Chapter Two. Claw of Crowds

♛

THE BANQUET HALL OF WINTERFELL was hot, suffocating, smelling of piss and wine. Allise fiddled with her cup, squished between two young squires arguing over her head about which one of them the Queen would give herself to first. Allise bent her head lower, just about ready to elbow the both of them and report them to the King herself.

Though knowing Robert, he would probably just laugh and pat each boy on the back for a good joke. Her grip tightened on the cup, water spilling over the side, cool tendrils of liquid rushing down her hands in rivulets.

It felt like blood.

The procession for the King had long ended, the night wasting away into an onslaught of drunken frivolities. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, all except the Starks and the Lannisters. Allise craned her neck to see the high table where her mother sat alongside Lady Catelyn. Her uncles were noticeably absent. Tyrion was likely off in town trying to find the nearest brothel, and Jaime was no doubt sizing up the other knights that drank with him. King Robert was howling and grasping at one of the serving girls.

Allise swallowed the lump starting to form in her throat and went back to surveying her own table. Here sat the unimportant ones, those forgotten in the hall of honour. There was no one to watch these men, so they did whatever they liked. Boys her age came back to their seats with flagons of wine the size of their heads. The table was littered with half-eaten chicken and bread crumbs littered the floor.

Opposite her, Jon Snow drank his share of summerwine, cheeks gone red from the heat. Allise watched him, waiting. It was a strange thing, seeing another bastard like her, one raised in a noble house instead of thrown out into the mud. Still, Allise suspected he'd had a much more peaceful upbringing among his siblings than she had. None of the Stark children even came close to the cruelty Joffrey exuded on the daily.

Like he could sense her watching, Jon Snow turned and caught her gaze. Allise held it. He was older than her by four years, already a grown man. Though she had a vaster knowledge of things than most at fourteen, Allise found she had no idea what happened to bastards when they grew up, especially those born to men like Eddard Stark.

Maybe he could become a knight, though it was unlikely, or he would find work in Winterfell, or perhaps as a free rider along the Kingsroad. Allise didn't need to wonder what would become of her when she turned eighteen.

Jon Snow twisted away as another man, dressed in the unmistakable black of the Night's Watch, sat down beside him. The boy's face changed, and he immediately gripped the man in a fierce hug.

Allise took a sip from her cup. The heat swelled, so did the music, as the welcoming feast passed into its 4th hour. The weight of the smoke and stench of food fogged up Allise's mind, her limbs growing heavy under the weight of her gown. Under thick black curls, sweat beaded along her neck like an insect.

The King roared again. Her mother sat stoic and uncomfortable. The squires had begun to notice Allise between them.

It was all too much.

Even though no one was listening, Allise muttered an excuse and hastily got up from the bench, hiking up her skirts and stumbling into the walkway between tables. Men watched as she passed, and every time it happened Allise declared a curse upon them. She wasn't sure whether she believed in the old gods or the new, but for men like that, she could make an exception.

Allise heaved as the fresh night air hit her face like a passing wave. Out in the yard, Allise loosened the collar of her gown, splaying her fingers through her hair. They came away hot and greasy. If her mother saw her now, melting under her layers, Cersei would have scolded her to no end.

    Even if Allise was just a bastard, appearances meant everything to women of the court, especially Cersei Lannister. Allise smoothed out her curls and the waist of her gown, ignoring the itch that came from the heat of the Great Hall.

    A crash sounded from behind her, back the way she'd come. Allise whirled around to see Jon Snow, fumbling and bleary eyed stalking into the yard. She thought about moving into the shadows of the stables, but she wasn't quick enough, and the Stark bastard stopped dead when he saw her.

    Her teeth hacked into the soft of her tongue.

    Jon wiped his sleeve across his face, and in the light that spilled from the windows of the hall, she saw tears glistening on his cheeks. She knew better than to ask why he'd been crying.

    "What are you looking at?" Jon hissed. Allise kept her face passive.

    "You," She responded shortly. "You're Jon Snow, right?" The boy eyed her cautiously, swaying on his feet. He nodded.

    "You're the Queen's bastard." Allise copied the look Jon had given her, nodding. Jon scowled and moved over to the stables, flitting his hands over pieces of loose straw.

    There were so many things Allise wanted to say, questions and contemplations she'd thought of since learning of his existence. She wanted to know if he felt what she did, if he knew what it was like to live as a bastard just as she did. But now that they were alone, conversation ripe for the taking, Allise was at a loss for words.

    And Jon Snow clearly wasn't in the mood for heart-felt discussion.

