( ACT 2: chapter 2 )
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂𝚁𝙾𝙰𝙳
a 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄 chapter

The past night had been hell, to only put it mildly, for everyone in Winterfell as the maesters hovered over little Bran's broken body that had been discovered at the foot of the old watchtower at sundown. 

They said the boy had fallen as she climbed the tower. His foot had probably slipped, or he'd grasped a loose rock to hoist himself up, or far worse, perhaps his feet had gotten tangled in the vines that littered the side of the abandoned tower and he'd tripped and fallen. Though those theories made little sense for Alysanne, as she recalled now that the boy had been found flat on his back, his head only narrowly missing a rock that could've killed him upon impact. If he had tripped, or slipped, he most likely would have fallen on his side, or fallen head first. 

This was not the case. 

She'd been chasing sleep in her chambers after the events of the evening that had seemingly exerted all of her will to stay awake when she'd heard a knock on the door of her bedchambers. Barefoot and in her nightgown that was only scarcely covering her, she'd momentarily wondered if she should ignore the knocking and close her eyes, burying herself under the heaps of warm furs that littered her bed. 

But of course, something in her screamed that she should answer the door. No sensible mind would dare go around knocking on doors at such a late hour in the night. 

So she did, slipping on her boots that were by her bed and hurrying to grab the shawl she'd carelessly thrown on the wooden frame of her bed before retiring to sleep. Alysanne scurried towards her door while at the same time trying to cover the flesh left exposed by her nightgown. Though, when she pulled open the bulk door, all concern for decency and exposed flesh flew right out of her mind as she caught sight of who had dared raise her in the middle of the night in such an untimely fashion. 

Jon was leaning on her door frame, clutching the side of the structure like it was the only thing in the world holding him up, a ghastly look etched into his features, looking like he was about to collapse into the nearest pair of arms at any given moment. 

"Jon?" She called softly to him, a hint of surprise and confusion having bled into the way her tongue formed the word as she didn't think it possible that the boy would willingly encounter her after their last time crossing paths at dinner hours ago. 

At the sound of her voice, Jon seemed to awaken from his trance, realising that his feet had in fact carried him where they had carried him and that he was now expected to give an answer as to why he was here in the middle of the night. 

Though when getting a good look at his face, Alysanne seemed to comprehend that he would be unable to form the words until she prompted him to. So, with cold dread slowly filling her heart at the endless possibilities as to what catastrophe could've possibly befallen them now, she asked him : "What happened?" 

His face fell at her words, his mouth first opening, then closing as if he was struggling to find the words. "He- I didn't..." He caught himself as tears seemed to form in his eyes, preventing him from going further as they threatened to spill. 

"It's Bran." He finally said, his voice catching as he suddenly reached out to grab Alysanne's forearm, leaning into it for support. "He fell. You should-" He hesitated. 

For a moment, he looked as if he was going to say something else. Alysanne's brows furrowed slightly as she waited for him to speak, to say it, to say anything else at this point as the reality of what had happened started to settle in like a cold blanket of snow.  

"You should go to Robb."  Jon finally said. "He said not to wake you, but I thought-" He hesitated. "I needed-" 

Alysanne nodded. 

She knew what he wanted to say, what thoughts were coursing through his mind when he had carried himself to her chambers. Though it was none that he could voice out loud. 

Steeling herself, Alysanne stepped out of where she had been leaning on her door, closing it behind her. "Show me to him." 

And that is where Alysanne Tyrell had been since that very night. At Robb's side. 

Still in her nightgown and shawl, the soft fur of the cape on Robb's back was a welcome warmth against her chest as she leaned into him, chin barely reaching over his shoulders as she had to straighten her back to nestle it against the crook of his neck while both of them kept watch over Bran. 

"He'll be alright, Robb." Alysanne finally spoke, her voice scratchy from having barely used it all night and her nose itching and burning from all the tears she had kept unshed through the night in order to wipe away Robb's worried ones that he would never admit he shed for fear that the future Lord of Winterfell might appear weak. "The maesters are confident."

Her chin gradually left Robb's shoulder as the shaking of his head pushed it away. "We don't know that yet." He said, sternly, though Alysanne could see right through the attempt at stoicity and into the mind of the boy of seventeen who was terrified out of his mind that the Gods might take his little brother from him in the coming days. 

