westeros meant for Northern independence, when half the Northern lords and the Dornish spent most of their waking hours searching for Jaime Lannister.
The sooner they reached an agreement, the sooner they could march on King's Landing. We'll need to be a united force, not adversaries. Even with Joffrey's armies weakened after Stannis' attempt on the Blackwater, taking King's Landing would be no small feat.
"The rest of the keep can bugger off. I've decided we'll remain abed."
Alysanne rolled her eyes. "Duty has decided for you, I'm afraid."
Before Alysanne could even think of disentangling herself, Robb huffed and rolled over on top of her. He rucked her shift up to her waist and slid his hands underneath it, pinning her to the bed with firm hands around her waist. "Go on then."
"Robb," she chided, as half-hearted as it was. If I let him win, we'll be here all day for true. Once more she tried to wriggle out from under him, and once more she found his grip around her waist unyielding.
"Alysanne," he mocked. His hands, cursed with a never-ending urge to wander, shoved further under her shift and drifted higher to cup her breasts. She chided him again, even less enthusiastic than the first time, and Robb blessedly ignored her. He ducked his head down to kiss and nip along her neck and Alysanne wound her fingers in his hair to tug his head up to meet her lips, lest he leave marks.
The kiss was slow and languid, and Alysanne shivered when he traced his tongue across her bottom lip. She wound her arms around her shoulders and tugged him closer to her, arching up into him and whining when moved away from her lips to kiss along the edge of her jaw again. Another insistent tug to his hair and lips were on hers once more. This time it was she who traced her tongue across his lips, and Robb who needily clutched her to him and rocked into her.
Three sharp knocks broke the spell. Robb whispered against her lips to ignore them and kissed her deeper when she tried to draw away to answer instead. He nipped at her bottom lip and her heart thundered in her chest, sending heat coursing through her limbs. His hands seared into her as they grazed across her belly and lower, dancing along her thighs before he slipped them higher at her urging.
Another set of insistent hammering upon the door, and Robb's hands ceased their roaming. He pulled away, chest heaving, and glowered towards the door. "What is it?"
From behind the door came the muffled voice of Lewys Piper, undeterred by Robb's audible anger. "You told me to make sure you didn't sleep too late, your grace."
Instead of responding, Robb groaned and dropped his head to her chest. When he didn't respond, Lewys rapped his fists against the door again and Alysanne giggled. The knocking persisted. "King Aegon's party is already awake, your grace. You said to make sure you were up too."
"Seven fucking hells." Robb launched himself from the bed and tugged on his discarded trousers from the previous day, before marching over to the door and wrenching it open. "Thank you, Lewys," he all but growled.
Alysanne rolled out of bed and plucked her heavy dressing gown from where it'd been left atop a chair. Wrapping it tight around her waist, she joined Robb at his side and placed a soothing hand on his arm.
"Princess Arya wished to know where you were. She said I was to drag you from bed myself if that's what it took, and that she didn't care if the two of—" Lewys interrupted himself, and flashed a sheepish smile at Alysanne. "I don't think I ought to repeat what she said."
Lewys Piper, the boy who had replaced Ser Olyvar as Robb's squire, smothered his laughter as he stared back at Robb. At three-and-ten he was some years younger than his elder brother Ser Marq, though perhaps even more bold. Lewys was not so quick to cower as Olyvar had been in his first days as her husband's squire, and in the few interactions she'd had with the young boy she'd enjoyed his sharp humor.
A tight squeeze to Robb's arm stopped him from responding, and Alysanne answered instead. "Tell her we'll be down shortly, Lewys. Thank you. Send for my ladies, if you would." She smiled at the bow Lewys gave her, and when Robb waved a curt hand, the boy scurried off.
The door slammed shut as Robb shoved it with what must have been all his strength. Alysanne flinched. "Robb, you needn't slam—"
He yanked her close to him before she could continue her chastisement. He claimed her lips hungrily, and it took every ounce of her resolve for Alysanne to pull back from him. Robb pouted down at her, more a petulant child than her kingly husband, and she rested her chin on his chest and smiled up at him.
"Avy jorrāelan," she whispered.Alysanne silently cheered herself for not fumbling over the rolled rs that came with High Valyrian, a frustrating hurdle she'd just barely overcome. She'd taken some amount of interest in the language of her mother's ancestors as a girl, but never enough to learn it fluently. Her interest had been renewed when she overheard Aegon conversing with Lady Ashara Dayne in the language, and she'd pleaded with him to teach her.
"What's that one mean?" Robb smiled softly down at her and brushed her hair behind her ear, the other hand firmly on her waist once more with his thumb rubbing soothing circles.
"It means I love you." She'd said the words to him countless times, but still she flushed under the weight of adoration in his eyes. Robb hummed and clumsily repeated the words to himself and then back at her. He leaned down and kissed her once more before stepping away to dress.
Bright light barreled into the room as Alysanne threw back the curtains. She winced, and Robb cursed from somewhere behind her. Faint shrieks sounded in the distance and after her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw Jon walking with Aegon along the edge of the river below, all three dragons swirling above them as they strolled. Robb finished dressing and bid her farewell with Grey Wind following him, leaving her to wait for her ladies and watch the dragons beside the river.