    The uneasy silence was short lived as the voice of Allise's uncle rang out behind Jon. "Boy," Tyrion emerged from the darkness of the stables. In his hands was a book she'd already read and recommended to him. Allise grinned at her uncle, but Jon looked like a trapped deer between the two. Tyrion inclined his head toward his niece in greeting, but his attention was focused more on the boy than on her.

    Allise was fine with that. If someone paid attention to her for too long, her entire body would become wrack with shakes.

    "You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?" Tyrion asked. Jon pressed his lips together. Allise went to study her hands, but continued to witness the exchange as a silent onlooker. "Did I offend you? Sorry. Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head." Allise smirked at the ground. "You are the bastard, though."

    Only Tyrion could say such a thing without making it seem like a fault.

    "Lord Eddard Stark is my father." Jon answered.

    "Yes. I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers." Tyrion said.

    "Half brothers." Jon answered. At this, he glanced back to where Allise still stood. She shared a look with Tyrion.

    Her uncle cleared his throat. "Let me give you some counsel, bastard, one I've already given sweet Allise," he said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it can never be used to hurt you."

    Tyrion was right. She'd heard a variation of those same words before, back at the Red Keep, after a particularly nasty run-in with Joffrey, who nearly had one of his knights cut out her tongue for taking something she said out of context. The Hound, not even sparing a glance her way, was the one to stop it, though she couldn't remember how. All she could remember were the tears and sobs into her pillow afterwards.

    She'd known it was foolish, she should pluck up and dry her eyes. But Allise had been doing that since the moment she was born. She couldn't stay impassive forever. Tyrion had come to her the next morning, hands gripping her own as he told of the armour bastards wore every single day. Of the warrior she could become if she only put her mind to it.

    "It's true," Allise tried weakly, but Jon Snow was having none of the advice they gave him. He bristled under his leathers and pulled at the straw more fervently.

    Jon stared down at Tyrion. "What do you know about being a bastard?" Her breath hitched.

    "All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes," Tyrion answered quickly.

    Jon seemed confused. "You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister." Allise held back a snort.

    "Am I? Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure."

    "I don't even know who my mother was."

    "Nor I my father," Allise said, and Jon stiffened. "We're not so different."

    Tyrion waddled forward and clasped Allise's arm where he could reach it. "Remember this boy; all dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." Then he pulled Allise away and back towards the feast. She looked over her shoulder to Jon still motionless in the yard, then to her uncle.

"You are the truest born Lannister I've ever met." she said.

    This earned her a laugh worthy of a thousand pieces of gold.

♛

Allise's rooms in Winterfell were grey and brown and covered in fur pelts. But despite the provocation, the rooms were surprisingly warm. It had been two days since the welcoming feast, and Allise spent most of them wandering the halls and going into town. While they were here, her family didn't seem to care where she went or what she did. Allise was free to do as she pleased.

Their first night, she and Tyrion walked to the library, a vast hall filled with large tomes. Cracked spines and the smell of dust haunted their every step as she and her uncle poured over pages they never would've been able to read otherwise.

So far, it was her favourite place in all of Winterfell.

Her second favourite was down close to the armoury, squires and stableboys milling about. All the odd characters were down there, men hardened from war with stories to tell. She would have sat beside them for hours, listening to their tales of battle and glory and gore. She didn't care if the men found it amusing she listened so intently. Tyrion had always said to keep her ears open, to listen and learn, so that was exactly what she did.

Allise walked through the strip now, sun hidden behind fat silver clouds. Smoke rose from chimneys, and the air was leaden with the scent of steel and oil.

Allise stopped in front of one of the buildings, where a newly made broadsword was laid out without its scabbard. The metalwork was beyond anything she'd seen in King's Landing, though the smithy's there should have had more resources, the Northerners seemed to take more pride in the armour they created.

Everything here was well taken care of, more than back home, and no one was neglected. Not even bastards.

The shifting of tiles brought Allise's eyes to the top of the building, where her breath caught in her throat.

There was a boy standing on the roof of the armoury. Allise took a step back. He was slim, younger than her with hair down to his shoulders. He had the same weathered look every Northerner up here had, but this boy was clearly well off, better than some of the others Allise had seen. She raised a quizzical brow, hands clasped together by her waist. The chill breeze ruffled the bottom of her dress, but thankfully, it did not cut through her thick wools.

"Hi!" the boy chirped, and Allise had an overwhelming sense of familiarity. But he looked like so many other Northern boys she couldn't quite place where she'd seen him before.

