Chapter Text
"What gown would you desire to don today, princess?" A servant who wore a tired face and dark circles under her eyes, held up two: a deep, rich emerald green of color, identical to those of the Queen Dowager's heavily favored gowns, with its stiff brocade and gold-clasped neckline; while the other was a simple sage-colored robe of light linen, adorned with winding floral embroidery and soft, sweeping bell sleeves.
Alysanne Targaryen nodded towards the second option. The Princess had grown to resent the emerald hue during the war. She could no longer look upon the color that once defined her wardrobe without seeing banners raised for bloodshed.
As the princess reached her hand towards the innocent fabric of her chosen dress, memories of cold, bloodied bodies rose unbidden behind her eyes. The clash of armor, dragonfire, and screams of dying men had etched themselves permanently in her memory.
"Princess." The servant pulled Alysanne back to their cold, paranoid reality that is Aegon II's court. Murmuring an apology, she forced herself to once again have her delicate pale skin covered in an albeit lighter yet still the same coloring of Green.
She left her chambers, servants following after her as she navigated the path to her niece, Jaehaera's chambers. The Red Keep no longer rang with laughter of children that had once brought light to Alysanne's childhood.
Servants walked past her with lowered heads and softened footsteps, as though fearing to take up space and sound. The corridors Alysanne passed through carried the faint smell of burnt oil and milk of the poppy that had long since seeped into the castle stones.
Maesters hurried past her every morning, trying desperately to preserve and heal what little remained. Men spoke in hushed voices now, as though afraid the castle itself would shift its loyalties. She pretended not to hear lords and even ladies of their faction whisper of the blacks having crowned Jacaerys Velaryon or rather Jacaerys Targaryen, their king.
"The boy is to march for King's Landing and take control of the city just as his mother did before him." A lord from the reach hissed at another lord from house Bracken.
"And what of King Aegon? He lives."
"If Jacaerys Velaryon circles King's Landing with his dragon, what strength would King Aegon harbor against Rhaenyra's bastard and his army? His wounds continue to further weaken him. We do not have a choice."
The Princess only held her head high, not bothering to spare a glance, yet some of her servants noted how she stopped for a fraction of a second upon hearing those words before she continued walking the path leading to Jaehaera's chambers.
Alysanne stopped at the foot of the door, letting out a sigh before bracing herself to open it. She is not a natural mother, unlike her sweet sister Helaena. At the age of only ten and four, Helaena gave birth to twins, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. As the years passed, never once was her devotion for her children came to be questioned. They were her world. She had loved them so much that the thought of being a bad mother to them ended her.
Every day, Alysanne seemed to do worse than the last.
Helaena knows how to lull Jaehaera to sleep when nightmares threaten her strength to succumb to the night's slumber. Alysanne doesn't. She could only offer hollow reassurance that certain ghosts Jaehaera fearfully pointed at were not truly there. Helaena's tongue rolls at right level of sweetness when she would call Jaehaera her angel. Alysanne could not even call her sweetheart without the word sounding awkward upon her tongue— either too firm or too soft, always unnatural. Helaena's arms were relaxed and warm. Alysanne's were like those of a statue, stiff and unnatural.
Every day, her niece would stare at her, as if waiting pitifully for Alysanne to magically transfrom into Helaena.
And every day Alysanne disappoints her.
The thought exhausted her.
When she finally pushed the chamber doors open, preparing herself to persuade Jaehaera to let her guard down around her. But the scene that welcomed her was not one she had expected to see. Alysanne's mother, the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower stood before a window, holding Jaehaera in her arms as she whisper into the girl's ear, words Alysanne cannot decipher from the distance. The child had her head leaned quietly against her mother's shoulder, calmer than Alysanne had managed to soothe her in weeks.
"What are you doing here, mother?"
Her mother spared her a glance filled with same cold and calculating expression she wore as naturally as her crown. Even with her children, she never fails to look the part of the Queen she is. Alysanne can scarcely remember a time when Alicent had held her and her siblings in her arms the way she did now with Jaehaera, whispering words of comfort to soothe their worries as children. The image felt almost absurd.