The three, young dragons nipped at each other playfully as they flew, happy to have the chance to spread their wings. Almost two moons old, they'd already grown to the size of small hounds and appeared to grow larger every day. Before long, Alysanne suspected they'd have to find somewhere besides the spare room Edmure gave them to keep them.
Upon their return to Riverrun Maester Vyman had scoured his collection of books for anything regarding dragons, along with the texts Alysanne and Jon had pilfered from Casterly Rock's library, mostly collected in thanks to her uncle. Tyrion had, by some manner of another, acquired a fragment of Septon Barth's Unnatural History, which had survived the destruction of the complete text by Baelor I, and Maester Vyman claimed to have extensively read Dragonkin during his time at the Citadel.
The old Maester was all too eager to examine and observe the three dragons. Mayhap too eager, for he'd startled Frostfyre in his approach, who'd then let out a burst of flame which had singed the bottom of poor Maester Vyman's robes.
For all of his knowledge of dragons, Maester Vyman could tell none of them how fast their dragons would grow. Only that they would never stop, and that some speculated the habit of confining the beasts to the Dragonpit led to their death. Perhaps that is why ours grow so fast; they roam free, mostly. Alysanne itched to write to her Uncle Tyrion. He always had a certain fascination with dragons, but she doubted he'd be willing to return any raven sent by her.
It was no matter, their limited knowledge. They had enough to know how to feed them, how to care for them, how to use High Valyrian to speak with them; the fragments from Unnatural History spoke extensively of the commands used by King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne with their dragons. In Tyrion's collection of texts on dragonlore, they'd even found a partial diagram of the saddles used by the Targaryen's of old. Though far from complete, it'd been enough for Riverrun's craftsmen to feel confident in their ability to fill in the gaps.
Along the banks of the river, Jon and Aegon stopped to watch the dragons play and skim across the water. The kingsroad stretched in the distance, and it was with a sour note that she remembered the Frey party which drew ever near. Late the previous night outriders arrived to inform them they were close, and would finally arrive after dark the following day. They were meant to have arrived a day ago, but the outriders blamed autumn storms for the delay.
Alysanne thanked the gods, the old and the new, that Catelyn began planning for Lord Edmure's wedding before Alysanne even arrived back from the west. If Roslin did indeed arrive before the end of the day, the wedding would take place on the morrow. A swift marriage, Lord Walder had demanded, with little delay once Roslin arrived. Upon hearing this, Edmure professed his fear that Lord Walder was sending him an ugly bride after all, and the swift marriage was to ensure he found no way to break the betrothal. Lady Catelyn had boxed his ears for that comment.
Despite the wedding Alysanne had still sought to convince Catelyn to join the talks that day. No matter how much she pleaded with her, Lady Catelyn held fast in her refusal. "It wouldn't do, for the king's mother to be hovering over his shoulder." Catelyn had said. Alysanne disagreed, but Catelyn had doubled down with claims of last-minute details to Edmure's wedding that needed tending to. "It's not every day one sees their baby brother wed," she'd said, and so Alysanne let the argument lie.
A maid entered after a swift knock with a tray of toasted bread with jam and some fresh fruit, breaking Alysanne away from the sight below her window, and behind the maid came Wylla, Beth, Eddara, and Joy. There was no Jorelle that morning, as Alysanne had given her leave to spend the morning with her sisters. Though if Alysanne knew anything about her dear friend, she'd instead spend the time taunting the Smalljon on the training yard as she had the past few mornings.
Wylla bade her no greeting, aside from a declaration of her displeasure with Harrion Karstark as she flopped down on the foot of Robb and Alysanne's still unmade bed. The other three ladies descended on her chests of dresses when Alysanne informed them she'd not yet made a decision regarding what to wear. Dismissing the maid, Alysanne ate the food she'd brought and listened intently as Wylla ranted about the morning meal she'd been compelled to share with Harrion.
"He eats like a pig! He shovels food into his mouth as though someone's like to take it right off his plate." Wylla paused and propped herself up onto her elbows. "Not that dress, Beth, it's far too… soft." Collapsing back to the bed, Wylla threw an arm over her face. "I could hardly enjoy my meal. Jorelle said the same of Jon, this war had robbed these men of their manners."
"You said he's been kinder, did you not?" Beth asked. She folded the dress Wylla described as too soft and set it gently to the side. It was a pretty lavender dress with delicate silver beading from the collection of her mother's old garments. As lovely as it was, Wylla was right.
"Ha! Kinder in that he no longer insults me with every other breath." Alysanne shared a long-suffering look with Eddara and Beth. Harrion has never been that terrible, and by every estimation, Wylla had thrown barbs just as frequently. "He's not cruel, at the very least. And he's quite handsome. I suppose that's more than most get."
"What of this one?" Joy held a black dress aloft before Wylla could continue on about Harrion, and Alysanne remembered the dress for one she'd altered during the nights of their march back.
Lannister by birth and Stark by marriage though she may be, she was also a Targaryen through her mother. Hardly anyone mentioned her mother, and Alysanne feared that even more had forgotten her. Let them remember her today. Made from two old gowns of Cersei's that she'd filched from Casterly Rock, the dress was a heavy, black damask silk in a more southron style than Alysanne had worn in years.