That was, until, the boy plunked down onto the roof, feet dangling over the edge, and asked, "You're the Queen's Bastard, aren't you?" She was reminded of the afternoon they'd arrived, the Starks lined up in the courtyard to greet their King. and there, at the end, was this same boy.

Allise nodded wearily. "And you're Brandon Stark," The boy made a face.

"Bran." He corrected. Allise smiled. Bran talked with a soft respect, even to her, a bastard, which was enough to tell her exactly the kind of boy he was.

"Why are you all the way up there?" she asked. Bran shrugged, curling into himself, as if embarrassed to answer.

"I enjoy climbing," he replied in earnest. "I like to explore." Allise thought of home, the winding passageways spun throughout the Red Keep, and her secret outings into the city when she was able. Allise had always felt more at home with the civilians than in the palace.

"But you've lived here all your life," she said. "Don't you know it all already?"

Bran shrugged and looked at her with a puzzled expression. "There's always more to explore." he answered. Allise's grin widened. Now this was something she could agree on.

"I like to explore too," she said after a moment. Bran's face lit up like a bonfire. "Back at my home."

"I've always wanted to go to King's Landing!" Bran said excitedly. "What's it like?"

Allise paused. What was King's Landing like? Allise had lived there all her life, so surely she would know her home better than anyone. She could have told him any number of things. How the markets by Blackwater Bay were an explosion of colour and culture every month, people of all kinds coming from across the Narrow Sea to sell their goods. How on the hottest of days, men, women, and children alike would go swimming off the coast, and after they'd cooled off, would drink cold tea and lemon cakes on the stone walls until nighttime. How every day there was something new to look at in King's Landing, some excitingly fresh adventure to go on.

But then Allise thought of the brothels clumped together on nearly every street, the beggars and burglars down in Flea Bottom, the men with rotting teeth that groped any woman who walked by. She thought about the ugliness of the poorer neighbourhoods, the ones neglected by the King and his coffers. How on every corner, there was always a corpse which hadn't been cleared away yet.

Allise didn't have the heart to tell Bran what King's Landing was really like. She couldn't even admit it to herself.

"It's–" Allise started, "It's exactly what the stories claim." Bran didn't seem overly pleased with her answer, but didn't inquire further. He sat perched on the roof, as if waiting for something. Allise didn't know what to say.

Something furry brushed against Allise's leg, and she jerked away, gasping. A wolfling, almost as tall as Allise's leg, panted at her heels. It was pale brown with a creamy underside and wide, baleful eyes. Allise stood stock still, watching as the pup opened its jaws and snapped them back shut.

"Don't!" came Bran's voice from above. Allise looked up, but saw that he wasn't talking to her, he was talking to the wolf. "Don't!" he called again, "She's a friend. Sit!" Astonishingly, the wolf did as he asked. Allise stared at the creature, apprehensive as to whether a small boy like Bran could control such a thing.

"Are they yours?" Allise asked, halting on each word to see if the wolf would move.

"Yes," Bran's voice came from beside Allise's ear. He now stood next  to her, and moved to pet the wolf behind the ears. "He's my Direwolf." Allise had heard the word before, but tales of such animals were the stuff of legends, nothing like what she saw in front of her now.

"What's his name?" Allise asked, instead of what was really plaguing her mind: where had he come from?

"I–I don't know yet," Bran answered, cheeks reddening. "I haven't decided."

"Oh," Allise said. "Is he–can I pet him?" Bran nodded, though he didn't seem so sure of himself. Allise took a tentative step forward, going down on one knee, disregarding the mud that seeped into her grey dress. The wolf stiffened, but didn't move as Bran kept one hand firmly on the back of his neck. Allise tried to calm her nerves, knowing that if she showed fear, the wolf would sense it.

She smiled, taking her hand from the inside of her cloak, and turned it palm upward in front of the animal. The Direwolf reared back, only for a moment, before pressing his muzzle into her hand. Allise let her fingers relax as the wolf caught her scent, with Bran watching agitatedly next to her.

The wolf licked her fingers, tongue rough against her skin. Then he placed one paw on Allise's knee and tried to kiss her face. Allise laughed and stood back up, the wolf wrenching out of Bran's grasp and circling Allise, trying to jump up on her. Allise petted the wolf between his ears.

"He likes you," Bran remarked.

"I like him," Allise said, her voice light. "His eyes are like the sun." Bran puzzled over his wolf, playing with the tuft of fur on the top of his head. Then Bran stared up at her, his own eyes as dark as cedar wood.