As Queen Alicent Hightower had always come first, 'mother' had only ever been a close second.
"The servants informed me the child refused her morning meal." Alicent remarked, her gaze still fixated on Jaehaera. "I came to soothe whatever troubles her mind."
"Hmm." Alysanne could only stare with hollow eyes as Alicent passed Jaehaera over to her maids, ushering them to probably try or rather force the girl to eat something on the other side of her chambers.
"Children are straightforward creatures, Alysanne. One need only to find the right rhythm." She wanted to scoff at the absurdity of her mother's words. Easy? With a child like Jaehaera whose suffering is born of their god forsaken war?
The Princess bit back the urge to say "Like you did with us?"
So instead she replied with, "Do not mock me," Alysanne's voice came out stiffly, holding herself back from speaking out of turn. Queen Alicent and motherhood is not a concept one would align with softness and rhythm.
"You would do well to concern yourself less with children and more with the dragon who means to take your brother's city." Alicent's eyes narrowed to perfectly meet her daughter's gaze that was so alike Rhaenyra's, except is was devoid of any of the unhinge resentment and vengeance that defined the dragon queen in her last years. Just exhaustion and emptiness.
"And who would care for the girl?"
"Do not take me for a fool, daughter."
Alysanne drew a slow breath through clenched teeth, her chest heaving. She met her mother's gaze, defiant and sharp. The Queen Dowager was trying to read into her youngest daughter's emotions, watching it carefully. "Then you are not entirely blind after all, mother. I am relived to know you see the seriousness of our reality."
"And you do not." Alicent cut her off. The Princess' face tweaked into a smirk, empty of any real humor to it. "You do not fear Rhaenyra's bastard heir." The daughter knew her mother was not asking a question. She was stating it. Queen Alicent let out a laugh so freely, one would know it does not stem from fondness.
"Jacaerys is not a cruel man." A long silence passed through.
"And what of Aegon, your brother?" The Queen Dowager finally snapped after something unreadable came across her face that was slowly losing its youth, stepping dangerously closer to the Princess.
"Aegon is a breathing corpse, mother! His own lords question his capability to wage any strength against Jacaerys! Some may even be preparing to switch the color of their banner as we speak, just to save their own skin when a new king sits that wretched throne you so dearly take closest to heart." The Princess did not turn meek under The Queen Dowager's gaze.
"Vermax may be wounded from the gullet, but he is alive. Aegon's own dragon perished already. What is a broken man against a dragon?" Those were Alysanne's words before shifting her gaze to Jaehaera on the other side of the room. She shrank back into her maid's skirts. The small girl had been watching her grandmother and aunt's heated conversation, the raw fear in her eyes was visible even from a distance.
"That boy would not spare you, Alysanne." Her mother warned.
"He could put my head on a spike, but not before I ensure Helaena's daughter is free from the chains of suffering this cursed war had inflicted on her. I will not have her blood on my hands as you did with her brother, when you let Aemond slay Lucerys Velaryon in Storm's End."
Alysanne looked at her mother one final time before turning her heel to exit Jaehaera's chambers. She did not bother to adress The Queen Dowager's higher station, her pride and defiance at that moment had no room for the usual restraint and obedience Alicent spent years having Alysanne perfect.
For the rest of the day, mother and daughter did not cross paths again for Alysanne had spent it in the quiet sanctuary of the Godswood, embroidering clothes for Jaehaera that was bereft of any color of green. It was what Helaena used to do for her husband and children.
When darkness consumed the skies once more, The Princess retired to her chambers, but not before checking if Jaehaera is being haunted by dreams that should not even appear on any girl's vision who is only eight years of age. As Alysanne quietly entered the chambers she and her mother had been arguing in hours prior, The little girl proved to be sleeping soundly for that night, unaware of the looming events that would add more horror to her already broken world.
As the Red Keep slept, the Kingsguard stationed outside Princess Alysanne's chambers did not dare blink for long. Beyond the city walls, Vermax beat his wings through the darkness, carrying a king toward the ashes of his inheritance. Far below him, men marched beneath black banners, determined to seat Rhaenyra's son upon the Iron Throne.