Archive of Our Own

Tomorrow was his wedding day. Harry thought on how he should feel about it. Rather strange, everything turning out so perfectly in this exceedingly imperfect world. Littlefinger had wanted to continue pulling all the strings in the Vale after his daughter's wedding, but Harry had discovered it. Did Baelish honestly think he was the only one to keep spies? Truly, did he believe someone like, for example, Myranda Royce supported his cause?

Harry snickered. Baelish's part in the murder of Lady Lysa had been uncovered, the man himself stripped of his titles and executed. His bastard daughter looked dutifully sad, but Lord Hardying had a feeling she was actually rather glad with the new turn of events. She announced, somewhat surprisingly, she would still be happy to wed him.

And Harry was very much enamored with her. He was no stranger to women, having already sired two bastards, and he knew what he meant when he said Alayne Stone was exceptional. She had a sweet shy voice that made any man's heart beat faster, she had rich brown hair, and such beautiful shining blue eyes. What's more, she had the aura of some mystery around her that drew Harry to her as well. Why did he feel she was mysterious, he didn't know – she was as honest as her birth and standing could allow. Perhaps I made it up, just because I'm in love, he concluded happily.

"Lady Royce," he smiled as he entered the Gates of the Moon and saw Randa. "Is my darling bride at home?"

"Oh, yes," Randa twinkled. "Quite excited for tomorrow! She laughs, and cries, and prays – why, you've sent her poor head spinning!"

"Where is she now?"

"In her study, I believe."

She ran past him, giggling, and he waved his hand after her. Despite her too open behavior, why, always bordering on impropriety, she was one of his best allies. There was some romance between them, a year or two ago, but Lord Royce's plans to marry them were crushed. For the best. Now Harry and Randa were nothing but the greatest of friends and supported each other in life and politics.

The study's door was left open. It was rather quiet inside, and the young lord thought Alayne had left. Nevertheless, he looked inside, just to be sure.

Alayne was sitting quietly in her chair, clutching something to her chest and murmuring softly. She was looking strange – sorry, ashamed even.

Not noticing Harry, she stood up and unwrapped the thing she had been holding.

It was a man's cloak.

That explained everything, and Harry decided to leave her in peace for now. With his own two bastards, he understood perfectly – why should Alayne be the essence of maidenly innocence? She wasn't even a lady by birth. It's a wonder he hadn't seen any men besides himself near her during their courtship. Of course, Littlefinger used to say she was promised to the Faith at first, but Harry wasn't so foolish to believe it had abstracted her from earthly thoughts. Must have had some lover wherever she was being brought up, before her arrival to the Eyrie.

Well, in a way, it was good even. He didn't want a scared unknowing maiden in his bed on the wedding night.

Smiling to himself, Harry was about to go away quietly, when something about the cloak caught his eye.

Careful not to make any sounds, he stared at it more closely. 

It probably used to be white in its better days, but now it was so much covered in dried blood and dirt that its true color was rather difficult for Harry to decipher. What shocked him was that not its pitiful condition, but its form and design. He had seen such cloaks, only the color of the purest snow, in history books. And in reality he had spotted their kind too, when he had visited the capital.

It was a Kingsguard cloak.

Creeping away from Alayne's door, Harry seated himself on a bench in the hall. That puzzled him very much.

First, Alayne hadn't in her life come near King's Landing. Second, knights never, ever, ever left their Kingsguard cloaks to ladies, or to anyone at all. It was something to be watched over closely and cherished, it was something given for life. Third, no one would have ever dared to sew a copy of such a cloak. 

So, where could Alayne obtain one?

Harry thought hard. He had heard of Barristan Selmy being thrown away from the Kingsguard. Could Alayne be a distant relation of his? But no, that was hardly possible. He saw the way she held this cloak. That could only be a lover's offering. And, much as Harry respected Ser Barristan, he couldn't imagine him winning (or wishing for) the favor of a fourteen-year-old maid.

Now, who else? Ser Oakheart, who was reported to have been killed in Dorne. People said he was handsome. But again, where and when could Alayne have met him? Besides, Harry had remembered the day when the news of his death reached the Vale. Alayne had barely listened. Or was it an act?

Jaime Lannister. Now that was a possibility. He had been wandering around Westeros for quite some time. He was very attractive, Lannister golden hair and all that. Personally, Harry couldn't believe how any maiden would want Jaime Lannister, a man who had killed a king and lain with his own sister, but maidens themselves might think differently. Lysa Arryn, the poor idiot, had been madly in love with Baelish, for example.

Again, Harry was hardly jealous, but he was intrigued. There it was, the mystery that he felt earlier. 

He walked back to the study and knocked.

His bride opened, smiling and joyous – not a hint to betray what he had witnessed.

"My lord," she curtseyed and winked. "Couldn't wait?"

Her charming, lightly coquettish ways that had enchanted him. Now he suddenly realized they were something else – they were meant to hide her secrets.

"Indeed, my sweet lady," he nodded. "But not just that. Have you heard? That man they call Aegon Targaryen has joined forces with Khaleesi Daenerys."

He knew she must have heard it – the Vale, as one of the eastern parts of Westeros, would the first one to be in danger from the new Targaryen invaders. But it was a way for him to subtly find out what he wanted.

