vvitchsdesire | fic: another mask behind you

ao3 || wattpad || ffnet

Title: another mask behind you
Fandom: ASOIAF
Rating: T
Wordcount: 1929
Summary: Alayne; the name hangs heavily on her tongue.

Alayne; the name hangs heavily on her tongue, and she (Sansa, once upon a time, maybe - but not really. Sansa's a dead girl, and Alayne is alive) struggles to get it out of her mouth, past her teeth. She's busy, panicking, panicking. Everyone is, seemingly.

The queen's commitive (the boy king stuck in the palace, under his mother's watchful, paranoid gaze) is coming, and Father says it is to discover their allegiances - is it to the crown, is it not? Alayne, who thinks she knows the queen, thinks that's paranoia, but that's ridiculous, isn't it? How could a mere bastard know the queen? It wasn't possible.

So she works. She reads and attends Father's lessons because she's no one and Alayne must learn. She organizes the coming of the queen, orders servants around, panics at the sight of red in her hair and dyes her hair compulsively.

It's fine. Really, it's fine, because if it is something else she fears she'll start screaming, and Alayne isn't sure if she can make herself stop once it begins.

Alayne marks the passage of time by the way the dye goes away in her pot, little by little by little. When the queen arrives, the dye will last two weeks. It'll end when the queen leaves.

It's just enough time. Just enough time for her to ask Father for more, get on her knees and beg, eyes looking up, Father seem through her eyelashes as she begs, begs, begs, until her throat is hoarse and her voice weak.

Father enjoys begging, likes Alayne in her knees. Likes Alayne, end of story.

Alayne does not like Father. Does not like the feeling of his hands on her bare skin. Does not think a father would to what he does to a daughter.

(she had another father, didn't she? Once upon a time...)

But Father is the only family she has left, so Alayne subjects herself to his bed, humiliated, pretends to answer to Catelyn. Whoever that is.

(better to not think too much)

When the queen arrives, winter is setting. Father says some platitudes about the weather, and Alayne looks at the snow. The snowflakes are still gentle, piling high on the windowsill. Summer snow, almost, but this isn't -

Fade to black, theater's over, stop thinking.

Alayne looks to the queen, bows when needed, and does not think. She guides the queen, beautiful and spring-like, to her rooms.

She is droning on an explanation of the system, as if it was needed, as if it was wanted, when the queen gestures, discreetly, for her ladies-in-waiting to leave. They do, and Alayne raises an eyebrow, then smooths out the expression.

The queen comes closer, smelling of summer roses. She grabs Alayne's hands delicately, like they're made of porcelain.

"Sansa?" She asks, voice full of - longing? Sadness? It's an emotion Alayne cannot put a finger on. Her eyes are teary. Alayne cocks her head. "Seven gods, I wondered…"

Her head hurts. Alayne doesn't like the pain, stabbing, prodding.

"I'm Alayne." The girl interrupts, gently taking her hands from the queen's grasp. The queen's jaw clenches, and she looks at her through half-lidded eyes. "A bastard. Just another bastard with a common face."

The queen opens her mouth, closes it. Alayne wants to look at herself in a mirror, make sure there's no red peeking through. Perhaps it's that; Father always said that the red was a disease through her veins, showing in her hair, and to hide it was to be proper - as proper as a bastard can be, anyway.

On some level, Alayne knows that Father is molding her, making her into the perfect little (daughter, wife? It's hard to say). She knows her stomach turns at it, but Alayne grits her teeth and bears it. Father was kind enough to take her.

The queen's expression changes, her eyes, brown and kind but terrible, shining.

She likes the way the queen's eyes shine. Perhaps, in another life, they could've been friends.

"Is that so?" The queen gives a step back, sits on the bed. "Then do forgive me, you must really have this common face you speak of. You're dismissed."

Alayne bows, leaves the room, and the ladies-in-waiting scurry back inside.

She sees the queen around a little, mostly during dinner and in the afternoons. Father is with her the rest of the time, and Sweetrobin is in bed rest, so it falls to Alayne to keep running the household. Alayne enjoys it, so it isn't a problem.

Sometimes, during the day, she meets the queen and Father. They're walking, discussing things Father later will whisper to her, and Alayne stops, casts her gaze downwards, bows. Father always talks coldly to her, and the queen offers some kind words.

"She's trying to get to you." Father will say, later. Alayne will stare at the ceiling, pretending she isn't herself.

Dinners are slightly better, at least. Alayne will stay quiet, eating, and so will the queen. The bard she's brought for entertainment will sing softly, and the air will be full of static, as if a war was to be brewed in the long spaces between phrases.

Alayne didn't mind. What she minded was the interminable stretches of afternoon, two or so hours before dinner, when the queen invited Alayne to sew, roses blooming from the tip of her needle, and Alayne worked on little birds, blue feathers and black beaks.

The ladies-in-waiting are never present. Alayne asks, once, on the first time.

"They're busy." The queen, giggles, eyeing the knight that remains. He wears a white cloak, looks like her. The queen usually has other knight with her, one that wears Tyrell green, but he isn't present. The bard, too, disappears with one lady after dinner frequently.

