Chapter Three. Knights of the Wood

♛

THE WAY BACK TO KING'S Landing felt twice as long and infinitely less exciting.

Allise, barred from travelling with her mother and half-siblings in the wheelhouse, spent most of her time on horseback, taking up the rear of the caravan. When they would finally stop to rest, she would need to be helped from her horse, legs chafed and muscles spasming from the long hours. Her tent was propped at the far end where the noblemen camped, sharing it with several maidservants, though they were always too busy during the day and Allise could barely sleep during the night. Instead, she spent her evenings by one of the many fires set around them, reading or watching the flames until her eyes bled.

The camp was achingly lonely without Tyrion to keep her company. On the journey North, they had sat together —when he wasn't off finding the nearest brothel— sharing stories with some of the knights, even sneaking her sips of wine when no one was looking. And when Tyrion wasn't around, there was so much to explore, her first outing beyond the walls of King's Landing. The abandoned halls and cobbled inns, the farms they passed and the countryside sprawling leagues ahead of them. Though the death of Jon Arryn was still fresh, and the usual torment followed her, the blisters from her horse and bile that came with her name were nothing compared to the sights of the Kingsroad.

Now, everything was as it had been. She knew the places they stopped at, the sights all blurred together, and the stares were starting to get on her nerves.

The fires were burning now, raucous laughs echoing from around the camp. They were stopped at one of the bigger inns along the Kingsroad, an old cobbled building with three floors of the most intriguing characters Allise had ever met. Or had met. Now those people were gone, the inn occupied by lewd knights and old farmhands. There were no new stories, only tired ones.

Allise poured over her book, tucking her neck into the fur of her cloak. They were travelling to warmer climates now, but the chill of the North still clung to her like a wet cloth. It tasted of the chill in the morning, the frost in the window panes, and bitter longing clawed at her chest. At least I still have the trees, she thought, everywhere in the world I have the trees.

"There you are, bastard," Allise did not look up as the coarse voice punctured the night's bliss. She turned a page carefully, keeping still even as embers floated from the fire, the dry pages under her finger at risk of catching aflame. Allise had never been one to fear the fire, for it could chase away the coldest of chills, and most of the time it could be contained. The words started to smudge in front of her eyes, but Allise had no intention of continuing to read, she just wanted the sworn sword to fidget, as he so often made her.

"Oh, great Lady Allise," the sardonic voice drawled, closer now.

"Ser Eustace Flowers," Allise responded, though he was anything but. She turned her head only slightly, to where the warrior stood greying and hunched despite his thirty years. The bastard was sworn to the Lannisters, a troublesome man who had proved himself worthy when fighting in one of the king's many tourneys. Allise remembered when he was crowned champion, this unassuming man who celebrated as if he had been pledged into the Kingsguard, not simply another sword for her grandfather.

She didn't remember the first time Eustace had sought her out, or why, though she suspected it was because they shared a similarity through blood, and Allise soon came to find Eustace loved anything that reminded him of himself.

Leave me alone, she wanted to scream, but bit down on her tongue and waited. Eustace groaned as he sat beside her, rubbing his callused hands together over the open fire and licked his chapped lips. Allise pursed her own, watching him from the corner of her eye.When the man finally turned her way, she began to count the blades of grass under her feet.

"What are you reading today?" Eustace asked. Allise closed her book, running a pale hand across the front cover.

"The same I was yesterday, and the day before, and the day before," she answered, to which Eustace groaned once more, and Allise's frown curled up to one side. "Mother allowed me only one." The frown returned, and she peered around, as if someone was hiding in the shadows. She wasn't sure why she added that last part.

Eustace stretched his stout legs and rubbed his stomach over his leathers. They were quite a pair, the comely girl with shining onyx hair and eyes of summer fields, the sworn sword with pocked skin and the odours of someone once great. As much as Allise tried to keep away from him, the entire camp seemed to know of the duo. It was the kind of attention which turned her cheeks an agonising red.

"Never got to call anyone my mother," Eustace broke the silence like a sword through stone. "You've got luck, bastard."