It had been a dozen days since the boy's attack and he showed no sign of waking anytime soon, though the maesters were confident he was out of the woods and would eventually wake. It was hard for anyone to trust their word when they were faced with the sight of little Bran nestled under heaps of furs, his skin a pale white, the only sign of life from the boy being the slow rising and falling of his chest. He looked close to death, and Lady Catelyn kept watch over him night and day monitoring every rise and fall of his frail chest until eventually, Lord Stark would resort to dragging her away from the boy's bedside so she could tend to herself, eat, sleep, drink. When he would manage to do that, Alysanne would volunteer Robb and herself to sit in Catelyn's place and keep watch over the boy she'd come to consider like a brother to give his mother a little peace of mind. 

At Winterfell, life had carried on around Bran's sleeping body. The King had extended his stay out of respect for Bran's accident, though the King's party was set to leave in the coming days, along with Ned Stark and his daughters, to return to King's Landing after almost a month of absence. Eventually, Ned had accepted Robert Baratheon's offer to be the next Hand of the King along with his proposal of a betrothal between his eldest daughter, Sansa, and Robert's eldest son, Joffrey, much to Robb's annoyance. 

Jon had been narrowly avoiding Alysanne's presence, spending most of his days with Uncle Benjen, pestering him relentlessly about joining the Night's Watch. Eventually, Uncle Benjen had put forth the proposal to Ned, who had himself eventually accepted Jon's wish to join the Night's Watch, proposing they leave together with the King's company before splitting up, Benjen and Jon going north towards the Wall and Ned and the rest of the King's party travelling south to King's Landing. 

When Robb had told her of Jon's upcoming departure, she had been helping Catelyn make a prayer wheel for Bran. She had not even realized the wood she had working had splintered in her hand when she heard the news, causing bits of it to dig into her palm and draw copious amounts of blood until Catelyn pointed it out, slightly concerned. 

She had brushed it off, saying she had not even realized how much wood could cut and that she had gripped it too tightly, quickly focusing again on the task she had been carrying out moments before. 

"Mother asked me if I'd go pick up some pieces from the armory for her prayer wheel," Robb chuckled bitterly. "Something about some silver string and wooden figures. I don't think I could recognize them even if I tried." 

He laughed, but it was not genuine, more like exasperated or worn out and bitter. Then, he raised his hand so it would clutch his dark auburn hair and started tugging at the roots of it, as if punishing himself for being unable to carry out his mother's request, though even if he had wanted to and been in the right frame of mind, Alysanne was unsure if he'd be able to find what the woman was looking for. 

"I'll go." She assured him, reaching for his hand and taking it in hers, pulling it away from his hair and squeezing it assuringly. "I know what she's looking for. Besides, if Bran wakes up, she would be glad if he'd find you there." 

Squeezing his hand one last time, she kissed it before letting go and getting up. Brushing past Robb, she looked at Bran and his brother one last time before walking out of the boy's chambers and heading down to the armory. 

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Alysanne made her way towards the armory, the sound of clanging metal filling the air as she drew closer. As she entered the open space, she spotted Jon Snow standing amidst the array of swords and shields, on the outskirts of the armory intently watching one of the blacksmiths work on a blade. The blacksmith's rhythmic strikes of the hammer onto the anvil echoed through the room, the sparks from the molten metal flying in every direction.

Alysanne approached the pair, fascinated by the process of sword-making. The blacksmith continued his work, using a pair of tongs to hold the heated metal in place as he shaped it into the desired form. The blade glowed red-hot as he worked, and Alysanne could feel the intense heat emanating from the forge. As Alysanne grew closer though, Jon called out to her. "What are you doing here?" She then watched as his brows raised and his cheeks reddened as he took in her dishevelled state and lack of warm and covering clothes. "You're barely dressed." He pointed out, averting his gaze when Alysanne turned to glare at him. 

"Well, good morrow to you too, Jon." She replied uninterested, the lack of proper sleep of the past days and nights making itself known in the tone of her voice. 

"Aren't you cold? You're wearing a nightgown."

"My, so observant." Alysanne replied sarcastically as she ducked behind one of the makeshift shelves in the armory, scavenging for the pieces Catelyn had asked for. 

"Are you?" Came Jon's next question, which Alysanne was growing less and less in the mood for, the events of their last long conversation before everything that had happened with Bran suddenly jumping to mind. It, in fact, did not serve to improve her will to prolong this conversation with Jon.  

