[Winterfell, 6th Moon, 299 AC]
Three months had been enough for Alys to learn that a child could be perfectly content one moment and furious with the world the next without any reason she could think of.
Sarra, for her part, had spent most of the morning proving Alys' thoughts.
The little girl had awakened cheerful enough, accepted her feeding without complaint, and then decided sometime before noon that being placed in her cradle was an offense she could not forgive. By the time Alys carried her down toward the covered gallery overlooking the inner yard, the crying had finally stopped, though Sarra still held a fist tightly around a fold of her mother's gown as though ensuring Alys did not attempt another betrayal.
Torrhen had been easier. He slept against his nurse's shoulder several paces behind them, his dark head resting beneath her chin while his sister stared solemnly past Alys at everyone who crossed their path.
"You have your father's look again," Alys murmured, adjusting Sarra higher against her chest. "Your brother does it too, though your father, in his letters, insists that it somehow came from my side."
Sarra gave no answer beyond tightening her grip.
Walder followed close behind Alys, so large that servants had long since learned to give him room in narrow passages without being told. He wore a heavy sword at his hip and a black wool cloak despite the warmth of the summer day, though Alys could not remember ever seeing him complain about heat, cold, hunger, or much of anything else. He had settled into his place at her side so completely that she occasionally noticed his absence more readily than his presence.
Ser Karl Harclay walked ahead of them, speaking quietly with two of the Winter Guards assigned to the royal household. Karl was a lean man from one of the lesser Harclay branches in the mountains, older than Alaric but younger than Harald, with the weathered face of someone who had spent much of his life outdoors and little patience for ceremony that did not serve a purpose. Of the dozen men Alaric had left specifically for Alys and the children, Karl handled most of their daily assignments, changing watches, inspecting doors, deciding who accompanied her outside the inner castle, and all around coordinating the men of Winterfell left to guard it.
The courtyard below was considerably less orderly as voices and shouts rose above the din of the yard.
Cregan Stark seemingly had found Scar again.
Dacey stood near the steps with both hands on her hips, watching her six-year-old son edge toward the enormous white bear sprawled beneath the shade of the wall. Scar's name came from the thick pale line that ran from the upper part of his chest downward beneath his fur, though Alys had never been told exactly what had given him the wound. She had learned quickly that asking Ser Waylon usually produced three different stories depending upon his mood.
The Snow Bear frightened almost everyone who first came to Winterfell.
Cregan had apparently decided that meant it was worth investigating.
"Cregan," Dacey called, not loudly, but in the particular voice of a mother who expected obedience before she needed to repeat herself, "I have already told you twice that Ser Waylon saying the animal is gentle does not mean you should put your face beside its teeth."
Cregan turned halfway around. "He said Scar has never bitten a child."
"That is not the reassurance you think it is, little wolf." she said while sighing.
Ser Waylon, another Winter Guardsmen charged with her protection, sat several yards away on an overturned barrel, White Talon perched calmly upon the thick leather glove covering his left hand. He had been born to smallfolk and still carried himself more like a veteran man-at-arms than a Winter Knight, despite the oaths Alaric eventually dispensed upon him. Grey had begun appearing through his beard, and there was something permanently weathered about him that made Alys understand why he had managed less than a year on the farm Alaric rewarded him with after the Greyjoy Rebellion before giving the land to his brother and returning to soldiering.
"Lady Dacey, I swear on my honor, Scar would sooner let the boy pull his ears than bite him," Waylon called across the yard. "The beast has better manners than half the men I served beside at Pyke."
"That says more about your companions than your bear," Dacey replied, though she did not sound genuinely angry.
Nearby, Fang, Cregan's Direwolf, lay stretched beside Scar with his dark head resting between his paws, while Rose had taken possession of a sunny patch near Lyarra and Sansa. Lady rested close beside them. Nymeria was nowhere Alys could see, which usually meant Arya was somewhere she had been told not to be, while Summer remained near Bran and Edwyn beneath the gallery. Shaggydog had spent much of the morning following Rickon through the castle until one of the servants complained that the black wolf had stolen half a sausage from the kitchens.
Alys had stopped being surprised by such things.
"Your Grace." Ysilla's voice drew her attention toward the benches beneath the gallery, where Robb's wife sat with Edderion tucked carefully against her. He was still small enough that much of him disappeared inside the blanket wrapped around him, though one tiny hand had escaped and rested against Ysilla's breast.