"I've heard it, aye. Does it worry you so even on our wedding's eve?"

"Why, I'm bound to be concerned over such a lovely bride!" he kissed her hand playfully. "They do have dangerous fighters in their army. Barristan Selmy's there, after all, and even at his age..."

"Poor man, turning to them after serving in King's Landing," Alayne said lightly. "But he was dismissed most ungraciously by that monster of a king... as I've heard."

Harry studied her face and didn't find anything extraordinary. Well, it was to be expected. The days of love were past for Ser Barristan. The lord passed over to his guesses number two and three:

"A pity many of our own valiant knights are lost. Ser Arys Oakheart, killed in that hopeless rebellion, and the Kingslayer losing his sword arm..."

Alayne frowned, suddenly alert:

"My lord, on what purpose do you speak of the Kingsguard? Not exactly a fitting theme for soon-to-be newlyweds."

She had learned much from her father, he had to admit. Her mind worked a lot faster than Harry expected. Well, since she realized she was being questioned, might be better to be straight with it.

"My dear lady, I saw you minutes ago with a Kingsguard cloak in your hands."

Her face reddened.

"I assure you, if it was just some man's cloak, I wouldn't have said a word. But for a bastard-born maiden from the Vale to have dealings with the Kingsguard... it's, let's say, unexpected."

Alayne stood up and paced the room to and fro, deep in thought. Sometimes she looked at Harry thoughtfully, then glanced towards a small chest standing by her bedside. Finally, she breathed out.

"I've been acquainted with you well enough to know you don't support Queen Cersei's cause. There's no turning back now anyway. I think I should reveal myself."

Reveal herself? Phew, that was getting more interesting than Harry had thought. He watched in shock as Alayne took a small bottle out of the chest and rubbed the contents into her hair. Then she walked over to the water-basin and gave her long tresses a proper wash.

When she raised her head, Harry was astonished to see a mass of fire red hair crowning it.

"Lady Sansa, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of WInterfell, pleased to meet you," she said.

Lady Sansa? Of Winterfell? Tyrion Lannister's wife?

But to think of it, it all fell into place. Her good knowledge of the goings-on in the capital. That cloak. Petyr Baelish overly doting on her, rather too much for an ordinary father. Giving her kisses on the mouth and all that. No wonder now – she looked the exact image of her mother Lady Catelyn.

"I didn't kill Joffrey, although believe me I wouldn't have been sorry to have done it," she continued. "Petyr helped me escape."

"What of your husband?" he asked, too amazed to think of any other questions. Alayne – no, Sansa, he corrected himself – lowered her head and sighed regretfully:

"I have no idea. I only know that he had escaped too, by what means – I can only wonder. Well, it must be easier for him with his height," she sighed again. "He was kind to me. I... I have treated him rather horribly, I must say. If he turns up again, I'm sure he'll annul the marriage immediately."

It dawned on Harry that now he couldn't marry Al... Sansa. Not until the dwarf's death is proven. What's more – would she want to marry him? He felt cold shivers on his neck. Alayne was a willing bride, but Sansa was a stranger.

"I must confess," she said, as if reading his thoughts, "now that I'm Sansa again thanks to you, we can't marry. It was Alayne Stone who was unwed."

"I know," he nodded sadly, looking at her lovely face and perfect figure. How he had looked forward to it...

"Not because of Tyrion, though," she said. Harry stared at her. What?..

"I've read a book on the Andal invasion," Sansa explained. "It had facts about some Andal customs that aren't practiced anymore – but have never been forbidden lawfully. One of them was their "quick wedding" tradition, often practiced during wartime. A man had to put his cloak on a woman and kiss her, and the woman only had to be willing. Then they were thought married, in everyone's eyes. People just forgot this custom in time."

"And?" Harry asked. Sansa took out the bloodied cloak out of the same chest and caressed it softly:

"Tyrion Lannister may live or die as he wishes. I have been married to Sandor Clegane long before my nuptials with Tyrion were even planned. Until his death is proven to me, I will not marry anyone."

The young lord gaped at the girl in front of him, utterly at a loss for words. Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this. He expected... well, at most some tragic love story concerning Arys Oakheart or Jaime Lannister or someone else gallant and handsome. But the renowned Hound, a deserter and a beast, of all people?..

"Wh-why him?" he managed to stutter. That's where his mind failed completely.

Sansa smiled sadly:

"He was a true knight."

"I..." Harry began, desperately. The thought of his bride with Tyrion Lannister was infuriating enough, but with the Hound... "I... would advise you not to be rash... He's a second son of a minor knightly house, and many would jump at an opportunity... your ancestors are known since the Dawn Age..."

The girl's throat convulsed, and he realized she was fighting back tears and losing the fight.

"He never wanted gold or ancestors or anything," she sobbed finally. "All he wanted from me was my song."

She buried her face in the cloak and wept. 

Lord Harrold Hardying quietly left the study and closed the door. He thought on what they would say to the Vale people on the morrow. 

Randa bumped into him again on her way back:

"Well, how is the future Lady Hardying?" she chuckled.

Harry gave a strained mirthless smile:

"Not Lady Hardying. Lady Clegane."

He became the first person to see Myranda Royce's jaw fall down.