"I'm sure," Allise said. Despite no hint of amusement in her composure, Eustace let out a barking laugh that made Allise jump. He couldn't look at her with the tears in his eyes as he clapped her on the back.

"Are you sure you're the queen's child, sweetlin'?" Allise stiffened, shrugging off his hand and turning her full gaze on him.

"As sure as I am you are no true knight." She snapped, and the smile fell from Eustace's face. Allise's eyes shone bright as emeralds in the dusk light. Through the fractals of the sun's fading rays, her hair was almost golden, freckled cheeks sharp and square.

"Aye," Eustace said carefully, "It seems you are." He leant back, and Allise swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She could not look away fast enough, and tears welled in her eyes, but she willed them not to fall. The fire was dying in front of them, the true chill of night coming to claim the king's party.

"My apologies, Ser," she muttered.

"No need, you haven't said nothing but the truth," still, Allise could not help shivering at the steadiness in Eustace's voice. "Well, sweetlin', I best be going, before the others get some sort of ideas."

"What ideas would those be?" Allise dared to ask. Eustace stood slowly, his back popping as he spread his arms out to each side and arched his head to the sunless sky.

"Oh, you know, the sorts you'd understand as one thing and your mother quite another." Allise smiled, then quickly puckered her lips. It surprised her sometimes how articulate Eustace could be, when half the time he seemed the least distinguished man she'd ever met. She thought back to something Cersei had told her when Joffrey was being especially cruel. Her mother had taken Allise's cheek roughly and wiped the handkerchief over where her lip was split, and when her daughter winced at the pain, the Queen told her it was that sort of pain which distinguished women from the rest.

Men experience pain through wars, Cersei Lannister said with a gleam in her eyes, but women fight such battles every day. Underneath our skirts we are stronger than they, better men than they. So, sweet daughter, when you go out in your skirts, do not forget to wear your chain and mail as well.

"I would not be so sure." Allise contemplated after a moment, but by then Eustace was already sauntering away, and Allise sighed, though perhaps it was for the best.

Just as it had been, Allise Waters was alone, but for the first time in a while, she found she couldn't think of anything else but the company of others.

♛

As dawn broke, a rough shake to her shoulder pulled Allise wearily from sleep. She gasped lightly, wrenching herself away from whoever stood above and curled a fist into the folds of her cloak.

"Relax, Allise," a familiar drawl said through a yawn. "Have you been out here all morning?" She blinked, eyes crusted over with fatigue. Her neck was pulled taut, one side of her head pulsing acutely. She placed a hand against her temple, nose scrunched. When there were no longer stars swimming across her vision, Allise was allowed to address her visitor.

"Uncle," she murmured. "Forgive me, I..." but she trailed off, wincing as a cramp wracked up her left side.

"Decided the canvas of your tent more comfortable than a cot?" Jaime answered, amused to have caught her in such a humiliating state.

"No, I...I was reading and—"

"Get up." Allise did. Her knees weak, Jaime gripped her forearm tighter than was necessary. He was already dressed in his riding gear, a gold leather tunic with accents of red, sword sheathed by his side, though his Goldcloak armour was nowhere in sight. Allise patted her hair —now tangled and coming loose from its hairnet—, pulling her cloak stiff across her body.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," she said before Jaime could scold her further. "I couldn't sleep, I needed air, the others talked too much." She was referring to the female companions she shared her tent with, maidservants to the queen and princess.

Jaime's tight expression did not let up. "Get yourself cleaned up before anyone else sees you. We ride as soon as the king gets back."

Allise puzzled. "Where has he gone?"

"Out with the new Hand." The way Jaime's words slipped odiously at the mention of Eddard Stark was hard to miss.

"To discuss matters of importance?"

Jaime growled. "Never you mind. Go, before your mother catches you." He pushed her towards the tent, both hands against her shoulders. With Jaime there was never any sympathy, only discipline and sardonic amusement. Allise glowered, her back turned, as she stumbled into the now empty tent.

