Archive of Our Own

Ceryse looks down at the soft silver bassinet, gently rocking the cradle that holds her precious newborn daughter. The Seven have finally blessed her with a child of her own, a child to prove to Maegor and the entire realm that Ceryse Hightower isn’t barren or a wilting flower. She is a Hightower of Oldtown, proud and lovely and clever as anything, and her daughter will be even more blessed, she can already tell.

Maegor was displeased with the baby, which hardly surprised Ceryse at all. He’d been overjoyed when she announced she was with child, a young man of seventeen with his pride relying on the quickening of his wife’s womb. It burns Maegor that his brother’s wife has thrice given him children, and while Ceryse carried her daughter, Maegor drank cup after cup, toasting to the future Prince Aerion Targaryen, named for his own noble grandfather who fathered Aegon and his sisters. Indeed, when his long-awaited child had arrived as a girl, he’d not spoken one word to Ceryse or the Grand Maester, only stormed out of the room and boarded the next available ship sailing for Dragonstone to sulk.

Oh Maegor, Ceryse can’t help but think, if only you knew the measures I’d taken to have this child for you. The potion my aunt provided for me, the reputed witch and the one woman I knew I could trust with such a secret. If I close my eyes, I can still taste the oddly sweet mixture, can still see it flashing violet and amethyst in the vial I drank it from.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the door opening, and Ceryse doesn't even think of Maegor before hearing the bright laughter of her nephew Aegon. The sweet boy is so prone to laughter, and Ceryse smiles as she scoops up her precious daughter to greet her husband’s family.

Aegon stands behind his sister Rhaena, who is as meek and quiet as he is bright and joyful, the both of them true Valyrians with silver hair and purple eyes to match their father Aenys, who strides in after them arm-in-arm with his wife Alyssa, the pair smiling brightly at the announcement of a new child to join the royal nursery. 

“Sister, it is truly a wonderful day for House Targaryen. I must congratulate you on the arrival of your child. How fares the little princess this morning? Is my niece doing as well as Grand Maester Gawen proclaims?” Aenys asks with all his courtly charm, his smile genuine and unrestrained at the blessed and much longed for arrival of a child for his brother and goodsister.

Ceryse is about to respond when she hears the familiar stride of armored feet, dipping into a curtsey with her as King Aegon and Queen Visenya enter with three knights of the Kingsguard behind them. King Aegon stands tall and broad and powerful even for a man of seven and fifty, looking every inch the man who conquered Westeros and brought six disparate kingdoms into one unified realm. Visenya doesn’t even allow her brother the chance to speak as she steps forward, the golden rings binding her braided hair clinking as she approaches Ceryse and her child.

“May I?” She asks in a voice that is much softer than Ceryse has ever heard from her before. Perhaps it is because she is among family and in a bright mood. Or perhaps Ceryse’s ears are tricking her as much as her eyes seem to be, given the smile on her goodmother’s lips as she takes Ceryse’s daughter in her arms and holds her close to her chest, cradling her daughter as if she were made of glass.

“What is the child to be named?” Aegon asks, never one to be left out of the conversation. Perhaps he is genuinely curious considering Maegor never allowed there to be so much as a word of suggestion that Ceryse was to give him a daughter the entire pregnancy, insisting he would name his son Aerion.

Ceryse smiles at Alyssa, one of the few friends she has in the whole of King’s Landing, who has always welcomed her as family and treated her with respect and affection. The Seven had never seen it fit to bless Ceryse with a sister, and Alyssa is perhaps the closest replacement that Ceryse could have to one. With a smile on her face, she strides over to Alyssa and embraces her goodsister before turning to the assembled Targaryens.

“I will name my daughter Alysanne, for my gracious goodsister who is one day to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms alongside Prince Aenys.”

The hours pass so quickly after that, arrangements are made for a royal naming ceremony by none other than the High Septon in the Sept of Remembrance, followed by a grand feast and perhaps even a tourney. Queen Visenya’s enthusiasm at her granddaughter’s birth is a sight to behold and Ceryse certainly believes that the woman would have any festival to celebrate Alysanne last an entire fortnight. 

