Chapter Text
In the days that followed, Alys heeded her friend’s advice, avoiding the Riverlord at any and every opportunity. Not that it seemed she needed to, for Lord Edmure had made himself scarce by attending another one of King Robert’s hunts. This one had lasted the past two days, with the King’s party only arriving back an hour or so before nightfall.Yet despite the lack of his presence, Alys couldn’t relax.
In the Trout Lord’s absence, Torrhen had taken to being an even bigger nuisance than he had previously. He haunted her steps wherever she went. When she went to break her fast and he was there, she went to work in the kitchens and he was there, when she went out to ride he would miraculously be in the stables eyeing her down like a piece of meat. Everywhere she turned he was sure to be there and she hated it. Alys could find sanctuary nowhere, she had thought briefly about going to Robb with the issue for her brother would surely protect her or at least be a powerful deterrent but with the displeasure of Lady Stark strong in the air she hadn’t dared. Instead, she spoke with Joan.
“Nothing will happen,” she had told Joan over decorating the pastries for that night’s dinner, “He’s just being kind.”
But Joan had only pursed her lips, “Men aren’t ever kind Alys, not without reason.”
“It’s different here in the North, men have honor.” Alys had bitten out, feeling indigent on behalf of her countrymen.
“Even the most honorable men are capable of unhonorable things Alys, you’re proof enough of that. Besides after the rumors about a possible dalliance with Lord Tully some may think you’re…” she paused for a moment, “more well, more loose.”
And hadn’t that been a mortifying thought. Alys knew she had to be beet red with the way her face flushed, “But nothing happened.”
Joan only sighed and looked up from the puff pastry she had been working on, “It doesn’t matter what happened, it only matters what people think happened, and many people think that Edmure Tully stole your innocence.”
“Stole my innocence?” Alys felt the breath leave her lungs.
Joan didn’t look up from her work, “Yes. And to be frank that's the best case scenario.”
“How could that possibly be the best case scenario.”
“Trust me, it's better for others to think he took advantage of you rather than thinking you lured him to your bed.”
Alys grew mortified, how could she be so stupid, of course people would think she would try and tempt a Lord, especially one who was set to inherit such a castle such as Riverrun. Lady Stark made it very clear that people, especially nobles, believed that bastards were creatures of lust and would do anything to get ahead. This could ruin her, and her family.
She continued to spiral until a hand touched her shoulder, and her eyes met Joan’s. “Don’t fret. Like I said most of everyone believes that he took advantage. You did nothing wrong.”
“Most? What of the ones who don’t?” Fear gripped her heart, did her father or brother think she had tempted Lord Tully? Did gods forbid, the Royal family think she had tried to sway the Lord into her bed. The Queen already hated her, she was sure of it, and the King, well she didn’t really know what the King would think.
“Listen to me Alys,” Joan had gently held Alys’ head up so she was looking Joan in the eyes, ”They are few and far between, but… but if you wish I will find out who believes what.”
The talk with Joan hadn’t eased her worries, in fact it had only shifted them and for a brief moment she had forgotten about her plight with Lord Karstark’s son.That was until Torrhen’s affections increased along with his presence. Just the day before, he had presented her with a bouquet of deep red winter roses clenched in his white-knuckled fist. His face flushed red when she thanked him through gritted teeth, before he quickly left her, mumbling about needing to meet with his brother. All she could do was sigh in relief when the sound of his steps faded.
Now the flowers sat in a vase on her dresser, and just looking at them filled her with insurmountable dread. It took everything in her not to throw them into the fire. She loved flowers, there were so few that could grow during winter and some could only survive in the glasshouses. Her favorite among them were the wild indigos. They were a beautiful purple, with leaves divided into groups of three. In the spring when they bloomed, she loved weaving them into her hair. Among her least favorites, however, were winter roses. They worked as if they were a curse amongst her family, for it was a wreath of winter roses that crowned her aunt Lyanna at the tourney of Harrenhal. They were the catalyst that pushed her family almost into extinction: her aunt stolen, her grandfather executed, and her uncle strangled to death. Nothing good came from winter roses, and she didn’t think Torrhen’s would bode any better. Honestly, she just wished he would leave her alone.
