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THE 1st DAY of the 10th MOON, 36 AC | Dragonstone, Blackwater Bay

PRINCE MAEGOR of HOUSE TARGARYEN

“Congratulations, Your Grace, it’s a girl.” The Grand Maester Gawen said to an exhausted Ceryse Hightower and an anxious Maegor Targaryen as the babe’s cries pierced through the air on Dragonstone. The midwives swaddled the babe in a Targaryen-style blanket, black with a three-headed, crimson dragon. They handed her to her mother first, where her screeches were only quelled by her breast. 

“She’s certainly your child,” Ceryse said exasperated with a smile on her face. Her honey-blond hair and flushing skin were laden with sweat. 

Maegor tilted his head in curiosity. 

“She’s demanding and loud like you,” his wife bluntly explained. 

He merely laughed and looked at his daughter once more, stroking her blond wisps of hair as he kneeled at his wife’s bedside. “She’s got a warrior’s cry too.” 

Ceryse scoffed, “Hopefully that won’t be a problem in the night.” 

“It probably will,” he replied. 

“Don’t hex it,” she begged, making him chuckle. 

Their daughter had stopped feeding when she turned her face away from her mother’s breast. Maegor only stared at her curiously. 

“Do you want to hold her?” His wife seemed to always know what he wanted. 

“Yes,” he gruffed before she relinquished the babe from her arms to him, he stood up and started rocking her. 

She opened her eyes and to his surprise, they weren’t the color he was expecting: a shade of purple. Instead, they were blue like a summer sky, and her hair was like honey. His daughter had her mother’s colouring. But most importantly his daughter was so tiny it baffled him. Maegor always imagined that his child would be big at birth like he was, but her small hand only covered one-half of his finger as he played with her. She was small like Ceryse, who was ten years his senior yet seemed to be half his size. 

“What should we call her?” Ceryse asked. “Something in Valyrian?”

“No,” he shook his head. “She looks like you, an Andal, a name in my tongue won’t suit her.” Maegor tried to search his mind for any he knew of. The only one he could think of was the name, Elaena, the Valyrian form of Eleyna, which came from Elenei--the stormy ancestor of the Baratheons--but coincidentally also meant ‘music’ in his language. 

“Eleyna?” He inquired, seeing for himself if the name fit. 

“No, I think a name used in the Reach would be better. She has my looks after all.” Ceryse noted. 

“She’ll probably be short like you too,” he japed. 

His wife only rolled his eyes. “Just because she’s small right now doesn’t mean she’ll stay that way. I’ll be surprised if she isn't--at the very least--taller than me.” 

An idea sparked in his head, “What was the name of your mother, again?” 

“Alicent Tarly,” she answered. “Why? Is that what you want to call her?” 

From what he knew Alicent had the hybrid looks of the First Men with brown hair but the blue eyes of the Andals. While Manfred had blond hair the same shade as his granddaughter’s. Ceryse and their daughter were perfect combinations of both. And according to Alicent’s husband, she had a wit with no rival and a high spirit. 

Alicent was also sister to the High Septon, a younger son of Lord Tarly who dedicated his life to the gods. Unfortunately, she died when Ceryse and her brothers, Martyn and Morgan, were still young and were raised by their father and aunt, Patrice. A shrewish woman that resembled her niece in character. 

“Can that be her name?” Maegor asked for his wife’s permission, knowing she would have wisdom on this topic. 

“It’s too wily for her,” she declared. And after a long moment suggested, “How about Alysanne?”

Alysanne, he pondered. They could call her Anne for short. He attempted to place that name to her rosy face with honey hair and blue eyes that squinted when she laughed as he played with her. 

Alysanne was similar to Alicent but with more play and delightful like a summer’s breeze. 

“It’s perfect for her,” Maegor agreed. “That is what she will be called.” 

A day later, Princess Alysanne Targaryen was presented to the court, where the rest of her paternal family was present. The Queen had joined her brother on Dragonstone from her construction of the Red Keep in King's Landing. Aenys and his family, Alyssa Velaryon, his wife, and his four children: Aegon, Rhaena, Jaehaerys, and Viserys. Ravens were sent to the Oldtown as well, to the multitude of relatives the princess had. 

Even though King Aegon held her first, Alysanne had to be practically ripped from her grandmother’s arms. Who was proud and joyous beyond belief. “You did good, ñuha tresy ,” [my son] Visenya said, congratulating him as they both pat his back. 

Warmth filled Maegor’s chest with pride and comfort, “Thank you, muña and kepa .” [mother & father ]

“It’s a surprise you know, we all thought she would take after you in colouring, or at least build, but she’s her mother’s daughter,” Visenya noticed while looking over at Ceryse, who was talking and laughing with Alyssa. Despite her laughter, her head was held up high even if she was exhausted. Ceryse was as prideful as she had been the day he married her, and her confidence almost exemplified her beauty. 

“You should’ve heard her when she came into the world then,” Maegor chuckled as he looked at his mother. 

“Oh trust me I did, everyone on Dragonstone most likely heard it for miles, including me.” Visenya declared.

"Her eyes resemble Mother's," The older Aegon said out of the blue. 

“You mean Lady Valaena Velaryon, my grandmother?” His son asked for clarification. 

“Oh yes, she may have had silver-gold hair but she also had warm eyes from a blue pond.” His mother agreed and seemed to gaze elsewhere, as if deep in thought. “I only wish all of you could’ve met her. She would adore you and Alyssa. She was courteous but observant and blunt too, with a bawdy tongue.” 

Maegor had seen the portraits of her here on Dragonstone many times, never really thinking about it besides just that: a painting of someone he would never know.

“Ah, but you don’t want to listen to an old woman like me ramble. Go enjoy the festivities.” Visenya commanded. 

“Mother, you’re hardly old-” 

“Go,” she repeated herself. He did as she said and walked away to refill his cup of Arbor Gold.  

They spent the rest of the night feasting, laughing, and drinking to celebrate the birth of the prince’s daughter. 

THE 2nd DAY of the 10th MOON, 36 AC | Dragonstone, Blackwater Bay

The next morning, Maegor went to the Dragonmount to pick an egg for Alysanne, as per tradition. When the sun was barely over the horizon and the light pouring through windows was pale gold.  

He chose one that shone silver in the sunlight. If one looked close enough, it had specks of white and gray. Maegor placed the beautiful egg next to her in the white, holly-wood cradle. Alysanne was swaddled tightly in gray with red dragon patterns. His thumb brushed her cheek as he stared at her, rocking her cradle gently, back and forth. 

It amazed him, how one could have so much emotion for someone they barely met. So much love…it was almost too much for him to handle. 

According to his mother, Maegor never had been an affectionate babe. Cold and distant, that was the expectation thrust upon him by her and everyone else, one he still fulfilled to this day. 

So for this small, gentle human to thrust herself into his life and soften his heart….was strange but relieving. He’d daresay it, he loved Alysanne more than his own wife who helped make her. 

Ceryse and his had been a political marriage insisted upon by that High Septon and agreed upon by his father. The Dowager Queen wanted him to wed Rhaena when she had been born to unite their claims, despite being eleven at the time. 