The sleeves dragged to the floor, lined with the same crimson silk which slashed along the hems and neckline; a banner of her mother's house. She and Beth had salvaged rubies and shiny, black stones from another dress beyond repair and placed them along the shoulders and down the arms. She'd yet to wear it, and today was as good as any other.
"That one will do nicely, Joy. Thank you." Joy grinned shyly when Wylla and Eddara proclaimed their agreement, and Alysanne took the dress from Joy to slip into. It was Joy who helped her with the laces, and once she finished, Alysanne let Beth steer her to sit in front of the mirrored vanity.
Beth set to brushing and braiding her hair, while Joy and Eddara sifted through her jewelry to find something which matched. Her crown sat neatly in its box beside Robb's, and there it would remain. Robb hadn't worn his, and Alysanne suspected Aegon wouldn't either. Instead, she opted for a dainty hairnet Eddara selected from her mother's items, wrought with silver and dotted with black seed pearls and rubies, like the ones on her dress.
Once Beth finished braiding her hair, twining it about her head, and pinning it in place, she affixed the hairnet over the amassed braid and rested her hands on Alysanne's shoulders. She beamed at her through the mirror, and Alysanne reached up to grasp one of Beth's hands. Sweet, gentle Beth who never failed to set her anxious mind to rest.
Alysanne forwent any necklaces or earrings and stood to scrutinize her appearance in the mirror. She fiddled with her skirts, if only to keep herself from picking at her sleeves. She felt rather like a girl playing pretend in her mother's closet. Or worse yet, a child playing at the games of men. Her attention drifted to a cyvasse board sitting abandoned on a table in the room, and it brought to mind her twelfth name-day.
Her grandfather visited that year and gifted her a fine cyvasse set that had come all the way from Volantis. The pieces were made of white marble and jade; the board inlaid with gold, and Alysanne remembered thinking that it must have cost a fortune. He'd taught her to play on that visit, and she'd lost terribly.
For all she'd used her grandfather's lessons when dealing with Walder Frey, he had been no great challenge. And though she'd dealt with Robb's bannermen, who were no fools, they were certainly not a Targaryen king with the backing of Dorne. The upheaval her father caused and the delay to the negotiations had at least allowed her an extra day to consider her options, but she still feared the board tipped against her.
Yet another knock at the door, and Alysanne called for them to enter. Jon slipped in without his usual companion, and the gathered ladies wished him a good morning. They had remanded both Ghost and Grey Wind to the godswood for the day, lest tempers flar at the meeting. They didn't need another lord to experience what Lord Umber had, after all.
After returning their greetings, Jon said, "Robb sent me. Everyone is gathering. Are you ready?"
Eddara stepped back from where she fiddled with Alysanne's skirts, and she granted herself one last glimpse in the mirror before facing Jon. She turned her appraising eye to Jon, from his doublet to the leather boots on his feet. All black, a color that Jon adhered to more oft than not. She was pleased to note he'd chosen some of his finer garments and boots without scuffs and mud caked into the crevices. A rare thing indeed. His hair had been washed and neatly combed, and pinned to his chest, resting proudly on his doublet, was the pin Robb had ordered crafted for Jon. A near copy of the one that Hands wore in King's Landing, that Eddard Stark himself likely wore.
"Am I to your approval, your grace?" Jon quipped. At Jon's friendly insolence, Wylla, Eddara, Beth, and Joy tittered. He shared a smile with them and Alysanne attempted to bite her own back. She liked this Jon, who teased and prodded at her with abandon. She did not know if it was the princely title afforded to him or the dragon growing larger, but he carried himself differently than he had in Winterfell. A slow change, but a welcome change nonetheless.
"Yes, my lord hand," Alysanne responded in kind. She stretched to lightly smack his head, but he dodged out of her reach.
Briefly, she turned to bid her ladies farewell. With a final round of well wishes she sent them off to aid Catelyn for the day. She'd have no need of them until that evening after the Frey party arrived, but such was not the case for Catelyn, who would need all the help she could get with final wedding details.
The door remained open, and she peered out to see who stood guard. A small, aching part of her still expected to find Ser Addam, standing as tall as an oak with a firm hand on the hilt of his sword, but not even his ghost remained to be found. Ser Lucas Blackwood, the elder brother of Jon's squire Alyn, and Ethan Forrester stood guard that morning, two men who had also served valiantly as Robb's battle guard. Even so, Alysanne pulled Jon further into the room.
Alysanne straightened Jon's pin and gave him one last cursory glimpse. She spoke with a lowered voice. "You spoke with Aegon this morning. Did he mention anything about today?"
He responded with a shrug and fiddled with the pin Alysanne had just straightened. He merely made it crooked once more, and so Alysanne brushed his hands away and fixed it again. "I wish I had something useful for you, but we didn't speak of anything of much importance, really. He wished to know of my life in Winterfell. Of my… father. Lord Stark. And he told me of Essos."
She gave him a thin smile and fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. Jon and Aegon had grown closer in the time since Casterly Rock, and it gladdened her to see it. She only hoped the coming talks wouldn't sour what they had gained. "Jon, what we spoke of yesterday. I still intended to use it."
