ALYSSA I
Sitting alone on the worn bench of the boat rocking gently in Blackwater Bay, Alyssa Velaryon stared blankly into the gray waters, the wind tugging at the edges of her shawl. She did not shiver. She did not cry. She simply sat, unmoving, with the posture of someone who had been emptied of everything but breath.
Around her, her children moved like ghosts.
Prince Viserys, barely fourteen, stood at the bow, his jaw set in the way of a boy trying to become a man too soon. Prince Jaehaerys, quiet and thoughtful, leaned over the edge to watch the wake curl behind them, his small hands gripping the rail. And little Alysanne sat on the deck, singing softly to herself, plucking invisible strings in the air as though playing a harp only she could hear.
Alyssa watched them and felt… nothing. No pride. No warmth. Only the dull ache of futility.
Was this what a queen became? A mother? A woman who had tried to save her children, only to walk them into a cage?
She wasn’t being escorted to King’s Landing.
She was being escorted to her grave.
The Red Keep awaited them now: its half-finished crimson towers not a palace, but a prison. Maegor had summoned them to his court, under the pretense of “guardianship.” But Alyssa knew what it truly meant. They were hostages, held beneath watchful eyes and behind thicker walls than any hope could climb.
Aegon was dead. Rhaena too. Her beautiful, brave eldest children: burned out of the sky by their own blood.
And everything she had done, every whisper in the night, every secret raven sent to the North, to the Vale, to the Stormlands and the Rock, every quiet promise of support for Aegon’s claim… all of it had failed. Her allies had fallen silent. Some fled. Some bent the knee.
It had all been for nothing.
The boat rocked slightly harder, and then, a sound. A deep, thunderous roar overhead.
Alyssa looked up.
And there she was. Vhagar.
Wings wide as sails, scales dark as molten iron, the she-dragon circled high above the bay like a vulture watching carrion. And upon her back, as immovable as the gods themselves, was Queen
Dowager Visenya.
Their jailer.
She had been with them on Dragonstone these past months. Always watching. Never cruel, never kind. A statue with a sword.
Alyssa’s lip trembled, though she would not allow herself to weep.
That Visenya, mother of Maegor and their coming doom, still drew breath while her children lay broken in the earth. That woman had birthed the destroyer of her family. That woman now saw fit to escort them, like beasts in a pageant, toward the lion’s mouth.
Alyssa wanted to scream. But what would be the point?
Instead, she placed a hand on her lap. She smoothed the fabric. The deck creaked softly beneath them, the waves whispering secrets Alyssa had long ceased listening to.
She didn’t move as Jaehaerys approached, his quiet steps a familiar rhythm now, careful and polite; too polite for a child. He stood beside her for a moment, uncertain, then asked in a soft, hesitant voice, “Mother… may I speak to the sailors? Just to ask… what news there is. From the realm. Or across the Narrow Sea. I won’t bother them if they’re busy.”
Before Alyssa could answer, Viserys, ever the sharper-edged son, turned his head and snapped, “Leave her be, Jaehaerys. She doesn’t want to hear about gossip from Volantis.”
Alyssa blinked, slowly drawing breath. She turned to Viserys and gave him a look; not warm, but brave. The kind of smile a woman gave when everything was broken and she needed her children to believe it wasn’t.
“It’s all right,” she said, her voice steady despite the weight in her chest. “Go on, Jaehaerys. Ask your questions.”
Jaehaerys nodded, almost bowed, and retreated with that same grave dignity he’d had since the day his father died. Alyssa watched him go, this boy of nine years who already carried himself like a maester in a court full of fools.
Viserys remained beside her, fidgeting, then sat down stiffly.
He glanced once toward his younger siblings, then leaned close, his voice hushed. “What are we going to do?”
Alyssa said nothing.
He pushed forward, words tumbling out in quiet urgency.
“Maegor killed Aegon. And Rhaena. That means… it’s me now, doesn’t it? It falls to me. That’s what you wanted for Aegon: heir, king, dragonrider. If we’re to stand against Maegor… I’ll need you. And I’ll need a dragon. Somehow.”
At the mention of Aegon and Rhaena, Alyssa flinched. It was so slight most wouldn’t have seen it, but Viserys did. And so did Alysanne, who left her imaginary harp and crept toward her mother’s side, climbing gently onto the bench and resting her small hand against Alyssa’s arm.
Alyssa covered it with her own, numb and cold.
“I’m sorry,” Viserys whispered. “I just thought… I know how much you fought for Aegon. I was there. I heard the ravens. I know.”
Alyssa looked at him then: her son, barely a man, still thin from his most recent illness, still growing into his father’s high cheekbones and her silver hair. So earnest. So determined. So terribly, terribly familiar.
Just like Aegon.
Just like Aenys.
Her throat clenched. Her heart pulled tight and fragile.
You will die too, she wanted to say. Maegor will kill all of you, just like them. And I will live to bury another.
But she couldn’t. Because he needed her.