"Shouldn't you be with your siblings?" Bran inquired. Allise hadn't been expecting that sort of question.

"They're not my siblings, not really," she said, "I am a bastard."

Bran didn't seem to understand. "But my– Jon is a bastard, and he's still my brother." Allise looked down to the wolf, who'd gone serenely quiet. How was she supposed to tell Bran that his father was the only exception when it came to bastards? That everywhere else in the Seven Kingdoms it was not so easy to live with a name like Snow or Waters.

Allise crossed her arms. "Why do you really climb, Brandon Stark?" she asked, needing to change the subject.

Bran shrugged. "I guess I feel like it." Allise nodded, but pursed her lips, because they both knew he was lying.

The reason he climbed was the same reason she roamed: to run away.

    Allise left Bran to his climbing shortly after. Winterfell was noticeably empty of the men that had travelled with Allise and the King. He and Eddard Stark had taken most of them on a hunt which started at dawn. Everyone who was anyone had gone with them, even Tyrion, leaving Allise more secluded than she'd been before, so the encounter with Bran was more than welcome.

    He was sweet, if not a little eager, but smarter than the other boys his age. Four years younger and already ready to become a knight, given how energetic he was to move. Allise had enjoyed the conversation more than she wanted to admit, and almost didn't leave him. But Bran seemed intent on travelling only by rooftop, and even if she was physically able, Allise's dress would never allow her to follow him.

    So she continued on, down into the lower part of Winterfell. The cold was more bearable at this time of day, the mud not as wet from the morning showers. Allise stopped by the side of the road to let a wagon pass, and pressed her back against the mossy stones, glancing upward. A crow cawed from one of the high towers, its shrieks piercing the easy air like a knife. Allise grinned, taking in air past the bottom of her lungs, soaking in the scent and feel of Winterfell like her chest was a cage, and she could trap the memory of this place inside it.

    Maybe this was what freedom felt like.

Allise let the harsh sunlight cast spots across her eyes. Back in King's Landing, Allise had thought she knew what freedom could mean. When she was careful enough, she could almost blend into the walls, the background. The passageways were her hidden territory, and no one ever seemed to notice when she disappeared. But it still wasn't freedom, not truly, because back at the Red Keep there were eyes everywhere.

    Allise knew those who sat on the Small Council had spies of their own; the perfumed and bald Varys who pinched the bridge of her nose whenever they crossed paths, calling her his little bird; the King's brother, Renly, who appeared harmless enough, but Allise could never be sure; there had been Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, a kind and solemn man now dead and the reason for their visit; Grand Maester Pycelle made Allise shiver every time he turned his ancient gaze on her; finally, Littlefinger, oval-faced and sharp as a wick, Allise often wasn't sure if he was being serious or simply making a joke whenever they crossed paths.

    It was Littlefinger who unnerved her the most. He always seemed to know where she stood in a room whenever in each other's presence. It didn't happen often, but when it did, Littlefinger found her conversation an endless source of entertainment. She didn't know whether to be flattered or nervous.

    The crow from above called again, but this time it's shrieks seemed to cut right into Allise's heart. There was something strangling its call. A moment later, the howl of a wolf pierced through the day, and Allise propped herself up from the wall.

    The wolf cried again, and did not let up for the next few minutes. Allise, along with some of the others that milled about, stopped what they were doing. It was clear wolf howls were not common.

    Shouts sounded from around the bend. The pounding of footsteps, and then someone called for Lady Catelyn.

    Something was definitely wrong.

    Allise followed the crowd of curious souls and wound through the streets, hair uncoiling from her head in waves. She followed the sounds of the wolf, so pained and tortured it was if they were human, wailing for some lost loved one.

    The source of the noise came from the bottom of the broken watchtower. Allise had to claw her way through the crowds, stepping lightly around the ones who didn't notice her, until she made it to the front of the throng.

    There was a body crumpled at the base of the tower, Eddard Stark's men clambered around him. Allise's eyes widened. Long black hair, a round but intelligent face. About four years younger than she was. And there, sitting beside the broken body, howling into the heavens, was Bran Stark's wolf.

♛

    Allise hadn't eaten in days. When she did, the food came up into her chamberpot later, sour and swimming with bits of shame. Her body was an empty shell, wracked with grief she wasn't equipped to deal with. It had been two days since Allise's chance meeting with Bran Stark, two days since she'd recklessly left him to climb. Two days since he'd fallen from the broken tower and into a coma the Maester's said he might never wake from.