A heavy sigh, and Jon nodded. "I know, though I'm still unhappy about it. It feels wrong."
"It's not a betrayal, Jon. We've sworn nothing, it's simply a play. We'd be fools not to use it." She placed a hand on his arm and squeezed lightly, hoping it was of some comfort. "Come. It won't do us good to be late."
Offering her an arm which she gladly took, Jon led them out of the room and down the hall. The rooms set aside for the meeting that day were not far, and it took no time at all for them to reach their destination.
Her fears of being last to arrive were unfounded. Robb had already taken his place at the end of the table closest to the door, with a spot to his left reserved for her and a spot to his right for Jon. At the other end of the table, Oberyn and his daughter Nymeria conversed with one another, the only two from Aegon and the Dornish contingent to arrive. Edmure, Ser Brynden, Lord Forrester, and Lord Umber, who had already claimed seats of their own, stood to greet her as Alysanne entered. She and Jon returned their greetings and sat on either side of Robb.
There was no shortage of lords both of the North and the Riverlands who wished to pile themselves into the room for these talks. The rooms Lord Edmure had prepared for them, while large, could by no means host all of them. It was a different room from where the war councils were held, and it was one which Alysanne had yet seen. Tapestries and paintings of old River Kings and Lords of Riverrun hung from the walls of the room, and blue draperies decorated three, soaring windows. The draperies had been drawn to the side of the windows to let the late morning sun in, allowing the sconces on the wall and candles on the wooden table to remain unlit.
The table at the center was long and rectangular, yet wide enough to sit three on either end. A modest fare of breads, jams, and cheeses sat in the middle, and pitchers with wine and ale sat at the ready.
Truthfully, the talks could have been held in the Great Hall in order to allow more lords to sit in. But both Aegon and Robb had readily agreed it'd be best to limit those in attendance; too many lords meant more varying opinions, which meant more disagreements. They hadn't the luxury of allowing weeks for these talks, after all.
Bran arrived with Arya on his arm, who wore a light blue dress that Alysanne recognized as once having belonged to her some years ago. Alysanne smiled at Arya and patted the seat to her left, along the side of the table. As if she would choose another seat. With Edmure to the left of Arya and Ser Brynden to Edmure's left, Bran took the seat across from his sister beside Jon.
Arya sat and considered Alysanne with a curious eye. "You look very southron, sister," she noted in a hushed voice. Arya wasn't wrong, the dress was one of southron style. The neckline was lower and exposed her collarbone, the sleeves were longer, the skirt fuller, not to mention the silk and jewels. But Alysanne didn't mind. She'd never been one to turn her nose up at pretty things.
In turn, Alysanne noted Arya's appearance. Her neatly brushed and braided hair, the lack of dirt on the hem of her dress; entirely different from the Arya she'd known in Winterfell. "And you look like a proper lady. Your mother's request?"
Reaching for a pitcher to fill the goblet in front of her, Arya sniffed. "Mine own. But only after mother remarked that if I intend to leverage my station to be allowed to attend, I should at the very least dress the part. She was right, as usual." Arya mumbled the last part of her statement, but Alysanne still heard it. She chuckled.
With Edmure's cupbearer in attendance and taking Arya's usual role in their council meetings, Robb hadn't expected Arya to attend. He'd told her as much, stating that she'd be free to use the day for training with Syrio if she so wished. Alysanne did not think Robb expected Arya to protest to that suggestion, but protest she did. Though not in the petulant manner so often seen in her youth in Winterfell. She'd simply raised her chin and asked, "I'm a Princess of Winterfell, am I not? If I'm to be of any use to you, I should know the matters which concern us."
Maester Vyman shuffled in not long after Bran and Arya, the clanking of the chains around his neck alerting them of his presence before he entered the room. A younger maester followed behind Maester Vyman with an arm full of scrolls and an inkpot and quill, and the two took a place towards the middle. Maester Vyman set to arranging his scrolls and inkpot, and granted her and Robb a friendly nod which Alysanne gladly returned.
The maester had secured himself a place at the meetings several nights ago at the feast, after he'd approached Robb and Aegon together about the matter. He wanted to record the talks for the histories, he said, and more selfishly, for a book he hoped to pen about the war. It would not hurt to have a learned man such as Maester Vyman in attendance, and so both had readily agreed. A good portent for the talks to come, Alysanne hoped.
Before long, Aegon and the rest of his advisors arrived and took their places at the other end of the table directly across from Robb; Jon Connington to Aegon's right, and Princess Arianne to his left. Tyene Sand, Ashara Dayne, and others filed in after Aegon. None save Oberyn and Nymeria stood upon his entrance. Lord Manderly, Lord Karstark, and Lord Bolton took their places not long after, and those gathered shifted glances between Aegon and Robb, waiting for someone to begin.
She might have made the opening move, demanded that the North be left free and independent, instead Alysanne remained silent. She remembered what her grandfather had told her, after that failed game of cyvasse. A lion watches its prey, lays in wait, he'd remarked, a rebuke for her hasty attacks against him. He'd let her chase him round and round, launching attack after attack against him until all of her pieces lay in waste and her mind had tired. Then, he'd struck.