Well, it was safe to say that Maegor was glad that arrangement never went through, since his daughter wouldn’t be here now. 

He didn’t know why but he felt his eyes go watery, a feeling that shocked him. And a stray tear fell down his cheek. 

“Giving your daughter an egg already, are we?” A familiar voice made his blood run cold as he whipped his head around. 

It was his good-sister leaning on the doorway, whose spine was made of steel compared to her husband’s. Alyssa, who he kept at arm’s length.  

“Alyssa,” he greeted her with a nod and quickly wiped his tears away. 

“It’s a bit strange that Alysanne will have a dragon before you, no?” She grinned and touched his shoulder. 

“Only one is worthy of me,” he boldly claimed. “As I hope this one will be for her.” 

Alyssa leaned in, observing the egg, “That’s Quicksilver’s, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” he nodded. “Your husband offered her one the moment he heard about Ceryse’s pregnancy. I chose this from the Dragonmount.” 

Maegor recalled the day she told him. That had been one of the happiest moments in his life, he remembers hugging her so tight that she scolded him for hurting the babe. They had tried for eleven years, more than a decade. 

Although whether that moment could be called the happiest was now called into question with the arrival of Alysanne. 

He didn’t have much love for the gods, and he still didn’t, not as much as the love he held for her. But to have a daughter, a child, of his own body after all this time felt like a boulder of burden was lifted off his shoulders. 

“I used to hate how they whispered about you and her, you know,” Alyssa confessed as if she read his mind. “The ladies were always so mean to Ceryse behind her back, and then the men started spreading rumors about you as well after Jaehaerys was born and it got worse from there. How my weak-willed husband was even more fertile than you, giving him such back-handed compliments.” Her tone was embittered and cold, stretching every word to emphasize the last. 

His fists tightened as the cradle stopped, he could hear them laughing now: “Ceryse is barren and will never bear him a son.” “Poor her, the prince will never give her children.” Maegor’s teeth grit as he thought of their words, oh how they angered him. How dare they speak of him like that, or even her? Should anyone have such slander in their mouth, they should say it freely with pride instead of whispering like a craven. 

“The court is full of vipers, why do you think we stay here?” Maegor asked rhetorically. “It’s certainly not because it’s livelier.”

Alyssa chuckled, “Forgive my frankness, but you’re right: Dragonstone may be dreary and colder but at least it’s free of snakes.” 

“You can say that again,” the prince tittered. 

Apparently, that gentle titter was enough to wake Alysanne, who was close to wailing before her father picked her up and patted her on the back, trying to soothe her cries. 

Once she was calmed enough, Alyssa urged him to follow, “Come, she probably wants to see someone else besides her father.”

He rolled his eyes but went with her anyway, following her into the Great Hall of the Stone Drum where the rest of his family sat and stood by the fireplace, laughing and talking with one another. His father and Visenya were catching up while all of Aenys' children ran away from him to see their cousin, much to the endearing protests of their father. 

Rhaena was thirteen and already a known beauty with platinum blond hair and indigo eyes. Aegon the Younger was three years her junior and almost the spitting image of his namesake: amethysts were set into his eyes and his wavy hair worn in a mid part was a cream gold. The two were practically joined at the hip as they squabble over getting turns to hold their baby cousin. Seven-year-old Viserys and two-year-old Jaehaerys were shyer than their older siblings. Viserys only looked on with curious, orchid eyes while his younger brother did the same with his own amethyst. 

“Alright, alright, you may each take a couple of minutes to hold her,” Ceryse commanded to cease their fighting. Rhaena went first, as she was the elder, holding Alysanne for five minutes and handing her off to Aegon. Who then asked his brother if they wanted to do the same. 

Viserys looked between him and Ceryse as if asking for their approval silently, they both merely nodded before Aegon gave her to Viserys, then did the same with Jaehaerys, who had to be seated before holding her due to his smaller size and age. 

He merely gazed at her with his lips parted as if he was amazed and curious. “Why does she look more like Aunt Ceryse than Uncle Maegor?” Jaehaerys questioned while he squinted at her. 

“That’s because my blood’s stronger,” Ceryse japed while staring at Maegor. 

Everyone else laughed while he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. 

“But if that was true, wouldn’t Grandfather and Grandmother look more like their mother?” Viserys elaborated. 

“What do you mean, son?” Aenys asked with furrowed brows. 

Rhaena then answered for her younger brother, “I think he means that both the Velaryons and Hightowers have Andal blood through intermarrying. And as seen with Grandma Valaena, Valyrian traits tend to dominate. So the fact that Alysanne looks nothing like her father is shocking.” 

“Well, you just answered your own question,” Aegon, now into his sixth decade with hair more gray than silver, explained with a laughing tone. “My granddaughter's colouring probably comes from both her mother and great-grandmother.” 

There was collective realization across the room as they observed the newest addition to the royal family. 

THE 12th MOON | Dragonstone, Blackwater Bay

After they all went back to the capital, the rest of Ceryse’s family arrived two moons later. Her brother and his wife, Martyn & Charlotte, along with their father and aunt, Lord Manfred and Lady Patrice, all cooed over the princess.

The Dragonstone septon, Abelon, was a wizened old man that was her great-uncle and had visited as soon as he could. 

Her handmaidens and companions--Alys, Jeyne, and Hanna--were reunited with their father, brother, uncle, and male cousins as they too were kin to Maegor’s wife. Their father, Lucas, Lord of Harrenhal, was Lord Manfred Hightower’s cousin, born from one of the daughters of the first Manfred Hightower. 

Ser Morgan, another of the prince’s goodbrothers, couldn’t come because of his duties as a commander of the Warrior’s Sons in Oldtown, but regretted his absence nonetheless. And promised to send gifts, which would no doubt consist of something to do with the Faith.  

“She’s perfect,” Manfred beamed as he held her, rocking her. 

“I’m not surprised you think that, after all, she looks exactly like you,” Patrice mocked her brother. And she wasn’t wrong, Manfred had the same shade of honey hair his daughter and granddaughter did. While Patrice had graying locks held in a braid crown the color of sand. 

“She does not!” Martyn, Ceryse's 33 year old brother, protested. He had brown hair swept back and his father’s grey-green eyes. “I believe she has Maegor’s high forehead,” he put his hands on his hips. 

Maegor flushed in embarrassment and adjusted his silver circlet while Martyn’s red-haired wife, Lady Charlotte, who was born of House Webber, only giggled behind her hand. 

“And his upturned nose,” The firstborn and brunette, Jeyne, noted before booping Alysanne’s nose and smiling. 

Ceryse hooked her arm with his and looked up at him, “Make fun of him all you want, but at least he’s more comely than my last betrothed.” 

They all howled in laughter. Maegor had almost forgotten she was going to be married to another man before him: Lord Gerold Lyberr, who had white hair and whiskers. He had no living issue of his own and sought out a younger bride to make sure his line continued. Unfortunately, he died in his sleep before the wedding ever went through, and a nephew became the new head of their house. She stayed unmarried for a little while until the prospect of marrying a prince cropped up, something she was very happy to pursue. 