"No." She answered coldly as the blacksmith finished shaping the blade. He then quenched it in a barrel of oil, causing a cloud of steam to rise up and envelop the sword. Once the blade was cool enough to handle, the blacksmith began the process of sharpening it, using a whetstone to hone the edge to a razor-sharp finish.

"Really?" Jon probed again without looking at her, instead watching the process before his eyes with a keen interest, his eyes following the blacksmith's every movement, his hand already reaching out for the sword even before if was finished with sharpening. Alysanne couldn't help but notice the way his muscles tensed as he lifted the finished sword, testing its weight and balance with practiced ease. 

"No." Alysanne said finally as she yanked the pieces she had found off the shelf roughly, the anger that was steadily growing within her making itself evident in the way she tugged at the objects, almost stumbling back when she managed to yank them free. "But why do you care?" 

Jon swung the sword, unaware that Alysanne was walking towards him to leave. "I don't." 

Lost in the thrill of the moment, he failed to notice Alysanne approaching from behind. As she moved closer, Jon swung the sword with a little too much force, the blade narrowly missing Alysanne's neck by mere inches. She froze in place, her heart racing as the steel pointed directly at her throat.

Jon's eyes widened as he realized what had almost happened. He quickly lowered the sword, his chest heaving with the adrenaline of the near-miss. For a moment, the air between them was thick with tension, their eyes locked in a gaze that was charged with a mixture of fear and desire.

Alysanne broke the silence first, her voice barely above a whisper. "You almost took my head off," she said, her tone laced with an accusatory fear and underlying anger. Jon swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he struggled to regain his composure.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. "I didn't see you there."

Alysanne stepped closer to him, her eyes never leaving his. Jon's heart raced as he felt her breath on his face, her lips just inches from his own. For a moment, he forgot everything else, lost in the intensity of their shared desire. But then, reality crashed down upon him like a wave, and he took a step back, breaking the spell.

"I should go," he said, his voice thick with regret. "I have to get this sword to Arya."

Alysanne nodded, her eyes still fixed on him. "Of course. I have to get these pieces to Catelyn." she said. On her lips were all the things she wished to say to him but could not. She wished to tell him to stay in Winterfell, to not take the Black, to not go North. But for what purpose? So he could watch from afar as she took Robb to husband, as she became Lady of Winterfell and started their family? How could she ask that of him? She could not condemn the both of them to a life in which they would be nothing more than longing stares, fleeting touches and few words. 

Jon nodded, then turned and walked out of the armory, the image of Alysanne's face burned into his memory. He knew that he had narrowly avoided disaster, but he couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if the sword had swung just a little closer.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Jon Snow trudged through the muddy courtyard of Winterfell, his horse's saddled resting atop his shoulder, pressing heavily against the side of his head and making his arm ache as he held it up tightly. 

His mind was made up. He was leaving. Leaving all of this. Winterfell. The Starks. Alysanne. 

As he walked towards his mount, something attracted his attention. Walking towards him were Robb and Alysanne, surely coming to bid their goodbyes. Though Jon couldn't help but only take note that, as they stood together, Robb and Alysanne looked every bit the future Lord and Lady of Winterfell, which made his chest feel like it was caving in at the same time as it brought a smile to his lips. 

His half brother was dressed in a informal attire that was fitting for his position. He wore a brown leather doublet, embroidered with the direwolf sigil of House Stark, the straps of his brown fur cape crossed over it forming an X. His hair had just been combed, as Jon could still see some of it's humid strands sticking to the nape of his neck and he was standing more upright than usual, undoubtedly trying to emulate their father as he readied himself to be the Lord of Winterfell in his father's absence. 

Alysanne on the other hand had since changed into a regal gown since he'd last saw her. She wore a gown that was both elegant and practical. It was made of a deep dark grey fabric that brought out the color of her eyes, a blueish grey, with a high neckline and long sleeves that covered her arms. The bodice of the gown was embroidered with silver thread in the shape of vines and flowers, a nod to her family's heraldry, no doubt.

The gown was fitted at the waist and flowed down to the ground in a gentle A-line, skimming the tops of her black leather boots. Her hair was pulled back into a simple braid, with loose tendrils framing her face. Jon couldn't help his eyes from being drawn to Alysanne's necklace, a delicate silver chain around her neck, with a small emerald pendant at the center.

"You've said goodbye to Bran?" Robb's voice made him acutely aware that he'd stopped in his tracks to stare at them. He nodded, before resuming his march towards his horse, forcing his eyes to keep away from Alysanne, who, luckily for him, was walking a few feet behind the brothers, allowing them to have their moment. 