Alayne can do two plus two.

It's been a week and a few days. The queen's stay will soon be over, the queen moving to the Twins to visit. Alayne has heard nothing nice about the lord presiding over there.

Today is another afternoon like the others. The queen embroiders, and so does Alayne, silent.

"Sansa." She calls, but that isn't Alayne's name (anymore), so it goes ignored. Alayne keeps embroidering, the wolf in it familiar. She grabs pink thread; it deserves a collar. The queen sighs. "Alayne."

Alayne's head snaps to the queen, a pleasant enough smile on her face. The queen's jaw is clenched, tight. There's something the queen dislikes in this situation, but Alayne does not know what.

"Yes, your highness?" Alayne replies, sweet voice and kind eyes. "Is something the matter?"

"I was wondering if perhaps your father wouldn't like for you to become my lady-in-waiting." The queen sets aside her embroidering, and slid closer. Her hands are warm against Alayne's. Familiar. She panics at the thought of being at a higher eye level than the queen, years (years?) of deep-seated etiquette conditioning activating inside her. Alayne tried to move, tried to move, but the queen's hands did not allow for movement. She was trapped. "It would be more interesting than staying here, at least."

There's panic bubbling in her chest at the thought of going to King's Landing. At the thought of seeing the queen dowager. At the thought of the pikes in the wall. There's a head there with familiar eyes, she knows, and she does not want to see it.

Alayne stammers, looks away from the queen's brown eyes.

"I don't think Father would -"

"If I order, he'll have to." There's a viciousness to the queen's words, a snake's poison ready and coiled, ready to attack. Alayne's panic grew, a crescendo of dizziness and nausea overtaking her.

The Eyrie was a nest, safe enough that she did not have to leave, safe enough that she could watch as events unfolded without ever getting hurt. Alayne was tired of getting hurt.

"Please." She begs, because begging is the only thing she's good at doing. Her eyes fill with tears, and the queen looks startled. "Don't make me go back there."

Alayne - Sansa - Alayne has never been to King's Landing, but the words flow seamlessly from her lips, spilling as the tears fall from her face in graceless blobs.

"Please, Margaery." The queen's name falls from her mouth carelessly, and the queen's jaw sets once more, as she rises, hugs Alayne.

The queen smells warm. Roses, lemon pie, familiar and comforting.

She then lets go, and Alayne sniffs. Unladylike, her mother would say.

"Very well." The queen still hasn't let go of Alayne's hand, and the smile on her face is tense, to say the least. "If you do not wish to come, then I'll not force you to."

There's a catch, she knows it. The queen slid back to her seat, puts on that smile on her face once more, as if Alayne isn't sniffling like a child with a scratched knee.

"But you're welcome to join me in bed, later." Alayne straightens her back. "This place is so cold, and my ladies do tend to wander."

A pause, with a wry laughter. Alayne wonders, will the bastards be Stones, or will they be Flowers?

"I'll… I'll think about it." Alayne manages, and the queen says nothing, smiling.

At night, Alayne foregoes begging Father for more hair dye - the little inklings she has will last, she knows, but it's the safety of having that makes her skin not itch - and head to the queen's bedroom. She eyes the white-cloaked knight, bows at him, and he knocks on the door for her.

"It's your pet." He says, scathing, spitting the word like the insult she knows it is, and Alayne bites her tongue. She does not like it, but really, what is she but a pet? Lovely, fair little Alayne, who runs to her master like a kicked wolf.

But she is no wolf. She's a little caged bird, singing to however says she should sing to.

The queen opens the door, smiles tersely at the knight in the white cape, shushes Alayne inside, all in one swift motion. When Alayne notices, she's already sitting in bed.

The queen looks at her, and there's familiarity in her eyes. Alayne does not know what to tell her.

"Sansa." Does the queen see a past lover in her, perhaps? The queen sits by her side, touches her hands gingerly. Alayne waits, patient. Perhaps, if she plays along... "I'm not sure what he did to you, but I promise you that, when all this is over, I'll come back for you. We can go see the roses."

Alayne nods. She would like that; there weren't many roses around, and Alayne thinks that they would be pretty, in full color. The Eyrie is grey, and she misses seeing fresh flowers.

(her hair does not count)

The queen's smile grows, blossoming, and she kissed Alayne's forehead gently. Familiar warmth, comforting.

"I'll miss you. I miss you."

"Me too."

When the queen has to go, she lingers for a moment. Father gives her a side glance, and Alayne ignores.

The queen's hands are warm on her.

"Alayne, it's such a shame your father won't allow for you to come with me." She sighs and looks at Father. "But you'll write me, surely."

"If your grace desires." Alayne replies, polite.

"I do. It'll be such a shame if I don't hear from you, dear." It's a thin-veiled threat. Alayne does not know why the queen utters it, but Father straightens his back. "Until we meet again."

"Until we meet again." Alayne echoes. Inside her, Sansa thrives, just a little.