The doors creaked open and the second and third born twins Horas, Heir of Harrenhal, and Hanna Harroway came stumbling in. With ruffled, wavy brown hair and arms wrapped around each others’ shoulders and howling maniacally. “You’re not wrong about that, cousin, Old Lyberr was a croaking old man.” She yelled and slightly slurred her words, guffawing with him after. 

They’re drunk, Maegor realized while curling his fists. They came all the way here and for what, to fill themselves in their cups without a care in the world? Hanna was one of his wife’s companions, even a kinswoman, and this was how he conducted herself? He’d have to get her sent back to Harroway if this continued. Ceryse should not tolerate such misbehavior amongst her peers, he knew he wouldn’t. 

He wanted to say something before Lucas marched himself over to them and crossed his arms, scolding them. “Where have you been?” He shrieked at them. 

“You’re two hours late,” Jeyne scowled contemptuously with a dead tone. 

“We were out for a night in the town!” Horas tried to defend himself.  

“Is that why you’re slurring your speech?” Patrice raised an eyebrow and smirked. She was always delighted when people made open fools of themselves. 

“How many cups did you two have?” Lucas asked fiercely. 

The two looked at each other and then counted on their fingers. Seven for him, and nine for her. 

“Gods be good,” Martyn pleaded and shook his head. How are they not blackout drunk yet? Maegor asked himself. They must’ve had an unmatched tolerance, even he would’ve been at anyone’s mercy by nine cups. For such short people, they sure can hold their drink. The tallest of them was Lucas, who was only two shades under six feet. With his son at five feet and eight inches, the sisters were all shorter than that but taller than Ceryse, who was a mere five feet. 

“Guards,” Maegor barked, “Escort these two to their guest chambers.”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Horas grinned. “We want to see our baby cousin. She and I aren’t that drunk.” Then he proceeded to stumble in his step and fall. Some chuckled behind their hands while others stared. 

“I’m not letting you hold my daughter while drunk, now go,” Ceryse cocked her head to the approaching guards, who took them by the elbows and took them out of the room. 

Once they were gone, Lucas spoke honestly, “Those two are always getting into trouble.” 

“You know them, they love a good drink,” Alys--the youngest--conceded with a titter. 

This hadn’t been the first time, although Hanna and Horas were fond of drinking and partying, most of the time their Hightower cousins weren’t subject to it. But every tavern owner in that farmer town knew the twins well enough for the nights they spent there. 

“He loves them too much,” Lucas remarked bitterly. “That behavior is unbefitting of either of them.”  

At least they’re not around my daughter, Maegor fought back the urge to say but kept his tongue to not upset anyone. He would hate for her to turn out like his goodcousins, drunkards that have no shame and only make each other worse. 

Alys touched his arm and had a regretful look in her eyes, “I apologize for them. Although I love them as any sister loves her family, I wish they did not shirk their duties so much.” She had eyes the color of gold that matched the chains hanging from her waist on her orange and black dress. With huge orange jades which hung low and heavy on her neck and collarbones. Her dress was off-shoulder and had a neckline to make Septon Abelon faint. 

But then again, she always dressed like that. Never really one for the virtues of the Maiden or Mother. With her being a foot shorter than him, he could always see down her gown which was always awkward for an amorous man like him. 

“Don’t, it’s not your fault they have no shame.” His wife stepped forward and interrupted his thoughts. “They’re old enough to make their own decisions.” 

He gave them a small, grateful smile before Lord Manfred spoke up. “At least Alysanne is finally asleep.” 

“Is she?” Ceryse perked up. 

Her father nodded and handed the babe to her so she could see for herself. Hightower told no lie, she really was sound asleep. 

“We’ll be on our way now that we’ve all met her,” Lord Hightower announced with a quiet, discernible voice. He started gathering up his son and good daughter to retire for the night. 

“Thank you so much for hosting us, Your Grace,” Lucas bowed at the waist. 

“Of course, thank you for taking the time to come,” Maegor said courteously. 

Once they all saw themselves to their guest rooms, the prince sighed. “It’s been too long of a day, I swear.” 

Ceryse only smiled sympathetically and rubbed her hand on his back. “I know, let’s go rest.” She moved her hand and offered it for him to take. 

He was always so tired after being around too many people. Maegor didn’t necessarily know why, but court was just exhausting, even if everyone was genuine and polite. It had always been that way for him. His mother had noticed it early on and took him to the quieter Dragonstone. 

The couple kept their chambers in the Stone Drum. Aenys allowed him to have the master’s bedroom which connected to another of similar, but smaller, size, usually meant for the consort. Instead, it was where Alysanne’s cradle was, so her cries wouldn’t pierce their ears as loud in the night but was still close enough to attend to. 

“Do you want to…?” Maegor couldn’t finish his sentence, an awkwardness taking hold of him. He asked every time, but the answer was always the same. 

“No,” already rolled over on the other side, she responded so quickly that it pricked his heart. 

When they married eleven years ago, Maegor expressed his wish of living on Dragonstone and sharing a bed. Even if the two did not necessarily love each other as more than companions, he wished for a woman to still warm his bed. 

But their marriage bed had been mostly cold. He tried and reached out to her, but her drive was lower than his and he had no wish to fight with her on it. Arguing only made him more tired. 

That prick in his heart festered and he curled into himself as he pondered that single word and its meanings.

Chapter Text

THE 13th DAY of the 12th MOON, 39 AC | Aegonfort, King's Landing

PRINCE MAEGOR of HOUSE TARGARYEN, HAND of the KING 

Tonight was one of the few nights Maegor could afford to spend time with his family after being named Hand. The past two years had been filled with rebellion upon his brother’s ascension to the throne. He spent it in his daughter’s bedroom in the Tower of the Hand. 

Ceryse was pregnant for almost three moons now. And their family couldn’t have been happier.  

His wife beamed as Alysanne sat in his lap on one of the rocking chairs. Ceryse was laying on a blood-red chaise, with her hand over her stomach. 

“In the Age of Heroes, Durran had won the love of the fair daughter of the gods, Elenei.” Maegor read the first sentence of the passage aloud. 

“Who were her parents?” His daughter asked. 

“The gods of the sea and wind,” he responded, then continued. “And so they gave themselves to each other, but the consequence for her was dooming her to a mortal life, where she would eventually perish. Her parents were most wroth, their fury had destroyed Durran’s keep on his wedding night. And he would later be called ‘Godsgrief’ because he declared war on them. He would go on to build six more keeps which would fall until a seventh castle that they say was built with the magic of the First Men was raised. And it was there he would rule as the First Storm King of House Durrandon. Do you know the name of this castle?” 

“Storm…” The name was on the tip of her tongue, and she furrowed her brows in concentration. 

“Storm’s End, my dear,” her mother answered. 

“Oh, that’s right! I couldn’t remember the second part.” 

Maegor chuckled, “We all have our mishaps from time to time.” 

Ceryse clutched her stomach and winced as if she were in pain. 

“Are you okay, Mama?” Alysanne questioned with a worried tone. 

“I’m just fine,” she said, but it was unconvincing. She tried to get up but her knees wobbled. Maegor immediately went up to help her. 

Then a familiar metallic smell was wafting through the air. Blood, Maegor realised dreadfully. He looked down and saw scarlet staining his wife’s white gown.  

He barked orders at the guards to get the maesters and midwives.