This time, Jon heard Robb speaking to him, instead of just the sound of his voice like he previously had heard. "He's not going to die. I know it." 

"You Starks are hard to kill." He affirmed confidently, eliciting a proud smile from Robb. 

"My Mother?" Jon tried not to feel angry as he recalled the sharp words Catelyn had said to him. He tried not to hold it against her, as her dislike for him was comprehensible, yet he could not suppress the profound feeling of injustice that washed over him as he recalled his goodbye to the woman. 

So, he lied. "She was very kind." As he approached the horse, the animal whinnied softly, recognizing its rider. Jon patted its neck reassuringly before carefully sliding the saddle off his shoulder and setting it down beside the horse. He ran a hand over the leather, checking the straps and buckles to make sure everything was in order.

"Good." 

Satisfied that the saddle was secure, Jon turned to face his half brother for the last time before he would mount his horse and cross the gates of Winterfell to leave for the Wall.  

Robb looked at Jon with a mixture of sadness and pride in his eyes, though there was an excited smile adorning his lips. "Next time I see you, you'll be all in black." 

Jon nodded, his own gaze steady, a small smile on his lips. "It was always my colour." 

"Farewell, Snow." 

Jon felt a lump form in his throat at the words, but he managed to keep his voice steady. "And you, Stark." 

They stood facing each other for a few seconds before Robb stepped forward suddenly, pulling his half-brother into a tight hug. While he had not expected it, Robb's embrace was a welcome invitation in the cold morning air. Despite everything, Robb was his brother. They were the same age, they had grown up together and they did everything together. Throughout their upbringing there was rarely a moment in which the two boys went one way without the other. 

He was jealous of him too, though, and while he tried not to let his jealousy cloud his emotions, it had always clung to the back of his mind, like a parasite that would not let go. He always chose not to see it as Robb's fault. They were, first and foremost, not equals, and never would be despite how much Robb insisted they were now. Jon was a bastard, and everyone reminded him of it. Robb had, once, and even though it had only happened once and had occurred when they were children, the memory was seared into his mind so strongly that he could still recall the memory years later, and with perfect clarity: 

They used to play a game when they were kids. It was a stupid game really, but when they pretended to fight battles and pretend war, one had to be the Lord of Winterfell. And it always went to the one who claimed it first. That morning he called it first."I'm Lord of Winterfell!" Robb he cried, as he had a hundred times before. 

Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell." 

It was never Robb's fault, Jon knew. But nothing was ever made to be easy between them, even moreso when Alysanne had arrived and Jon had begun pining for her like a blind fool in silence, having to watch her be betrothed to his brother while he knew he could never deserve a woman like Alysanne, or Alysanne herself. Because he was bastard-born, and they were not. 

The cold wind whipped around them, and Jon's hair was tousled by the gusts. He breathed in the familiar scent of pine and leather that clung to Robb's clothes, a scent that would forever remind him of Winterfell.

As they finally parted, Jon felt a pang of regret that he would not be able to stay with Robb, to fight by his side and share in his victories and defeats. But he knew that his path lay elsewhere, beyond the walls of Winterfell. He could not stay. 

"Alysanne." he said, his voice soft. she smiled sadly and stepped into his embrace. Jon held her tightly, feeling her body press against his, her scent filling his nostrils. The softness of her hair tickled his eyelashes, and he closed his eyes, savoring the moment.

"Don't be a stranger." Alysanne said as they pulled away from each other. Jon looked into her eyes, seeing the same longing that he felt reflected back at him. She then stepped back, and he thought his heart might shatter right then and there. 

You're doing this for her, a voice echoed in his mind as he watched Robb extend his arm to her and her taking it. 

Jon gave them one last nod before allowing both of them to walk away. He took a deep breath of the cold air, savoring the chill in his lungs. He knew that he was leaving behind everything he had ever known, but he was ready for whatever lay ahead.

As he watched them both walk away, he couldn't help but glance back at Robb, standing tall and proud in the snow. He would miss him more than he could ever say, but he knew that he was doing the right thing. For all of them. 

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

As they approached Bran's chambers, they heard Maester Luwin's voice, his tone firm as he tried to convince Catelyn to leave Bran's side and attend to her duties as Lady of Winterfell. "There are other appointments that recquire our immediate attention-" 

"I don't care about appointments!" Came Catelyn Stark's frantic voice as she refused to hear anything from Maester Luwin that was not strictly about Bran's recovery. Much less about all the duties she must now attend to now that the Lord of Winterfell had left South to honor his new duties as Hand of the King. 