A cleared throat, and a collective intake of breath. "You wish to keep the North." And so it would be Jon Connington who would throw the gauntlet first, the first to place his king on the board and cast thick anticipation amongst those present.
"I will keep the North. The North will remain a free and independent kingdom, as it existed for thousands of years before the first Aegon," Robb declared. Ever unruly, the Northern lords jeered and pounded their fists atop the table. Prince Oberyn smirked in amusement, and Jon Connington's face pinched. With Robb's raised hand, the men quieted. "In addition, the Riverlands. They bent the knee to me."
Alysanne watched Robb, his steely countenance a far cry from the boy who'd called the banners in Winterfell nigh on a year ago. He remained unflinching at Prince Oberyn's bemused smirk and raised brow, at Jon Connington's ever-building fury. Aegon shifted his attention between Robb and Lord Connington, his face an impassive mask.
"You can't think King Aegon will simply let you take the North and the Trident for your own?" Lord Connington said. The Northern lords bristled, as did Edmure.
"I've taken nothing. My bannermen named me king, and the Riverlands knelt to me of their own free will." Low rumbles of the King in the North wove through the Northern lords gathered, and Alysanne almost wished to roll her eyes at their posturing.
"Aegon is merciful. If they bend the knee, their treasons will be forgiven, as they did not yet know his grace lived." Though Jon Connington's words were measured, his clenched fists betrayed him.
Lord Edmure, nor any of the Northern lords, took kindly to the accusations of treason. They railed against it, for how could it be treason when the Targaryen's were deposed? When another family held the throne? It is treason only if we lose.
Lord Connington claimed it was the North in alliance with the Baratheons who broke faith first, and he was hastily shouted over by a fierce Lord Forrester, who said it was the Targaryens who broke first, for it was Rhaegar who took Lyanna Stark and Aerys who burned her father. At the mention of his mother, Jon winced. Alysanne tried to catch his eye, but he remained trained on the table.
Round and round the arguments flew, talk and bluster of old oaths and wars won and lost, slain princes and murdered kings, burned lords and strangled heirs. Each of the bannermen present wished to have their own voices heard in the matter. Pity that each of them echoes the last. The hours droned on and the sun sloped across the sky in an arc, but still Alysanne watched. Let them tire themselves.
As the lords wore their arguments to ash, Princess Arianne leaned forward and focused on Robb. "The North is weary of war, your grace. Are you truly willing to subject your people to yet another war with the south?"
It was not Robb who responded, but Bran. "King Aegon does not yet hold the southern kingdoms, and they too are weary and war-torn. If they aren't, they will be, following your king's conquest." He sounds like Robb. Bran had all the potential to be a fine commander one day, though Alysanne hoped he never had to prove it.
"You will still be out-manned," Lord Connington bit back. "Already, the Golden Company has landed in Dorne and joined with the armies of Prince Doran. They only await our word." And it will be months before they arrive. It was a problem she and Robb discussed in the dark of their bedchambers, when speaking of taking King's Landing.
"Will we?" Robb asked. "As of now, Lord Connington, you have the Golden Company and Dorne. The Stormlands may be an easy conquest, as Lord Renly is dead and there has been no word from Stannis since his defeat on the Blackwater. The Reach is vast and have declared for Joffrey. You'll bleed men taking the Reach, and burn even more if King Aegon's dragon is of any use. The Westerlands are beyond loyal to Tywin and by consequence, Joffrey. The Vale will be of no use to you as they seem to take no side, and the Riverlands have already declared for me.
Winter is coming, and no fool would think to attempt marching north to war in the dead of winter. The time you will spend winning the throne alone will be enough for our men to rest, and winter will not hinder us as it will you."
As he was wont to do, the Greatjon thumped his fists on the table at Robb's words. He stilled with a glare from Alysanne and had the courtesy to at least act contrite. Lord Connington frowned and said, "And if this winter is harsh, as the maesters say it will be? How many of your fighting men will still live at its end when you have none of the food of the south to rely on?"
The threat of winter and the hardships it brought was never a favored topic amongst northerners, however neither was it one shied away from. Alysanne had never lived through a winter, but Old Nan had told them stories aplenty of the coldest, darkest winters known to man, and Alysanne didn't doubt she'd lived through her fair share. Babes born and raised in the dark, smallfolk freezing to death in their homes, the fear of famine and plague lurking around every bend. Lords Umber, Bolton, Karstark, Manderly, all old enough to have lived through at least one winter, did not take kindly to Jon Connington stating such a thing as to their advantage; the glacial glares directed across the table said that quite enough.
The talk of yet more war sent dread clawing up her throat and fear burrowing into her heart. As it did to Aegon, whose eyes betrayed him. He'd yet to take his throne, and already he watched Jon Connington and Oberyn with hesitation at the mention of war.
"There is yet another option, Lord Connington." Attention turned to Alysanne as she finally broke her silence, tired of merely watching and waiting, and not wishing yet another unending round of arguing to erupt. She caught Robb, and then Jon's attention, and continued on at his slight nod. "Prince Jon has his own claim. If King Aegon won't cede the North to my husband, then perhaps King Jon would."