It was only until he pulled down the cover and left her in the hazy light Allise found her book still clenched in one hand, knuckles turning ghostly pale.

The King and Ned Stark still had not returned from their morning ride by the time she was ready. Allise did as her uncle bid, and was allowed a few precious moments alone in her tent before he rapped against the canvas, apparently waiting for her.

When she'd at last emerged, he took her towards the wheelhouse, though even with his careful saunter, it was a challenge to keep up. By the time they reached their destination, her cheeks were rosy, and sweat coated her brow. Jaime noticed this, taking her cheek roughly in his hand and wiping a leather sleeve across her face. As he did, her uncle frowned in a way Allise couldn't understand.

The wheelhouse was a giant thing, double-deckered and pulled by at least forty horses. She went over to one now, Jaime rolling his eyes. The horse was a black as rich as velvet, and it butted it's head against Allise's. She stroked it's luscious mane, twining it's hair with her fingers.

Her uncle cleared his throat. Allise stepped away from the horse quickly.

"Go," he said. "She's alone as of now." Allise couldn't help the faint grin worming it's way onto her hot face. They both knew what that meant: Cersei wanted to see her. Jaime said nothing more, leaving her outside the wheelhouse without looking back. Allise steeled herself, flattening her skirts and rubbing her eyes to drive the sleep out of her features. She took one last look at the horse, who stared at her with wide, baleful eyes, and stepped up into the wheelhouse.

There were no windows inside, the air hot with incense and musty smelling fabrics draped over every cushion. Gilded metal stairs spiraled upwards to the second floor, where Allise knew the royal children slept on soft cots. She climbed these steps now, holding her skirts to one side and gripping the railing tighter than was necessary. After a long time riding on a horse, such sturdy craft was foreign to Allise, and slightly uncomfortable.

Her mother was sitting on one of the cots, her skirts the deepest crimson, beautiful golden hair done up with jewels encrusted amongst the locks. From the side, Cersei Lannister was even more striking, her cheekbones glinting from the candlelight, eyes like emerald daggers. Allise thought of her own green eyes, and how they could never look as fearsome as the queen's.

"Your Grace," Allise said, and Cersei twisted in her seat, accusatory. She held her breath as her mother's eyes roamed over Allise's figure. Could she see the spot where the horse had burrowed it's snout into her hair, or the hastily done straps across her waist, the paper cuts on her fingernails.

But all Cersei said was. "Tommen won't stop fussing." Usually Allise would flinch at the sound of her mother's high-strung voice, but now it was as mellow as a cool summer breeze. Allise couldn't speak. There were shadows under Cersei's eyes, she now noticed, and her high cheekbones looked more skeletal than ethereal.

"All this travelling is not doing him well, I fear," she continued. "That fool of a man, running back to Stark like a dog for scraps." Allise had a feeling Cersei wasn't talking to her anymore. That's how it went with them, Allise the shadow her mother liked to forget, the phantom where Cersei could open her heart and nothing could ever go wrong.

"But Tommen loved the journey to Winterfell, he told me so." Allise said. Cersei flashed her a heavy glare that had her tongue lodge in her throat.

"I wanted to see if you could comfort him, as you always do, but Joffrey came and..." Cersei trailed off. "You were late." Allise sighed. The peace never lasted long when it was just her and her mother. Cersei always needed to find something to lash out at, and Allise was the perfect scapegoat.

Not for the first time, the question of her birth sizzled on her tongue, burning her mouth with urgency. There were times she had almost done it, almost asked her mother why she decided to keep her, why she had begged Robert to raise Allise. In all her fourteen years, it had never made sense, never quite clicked with what Allise knew of her mother and the choice she had made. To be a bastard was bad enough, she would always think, but to be a royal bastard was treachery. So why? Why did Cersei keep her, why did her mother bring Allise into a world she knew would never love her? Did Cersei even love her at all?

Allise sucked in a breath as her mother rose from the cot, skirts gliding across the carpet, and walked over to her. Allise did not look up, though the longing to meet her eyes constricted in her chest like a coiled garden snake. She waited, and at last Cersei curled her fingers around her daughters chin and raised her face upwards.