Robb and Alysanne exchanged a quick glance before entering the room, their presence making the maester and Lady Stark turn to them.

Robb cleared his throat. "I'll make the appointments." He said, causing Maester Luwin to look away from the mother and towards the son. "We'll talk about it first thing in the morning." 

The old man nodded approvingly. "Very good my Lord." There was a hint of pleasant surprise in his tone. 

He then turned back to Lady Cat, who had seemingly withered in on herself, her head lowered as she continued making the prayer wheel for Bran silently. "My Lady." He nodded, before leaving. 

She did not look up. 

Without a word, Robb silently made his way to the window and opened it, allowing the fresh air to flow in and provide some relief to the tense atmosphere in the room. Though the distant barking and howling of wolves and dogs only served to heighten an already difficult ambiance in the chambers. Alysanne moved to stand beside him, looking out at the stark Winterfell landscape. 

"When was the last time you left this room?" The sound of her son's stern voice startled Catelyn, and she turned to face them, her eyes red and puffy.

"Robb-" Alysanne whispered worriedly, making sure he would not be too harsh with her. 

"I have to take care of him." Catelyn pleaded, glancing at her comatose boy lying in the bed she was sitting vigil by, unmoving and silent. 

"He's not going to die, mother." Her eldest son proclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Maester Luwin says the most dangerous time has past." He told her, repeating the same words Alysanne had whispered to him soothingly a few days prior. 

"What if he's wrong?" Catelyn pressed, ceasing her work on the prayer wheel to look up at both Robb and Alysanne with wide, terrified blue eyes. "Bran needs me."

"Rickon needs you." Robb pushed, interrupting her harshly. "He's six." In the distance, the howling and barking of dogs continued. "He doesn't know what's happening. He sleeps in Alysanne's bed and follows her around all day clutching her leg, crying and Alysanne cannot be a mother to him because she is already tending to your duties around the castle-" 

The howling of the wolves in the distance was enough to put anyone on edge, but for Catelyn, it was too much. She seemed to jump in her chair, her hands shaking. "Close the windows!" She yelled, clutching the knife and prayer wheel tightly as she begged her son and practically daughter to make the sound stop. "I can't stand it Please, make them stop!" 

Robb nodded, turning to close the window. 

But then, he froze, his eyes fixed on something in the distance. 

Noticing his stillness, Alysanne looked at him worriedly, tearing her eyes from Catelyn who had resumed her work on the prayer wheel. "What's wrong?" 

"Fire." At the sound of Robb's voice, Catelyn looked up once more. Below them, they heard the bells ringing and the men yelling as they too noticed the fire in the distance.

"You two stay here." Robb ordered, laying out a cautionary hand, as if warning them off. 'I'll come back!" 

Then, just like that, he was gone, running out of the chambers at the sound of men calling and dogs barking. 

With Robb gone, there was a beat of silence that ran between the two women, until Catelyn rose to her feet, eyeing the window with a determined, yet anxious look. Alysanne caught on to what she meant to do and preceded her by a few steps. Together, the two women closed the window in Bran's room together, their movements synchronized as they worked to keep out the cold winter air and the sound of men yelling, wolves howling and dogs barking.

Perhaps it was instinct, or a deep set paranoia that lead Alysanne to believe she suddenly felt a presence behind her. When she turned, her heart leapt into her throat as she found herself faced with someone who clearly was not supposed to be here. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Catelyn turn to notice the intruder too. Despite his face obscured by the hood of his cloak, Alysanne noticed his crooked teeth, and scarred face and brunt, uneven patches of hair that lined his jawline. But the worst part of him was by far his eyes, that Alysanne managed to catch a glimpse of when he titled his head to better look at them. When her eyes met his cold, calculating ones, Alysanne felt a surge of fear wash over her as she realized they might be in grave danger.

The intruder stood before them, very still, but his eyes were fixed on the two women by the window. He said nothing, his travelling slowly to Bran's still form in the bed, then back at them. "You're not supposed to be here." He said finally, a hint of fear and anger in his voice. "No one's supposed to be here." 