Pushing the thoughts of flowers from her mind, she turned to the problem at hand. There would be yet another feast tonight, as the King and his men were able to bring back a mighty boar. This apparently was worthy of a celebration, an utter waste in her opinion. Alys wanted to avoid any and all attention though. She wouldn’t drink more than a cup of wine, and she would not have a repeat of last week's celebrations. In fact, she had wanted to skip the affair entirely, but her Uncle Benjen had promised her a dance. She wouldn’t, couldn’t miss that for the world.
Uncle Benjen was her only living uncle, or rather the only one she knew of. He was a man of the Night’s Watch, and was only excused from his duties of guarding the Wall because of King Robert’s visit, there was something more to her Uncle being allowed to attend but she didn’t really care to think on the matter. Uncle Benjen was here and that was enough. She hadn’t seen him in the seven years since Bran was born. He was one of the only people she could say was staunchly on her side. Lady Stark obviously favored her children, but due to the Lord Stark’s effort to not make waves with his wife and their marriage, he had often tried compromise and appeasem*nt when it came to arguments in the family. No one ever fought for her except for her Uncle Benjen, not even Robb.
She wondered if her other ‘uncle’ would have protected her just as fiercely. If the rumors about her birth were true, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, would have been her uncle. He was the greatest swordsman of the time, and said to be the deadliest of the seven knights who made up Aerys’ Kingsguard. Yet Ser Arthur was dead, and like her mother was as well. That was another thing that made her upset with her father. He spoke nothing of her mother, so all she could do was guess. And when guessing and imaging became too painful for her heart, Alys tried to forget she had a mother at all.
Shaking her thoughts of her mother, she thought back to the feast tonight. Torrhen would surely ask her for a dance, and there was nothing she wanted to do less. With every touch of his palm, his body on hers, she felt the noose around her neck tighten. Soon it felt like the floorboards would open and she'd be strangled entirely. Her dream of freedom was going up in a cloud of smoke. The flowers caught her eyes again, the red of the leaves as dark as freshly spilled blood. A shiver rode down her spine and ice filled her veins. Something would happen tonight, she was sure of it.
Edmure
Edmure loved and hated feasts in equal measure. He loved the music and the dancing, but he hated the political maneuvering that always came with such an event. And tonight political moves would be made left, right, and center. His sister said they would announce both engagements, the first between his niece, Sansa, to Prince Joffrey, and for Lady Alys to some fourth or third son of Karstark, tonight. And Eddard, his sister’s husband, would be announced as the new Hand of the King. The Starks would become a very, very powerful house. Not that his brother-in-law properly used his friendship with the King to begin with, preferring to stay in the North isolated from the rest of the world. Now it seemed the rest of the world was coming to him.
Eddard had taken Edmure aside and gave him a warning lecture that would put Edmure’s father to shame the day before the last of King Robert’s hunts began. He has asked him to meet in his solar with a tone in his voice that made Edmure feel like he was being sent to his father after a rather poor remark to one of his teachers. Except the man behind the door wasn’t his father, and instead a man who thought he’d dishonored his daughter. Despite his relation to the man’s wife, he was still just minutes away from turning violent.
“Did you do it?” Eddard had ground out.
He had tried to not feel insulted, “Of course not.”
But the man didn’t relax and the frown on his face only deepened, “You will speak nothing of the incident with Alys, you will leave her alone and stay far, far away.”
Edmure could only agree, and he sought to do just that. Although he had made himself scarce from the Lady, his mind could not stray from her despite all his urgings. He couldn’t forget the way the torch light made her eyes shine like violets, or her strong will when trying to spurn him away. She didn’t seem at all the lustful monster Cat had made her out to be. And, he thought reluctantly, he was attracted to her, at least in a way that he was attracted to all pretty girls. But besides his attraction, she intrigued him more than anything else. It would pass, he knew, but for now she clung to his thoughts.
Eyeing her from his table he noticed that she was seated far closer to him than she had been at any other feast. She was right next to the Karstark boy, a predicament she seemed most annoyed with if the tightness of which she clutched her glass, and the rigidness of her spine were any indicator. The boy, for his part, didn’t seem to notice, crowding into her space with little care. It was almost like the boy thought himself entitled to her. Everytime his gaze flickered over to the young couple, the boy was touching Alys in a different way. First his hand on her arm, then his entire body squished against her, and then for a very brief moment a hand on her leg.