Allise closed her eyes as her mother tucked a loose strand of hair  behind her ear. For a moment, she thought Cersei might cup her cheek, as she used to do —albeit sparingly— when she was younger.

But that seemed to be the extent of it, for Cersei pulled away, hands going to her skirts.

She turned, and said. "The Stark girls are riding with us today. I trust you will be nowhere in sight."

"Yes, Your Grace."

A thump sounded from below, both mother and daughter turning to the stairs. They had visitors. Cersei's face hardened to polished gold, and strode ahead down the steps, her brilliant gown trailing after her like a running river. Allise twisted her fingers until they ached, pausing at the top of the stairs as voices sounded from below. She looked back to the sleeping quarters, but there was no where else to escape, she would have to follow after her mother, and face the wrath of the others down below.

The doors to the wheelhouse were thrown wide open, and Allise could only see the tail of her mother's gown from where she stood outside. Allise came to the side where the spectators would not see her, but enough to hear the proceedings.

The queen's voice sounded. "The council does us great honour, my good lords." Allise frowned. The council had sent riders of some kind, but she could not think of who would come or why without looking farther out the door. She tempered that curiosity, however, and stayed where she was.

"The king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns," Cersei continued. Chatter boomed from outside, and the queen's pale features once again appeared before Allise.

"What has happened?" She asked. Cersei smiled, the kind of smile a monarch must give her subjects to show peace, not the smile of a mother to a daughter.

"The council has sent an honour guard for the king, to escort us the rest of the way." Allise grinned at the relief she saw on Cersei's face. This would make her rest easy, which she knew her mother needed greatly. "Good day, sweetling." The queen went back out into the sun, calling for Joffrey, while Allise peered around the corner to the crowd gathered around the new arrivals.

No one paid attention as she descended to the muddy ground below. Squires and hedge knights and maidservants all swarmed to greet the two new arrivals, which Allise recognized immediately. In a suit of white enameled scales, intricately woven with silver claspings that flashed bright in the sun, Barristan Selmy had his helm tucked under one arm. He was an old knight, but one of the finest warriors in all the Seven Kingdoms. Beside him, laughing and mussing the hair of anyone who came near, Robert's brother Renly held his gold antlered helm, armour strung across powerful shoulders and a handsome face.

Allise couldn't help the excitement strumming through her. Of all the Kingsguard, Barristan Selmy was her favourite, wizened and loyal to a fault. He never turned Allise away when she came prodding with questions of the war, and the Targaryens, and his days as a youth. Renly was amiable enough, though he barely paid attention to her, and had a habit of mistaking her for a servant whenever they crossed paths —this was usually why she did her best to avoid him.

There was no avoiding anyone now as she pushed against the people and forced her way to the front. It was then she noticed Sansa Stark standing to the side, her beautiful direwolf Lady sitting beside her. Allise almost called to her in greeting, but the look on Sansa's face was fearful, her eyes pulled to somewhere at the edge of the crowd. Allise turned to look, and found immediately the source of Sansa's discomfort. Ser Ilyn Payne, the King's Justice, was imposingly fixed to the floor, his greatsword strung across boiled leather and chain mail. Allise could never rid of the shiver up her spine whenever Payne was near.

Allise made to reassure Sansa that the knight was harmless enough, but a soft-spoken call made her stop. "Lady Allise!" The knight in ivory swept in front of her, his look inviting.

"Ser Barristan," Allise greeted. "I heard you are to be the king's escort. He will be most pleased."

"So Her Grace assured." Barristan answered. Renly had paused in his speaking with a young man to stare puzzlingly down at Allise. She tried not to let her disappointment show. Before Renly could say anything, however, murmurs rose around them, and Allise craned to see the Hound with a wicked smile on his burnt lips, hands clasped around Sansa's shoulders.

A cold sweat broke out across Allise's body. She'd seen that cruel smirk before. She moved out of Renly and Barristans path towards the Stark girl. As she did, Sansa wrenched away from Clegane and knelt to wrap her arms around Lady.