A silent pause tore through the room, and all humor dropped from Prince Oberyn's face. The Northern lords shifted uneasily, still unsettled with the truth of Jon's parentage that had been revealed to them the night before. Hadn't that been a night? Most had guessed it, what with the dragon, but it hadn't made it a truth any easier to swallow, even with Lord Howland's personal testimony.
"Would the North truly wish, Lady Stark, to fight more southron wars, as your husband put it?" The Smalljon and Lord Karstark fussed at Prince Oberyn calling her Lady Stark, rather than your grace, but Alysanne ignored their misgivings. They would be here for moons if they argued over something as paltry as titles. And truthfully, it'd been so long since anyone called her Lady Stark, a title she held most dear.
"Rest assured Prince Oberyn, the North will fight to put one of their own on the Iron Throne, which Prince Jon is, if it ensures our independence," Alysanne said. Jon's hands clenched into fists where they rested atop the table. It's only a play, and Alysanne hoped he would remember so. A feint. She would never truly ask Jon to press his claim, for she knew he would if it was for the North, for Robb.
"It is a war you would lose," Jon Connington said. "Aegon is the elder. And Westeros would never bend to a bastard, Jon Snow." Jon Connington directed his words to Jon, who watched the disgraced Lord of Griffin's Roost with impassivity. Jon Connington was not the first to call him a bastard, nor would he be the last, even if Jon now had the title of prince and Hand of the King.
"King Robb legitimized Prince Jon as a Stark. And Prince Jon has a dragon, as do I. That's two, to your one. Jon also has proof of his parentage and has lived his entire life in Westeros. It matters not that Aegon is the elder when your only proof is your word." Her grandfather, loathe as she was to admit, had spoken true when he told her politics were often an ugly game. Alysanne hated casting such doubt on her cousin whom she'd just truly come to know, and she liked even less the sad pull of his lips, the crease between his brow.
"King Aegon is who he says he is. I carried him from King's Landing myself," Lady Ashara said. Even angered, Ashara never grew unkind. Her words firm and her head lifted high, she met the eyes of each and every lord sat across from her, Arya and Alysanne included.
"Our Aunt Daenerys still lives, Alysanne, and she has three. Who's to say she won't join my side?" Aegon lacked the fury and indignation of Lord Connington. It was once again his eyes that gave Aegon away, melancholy and mournful as he stared at Jon and then Alysanne. More blood, yet lost to us.
A few nights past, before arriving back to Riverrun, Aegon had shared with Jon and her the space Rhaenys had left, the unyielding desire to have those of his own blood by his side. Her cousin of her mother's blood, Alysanne regretted even the threat of severing that bond. She imagined Aegon felt that a thousandfold.
"Where is she now, Aegon? Surely, Lord Connington or your friend in Pentos must have informed her of your existence when you set sail. No?" Lord Connington did not dissuade her. "Yet she is not here, and has not sent word." Alysanne did not volley her words, and instead spoke as gently to Aegon as he had her.
The threat of the "mad king's daughter," as the Greatjon so gently put it, and yet more dragons, did nothing to bring about calm discussion. The shouting began anew, accusations of treason reemerged along with fears of dragonfire enveloping the realm. Not for the first time that day, Alysanne found herself glad they barred both steel and direwolves from the room.
A raised hand from Aegon, and a stern glare from Robb towards Lord Karstark who continued to grumble swiftly quelled the commotion. When Aegon spoke, he spoke directly to Robb. "Say I cede the North to you, how can I be certain you won't simply bide your time and gather your banners to my half-brother's cause?"
Robb exchanged a wary glance with Alysanne, and her hand twitched with want to grab his own. "Cede the North to me, and we will join our forces to yours and help you claim the throne. Oaths will be sworn—"
"Oaths that the Starks have broken before!" A Dornishman shouted.
"After your Prince took Lyanna Stark! After he burnt my grandfather!" Arya bellowed.
"Enough!" It was the loudest Jon had been thus far, and it stunned the room to quiet. The stare he directed at Aegon was solemn. "Cede the North to my cousin, and I swear to you, brother, my life is yours."
Alysanne snapped her eyes to Jon, any efforts masking her emotions gone. My life is yours, he says. By no means was Aegon cruel, but other men were. The game itself was.
"There are other ways besides oaths to ensure banners do not rise once more," Princess Arianne said. She reclined lazily in her seat, unbothered by the raised tempers surrounding them, and rolled a grape between her fingers before popping it into her mouth. "Marriages between Northern and Southern houses, for instance. King Aegon himself is yet unbetrothed, as is Prince Jon."
Though she kept the guise of impassivity, Princess Arianne flitted her attention across the Northern party with keen interest before settling on Arya. Alysanne stiffened. "Forgive me Princess, but we were under the impression you intended to marry King Aegon," said Robb. It made the most sense, after all; a Dornish queen to ensure Dornish support for his cause. A Dornish queen to avenge the one who never was.
A snake coiling to strike, Arianne straightened in her chair and curled both hands around the arms. The orange and red of her gown and the gold of her jewelry cast her as the Princess Nymeria spoken of in the books from Alysanne's childhood. "I cannot very well rule Dorne and serve as Aegon's consort. The day I hand Dorne to my brother is the day I am cold in my grave."