    Whatever festivities had been planned were subsequently forgotten, the whole of Winterfell settling into an uneasy quiet. The King's visit no longer seemed as important as the life of the boy, or at least, that was how Allise saw it.

    To think that only moments before his treacherous climb, she had been laughing with Bran, talking with him like they were old friends instead of a bastard and a nobleman's son. All she could think about was the light in his eyes when he talked about exploring his home, the excitement to finally see King's Landing when they travelled back South. A fresh round of tears burned Allise's eyelids as she leaned against one of many stables, preparing herself for the rest of the day.

    She knew the tears wouldn't fall. She would keep them close and unbidden, so her mother wouldn't see how much Bran's demise had affected her. It was her fault. Allise frowned to the mud under her boots. She could have stayed with him, made sure he didn't do anything stupid. Somewhere in the castle, a wolf howled.

    "Ah, bastard," Allise closed her eyes, steeling herself and putting away the tears as Joffrey's snivelling voice cut through her thoughts. "I thought I might find you here. In with the muck and dirt. Fitting, isn't it?"

    Allise turned to greet her half-brother. He stood cloaked and proud-chested, already dressed in his riding leathers. Today was the day they left for King's Landing. If you had asked Allise three days ago, she would have wished to stay in Winterfell for longer, maybe forever. Now all she wanted was to leave.

    The Hound stood imposing behind Joffrey, and did not meet her eyes when she looked at him.

    "That damned wolf." Joffrey stated as the howls came again.

    The Hound cut in. "The boy is a long time dying. I wish he would be quicker about it."

    "You can't mean that." Allise replied, her tone harsher than was usual. Joffrey's eyes darkened, but the Hound seemed unimpressed by her rebuttal.

    Joffrey hissed. "At least he dies quietly. It's the wolf that makes the noise. I could scarce sleep last night."

    "I could silence the creature, if it please you." the Hound told Joffrey. Allise's inside turned to water.

    "Direwolves are sacred in the North," she blurted. "Your lady Sansa has a wolf," A part of her knew she should've stopped talking, but there were times that Allise couldn't help her ramblings. It was as if all the knowledge inside her was boiling up, spilling out of her in waves she couldn't control. "To kill her brother's would be dishonourable." Joffrey glowered at her, but she could tell he understood her meaning. She couldn't tell what the Hound was thinking.

    "You can't talk to me like that," Joffrey pointed out, spitting in Allise's face. "The lot of them should die, it would do my lady good." He took a step toward her. "If you care so much about the creature, perhaps I'll have my dog dispense of you as well." The Hound put a hand atop his sword, but Allise had a feeling it wasn't for her.

    Joffrey seemed to have heard his own threat, and moved back. Allise let out a sigh. Joffrey may have been insipid, and delighted in the idea of hurting her, but to kill the Queen's Bastard could still be considered treason.

    Joffrey decided to ignore what he'd told her, and went back to rambling about the animals. "Winterfell is so infested with wolves, the Starks would never miss one."

    "I beg to differ, nephew," Allise was spared an answer as Tyrion strode towards them, coming from the way of the library. "The Starks can count past six. Unlike some princes I might know." Joffrey blushed. Allise had half a mind to disappear before he remembered she was still with him.

    Tyrion didn't give her the chance. "And my beloved niece!" He made to kiss the top of Allise's hand, which was cold and as clammy as a summer storm. Allise smiled, as resolutely as she could muster.

    "Joffrey," Now it was her half-brother who wanted to disappear. "It is past time you called on Lord Eddard and his lady, to offer them your comfort."

    Joffrey was petulant. "What good will my comfort do them?" Allise bit her tongue so hard the musty tang of hot blood filled her senses.

    "None," Tyrion replied. "Yet it is expected of you. Your absence has already been noted."

    Allise was once again in steep gratitude to her uncle. Only he could speak to Joffrey like the imprudent boy prince he was and not have the Hound take his head clean off. Allise strived to be able to talk as mighty as a king one day. She knew it would only ever happen in her dreams.

    What she did not strive for, however, was the kind of bravery to reach up and slap Joffrey across the cheek. The prince cried out and gripped his face like Tyrion had used claws to rip up his skin.

    "One word," Tyrion warned. "And I'll hit you again."

    "I'm telling Mother!" Joffrey wailed. Even though she knew it was incredibly rude, Allise hid a smile by turning to face the training yard. Tyrion slapped him again.