Alys moved toward her, and Dacey joined them after finally convincing Cregan to leave Scar alone.
"You need not call me that when half the family is sitting around watching children torment animals," Alys said as she took the seat beside Ysilla.
Ysilla smiled. "I spent too many years being taught how to address queens properly. Despite the lovely image of Sarra having a fistful of your gown in hand." she laughed lightly
"She has had it for most of the morning. I have accepted that the gown belongs to her now."
Dacey sat on Ysilla's other side, looking first at Edderion and then at Sarra. "Both of you are fortunate. At three months, mine had learned that if they screamed long enough, someone appeared. Once they understood that, they treated silence as wasted effort."
"You say that as though Cregan has stopped," Alys said.
Dacey looked toward her son, who had now moved from Scar to asking Waylon something about White Talon. "He has merely found more words with which to make the noise."
Ysilla laughed softly, careful not to disturb Edderion, though the smile faded as she looked down at him.
Alys had noticed that look often during the past several days. Ysilla was happy, plainly so, but almost every peaceful moment with her son eventually brought the same distant expression.
"You are wondering whether Robb has received your letter," Alys said.
Ysilla looked toward her. "I know he probably has. Maester Luwin says enough time has passed for it to reach Lannisport, and Lady Catelyn wrote from Riverrun that she had sent word to Lord Eddard as well. Knowing that does not stop me wondering whether Robb was there when the raven arrived or whether the letter is sitting on some maester's desk while he is off inspecting troops."
"He has it," Alys said with more certainty than she possessed. "And if he has it, he has read it until he knows every line."
Ysilla's thumb brushed gently over the edge of Edderion's blanket. "I hope so. I want him to see the boy while he is still this small. It is foolish, I suppose, because Edderion will not remember whether Robb held him now or six months from now, but I will. Robb will. There are things I wanted us to have together, and every week the war lasts is another one that passes without him."
Alys looked down at Sarra. "I feel all to much the same, it saddens me that she may cry when Alaric first holds her." Alys said with a sigh before continuing. "Torrhen as well. They know my voice. They know the nurses. They know Walder well enough that Sarra stopped staring at him weeks ago. Alaric is their father, but to them he will simply be a strange man picking them up."
Dacey leaned back against the stone wall behind the bench, considering that before answering.
"Then they may cry," she said. "Benjen was gone often enough when ours were young that sometimes one of them would pull away when he first returned. He hated it, though he tried pretending he did not. Then he held them again the next day, and the next, and before long they followed him through the halls whenever he was home. Children do not care about crowns or duty, Alys. They learn to love whoever keeps coming back."
Alys looked at her.
Dacey's expression softened. "Let him come back. The rest will follow."
Alys nodded, though she found herself holding Sarra slightly closer.
The door from the inner keep opened before she could answer, and Ser Karl crossed the yard at a pace that made the ease of the morning disappear before he ever reached them. Maester Luwin followed several steps behind with a tightly rolled parchment in his hand.
Alys rose, and as she did, Sarra stirred, but thankfully did not cry.
"Your Grace," Luwin said, inclining his head. "A raven came through Seagard. Ser Benjicot's seal."
Dacey was already standing as well.
Alys handed Sarra carefully to her nurse and accepted the parchment as she read without speaking. For one brief instant, relief struck hard enough that Alys nearly stopped there.
Prisoners confirmed that Balon had expected the North's western coast to be weak, that Deepwood Motte and the Flint lands were supposed to fall quickly, and that Victarion's main task had been to clear the sea before additional men crossed from the islands.
"Victarion lost," Dacey said, watching Alys's face.
"Aye. Benjicot drove him west." Alys handed the parchment to her. "But we lost more than two hundred men doing it, and Victarion still has ships."
Dacey read while Alys turned immediately toward Karl.
"No coastal levies shall stand down, keep them alert just in case. Send ravens to Deepwood Motte, the Flints, Torrhen's Square, and Bear Island confirming that order, even if they have already heard of the victory. Ask White Harbor what provisions can be moved toward the western coast and what arrangements have been made for wounded sailors returning by ship or road."
Karl nodded once. "And the prisoners?"