Alysanne did not have the leisure to ponder the meaning of his strange words as he turned to look at Bran. "It's a mercy." He spoke. "He's dead already." It was then in horror that the two women watched him pull out a gleaming gold dagger from the folds of his robe, the blade sharp in evident in the pale light of the room. It was then clear that this man was a catspaw assassin, that he was here to kill Bran, and that both women were in his way. 

What happened next felt like it was yet too fast and too slow at the same time. Alysanne barely registered Catelyn's cry. "No!" And the assassin putting his foot forward towards the bed where Bran was laying vulnerable to anyone that Alysanne's instincts seemed to take over for her. Immediately reacting, she lunged forward in an attempt to grab the boiling pot of water and hurl it at him. The man saw it coming though, and managed to deflect the majority of the blow, the remaining boiling water that had spilt on him causing him to fall to the floor as he cried in pain, the water sizzling on his skin as the rest of it splattered across the walls and the floor. 

He only needed less than a second to recover from the attack, changing his course and lunging for the perpetrator of the attack instead of Bran, grabbing Alysanne by the ankle and pulling her down sharply. Alysanne tried to grab something but it was futile as the assassin yanked her towards the ground, pulling her down so brutally that Alysanne failed to notice her head about to collide with the corner of Bran's bed. 

She felt the sharp, blinding pain of the impact as soon as her temple rammed into the sharp corner. The pain was so great she barely registered the dim pain she then felt when she crumpled to the floor, black spots dancing in her blurry vision as she fought to stay conscious and not allow herself to be pulled under. 

Having rendered one of the women, the assassin managed to hoist himself to his feet, finally able to turn towards Bran. Though he had underestimated the will of a mother, not prepared for Catelyn to throw herself courageously at him, no weapon in hand just adrenaline and fear coursing through her veins at the thought that she might have to watch one of her boys be gutted like a fish as she watched helpless. "No!" She screamed again, just as she had done moments prior, though this time it was filled with anger and determination which led her to fight tooth and nail for every inch she gained on the man, despite having been backhanded by the man, which caused her to go straight down and fall upon the bed. 

Meanwhile, oblivious to the assassin, Alysanne had managed to claw herself upright into a standing position. Still reeling from his attack on the matriarch of the castle, the assassin was not prepared for a mere girl of fifteen to lunge at him, grasping the blade of his dagger with her bare hands, pulling and yanking in a desperate effort to get him to loosen his grip on the blade. Recovering from his shock, the assassin used his remaining free hand to grab the brown haired girl by the throat, pulling her against his chest. 

She struggled, panic setting in as she finally realized he had her incapacitated, her breathing becoming more difficult and her vision still swimming from his precedent attack. He raised the dagger over his head, ignoring the panic attempts at breathing from her that made her sound like a wild bunny about to be gutted by an eagle. In one last, weak and feeble attempt at survival, she attempted to grab the blade one last time as it came crashing down, aimed for her heart, but instead of managing to knock it out of his hands, the blade went right through the soft flesh of her skin, causing Alysanne to cry out in agony as she was stabbed through the hand. 

Having failed to stab her through the heart, the assassin struggled to yank the blade out of Alysanne's hand, finally managing to do so which caused the girl to cry out even louder than when she had been stabbed when the blade was pulled from her hand and blood gushed from the wound showing no sign of stopping. 

The assassin gave her no time to process the pain, taking advantage of the fact that she was already weak as he pulled her upright and dragged the blade in one, swift motion. Suddenly, he felt the girl he thought was dying surge against him, just then, as his grip loosened on the girl, he felt her teeth close in around his ear, unable to register anything as as he was suddenly blinded by an incredible pain. 

Then, as fast as she had awakened, Alysanne slumped down against the assassin, her eyes closing as she allowed herself to be pulled under. 

But not before spitting out the assassin's ear on the floor, at her feet. 

And unbeknownst to the screaming assassin, the stench of blood and flesh had alerted his victim's direwolf. So, while he struggled against Catelyn Stark for a second time, trying to stab her repeatedly as she kept her hands firmly wrapped around his blade, he failed to notice Summer, the direwolf, creeping up on him, carefully stepping over Alysanne's unconscious form, her paws stained with the girl's blood as she readied herself to lunge. 

As he shoved Catelyn to the floor, and turned towards Bran once again, he heard a snarl and then a growl before he felt something crash into him. 

That was the last thing he ever heard, as in the next seconds, the direwolf Summer worked effortlessly to rip out chunks of the man's throat, preventing him for screaming and pleading very long. 