    "You tell your mother," Tyrion jested. "But first you will go to Lord and Lady Stark, and you will fall to your knees in front of them, and you will tell them how very sorry you are, and that you are at their service if there is the slightest thing you can do for them or theirs in this desperate hour, and that all your prayers will go with them. Do you understand? Do you?"

    At that moment, Tyrion didn't seem small. It looked as if he could conquer the Seven Kingdoms if he truly put his mind to it.

    Joffrey nodded weakly, then marched away, humiliated, half his face turning a mottled red. Allise peered down at her uncle, but an even bigger shadow fell across Tyrion as the Hound stepped up behind her. "The prince will remember that, little Lord." Allise couldn't help the shudder which ran through her. The Hound's laugh was garbled by his helm, turning him more beast than man.

    "I pray he does," Tyrion said. "If he forgets, be a good dog and remind him." He glanced between Allise and the Hound. "Do you know where I might find my brother?" Allise shook her head. In all honesty, she had been avoiding her mother and other uncle as best she could for the past couple of days.

    "Breaking fast with the Queen." The Hound replied. Tyrion nodded.

    "Are you coming, Allise?" Tyrion asked purely out of good grace, but she suspected he already knew her answer.

    "No," she said quietly. "Thank you uncle, but I must get ready for the journey, and..." Tyrion raised a brow. "Visit Bran one last time." If Tyrion could hear the broken notes of her voice, he did not show it. Her uncle nodded and sauntered away. Allise did the same, not wanting to be alone with the Hound for more than a few seconds.

    In truth, Allise had packed all of her things the night before, her room a barren wasteland, with only the essentials left. She'd gotten too comfortable in the walls of Winterfell, finding belonging where she shouldn't have. She'd forgotten that bastards had no home.

    Allise climbed slowly up the steps to Bran's sickroom. She had taken these stairs before, the first night of Bran's coma, but his siblings were there, and she hadn't worked up the courage to go inside. She wasn't even sure Lady Catelyn would let her.

    She still had to try, if only to quell her conscience. Servants and knights walked past her as Allise made it to the landing. The door was open, but no sound came from within. Allise placed a tentative hand on the wood and pushed it open even more. Inside, the room was so hot it made her gag. The windows were shut tight, dampening the sound of the wolf howls down below. Allise took a step forward.

    "What are you doing here?" Lady Catelyn sat straight-backed in her chair at Bran's side. In her hands were straw and wood crafted to resemble one of the new gods, the ones Allise didn't know. She swallowed, her throat thick.

    "I came to offer–"

    "I know what you offer," Catelyn hissed. "It's what everyone else offers," Allise pursed her lips. "But why you?"

    Allise had never heard a thicker sort of silence.

    "I–I was with him," Catelyn jerked her head. "Before he went off climbing the tower. I didn't know he wasn't supposed to climb." Catelyn was shaking now, her eyes wild and fixed on Allise's quivering mouth. "I am so sorry, my Lady. I should have stayed with him. If I had–" She couldn't finish, casting her gaze to the floor.

    There were footsteps at the door. Alise turned to see Lord Eddard standing by, his face stricken. She curtsied, then looked at Bran. She wanted to go to him, but by the look Catelyn gave her, if she stayed even a moment longer, she couldn't determine what would happen.

    Allise went to the door, and could sense Lord Eddard watching her. She met his eyes.

    In them was a softness no one but her mother had ever shared. It made Allise want to cry. "My Lord," she said, voice hoarse. "I congratulate you on the honour of King's Hand." Eddard regarded her curiously before replying.

    "Thank you, Lady Allise." She tightened her jaw. He knew her name? And had grace enough to call her lady.

    "I'm so sorry for what has happened," she said, barely a whisper.

    Then she scampered out the door and down the steps.

The burn of Catelyn's glare and the intrigue of Eddard's followed Allise all the way back to her rooms and out into the grasslands as the King and company set out on their journey back to the South.

♛ AUTHOR'S NOTE

i. chapter two baby!! i am SO inspired for this fic right now so expect more chapters to come. this was like the previous one in setting up allise's relationships with other characters. one character in particular is bran, who you might have guessed will be allise's love interest in the book, but their romance doesn't happen until WAYYYY later because their stories are going to be spread apart for a while, but get excited for when it eventually does happen because they are ADORABLE.

ii. next chapter will be set on the kingsroad, which i'm hoping to get through quick because i want to get to king's landing, where allise's real home is, and all the exciting stuff which is going to happen there!! if you couldn't already tell, she's going to be one hell of a nuisance for the small council andddd all the other prominent political players so GET READY.

iii. thank you so much for reading!! mwah mwah