Now everyone was looking at the two, but Allise knew better than to join them, instead watching as the Hound hid a laugh. She knew the laugh as well, she knew all of it, and that only made her angrier.

"A wolf," Ser Barristan remarked.

"Seven hells, that's a direwolf." Renly said. They were back beside her, eyebrows raised as high as they could go. Swords were held firmly in each of their palms. Allise made to step in front of the steel.

"What's it doing in camp?" Ser Barristan asked aloud.

The Hound answered. "The Starks use them for wet nurses." He was looking at them now, the amusement flickering away, all but disappearing when he saw Allise's firm glare. She watched him so long her eyes started to water, but he needed to know her fury, that if she were a knight with a sword, Allise would have challenged him right then and there.

Sansa was shaking on the ground, her wolf growling into the folds of her lovely gown.

Behind them, Allise's mother said. "Joffrey, go to her."

"Leave her alone," and then her half-brother was there, gallant-looking to the point of posturing. But his presence seemed to work on Sansa, who took his hand softly and let him pull her to her feet. "What is it, sweet lady?" Why are you afraid? No one will hurt you. Put away your swords, all of you. The wolf is her little pet, that's all." The knights did as their prince commanded. "And you, dog, away with you, you're scaring my betrothed." Sansa watched Joffrey as if in a trance.

So there is her knight to save the day, Allise thought, this is the boy she thinks will help tell her story.

A rough shoulder pushed Allise back, the crowd swarming around her until she could barely see Sansa and the knights anymore. She turned, opening her mouth to question the rudeness, and was met with the tapestry of scars that made up half of Sandor Clegane's face. He did not move, and looked at Allise expectantly.

She had never realized how tall he was, now her head almost touched his breastplate.

"Well go on," Clegane said, rough as gravel. "Say whatever you got to say,"Allise bristled. "Get it over with."

"Why do you toy with them so cruelly?" Allise asked. Her hands curled to fists as the Hound smiled again, one arm resting against his sword.

"And who's 'them', exactly?"

"You know who I speak of."

"Can't say that I do." He was toying with her now. As the crowds dissipated, Allise saw Barristan and Renly follow her mother into the wheelhouse. She looked back, where Sansa walked with Joffrey towards the horses.

The Hound grabbed her cheek, the same spot Cersei had, and pulled her back to him. "I toy with them," he said, leaning forward so only she could hear. "Because there is nothing better to do."

♛

The fires had been burning for nearly an hour when word came that Arya Stark had been found.

Allise sat straight from her spot by the flames, leaning against the cobbled wall of the inn. Shouts came from across the yard, and near a dozen torches flitted through the open air like fireflies. Allise lurched from her spot, book falling to the ground haphazardly as a group of Stark soldiers raced by. Their faces were stricken, and a horn sounded from somewhere else in the camp.

"What has happened?" Allise called out, not expecting an answer.

About 30 minutes after the events of the council's arrival and Allise's encounter with the Hound, word had rippled through camp like wildfire. Allise was making her way through camp, almost to the inn where she was in need of refreshment, when she heard.

The prince has been maimed. A direwolf. Arya Stark has gone missing.

She'd huddled against the walls and kept close to the throngs of knights passing by. They always were the easiest to listen to for news, with loud voices and little restraint to hold their tongues. She'd heard all she needed to understand what had transpired. After the incident with Sansa and the Hound when Renly and Ser Barristan arrived, the Stark girl had gone with Joffrey for a walk in the woods. There, though Allise could not bring herself to believe it all, Arya Stark and Mycah, the butcher's boy, had jumped the prince, setting her direwolf upon him and injuring his wrist.

Allise had seen Joffrey as he was carried back to camp and immediately sent to the physician. The wound could not have cut deep, with how little blood coated the arm of his jacket. But Joffrey wailed and screamed, even cursing at their mother when she went to tend for him. Allise had pursed her lips and walked away, thoughts on where Arya was, if she was alright.