Alysanne flicked a glance to Arya, to find her pressed back in her chair and studying Aegon and Arianne with suspicion laden eyes, a suspicion that Alysanne shared. All this time, she'd assumed the two were all but officially betrothed. A piece left off the board. She thought back to the conversations she'd had with Aegon over the past moons. He must have made some mention, but Alysanne could not remember. I should have spent more time watching, grandfather.
Silent words passed between Arianne and Aegon, not unnoticed by Lord Connington. He clawed a hand into Aegon's arm. "You cannot truly think to entertain this, Aegon. The Seven Kingdoms are your birthright. All of them, the North included."
Shaking his head, Aegon sighed. "My father lost, Jon. What birthright has he left to me but years of war and bloodshed? Am I to spend the rest of my life on the battlefield? I've no desire to fight a rebellion before I've so much as sat on the throne, and no desire to lose more family when I have so few left to me."
"Those are Ashara's words, not your own." Lord Connington sneered. He glared at Lady Ashara over Aegon's shoulder, and she resolutely ignored him.
"Yet I said them all the same." Aegon peeled his arm out from Lord Connington's grasp and faced Robb. "I have terms which must be met, before I am willing to entertain further conversations regarding Northern independence."
Leaning forward in his seat, Robb folded his hands in front of him. "What are these terms?"
Aegon sat taller, and shared another knowing look with Arianne, to which she nodded. Alysanne saw the movement on the board, the shifting of the pieces, and reached a hand under the table to grab at Arya's. "To start, I would propose a union between myself and Princess Arya."
In one fell swoop, the air left the room. Arya's face slackened, and she sputtered. "Me?" Edmure set a comforting hand on Arya's shoulder and her hand tightened around Alysanne's. The bewilderment writ large across her face would have been enough to tell Alysanne that Aegon had most certainly not come to Arya with this suggestion beforehand. That will rankle her, as Alysanne knew her sister-by-law had grown quite fond of Aegon.
"And the next?" Robb interjected before anyone could speak, no doubt sensing the tension of Edmure, Ser Brynden, and all the rest. "You said that was first. What is the other?"
Aegon cleared his throat and spoke to Jon rather than Robb, and he remained as steady and sure as a mountain before the wind. "As for my brother, I've no need for you to swear me your life. I would grant you the name Prince Jon Targaryen, if you so desire, as well as a place on my small council, as is deserved. And, if you are amenable… a marriage to Princess Arianne as her consort."
Jon leaned back in his chair and shifted his jaw. He resolutely avoided Arianne's eyes, which were intently trained on him. It was no paltry offer, and Jon knew that. The hand not resting on the table clenched into a fist and released, over and over again. Robb spared his brother, for that is what he would always be, a worried frown.
"And if Princess Arya and Prince Jon were to agree to this. How do I know you would not use them as your own hostages?" Robb put to words the question on everyone's mind. The fate which had befallen Sansa was fresh on everyone's mind, as were the fates of countless others before her.
"I am not my father, nor my grandfather, Robb Stark. And as my cousin said, you've two dragons to my one. I will not have Princess Arya isolated in King's Landing. She may bring who she wishes and establish her household as she sees fit. I've space still on my Kingsguard, should she wish to nominate a candidate. My brother will be free to come and go as he pleases. I wish to build trust, not instill fear." Aegon paid no mind to Jon Connington beside him, or Princess Arianne, or Oberyn. His focus remained on Robb.
"And the matter of our independence?" Robb and Alysanne peered at one another, and she took a deep breath.
"Remains to be discussed, though I can promise nothing of the Riverlands." Aegon said. Oberyn watched his nephew with pride, and Jon Connington watched him with an unreadable mien.
Ser Daemon slipped into the room before the conversation could continue, his crisp, new white cloak fluttering behind him. He'd been named to Aegon's Kingsguard one day prior, bringing the number of Aegon's Kingsguard to an astounding two. Those gathered at the table looked up at him, curious as to why he'd left his post outside the door. "Pardon, my lords. But the Freys are nearly here."
"Already?" Alysanne asked. It was merely late afternoon, and the sun had not even begun to dip close to the horizon. They said after dark.
"Think on my offer, Robb. Alysanne. We'll convene on the morrow," Aegon said, already rising from his seat. Chairs scraped against stone as the rest of the Dornish followed suit.
"Not tomorrow, the wedding is tomorrow," said Edmure. He pressed his fingers into his forehead, stood, gave a slight bow to Robb and before he left the room, said, "I best go find your mother."
Northern lords and Dornishmen alike filed from the room after him, and Alysanne flitted her attention between Robb, who whispered fervently with Jon, and Arya, who had shown no hint of moving from her seat. Aegon faltered by the door with his attention on Arya, whose distant glare bored into the table, and Alysanne subtly shook her head at him. Aegon left, and Alysanne sidled up to Robb and in a muted voice told him to go on ahead without her.
"Walk with me," Alysanne murmured to Arya. Wordlessly, the girl stood from her seat and they left the room, arm in arm.
They spent the first few minutes of their walk in silence, and Alysanne let Arya carry it for as long as she wished, as unsettled as it made her. Arya always had some comment or another, an opinion she was happy to share or an object of her ire she was pleased to voice. Though down the stairs and around a bend, then down another flight of stairs, their sole company was the sound of their footsteps ringing off the floor.