The ten minutes of waiting were agonizing. He was waiting outside the room with his daughter, who clutched her stuffed dragon tightly. 

As he held her hand, she questioned, “Papa, will Mama be okay?” 

He squeezed her hand in comfort, “Yes.” 

“Why was she bleeding?” 

Should I tell her or not? Maegor asked himself. He didn’t want to ruin her innocence. 

“She’s just…” the words wouldn’t leave his throat. 

And they stayed there when Grand Maester Gawen opened the doors. 

The prince took his daughter’s hand and showed him out of the way. 

“Ceryse!” he ran to her and cupped her face stained with sweat and salty tears. 

“Maegor…” the life was sapped from her. He took her hand as he stood on his knees. 

“What happened with the baby?” Alysanne whispered to her mother. 

Gawen’s assistant tapped his shoulder. “It was a miscarriage, Your Grace.” 

His heart almost stopped, That cannot be… he thought to himself. The gods were cruel, they were cruel to end his wife’s pregnancy well before term. They showed him the bloodied fetus, and it looked more monster than man. It was small and male, with scales covering where there should’ve been pale flesh. And if you looked close enough, there were tiny horns on its head. 

Alysanne was peeking over and a lump formed in her throat. She fell to her knees and grasped her stuffed dragon even harder. 

Maegor helped his daughter up and guided her toward his wife. Letting her weep over her bedside. His little Anne’s tears soon joined Ceryse’s own, and they clutched at his heart. He loathed feeling helpless, If I had just been better, stronger, this would’ve never happened. The prince berated himself while rubbing Alysanne’s back and holding Ceryse’s hand. 

The Queen had already given birth to her fifth child from his brother, why was he different? Was something wrong with him? Was something wrong with Ceryse? 

He would pray on it, but what was the use? The gods did not listen to his wishes or wants, why should he come to them for their advice meant to sabotage him? 

THE 27th DAY of the 12th MOON, 40 AC 

They burned him on Dragonstone with Vhagar and Balerion’s flames: a merging of bronze, black, green, and red. But there wasn’t just one babe on that pyre, they were two. Vaella, Aenys & Alyssa’s daughter, joined his son in the colorful fire. Only a month or two old, and already dead in the cradle the same day her malformed cousin was brought too early from the womb. 

Alyssa sang a dirge duet with Ceryse after Septon Abelon gave some speech about how the Mother and Father had taken the babes so soon for some greater purpose. It went in one ear and out the other, he could care less about what they had to say or do about his child. 

He was to be named Vaegon, after his father yes, but also after Valaena Velaryon and his own mother, Visenya. 

Maegor remembered when he was discussing names for the babe with Anne when it was still in Ceryse’s belly. And her reaction to the name he suggested, saying it was such a pretty name that she wished to use someday. 

He only hoped that she had more luck in having children than he ever did. 

The smoke from the fumes flew into his face, giving him an excuse to have watery eyes. He wished to weep, he wished to thrash against the gods. He wished to throw cups at the wall and break glass. But his pride kept him from doing any of that. Maegor was still the Son of the Dragon and needed to present himself as such. 

In Targaryen tradition, a stillborn’s ashes weren’t placed in an urn. Instead, they were scattered over the winds above Blackwater Bay. Urns in the crypts were reserved for those that lived past the cradle. A stillborn babe was considered unremarkable in the grand scheme of things. Even if Maegor and his family had three months of anticipation and memories that they were forced to keep forever inside themselves. With only a red and black blanket that would be used elsewhere to remember him. 

Ceryse & Alysanne had both been hunched over sobbing in his arms. Alyssa and Aenys wept into each other, along with their children. 

He remembered what his brother said the day they announced their pregnancy. “Our children shall be as close as siblings.” Alyssa had already been a moon’s turn or two when he said so. But the day those two babes died was the day joy fled from the two men and their families. 

Once the funeral and feast were over, Maegor was free to be with his own thoughts. Ceryse had decided to sleep with their daughter in her chambers the room next door. 

He glanced at Blackfyre, whose steel glinted in the singular candlelight. The prince had to resist the urge to wield it and slash at just something. But he couldn’t sleep and needed to do something to clear his head without waking his family. 

Perhaps I shall ride Balerion, a ride in the clouds always brings clarity. Maegor came to a conclusion. He went out and grabbed his riding leathers as quietly as he could. Then to the Dragonmont, where his big, black beast waited. 

“Hello, Balerion,” he greeted him as he petted his snout, who only huffed pure heat. 

The prince mounted them and together they took off into the black, bright sky. Desperately hoping their flight would wake no one in the castle. 

He was already feeling better once they could see almost everything. He took a glance at the moon above them, it was full and bright against the sky. His daughter's egg was silver like the moonlight illuminating the dark waters beneath them. 

He thought about what happened that day, the losses they suffered. 

Why was Alysanne the only child he had so far? What had changed in three years? Was Ceryse barren? Maybe, they were certainly women out there who were fertile for a short time. And it’s not like she was getting any younger. She was approaching her fourth decade at thirty-four. While he was still twenty-four.  

Mayhaps the issue is with her, not me. He realised. 

But what he could do? Beget bastard children and beg Aenys to legitimise them? He would no doubt bend to the rest of the council’s will and refuse. 

They resented him, they hated him because of something he had and they did not: a Handship. A direct word to the king’s ears, he was the second most powerful man in the realm and those snakes loathed him for it. 

No, he needs trueborn children, but Ceryse was hopeless and they’d already consummated their marriage. 

Then a wicked idea came to him. What if he took his second wife in fire & blood, as his father had done before him? It was the only other way, the Seven had already wed them in their light and shunned him, they were of little worth. 

No, Meleys of the Fourteen would bind him to another. She had to. For his sanity. 

He and Balerion landed and Maegor made his choice as he walked back to his room. The only question was who. 

And it was answered sooner than he thought, for Lady Alys laid waiting on his bed. He was shocked and taken aback. 

“Lady Alys, what are you doing on my bed?” He whispered. 

“I think I should be asking you why you were riding so late at night.” She deflected and grinned as she stood up to greet him. 

“I needed to clear my head,” he lifted his chin. 

“Don’t be cross with me, it was merely a question,” Alys demanded. 

Maegor rolled his eyes, “You know that you being in my chambers at this hour could be--” 

Harroway cut him off. “Disastrous? Ruinous? Maybe,” she shrugged her shoulders and swayed closer to him. “But I see the way you look at me. At my breasts, my hips, and the rest of my curves. You may fool everyone else, Your Grace, but not me.” 

Her eyes of gold melted before him and sparkled with desire in the candlelight. And a smirk came upon Alys’ face as she gazed up at him. Maegor had just realized that she was wearing a chemise so thin he could see the lines of her voluptuous, body. 

He swallowed on nothing and tried to resist the fire starting in his gut. Ceryse would never forgive you. If it had been just some other woman, whatever, people slept on the wrong side of the sheets all the time. His father did, with Orys, which he had been unfortunate enough to be subject to at Storm's End. Though it was known that he never stopped loving Rhaenys. 

But Alys wasn’t just some lady, she was a companion and cousin to his wife. 