She and her direwolf, Nymeria, were missing ever since the "attack", and Sansa had looked so shaken once she returned it was impossible for her to utter a single comprehensive sentence.

It had been four days now, days filled with search parties coming and going, nights restless with little sleep to be had.

Allise stayed to the side of the passing men, but asked again. "What has happened?" This time, someone answered.

"Lady Stark has been found," it was Jory Cassel, the captain of Eddard Stark's guard. Allise had seen him at the feast of Winterfell, talking jovially with Ned, a true brother to House Stark. "She has been taken before the king." He did not pause any longer, continuing with the rest of his men towards Robert's tents, which was crowded with anxious peers.

Allise swallowed thickly. A couple moments later, Eddard Stark pushed through the throngs and into the tent. Even from where she stood, Allise could hear his commanding voice flood the room, and everyone went silent. She thought for a moment to push her way through and listen to the proceedings. But Allise was tired of gossip, and she knew whatever happened would not sit right. Allise thought that later she would go to console Arya and Sansa, perhaps even make friends. It was fool's hope, she knew, but Allise clung to it like a baby for her mother's touch.

Cries sounded from inside the tent, sweeping wails that reverberated deep inside Allise's chest. No, she thought. Joffrey, mother, what have you done? She gripped the edge of her cloak tight enough her fingers went numb. The wait was devastating, the cries ceaseless.

At last, the king emerged from the entrance, his face grave and shadowed in evening light. He didn't notice Allise as he stalked past, muttering to himself. Lord Stark emerged later, looking even more haggard, weariness personified. He walked towards the gatehouse behind Allise, and she wrung her hands together. For a moment, Allise thought of leaving him, of going back to her tent. A part of her didn't want to know what had transpired in that tent, what had been dolled out as punishment.

But Allise Waters could never quite quench the curiousity inside of her, and she followed Lord Stark to the gatehouse, where Sansa's direwolf was still chained up. The man looked down at the creature for a long while, then sat stiffly beside it.

Allise sighed, forcing her feet to move. She came up beside the man, and said nothing until he noticed her watching him.

Ned nodded to her in greeting. "Lady Allise," his voice betrayed him, worn so thin and bare it broke against Allise like water over rocks.

"Are they alright?" Allise asked. "Your daughters, I mean. Is Arya...?"

Ned nodded with as little effort as he could muster. "She is unharmed," he glanced down to Lady, who was sniffing at Allise's skirts. She knelt down the pet the wolf between the ears. "She likes you." Allise smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. The reality of why they were at the gatehouse had finally made itself known.

"Can't you just let her go?" Allise said, thinking of Sansa's cries from the tent.

Ned breathed out, and reached to Lady's chain, pulling the wolf towards him. Allise stood and tucked her hands into her dress, so he could not see how much they shook.

"It is cruel," she told him. "What they are making you do. I'm sorry." And she meant it. On behalf of her mother, on behalf of her brother, on behalf of the king, Allise was sorry for all of it.

Ned sighed, and looked up into her eyes.

"You have a good heart," he was sincere. "I thank you, my lady." Allise pursed her lips and turned her gaze to the floor. She bobbed her head, voice lost in her throat, as Jory came with Ned's longsword. Allise began to walk away from the lord and the wolf. She stopped dead when whimpers sounded from behind, shoulders risen to her ears. She closed her eyes a moment, then continued walking. Allise did not let air back into her lungs until she was alone in her bed, when Lady's yelps had vanished from her mind.

And it was only until that morning that she found the butcher's boy trampled and left in the middle of the road, run over by Sandor Clegane.

♛ AUTHOR'S NOTE

i. sorry for taking so long with this chapter, but i have to say i am incredibly proud of how this one turned out. allise is such a fascinating character to me, and as i've fallen deeper into the asoiaf rabbit hole, i seriously can't wait for all the metaphors, themes, and parallels to come with her story (you might have already noticed some already). it's literally insane...

ii. anyways, pls let me know your thoughts!! vote if you enjoyed the chapter and consider following me if you're liking the fic so far. love you guys 💕