Ignore it, he thought to himself. They will be engaged by the end of the night.
Yet the sight of it bothered him. And an uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. Regardless if they were to be engaged or not by the night’s end, no man should treat a woman in such a way. Not when such advances were clearly unwanted. Ignore it.
And so he did, at least for a short while. He let the music and ale carry him away until he couldn’t remember why he had been so on edge. Every so often he snuck glances at the table where Alys sat, but did nothing more than that. He noticed the way she shifted away every so often, how she avoided the Karstark’s gaze, and how ever so often she’d look around the hall as if searching for something before turning back to her plate. The matter didn’t seem resolved, but at least the situation hadn’t gotten any worse. Besides, Robb was there, and if he were anything like Cat said he was he wouldn’t let anything happen to his sister.
He was well into his cups before he noticed she had moved to the dance floor, and it was clear she had been dancing for quite awhile with the flush in her face. His nephew was nowhere to be seen but the girl was dancing with her uncle, a bright smile plastered on her face. He couldn’t help but admire her. She was very beautiful when she smiled.
“What are you doing?”
Ah yes, he had forgotten that he was sitting next to Cat, and it seems she had caught him in his admiration for the bastard. At least Eddard was too absorbed in his conversation with the King to notice. That could’ve been disastrous.
Downing the rest of his cup, he turned to her. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, Cat.” Playing dumb hadn’t served him well before, but he was beyond the point of caring.
And based on the look on her face, his sister knew better than to believe him, “I believe my husband and I told you to leave her alone.”
“Since when is it a crime to admire a beautiful girl?”
She whispered, “Since she is to be engaged. Tonight. Have you no shame?”
Edmure could barely keep from rolling his eyes. If he didn’t he knew they would have rolled out of his head. “I at least have more shame then that boy does.”
At that his sister grimaced, “He is… overly excited at the prospect of being married. Nonetheless, he is to be her husband.”
Edmure hummed to himself, “Well she certainly seems pleased.”
Choosing to ignore his sarcasm, “Yes, well. We thought it best to wait to tell her.”
He paused, and turned to look at his sister, but she was not looking at him. She was staring intently ahead.
“What do you mean by that? When did you tell her?”
But his sister didn’t answer him, and that uneasy feeling grew in his stomach once more.
“When did you tell her, Catelyn? Please tell me you’ve told her. The announcement is to be made within the hour.”
A flood of emotions came at him at once. First astonishment, he couldn’t believe his sister, no, he couldn’t believe her husband. For a man who supposedly cared for his daughter, he had an odd way of showing it. The next emotion that hit him was rage. He remembered a different time, a different girl. Lysa, their sister, had the same happen to her. He was young at the time, too young to fully understand what was happening. But he knew how Lysa felt, how devastated she was when she found out she was to be married to Jon Arryn, a man who was older than father. He remembered the feast and how it was announced that while Cat would marry Eddard, Lysa would marry him, a man thrice her age. He remembered the tears that welled up in her eyes, despite her fighting to keep them in, and how she locked herself in her room after. How he could hear her sobs through the door and how they didn’t stop until her wedding day.
He knew his father could be heartless, but he had expected more from Catelyn. Did she truly hate the girl so much?
“Edmure-”
He found himself disgusted with her, and stood. He didn’t care for what she had to say, Lady Alys had a right to know. He wished it didn’t have to be him, but the Gods didn’t seem to care much for what he wished.
He began to make his way to the girl who had just stopped dancing with her Uncle, he could see the Karstark boy moving towards her, he had to get there first.
Edmure stumbled his way over. Barely stopping for every almost fall. When he suddenly tripped. Glancing up, he saw that the Karstark boy had already reached Alys, and he didn’t like what he saw.
The boy was asking her something, probably for a dance, but Alys had grown pale, her lips parted and her eyes wide. She looked at the head table, up to her father who had finally broken out of his conversation with the King. He looked remorseful , but his gaze did not waiver. Daughter and father were in a standoff for what seemed like forever, when finally Alys tore her eyes away and Edmure saw the tears start to well up. Ignoring the boy’s hand, she pushed past him and ran out of the hall.