"No reprisals without judgment. Anyone taken by Benjicot remains his responsibility until he receives other orders, and any Ironborn brought north are to be guarded properly. I will not have men hanging captives because they are angry."
"Aye, Your Grace."
As Karl turned away, Waylon had already risen from his barrel, White Talon now perched higher on his arm while Scar pushed himself slowly upright at the change in activity.
Alys looked toward Maester Luwin. "Where is Theon?"
"In his chambers, I believe."
"Have him brought to my solar. Ser Karl can assign two men to escort him."
Luwin hesitated only briefly. "Do you wish his weapons removed?"
Alys thought about that.
Theon had been a hostage since before she had known him, yet for years the word had become something almost ceremonial. He had been allowed to ride, hunt, eat in the hall and move through Winterfell under the assumption that Balon Greyjoy valued the life attached to the peace he had accepted.
Balon had now answered that assumption rather calously.
"Yes," Alys said. "For now."
Theon entered her solar perhaps half an hour later with Ser Karl behind him and another Winter Guard at the door.
Walder stood near Alys's chair with his broad hands resting at his sides, while Waylon had remained outside with Scar after being assigned to the corridor. Alys had intentionally kept the room otherwise empty.
Theon looked first at Walder, then toward Karl, before his eyes settled on her.
"So this is the company i shall enjoy before i breath my last, is it?"
Alys did not pretend to feign ignorance.
"Your father has attacked the North while you remain here under the terms imposed after his last rebellion. I have not ordered you placed in a cell, Theon, nor have I ordered anyone to mistreat you. I have ordered that you cannot leave Winterfell, cannot take a horse without my permission, cannot carry weapons for the present, and will have guards with you outside your chambers."
Theon's mouth tightened. "A hostage being treated as a hostage. I suppose I should be grateful for the honesty."
"I thought you would prefer it to lies."
That took some of the anger from him, though not much.
Alys placed Benjicot's report on the table between them.
"Victarion has been defeated at sea. He escaped, but his fleet took heavy losses. Benjicot's prisoners say your father expected our coast to collapse because so many northern men are south with Alaric. They also say Victarion was meant to clear the sea before more Ironborn crossed."
Theon glanced down at the parchment but made no attempt to pick it up. "You want to know what my father thinks to do next, do you not?" he asked, distaste evident in his use of the word 'father'.
"I want to know anything you can tell me that helps keep northern people alive."
He gave a short, humorless breath and looked away toward the window. "Everyone here has spent years making certain I remembered that I was not one of you, and everyone on Pyke spent my childhood reminding me that I was Balon Greyjoy's son. Now my father raises his banners, and suddenly I am expected to explain every thought inside his head as though he has spent the last ten years confiding in me."
Alys allowed the bitterness to pass without interruption.
Theon looked back toward her. "I do not know what he will do. I do not know whether he will send my uncleback, whether he will blame him, whether Asha will tell him she warned him, or whether he will decide losing ships proves the Drowned God wants him to lose more. I was ten years old when I left those bloody islands."
"That is still more than most people in this castle know of him."
"Perhaps, but less than they think." he spat.
Alys nodded. "Then tell me what you do know."
Theon was silent for a while. "My father does not like being told he misjudged something. He likes admitting fear even less. If Victarion returns beaten, he will not want the islands remembering that he started another war and lost the first serious battle. He may raid because raiding is easier than admitting the invasion failed. He may blame the captains. He may blame the weather. He may even blame me if he can find some way to manage it from three hundred leagues away." His jaw tightened again. "But no, I do not think this defeat alone makes him stop."
Alys watched him for another moment before speaking. "There was something else in the earlier prisoners' testimony. Benjicot questioned one of Balon's men about you."
Theon's expression changed before she even told him the answer. "What did he say?"
"That your father knows you remain at Winterfell. The man believed Balon no longer considers your life reason enough to change his plans. He also said some among the Ironborn believe you have become more wolf than kraken."
Theon stared at her and for several seconds the anger simply disappeared. Then it returned with a vengeance, just now aimed at a different target.
"So that is it." he said, voice lower then it should be. He laughed once, though nothing about his face suggested amusement. "The Starks never wanted another son. Alaric certainly never needed another brother following him around, not when he had Robb, Jon, Dorren and half the North hanging from his shoulders. I understood that years ago. I was Ned Stark's hostage, and everyone behaved decently enough that we could occasionally pretend the word did not matter."