“She’ll never have to find out,” she reassured as if she had read his mind. “I won’t tell so long as you won’t.” 

He asked Meleys for a second wife and she threw one at him, but couldn’t it have been anyone else? Ceryse would never accept polygamy, she was cut of a different cloth than he was. And Alysanne was too young to understand. 

But she would find out if he carried through with this plan. 

A voice in his head told him to damn it all to hell. So Maegor did when he gave in and kissed her passionately. Pulling her in by the waist. She responded enthusiastically, with little moans against his mouth. 

Kissing on the lips turned to kisses on the neck, and that transformed into a passionate, love affair. They both prayed to their gods that Ceryse nor Alysanne wouldn’t hear or wake up. 

He vowed to take her to wife as they reached their peak together.

By the time he woke up, she was already gone and the bed cold. 

PRINCESS ALYSANNE of HOUSE TARGARYEN

THE 30th DAY of the 12th MOON, 40 AC

“HOW DARE YOU?!” Ceryse’s shrill voice carried through as she screamed at her husband. “I know we don’t love each other, but why did you have to remarry behind my back? And with my cousin no less….” 

Alysanne hated when her parents fought. It made her want to cry into her pillows. She hated it because she was only in the next room and could hear almost everything. She loathed the feeling of her stomach dropping and just wanted it to stop. 

She wasn’t sure why her mother was so mad, but it was something serious, that much she could tell. What did Papa do? Alysanne repeated in her head over and over and over again. Why did Papa have to make Mama angry? Why were they fighting? 

“I can explain, please Ceryse--” 

“You may try to explain it to me, but how is our daughter going to understand you suddenly have another wife?” 

“She knows Alys!” Papa defended himself. 

“Oh, she won’t any longer,” Mama responded. 

She folded the pillow over her head and tried her best to block out the fighting. After it was all quiet, she fell into a slumber and felt warm, familiar arms hold her, with little sobs. 

THE 31st DAY of the 12th MOON, 40 AC | Aegonfort, King's Landing

“You must either set Alys aside or go into exile, Maegor!” His Grace, King Aenys was ready to tear his white-gold hair out. Already greying from stress despite being only thirty-two years old. Alysanne was privy to yet another fight, she needed to get to the bottom of why Papa made Mama mad. She peeked in through the door to the tense scene. 

“And go where brother?” Her father asked with crossed arms. 

Go? Go where? Is he leaving? After asking herself that, anxiety took root. Was Papa going to abandon her? 

“To Pentos, for five years,” his answer made Papa scoff. “And you leave Blackfyre behind.”

“Your Grace is welcome to try and take her from me,” He replied scornfully.

Alysanne does remember her father telling her that Uncle Aenys was the one who gave him the big, dark sword. 

“The Hand cannot be a man that so openly disrespects his wife and daughter like you. That is why you must go!” Uncle shouted. 

“I will go, and so will my daughter, but I will not leave the sword behind. Gods knows that you probably can’t even lift it.” 

So Papa won’t abandon me after all? Some of the anxiety unravelled itself and hope glimmered. 

Aenys huffed from his nose, like one of those dragons in the pit. “You will leave by the morrow, no questions asked.” 

Her father said nothing else and started walking out the door. Alysanne hid in another room to avoid his fury, no one wanted to be in his way as he marched with a scowl on his hard face.

She then followed him with light footsteps. And to her dread, another argument between her parents. Her mother was sitting in a chair, doing embroidery. 

“My brother says I am to leave,” he announced. 

“Good,” she said without looking up. “The Seven know that you and her sins need to take their leave.” 

“I am taking Anne with me,” he said as if it was a known fact. 

“No you aren’t,” Mama replied coolly. 

“By whose authority?” His shouting made her jump a bit. 

“By mine, as her mother.” She stood up and puffed her chest out, setting her stitching work down. “I won’t allow her to grow up around such fornication. It’s bad enough Horas and Hanna are drunkards and Alys a whore with you wrapped around your finger.” 

Papa’s lips turned into a line and he shook with anger. “I dare you to call her that again!”

Alysanne had no idea what a ‘whore’ or ‘drunkard’ was but they sounded like bad people if Mama didn’t want them around her. 

“I am simply stating the truth. She knew you were grieving and took advantage of you for her own gain.” 

Her insistence made her father very angry, his voice wavered as if he was about to cry. “Well, at least she cares! At least she warms my bed like a wife should and not turn me away like you do!”

Her mother stepped closer. “We do share a bed, that was part of our arrangement! I have given you a child of your own blood.” 

“Where were you when I was grieving?” Papa asked. 

“I was with our daughter, you brute. Where were you?” Mama asked scornfully and her voice croaked just like Papa’s had before. “Oh that’s right, you were fucking my cousin in the next room!”

Then a sharp, hard smack on the face made the room go quiet. 

Alysanne’s first instinct was to go in and protect her mother. But she decided against it, too fearful of her father’s wrath. 

Mama’s fingers grazed the irked, red print on her cheek. 

Her father held his chin up, suddenly a formidable beast compared to her mother. “Alysanne is coming to Pentos with Alys and me, and that is final.” He left with balled fists and an angrier march in his step than before. The little princess rushed to the other stone wall and clutched it from behind to steer clear of Maegor. 

Something compelled her to go comfort her mother, who sat on the bed and started sobbing. “Mama?” Alysanne asked as she entered.

She looked up and smiled a little, “Oh Anne, did you overhear?”

Alysanne nodded her head. 

“Come here, dear,” she opened her arms. Her daughter accepted and hugged her tightly. 

“Will Papa really be leaving?” Alysanne asked. 

“Yes,” she cast her puffy eyes downward. 

“And will I be going with him?” She questioned. 

“No, not if I have anything to say about it,” she stated. “I can’t have you around people like him and Alys. They’re bad influences.”

“How so? Is it because Lady Alys is a whore, like you said?” She implored innocently. 

Ceryse’s eyes widened, “That is a very mean insult that should be used wisely. But yes, to put it sweetly, your father loves another that isn’t me.”

“But you two were married in the sight of the gods. At least that’s what Uncle Abelon said.” She was confused. 

“We were, but your father has shunned those gods and has taken false ones.” Her mother took a moment to recollect herself. “I’m going back home.” 

“To Oldtown?” Alysanne recalled all the stories she and her relatives told of the place, with its gigantic tower and bustling port and the beautiful Starry Sept. 

“Yes, and you’re coming with me. You’ll get to meet the rest of my family. You will not be alone there, I promise.” Ceryse knew how much her daughter hated being lonely and loved companionship with girls her own age. “But you and I have to pack our things tonight. We’re leaving in the middle of the night.”

“Am I going to have to sleep on a horse?” She pictured it, and it did not seem like a sensation she would welcome. 

“Yes, unfortunately, but we’ll rest along the way. We’re also sailing down the Mander River.” 

Ceryse had made quick work of both her clothes and her daughter’s, making sure not to forget both the stuffed and the real Silverwing inside the unhatched egg. 

It was the hour of the wolf when they left in the black night. Lady Jeyne Harroway, along with the rest of the Hightower retinue accompanied them on the road. Alysanne had a big bag of her clothes and her other possessions, including her dragon egg. She was seated behind her mother and dozed off to sleep as she had her arms wrapped around Ceryse’s waist. 