They turned the corner that would lead them to the yard, and Arya stopped. She reached out for Alysanne's hand and clutched it. Thrice, she opened her mouth as if to speak, yet she said nothing. There were no distant hooves, no raising of the gates or lowering of the drawbridge, so Alysanne did not rush her. The minutes drew on, and finally Arya spoke.
"I knew these talks would likely result in a betrothal for me. I'm no fool, Alysanne. I knew that the moment Dorne agreed to an alliance. I'd made my peace with that, for the most part at least. But queen? Alysanne…" Arya trailed off, shaking her head with eyes still wide and glassy and leagues away. "I cannot be queen."
"And why ever not?"
"That was meant to be Sansa! Never me." Arya was not wrong, Alysanne supposed. She had not taken to the more ladylike pursuits as Sansa had, though Alysanne did not fault her for it. It was Sansa put forth for Joffrey as the eldest, not Arya. And yet…
Sparing a peek out into the yard, Alysanne turned to Arya. "There is power there, Arya, if you wish to take it. You know this. You will have the king's ear and I believe you clever enough to use it, to wield it for the betterment of others like you always speak of. If my suspicions ring true, Aegon is fond of you. Speak with him. He is Dornish to the bone. I do not feel as though you will find the chains you so fear, in this role."
There was another heavy pause while Arya gathered her words, yet finally she took a shaky breath and nodded. "It will be my hand that brings him the Northern armies. That is no small matter."
A small, proud smile curled Alysanne's lips. "You're right. It most certainly isn't."
With another breath, Arya steeled herself and walked into the yard with Alysanne in time for the guards atop the wall to yell down of the Frey's arrival and draw the portcullis up. Arya split away to join beside Bran, who clapped a comforting hand upon her shoulder before dropping it. As Alysanne joined at Robb's side, he shot her a fretful glance and she did her best to quell it with a smile and slight nod.
The thundering of hooves was the only announcement before thirty or so Frey men poured through the gate and flowed into the yard, the banner of House Frey flying proudly above them. The men-at-arms which had traveled with them from the Twins would surely make camp outside the walls.
Prepared to have to sort through a collection of ladies and other female relatives to pick out Roslin, Alysanne frowned when she found it far too easy. There was only one woman who rode through the gates, and she alone sat flanked by Lothar and Ser Ryman. Alysanne looked for Black Walder but could not spot him, and figured he must have been tasked with settling the rest of the men beyond the walls.
Pity swirled low in her belly for poor Roslin Frey. How odd, that Lord Walder didn't send her with so much as an aunt. Even Cersei had come to see her wed and had offered assistance. It was no matter. Catelyn would not let Roslin ready herself alone tomorrow, and neither would Alysanne. Olyvar Frey rushed forward to help his sister down from her horse, and the two siblings embraced one another before Olyvar led her towards them.
As Roslin Frey approached them, Alysanne noted she was a slight little thing. She stood a head shorter than the men accompanying her, including her brother, and she was as slender as any maiden might wish to be. Roslin was graceful and light on her feet as she approached her and Robb and dipped into a curtsey. Olyvar was right; Roslin was quite pretty, with a delicate nose and porcelain skin and warm brown eyes. A long braid wound over her shoulder and a gray cloak hugged her, lined with ermine and tied at her neck with a pretty blue ribbon.
Robb bid her to rise and waved Edmure forward, and already the man appeared more eager than when he'd left their makeshift council chambers. Alysanne greeted Roslin, and from then she was shuffled down to Aegon, Ashara, and all the rest.
The crowd in the yard thinned as Edmure, Catelyn, and Olyvar led Roslin into the keep, as none wished to linger long in the cooling temperatures of a late autumn afternoon. Bran strode away with Ser Daemon towards the training yard, Robb left with Jon to the godswood, and Jon Connington and Oberyn had commandeered Aegon. Alysanne meant to follow Robb and Jon, to discuss whether Robb meant to take the deal or push against it, but she found her feet rooted to their place.
Unlike the other members of their family, Arya remained in place. She faced the gates, rigid and resolute, and Alysanne worried at her bottom lip. Perhaps she thinks to run after all, or has become stuck in her fears once more.
"Arya," Alysanne called. Arya didn't so much as flinch, and instead shushed her and waved her away with a hand. She made to step closer to Arya, but stopped when she saw Bran marching towards them from the direction of the training yard, though he'd just set off towards it. Whispering to Arya, Bran stood by her side and joined her in her watch. Alysanne resolved to wait with them at a distance.
She'd been right to wait. Alarmed shouts from the guards were the sole warning of the three, large direwolves as they stormed through the gates. Their coats were filthy with mud and brambles, and if not for the way Arya cried and ran full force towards them, Alysanne would have thought them wild beasts instead of Ghost and Grey Wind's missing litter mates. With a shriek of joy, Arya launched herself at her long-lost companion, Bran not far behind her.
Lady sat idly by until Ghost and Grey Wind came tearing around the corner and into the yard. All five direwolves yipped happily and played as though they were pups once more. All that's missing is Shaggydog. Howls permeated the air, announcing the return of wolves to Riverrun.