And she needed a reason to keep drawing breath.
Viserys’s eyes drifted upward then, toward the dark shape above: Vhagar, circling high above like a stormcloud, the massive wingspan cutting across the sky.
He watched her with a calculating look.
“I’ll need a dragon,” he said again, quietly.
Alyssa followed his gaze.
Vhagar. Visenya. The watchers. The jailers.
The wind shifted slightly across the deck, carrying with it the scent of salt and pine and a hint of dragon-smoke from the skies above. Alyssa sat still, her body sagging slightly against the bench, as though the wind might carry her off with it and she wouldn’t resist.
Beside her, Viserys chuckled bitterly.
“Well, isn’t it unfair,” he said with that half-grin he wore when trying to hide how deeply something stung. “Jaehaerys has Vermithor. Alysanne has Silverwing. And my egg… the one they gave me…” He paused, voice tightening, “Never hatched.”
He didn’t look at her as he said it. Perhaps he was afraid of her expression. Perhaps he already knew it.
“Maybe that’s the gods’ way of saying I’m not meant to be king,” he muttered.
Alyssa didn’t answer.
Neither did Alysanne, still quietly nestled at her side, her small hand on her mother’s arm.
Viserys waited a moment longer, then shook his head, frustrated. He glanced toward the bow, where Jaehaerys was speaking to the sailors now: actually speaking, not just asking questions. The boy was animated, nodding as if he belonged there, as if he were already a man.
“I’m going to go keep an eye on him,” Viserys said at last.
Alyssa watched him go.
Watched another son walk away.
And then it was just her and Alysanne, the youngest, the gentlest.
They sat together for a long, silent moment, the ship rocking beneath them, the wind humming through the sails above.
Then, in her soft, sweet voice, Alysanne spoke.
“He’s trying,” she said, still looking out at the water. “Viserys. He’s trying to be like Aegon. To be the next king. He wants to help… even if he doesn’t know how.”
Alyssa turned to look at her daughter. Those honey-colored curls, those careful hands, that kind heart wrapped in a child’s body.
Alysanne had always been different. Not just clever; kind. Attentive. Wise in ways no child should have to be. She’d seen too much already. They all had.
Alyssa’s hand moved slowly, almost without thinking, and she gently patted Alysanne’s head, smoothing the fine strands of her hair.
“You’re a good girl,” she whispered, barely audible. “Too good for all this.”
Alysanne smiled faintly. Not her usual sunny smile; just a small, sad one. A smile that said she knew.
They sat together like that, mother and daughter, in silence, as the ship drifted ever closer to King’s Landing, and to whatever waited for them in the Red Keep.
The ship rocked gently beneath them, the sails whispering above, and for a while there was only silence, until Alysanne, in her soft, careful voice, asked:
“Can you tell me about Father again? About the good times?”
Alyssa blinked, her breath catching.
Of all the things Alysanne could have said, it was the one Alyssa least expected. But also the one she most needed.
She sat up just a little straighter.
Alyssa’s voice, when it came, was quiet and wavering at first, but it grew stronger with each word. “You were just a year old when your father and I made the journey to Oldtown, after your grandfather died. We rode with your brothers and sisters and his dragon, Quicksilver; she was smaller than Balerion, of course, but so fast and graceful in the air. You would’ve loved her.”
Alysanne shifted closer, curling against her mother, her small hand still on Alyssa’s arm.
“We stopped first at Riverrun, where Lord Tully gave us river trout and honey-cakes for the children. Then to Lannisport, where Aegon got lost in the crowd and came back holding a golden lion figurine some goldsmith had given him.”
Alyssa smiled at the memory. A real smile, faint and flickering but real.
“And finally, Highgarden. Flowers everywhere. The Tyrells gave us so many, we had to leave half of them behind. Rhaena was furious… but only because they made her sneeze so violently.”
Alysanne giggled, muffled against her sleeve.
Alyssa closed her eyes for a moment, letting the memories carry her.
“And then… Oldtown. The Starry Sept. It was-” her voice broke slightly. “It was so beautiful. Your father stood before the High Septon, all of us behind him, and they crowned him with a circlet of yellow gold, with the faces of the Seven inlaid in jade and pearl. The light from the stained glass shone right through it. He looked like something from a song.”
Tears were falling now, slow and quiet, and Alyssa dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her sleeve, trying to hold her voice steady.
“I loved him,” she said softly, barely more than a whisper. “He was kind. He was good. He… tried. And I loved him for that.”
Alysanne wrapped both arms around her mother’s waist and held tight, small and warm and real in a way few things were anymore.
Alyssa bent her head over her daughter’s, breathing her in, letting the moment anchor her.
For now, it was enough.
She didn’t know what would come in King’s Landing. What kind of cage Maegor would fashion for them. What new griefs waited in the shadows of the Red Keep.
But Alysanne was here. So were Jaehaerys and Viserys.
She had to hold on.
Even if it killed her.
She had to try too.