THE 7th DAY of the 1st MOON, 41 AC | Mander River, the Reach

Their group finally arrived at the headwaters of the Mander River during the afternoon day, only leaving their steeds behind when they caught a ship. 

Alysanne was staring out the window of the ship, a pale moon had its reflection rippled in the water, with a colouring similar to her egg’s. 

Which had still not hatched after three years, unusual for a Targaryen, as most hatched in the cradle and she had long outgrown that. 

It made her feel inferior. Compared to the dragons of her cousins, like Rhaena with Dreamfyre, and Jaehaerys with Vermithor. 

Her father always comforted her saying no egg hatched for him and he had to claim one, and she could do the same thing. But even then, he went so far as to have a stuffed dragon made in the egg’s image, also named Silverwing. 

But he had lied about Alys, did he lie about this too? And the stuffed dragon inspired by a mummer’s play she saw a year ago on her nameday was fraudulent too.

The thought of her father made tears well up in her eyes. And they caught onto the egg she was clutching so tightly. 

It was warm like a hearth before but now it was burning even hotter, so much so it would be a discomfort to touch for anyone else. But not her, for she was born of the dragon and an ancient towering flame. 

Then she heard a cracking sound and looked at it, it was shaking too. As if the beast was finally waking up. 

And it did, much to her joy. 

The egg broke in half, and a tiny head peeked out. Silver with grey horns and white eyes.

“Oh, hello there,” Alysanne said happily. She took it out of its shell and held it in her hands. Its body filled the space of both of her cupped palms.

She held it up to her face to inspect it further, its crests and claws were grey like its horns, and its wings and eyes were the same color, a stark white. 

Silverwing’s tongue stretched to her cheek, licking her tears away. It was forked like a serpent’s. 

It moved onto the other side and she giggled at the feeling. 

Alysanne may have lost a father, but at least she gained a dragon and a loyal friend.

Chapter Text

THE 18th DAY of the 1st MOON, 40 AC | Stonebridge, the Reach

PRINCESS ALYSANNE of HOUSE TARGARYEN

Alysanne watched the training bailey of Stonebridge as men clanged their swords, but she paid close attention to the form of the hunters as arrows met the rings of yellow, red, blue on targets. Their backs were straight with one eye closed, which made for good shots. She was fascinated with how the wind carried the arrows. 

“Watching the archers, are we?” She jumped at the sound of a girl’s voice. Alysanne turned around and bowed her head in a polite manner. It was Lord Caswell’s daughter, Joanna, who was taller than her and older by a decade. She was beautiful with sunshine locks and knowing blue eyes. A hairnet of gold and sapphires held that sunshine in place. And Lady Joanna’s long-sleeved dress was the same dark shade as her eyes, with a golden, hunting centaur on her bodice. 

Alysanne herself was wearing a pale silver dress with sewn diamonds. Her chin-length, honey hair was curled and nothing more. 

“Yes, Lady Jo-Joanna,” she answered with a stammer.

“No need to be ashamed, many ladies of my house enjoy the sport, along with hawking. Are you interested?” Joanna reassured her. 

She nodded, to which the maiden only laughed. 

“I figured, I could teach you, follow me,” she commanded with a finger. 

The princess did as she said and stepped down to the courtyard and she got a smaller bow from the rack. Joanna stood behind and supported her as she helped the princess hold the weapon in her hands. Teaching her to put one on the handle and to nock an arrow with the other. 

“Straighten your back, and plant your feet,” she instructed, “Now fire.” 

She took a breath before the arrow flew past her cheek, the lady was gracious enough to tell her to keep her face away to prevent injury. 

Her blood rushed as it hit the red circle, the second to last. She smiled in pride and turned to Lady Joanna. “Good job, my princess, it seems you have a natural talent.” 

“Thank you,” she curtsied. 

The men and the boys had watched too, and some had clapped her on the shoulder as she left and gave her praise. It made her warm inside, as warm as a hot meal. 

After two days, their visit was done and they went back on the ferry down the river. But when they said goodbye, Lord Caswell gave her a parting gift. 

The long, skinny box was made of a shiny, light-brown wood with a lock, he handed her the key too, and what was inside was something to remember for years to come. It was short and painted bright yellow, on the golden handle there were carvings of a dragon, and it was called a recurve by the kind lord, though she wasn’t sure what that meant. 

“My daughter, Joanna, informed me of your interest in hunting, so here is a tool to achieve that. I hope that you will continue to use this and other bows for years to come.” He explained. 

She had the urge to hug him but knew that to be too casual, and instead curtsied. “Thank you, my lord, this was most generous of you. I will treasure it.”

Her mother said similar words, and then they were on their way. They feasted at other castles, like Highgarden with its vast flora. There she was given a ring of a golden rose but what a rose actually looked like not whatever flower was on their sigil. 

After that, the Florents gave her a dress with copper foxes that frolicked and leaped as she spun the skirts. 

And one of their bannermen, the Beesburys, had given a necklace to her and her mother, that were matching. Both were forged in small chains of gold, one was a beehive and another a bee, painted with black on the stripes. They got to choose which one they wore and her mother had explained her choice of the beehive, “A hive protects bees, as I protect you.” And that brought a smile to her daughter’s face. 

THE 18th DAY of the 2nd MOON, 40 AC | Battle Isle, Oldtown

After a month from the house of centaurs, they arrived at her mother’s childhood home, Oldtown, on an island called “Battle Isle.” According to her mother, it was called for the first Hightower that slayed a dragon that roosted there. But that thought made her sad, thinking of her scaly companion, and didn’t think more about it. 

The roads were made of stones, and the river was azure silk with white thread. The scent in the air smelled like the flowery perfume her mother used which was a nice, familiar sensation. 

They were ferried over to the Hightower. At its base, there was shiny, black stone in a square but from a certain point, it was built of whiter material. 

Some servants came and collected their things, and guards escorted them up the stairs that made her heave. 

Supposedly her grandsire lived at the top of the tower, and the thought exhausted her even more. 

Silverwing could sense her fatigue and kissed her cheek with its forked tongue. To which the princess giggled. But the dragon abandoned her and flew up in the air. 

She cried out and would’ve ran, but her legs were sore. The adults merely laughed. 

“Only more than a moon’s turn old, and already your beast is flying, marvelous,” her mother commented. 

She scowled the rest of the way up. 

‘Thank the gods,’ Alysanne gave a sigh when she and her mother arrived at her own chambers. They were right next to each other after all. The sheets were grey and white, as were the pillows, but on them a sewn flame of red and orange was seen. She saw the blue dress with foxes in her closet. And the stuffed Silverwing on the nightstand, right next to a battered brown-leather book with a golden seven-pointed star that shone in the window light. But on a table nearby were spools of thread, and white, thin fabric within a circle. ‘ What are those for?’ She wondered to herself.  

“We’ll give you time to rest, but your father will bring someone to summon you two,” the guard said to her mother before closing the door.  

After that, the two finally had some time to themselves. Which Alysanne took full advantage of. “Mama,” her mother looked down at and then got on her level, “Why were you and Papa fighting and why are we here?” 