 -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Robb Stark felt his heart pounding in his chest as he burst into his younger brother's chambers, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The fire had been a trap, of course it had been. It was the easiest trick in the book to get all the men and guards running towards it the second the big bright flames leapt up in the sky and started licking at anything they could find. While that happened, the women, children and defenseless were left alone, to the mercy of whoever wanted to create such diversion. 

It was the easiest trick in the book, so why had he fallen for it? He'd been berating himself ever since realizing, though now as he ran through the halls of Winterfell, a deep fear started to settle over him. Something had happened, but what was it? 

He got his answer soon enough. 

As he entered the room, his eyes fell upon a sight that left him reeling. Alysanne was lying crumpled on the floor in a pool of her own blood, her dress stained with that same blood. His mother, knelt beside her, her hands visibly bleeding, though she did not seem to care. "Alysanne!" He rushed forward. He felt a surge of relief wash over him as he saw that she was still breathing, but the sight of her injuries made him feel sick to his stomach. Her dress was tattered and torn, her nose was bleeding as were her lips. But the most visible and sickening injury was the one she had sustained across her chest. A clear slash that cut right through her pale skin and was bleeding profusely, covering her throat, her breast, her shoulders and chin with deep red blood. 

Amidst the commotion, he almost missed the sight of the intruder who lay by the sleeping Bran's bed, his throat having been torn open, a gaping hole in the soft flesh that used to be there. On Bran's bed, the culprit, or rather the hero, of the attack on the intruder, Bran's direwolf, lay besides the boy, guarding him from any more dangers the night might provide. 

"The maesters, Robb! Get the maesters, quick!" His mother was right, they needed to get her to the maesters as soon as possible. Alysanne was courageous and noble, that he knew, but he couldn't bear the thought of losing her. As he gently lifted her into his arms, he couldn't help but feel a sense of protectiveness wash over him. 

This was his future wife that lay unconscious and injured in his arms, staining his clothes a dark red. He would do anything to keep her safe, to protect her from harm. This was the future Lady of Winterfell, the woman he would spent the rest of his life with, but more so, this was the girl he'd grown up with. Every day for more than ten years, Robb and Alysanne had been together. Whether it was during lessons, when she watched the boys spar, at lunch, breakfast or dinner, there wasn't a day that had gone by in all these years that she hadn't been a constant presence in his day to day life. The thought that her discreet but indispensable presence could vanish from these walls tonight was enough to make him keel over right then and there. 

"Stay awake." He begged silently as dozens of men ran past them and towards Bran's room, no doubt to take care of the intruder, or at least, what was left of his corpse. "Stay here." He tried again, finally catching sight of the maesters' chambers. "With me. Don't let the gods take you from me." 

Alysanne was home. Not at home in Winterfell, but rather in a place where the air was hot and sticky, where the sky was blue all day and where the sun shone it's rays brightly at all hours. She was in Highgarden again. 

There was a woman in the room that she had woken up in, sitting in the large rocking chair in the corner, almost invisible to those around her. "Grandmother?"  

Olenna Tyrell was sat near a large window in a cozy rocking chair, her delicate fingers deftly moving a needle and thread through a piece of embroidered fabric. Despite her advanced age, her posture was upright and regal, her chin was held high with an air of confidence and authority despite being bent over a difficult task. Her face, etched with the lines of a life well-lived, was closed off and determined as she thread the needle through the fabric with as much vigor as a soldier would display while cutting through the bodies of his enemies. 

Her hair, a mane of silver curls no doubt, was pulled back into a simple bun tucked away underneath her famed coiffe, a square shaped piece she never parted with which accentuated the sharp angles of her cheekbones and jawline. Dressed in a flowing gown of emerald green, she exuded an air of elegance and grace, fitting for a lady whose nickname was after all, the Queen of Thorns. The warm glow of the sun streaming through the window illuminated her features, creating a striking contrast against the darkened interior of the room. 

"Well, what are you doing girl?" Alysanne had not heard her grandmother's sharp voice in a long time. The sound of it startling her yet putting a blanket of ease over her shoulders. "Don't just stand there, come sit by your grandmother!"

"Is this a dream?"  Alysanne wondered out loud, softly, as if scared of perturbing the illusion before her. "Am I dead?"  The events that had happened mere moments ago starting coming back to her, much to her horror and fear. 