He swallowed, his eyes still fixed somewhere past Alys.
"And now Pyke has apparently decided I am too much of a Stark to be worth keeping alive."
Theon finally looked at her directly.
"He knew I was here. He knew what the terms were. And he sailed anyway."
Alys held his gaze and simply answered. "Aye, I'm afraid he did."
Theon's face hardened, but there was nothing she could say that would make the answer less clear.
After a time, he asked, much quieter, "Will Alaric kill me?"
Alys had known the question was coming. "I do not know." she answered, honestly unsure of what he would wish to do.
He looked almost offended by the answer. "You are his wife."
"I am not inside his head, and I will not promise you something when I do not know whether I can keep the promise. Alaric did not make you a hostage. Robert Baratheon, Ned Stark and Balon Greyjoy established that arrangement after your father's rebellion. Balon understood exactly what your presence here guaranteed when he rebelled again."
"That is not much comfort if your husband decides to take my head." Theon said, studying her for several moments, perhaps expecting more. Finally he nodded, more to himself than to her. "At least you do not pretend otherwise."
"When Alaric sends instructions, you will be told. Until then, you remain in your chambers or accompanied by guards. No one is to harm you without my order."
Theon looked toward Walder, then toward Karl behind him. "I suppose that is the nearest thing to safety I am likely to have." He turned toward the door, then stopped. "My father is a fool," he said without facing her. "I spent years angry at everyone here because I thought he would someday want me back. I am beginning to think I wasted a great deal of time and effort."
Alys had no answer that would help him as Karl escorted him out.
[Later]
The castle had quieted by the time Maester Luwin brought the second raven.
Alys sat in her chambers with both twins asleep nearby, Torrhen in his cradle and Sarra held against the nurse who had finally succeeded where Alys had failed that morning. Walder occupied his usual place near the door.
The seal on the parchment bore the direwolf.
Alys broke it carefully.
Alaric's letter was several days old, written before he could have known the final result of Benjicot's battle.
He told her Lannisport had surrendered without bloodshed. Western lords were coming to the city, and he believed the campaign was nearly finished. Most of the rest was not about war at all.
Has Torrhen begun smiling as often as you predicted, or was that another attempt to make me jealous of everything I am missing? Does Sarra still glare at the same nurse as though the woman has personally offended her? You wrote that she has begun recognizing your voice from across the room. I admit I read that line more than once.
Alys stopped as she looked toward the cradles, before continuing.
Robb received Ysilla's letter. We spent part of the morning mourning over the fact that neithwer of us shall see our children for some time, but we have heart that this war shall at least cool down for a time, enough for both of us to come north. I mean to finish this business and come home. I have missed enough already. Tell Torrhen and Sarra whatever you think children of three months understand about their father, and if they understand nothing, tell them anyway. I would rather my name sound familiar when I finally walk into the room.
Alys lowered the letter.
Across the chamber, Sarra shifted in her nurse's arms but did not wake. Alys rose and crossed toward them, taking her daughter carefully before sitting beside Torrhen's cradle.
For several minutes she simply looked at the two children. Alaric knew that Torrhen had begun smiling, but he did not know what that smile looked like. He knew Sarra recognized Alys's voice, and yet, Sarra had never heard his.
Three months was not long in the life of a kingdom, but it was nearly the entirety of their children's lives. Alys touched one finger lightly against Torrhen's hand. His tiny fingers closed around it without waking.
"Your father says he is coming home," she whispered, keeping her voice low enough not to disturb Sarra. "I have told you about him often enough that I suppose he cannot complain if you recognize the name before the man."
Walder shifted quietly near the door but said nothing.
Beyond the windows, Winterfell had settled into the sounds of night. Somewhere below, guards changed watch around Theon Greyjoy's chambers. Ser Karl would be making another circuit of the royal apartments. Waylon was likely in the yard with Scar curled near the direwolves and White Talon hooded for the night. Dacey's children slept somewhere in the guest chambers, Ysilla lay with Edderion nearby, and across hundreds of leagues of road and river, almost every man they loved remained somewhere else.
Alys looked down at Sarra. Her daughter's face had relaxed completely in sleep. Alaric had missed their birth, their first smiles, their first recognition of familiar voices, and more mornings than either child would ever remember.
Alys only hoped he would be home for the ones they did.