She sighed and gripped her shoulders. “Because he doesn’t care for me like he once did.”

“He doesn’t love you anymore?” She asked. 

“You could say that, yes,” she answered regrettably. “He went away because he cared for Alys more than me.”

“Did he stop caring about me too?” The question had been in the back of her mind for a while now. But she wanted to get the truth of it now so she would be at peace. 

Her blue eyes went wide, and her hands cupped her daughter’s face. “No no, he wanted to bring you actually. I refused because I don’t want you to be like them. That is why my family and I will be raising you, they are much better people than he is.”

“What is he like, exactly?” Her head tilted in confusion. 

“Inconsiderate, impulsive, and overall selfish, someone who doesn’t care for others.” She said with some bitterness to it. “Never, ever, be someone like that. Or else you’ll end up hurting everyone else in the process.”

“Of course, Mama,” Alysanne nodded. 

Her mother gave her a slight smile. “Let’s get you acquainted with your new home now, shall we?” She offered her hand which her daughter took. 

When they descended downward, they were met with a young maid making her way upward. She had her fiery hair up and wore a white dress with red outlining and looked to be no more than eight namedays. “Oh hello, you must be Princess Alysanne Targaryen and her mother, Lady Ceryse Hightower.” She curtsied but almost lost her footing on the steps. In response, the older woman gripped her arm and steadied her. 

“Best not to trip on these stairs, they go a long way both up and down. But anyway, who might you be?” The Hightower questioned her. 

“I am Lady Rosamund Ball, daughter of Lord Balon Ball. I am to serve as your daughter’s companion and handmaid, according to Lord Hightower.” The maid explained. 

“Well, it is nice to meet you, Lady Rosamund,” Alysanne nodded. 

“Pleasure,” her mother whispered in her ear. 

She looked up to her with furrowed brows. 

‘Oh, I must’ve said the wrong thing,’ the princess realized. She coughed and revised her greeting, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Rosamund.” 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” she smiled, ignoring the mistake. “I was heading up to your chambers to introduce myself. And Lord Hightower said that his daughter had embroidery materials already in her room. And that I am to teach you the art of sewing alongside your mother.”

Alysanne had forgotten about the strange supplies she had seen on the table. “Is that what those spools were for?” 

“Yes, princess, shall we go? I would prefer not to waste any time,” Rosamund admitted. 

“Of course,” Alysanne nodded. 

In the Princess’s chambers, a silver dragon of disordered stitching was being made on white fabric. 

“Do you think this looks good, Lady Rosamund?” She showed it to her companion. 

Her red eyebrows furrowed themselves, “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. After all, this is your first time, and more lessons will come.”

“She is right, daughter, I would not fret,” Ceryse comforted her. 

Her worries had been cooled by both of their words. 

“Tell us a story, Rosamund, I’m quite curious about you,” her mother asked bluntly. 

“Of course, my lady, I would tell the one of the cat I now have.” 

‘So she prefers cats over dogs?’ Alysanne pondered. 

“Why not?” Ceryse smiled. 

“A year ago, a commoner of ours asked me and my elder brother. He was a boy around my age, he came from a family of cat breeders, which they used to kill rats. One of their felines was black as night, and it had gotten stuck in a tree.” Rosamund giggled at the memory. “Looking back, it was probably trying to catch a bird.”

“Aren’t black cats unlucky though?” Alysanne innocently asked. 

“Some people consider them so, but I don’t. It is a ridiculous notion. That cat did not choose to be born with black fur. But anyway, she got stuck in the branches, and the boy feared it would never get out.” 

“My brother was courageous--gods bless him--but he was never the strongest and fell off the tree multiple times. So, I offered myself and succeeded. True, I almost stumbled when I carried the cat down, but she got onto the grass eventually.” Rosamund laughed again. 

“When we returned her to her owners, they offered for my family to keep the cat ourselves, free of charge, as repayment for my kind act. Knowing that I had been begging for a kitten for awhile, my father relinquished and said yes.” She finished the story. 

“What’s the cat’s name?” Ceryse questioned. 

“Leaf, for her green eyes, and as a reminder of how we met,” Rosamund answered. 

“You sure are fearless, huh?” Her mother had teased. 

“Not as much as fearless as resolute,” she argued. “I’ve always liked helping others, it's good for the soul.” 

“Then you are kinder than most, I am glad that you are my daughter’s companion.”

“Thank you, my lady, I hope she and I grow to be friends in due time,” the red-headed girl had given her a sunny smile that had reached the princess’ own lips. 

“I’ll be right back, I need to go visit my father for a moment. Rosamund, can you keep an eye on her?” Ceryse stood up and asked her daughter’s handmaid. They needn’t worry about protection, as guards had been posted outside the door and the Hightower itself was even more secure. 

“Of course, my lady,” she nodded.

“Good, I will not be long.” 

She left and went up the flight of stairs, not too long of a distance from her daughter’s chambers. After all, she was the Beacon’s Daughter, but her calves still burned as she walked up to the highest room there. 

It was her father’s solar, there was a bed with orange and silver quilts and a hearth not being used. Lord Manfred was sitting at a desk littered with letters among other things while light from the window above poured over it. 

“Ah, hello, daughter,” he turned around and greeted her affectionately. She kissed both of his cheeks, which was now wrinkled from old age along with his greying honey hair and shriveled hands.

“Hello, Father, I was wondering whether His Grace has responded to your letter yet?” Manfred had sent word through a raven that he plead for an annulment when he heard. It had been her hope that King Aenys would do so. 

“He has not,” he shook his head. 

“Can’t say I’m surprised, he’s not the most strong-willed of men,” she said with poison.

“I mean I only sent word more than a fortnight ago, perhaps it has not arrived yet.” Her father contended. 

“Perhaps, perhaps not,” she tilted her head. 

“Ever the pessimist, aren’t you?” Manfred chuckled. “Sometimes it’s like I’m looking at Patty, but twenty years younger, or myself in a mirror."

“You’re not wrong about that,” she laughed as well, but her smile soon dropped as she recalled the terrible fight between her and Maegor. 

“What is wrong, my dear?” His eyebrows were knitted together. 

“I am remembering the argument my husband and I had before he left.” Ceryse’s throat became dry at the memory of it. “We quarreled bitterly, as did he and his brother. And Alysanne had heard the former. Do you know what she asked me when we were traveling?” 

He said nothing but leaned in close. 

“‘Why does Papa not love me anymore?’” Her voice croaked as she called out as if to ask the Seven. 

Her summer eyes cast themselves downward, and Manfred set a hand on his daughter’s own. “I will never make Alysanne feel like that, ever. No child should have to ask whether their own parent loves for them or not.” 

“In truth, I had my worries of the union, but your pig-stubborn uncle insisted upon it. I had heard nasty rumors about him at the time. Is it true he had killed a palfrey and then disfigured a stableboy when he was a mere lad?” Lord Hightower asked, fearful of the answer. 

“It is, Father,” she nodded with clear discomfort on her face. “I questioned him about it myself. He was angry at first but did not lie. Then he tried to defend himself. To be honest, it went in one ear and out the other.” 

Manfred howled at his daughter’s jape. “Well, I’m glad that one of my children has some sense in her head, unlike those brothers of yours.” 