"Good gods I hope not." Her grandmother did not raise her head to look at her but Alysane could observe the corner of her see-all eyes shifting between her and her work."Maybe you are. Maybe you are not. Maybe I have a dragon's tail concealed under my dress or perhaps your mother has risen from the dead like the witch she is. You and I may never know." 

She caught sight of Alysanne still standing and glared at her. "Now, instead of standing there, moping, pick up something and make yourself useful." 

Dumbfounded and shocked, Alysanne picked up a needle and thread, slowly lowering herself into a chair besides her grandmother that had seemingly just vanished out of thin air. 

"Grandmother?" 

"Quiet."  Alysanne almost wished to roll her eyes at how familiar this scene felt. Suddenly, she was six years old again and nothing bad had ever happened to her. Her only problems were being on time for dinner and avoiding her mother's presence all day and she had not a care in the world for duty or the future. 

"Why did you marry my grandfather instead of Daeron Targaryen?"  She questioned Olenna Tyrell, though she wondered if she would even elicit a response out of her. "I mean, you could've married into one of the most powerful houses in the Seven Kingdoms, why did you not?" 

Surprisingly, the woman answered. "I chose the path which suited me the most." Unsurprisingly, it was an answer littered with riddles. "Wouldn't you agree it's been the right one?" 

Alysanne tried to imagine her grandmother standing besides a white haired Targaryen prince, then later maybe king. It was a hard picture to imagine, especially now, knowing what had happened to the Targaryens. 

"How did you know which path was best to choose?" She asked again, observing the woman's expert hands confidently thread needle through the fabric like it was the easiest thing she had ever done. 

"I chose the one which would allow me to serve the realm best."  Olenna Tyrell chuckled to herself, as if remembering a joke only she would understand. "Do you think I could've been the Queen of Thorns if I'd been married to one of those Targaryen brutes?" 

The answer, was of course no.

"No," Alysanne started carefully. "But you could've been the Queen." 

"Perhaps. But my head would've likely ended on a spike at some point. So I'd reckon I chose my path well don't you think, girl?" 

She wasn't wrong. The Targaryens, who had ruled over the Seven Kingdoms for nearly three hundred years, were brought down not that long ago by the rebellion led by Robert Baratheon. The rebellion was sparked by the madness of Aerys II Targaryen, who had descended into paranoia and cruelty, earning him the moniker of the "Mad King."

Aerys' reign had been marked by instability and chaos, and the realm was divided into factions, each vying for power. The Targaryens were weakened by their own internal conflicts, and they faced several challenges from ambitious lords and claimants to the throne which resulted in all of them perishing. 

Prince Rhaegar, Prince Aegon, Princess Rhaenys, the King...Alysanne was suddenly overwhelmed by the vision of her grandmother's head on a spike displayed in the middle of King's Landing by the Lannister forces. 

Olenna continued, "As for you. You path leads to Winterfell, it always will. Now you must make of it what I have with mine." 

And what is that? What must I make of it? Questions burned in the back of Alysanne's mind. 

Then, in the distance, she heard bells ringing. 

"You hear that, girl?" Olenna barely looked up at the sound. "You better get back to your duties." 

Slowly, Alysanne rose to her feet. "Will I ever see you again, Grandmother?" 

Her grandmother looked up at her to give her a sharp, confused glare. "Don't be ridiculous, silly girl, I'm right here."  When Alysanne did not move, she sharply poked her bony, wrinkled finger at her granddaughter's ribs. "Now leave me be before I call your wet nurse to smack you." 

She tried to cling to the image, to hold onto the moment for just a little while longer, but it was slipping away from her.

A sense of sadness and anxiety suddenly washed over Alysanne, paralyzing her as she kept her eyes fixed on her grandmother, rocking herself back and forth beneath the windowsill. She knew that this may have been her only chance to see her grandmother again. 

From the moment she had been born, Olenna Tyrell had been an ever present figure in the years Alysanne spent at Highgarden in her company, her sharp teachings and sometimes cold and calculating ways were often times lost on the girl or frustrated her to no end. But the thought that Alysanne could never see her sharp tongued grandmother again was too much to bear. She closed her eyes and tried to freeze the image in place, attempting to save it from fading, but it remained stubbornly out of reach.

And as Olenna Tyrell faded from her sight and Alysanne felt herself being tugged towards the land of the living, she had a feeling their time together would remain what it had been up to now : evanescent and bitterly unfinished. 

 -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Yes, I know I haven't updated this fic in months but I just couldn't get past this chapter! Anyways, hope everyone enjoyed it lmao;