She laughed and then remembered a question she had wanted to ask. “On the subject of rumors, is what they say about Lady Charlotte true? That she’s barren, I mean.” 

“They’re not way off, but it’s not her that’s infecund, it’s Martyn,” he admitted with a sigh. “He told me himself. Someone who claimed to be some sort of fertility healer came from afar had suspected it, and the maesters confirmed it. Although they were amazed that the healer could tell, apparently the ability to sire children is a lot more difficult to assess than that to bear them.” 

“That’s why he and his wife took Cousin Donnel and their brothers as wards…” she realized. 

“Yes, they are the hope of Hightower, if we want our name to continue.They may be distant kin… but your daughter will be a dragonlord, and the Warrior has taken your brother for his own.” Her father explained.

“I see…well, hopefully he’ll live up to you and Marty,” she said. 

“You are kind, my dear,” he smiled. 

“I am merely giving credit where it’s due. After all, our side of the family is much more graceful than Jeyne’s.” Ceryse remembered Alys’ scheming, along with the twins’ foolishness. 

“I loved Lucas dearly, and still do, after all we were as close as brothers when we grew alongside each other. But his son is a simple-minded drunkard, his twin similar, and his other daughter a sly harlot. Only his eldest has any virtue about her. I am glad you’ve brought her here.” 

“I think she is too, Jeyne confessed to me that she was quite ashamed of them. And probably would not go back unless forced to, whether it be the capital or Dragonstone.” Ceryse explained. 

Manfred looked outside to the shining sun. “If the gods are good, she’ll shed her maidencloak and forget she was ever a Harroway.” 

PRINCE MAEGOR of HOUSE TARGARYEN | Pentos, Essos

THE 5th DAY of the 11th MOON, 40 AC

The manse’s imposing red bricks stood tall over him as he went to go meet his companions and wife inside.

It was bustling with servants carrying fruits and drink on silver plates. Alys had told him before that the courtesan of this manse had been hosting a party for her nameday. Although rumour went that no one knew her true age. 

He scanned the crowds of people partaking in flesh with one another and with the whores and serving girls and boys. Among them, he saw a flash of auburn hair kissing a hairy brunet while sat in his lap, who grabbed handfuls of his thighs and rump. They were two of the boys and men that his mother had thrown at him whose names he didn’t remember and cared not to. 

Maegor’s eyes looked for light brown hair, or golden eyes and jewelry, but couldn’t find them anywhere. He could feel himself getting anxious, so he snatched a silver goblet of what seemed to be pale amber wine--which made his lip curl at the sour taste--and decided to recline in one of the stuffed chairs. 

Then a woman came over and sat herself down in the other chair. He eyed her up and down. She wore a sleeveless dress that was a mulberry purple. On her pale body, were stained lips the same shade and silver jewelry with purple gemstones, among them a spider that hung from her neck with an amethyst studded into its body. Her eyes were black and hooded, her long hair half done up in a bun. She was a dark beauty, with the sultry body to show for it too. 

“Take the rest of my wine while you’re at it too,” he japed dryly. 

“Too sour for you?” She asked with a silky tongue. And Maegor couldn’t tell if she was teasing or genuinely asking. But too drained from the people and too tired to care, he didn’t ask.

“Yeah,” he muttered. 

The prince was surprised when she took him at his word and reached for his goblet with a black-nailed hand and pouring the amber wine into the cup next to her, then sipping from it, not reacting one bit to the taste. But he could care less, but realized something, “You’re a local aren’t you?” 

“Did my accent tip you off?” She laughed. 

“Yes, but I was more speaking on how you didn’t flinch at the wine, it’s as sour as a lemon,” he cringed at the aftertaste of it on his tongue. 

“It’s made with lemons, among other citrine fruits,” she explained like it was obvious. 

“I hear this Raveness that’s hosting the party is older than anyone here, bathing in the blood of maids to retain her youth with magic. And used poisons to climb her way up the ranks.” he changed the subject, trying to vye for more information on the courtesan. 

The woman threw her head back and laughed. “I’m afraid I haven’t been a very good host. You see, I’m Tyanna the Raveness.” She raised her cup to him as if to mock him. 

His jaw dropped, “You’re-” damn my tongue, that was a grave mistake. He had heard that courtesans were so respected and adored that men died for their favour. To insult one…. 

“Please forgive me, that was rude of me. I did not know of your high status,” he scrambled to save his image. 

“It’s quite alright,” she reassured, taking another drink of her wine. “But, I do want to know, what is a Targaryen doing here?” 

“How do you--” 

“I may have been born a bed slave, but I am no fool. I see the dragonlord blood in you, but you’re no mere Lyseni either, you dress in foreign finery.” Tyanna discerned. 

Maegor debated telling her the truth, but could not distract himself as she had taken and drunk his wine. “I was exiled,” he decided to confess. “By my family.”

“Dare I ask?” She raised an eyebrow. 

He sighed, “For taking a second wife.”

“Polygamy is common here, though they are mostly concubines. Secondary wives and husbands for the purpose of making heirs.” She enlightened him. 

‘If only I’d been born on the other side of the narrow sea,’ he would still be with his family if that were the case. 

“Ah, Tyanna!” A voice called, it was his wife, Alys. She sauntered over and gave the courtesan a kiss on the cheek, which made her white skin red with blush. “Have you two already met?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Are you two…?” He noticed the reaction to his wife’s kiss. 

Alys laughed nervously, “Remember what I said, about women?” 

His wife confessed that she had been curious about bedding maidens and asked permission to bring outsiders in their marital bed. Maegor had been confused but hesitant but eventually relented. 

“How you’re...fond of them?” The prince asked. 

She nodded and her cheeks started to redden, “Yes, dear, Tyanna and I are…close, suffice to say.” 

The Raveness looked away in shame, unable to meet his gaze. Jealousy’s embers started to burn hot, but he did not let them start their fire. 

“Then, I am glad to have finally met her,” he put on his most gracious smile. 

“How about we give you a birthday gift, Tya?” Alys grinned.

“And what would that be?” She asked in an amorous tone. 

“Follow us and find out,” His wife looked at him and said to go along with it without words. 

With each hand, Harroway tugged both of them to what could only be the courtesan’s chambers. They were as big as his own back on Dragonstone. With black, silver, and purple bedding, there was even skulls and other strange antiques on ebony stands and tables. 

The rest of the night, they tumbled together as a trio in the bed in all sorts of ways. And at last, Maegor could see how Alys had been captivated by her. 

But at some point, her eyes went completely white, scaring him. But what creeped him out more was the ravens that started to caw outside as she did so. His wife was frightened but shook it off trying to get Tyanna to focus on her again. 

It lasted only a second, but it was an image that burned itself into his mind. And made him recall all the other rumors about her too. 

But if Alys trusted her, then nothing could go wrong.

Chapter Text

Hello, so I know I said I would be finishing this story on Tiktok but things have changed since then. I just wanted to give you the outline I intended for this fanfic.

I had many, many ideas but the events that always stayed the same was Maegor dying, Jaehaerys becoming king and marrying Alysanne, then having children with her. 

If anyone would like to pick up where I left off with this story, feel free to do so with proper credit.