Thankfully, blessedly, the day draws to an end and Ceryse goes to bid her daughter goodnight, only to find Princess Rhaena in her daughter's room. The girl looks as though she’s been caught stealing sweet apple cakes from the kitchens and quickly scurries out without so much as a word, leaving something large in Alysanne’s crib that glitters in the pale moonlight streaming through the window. As Ceryse aproaches the crib, she feels a smile creep on her face at the pale lilac dragon’s egg laced with silver nestled carefully among the blankets, mere inches from her sleeping daughter. It is only appropriate that her daughter should have a dragon of her own to ride.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

The years pass by and Ceryse has the pleasure of watching her daughter grow and flourish under the tutelage of the finest septas and maesters, bought with Hightower gold of course. Her father had sent a message with the first, insisting his granddaughter would have a proper education from the best the Citadel and the Starry Sept had to offer, a gesture which had moved Ceryse to tears.

Maegor, perhaps inspired by the reported good health of his disappointment of a daughter, returned from Dragonstone a half year after her birth to properly meet his daughter and make some semblance of amends with his wife. And in the first three or four years following Alysanne's birth, he’d dutifully visited Ceryse’s bed in an attempt to father a son by his wife, since her fertility had at last been proven. Ceryse had always known her husband to be an impatient man, nor was he well-known for keepinghis vows. So it was that with each passing year, Maegor came to Ceryse's bed with decreasing frequency, electing to spend more and more of his time on Dragonstone, seldom returning to King's Landing save for the summons of his father for some feast or tourney.

Ceryse is no fool, she knows the ways of men left alone and she has no doubt that Maegor has the run of Dragonstone with only his mother’s eye on him. Visenya permits so much of her only son that Ceryse is hardly surprised when gossip among scullions and servants makes its way from the kitchens of the royal manse to her ears. She’s inundated with whispers and rumors aplenty, fleeting words of how Maegor takes the right of first night for any pretty peasant girl who is wed on the stony shores of the dreary island. Many say that the smallfolk of Dragonstone worship the Targaryens as gods, and the men of the island gleefully don their horns for the chance to be shown some favor by their liege, especially since Aegon conquered the realm and elevated his family from lords to kings. Ceryse hears no talk of any bastards, and she cannot glean from any whispers if this is due to Maegor showing some discretion with his affairs, or if he has as much trouble getting a child on pretty fisherman's daughters as he did giving Ceryse her Alysanne. 

Perhaps Maegor has finally given up on visiting Ceryse to fulfill their marital duties, for she hasn’t seen him visit her bed in nearly a year, a fact which she has been exceedingly thankful for since it allows her to spend her days with her daughter without being half-exhausted. Overseeing Alysanne’s education and watching her daughter grow has always proven more pleasurable than any time spent with Maegor, and the quiet moments that she and her daughter share prove a treasure for Ceryse to cherish all the days of her life.

On this day, however, Alysanne seems distracted during their lessons on the high harp, pale blue eyes somewhere else as her delicate fingers idly pluck the silver strings of her harp. Ceryse can tell her daughter has something on her mind, and something important at that. She takes the harp from her daughter and puts her own aside, sitting closer and brushing a long silver lock away from her daughter’s face.

“Alysanne, your gaze could reach across the Narrow Sea and back again, you are clearly preoccupied with other matters. Tell your mother whatever is troubling your mind on this day. Is there something wrong?” Ceryse idly puts a hand to her daughter’s forehead, not detecting any sort of fever.

“Mama, does Papa love us? Uncle Aenys and Aunt Alyssa are always together, and Uncle Aenys hugs and kisses Rhaena and Aegon and Viserys and Jaehaerys. Why doesn’t Papa kiss you and hug me? Why is he always away? Is Papa upset? Did I do something bad? I’ll be a good girl if it means Papa will come home.” 

Ceryse’s heart aches at the confusion and hurt in her daughter’s voice. Seven years old and already so clever, already being able to tell that her mother and father can hardly abide each other’s presence, even though her aunt and uncle have a loving and happy union. She even seems to blame herself. If only she knew how right she was, however much Ceryse tries to hide that terrible truth from her. 

“Your Father is a man of restrained emotions.” Ceryse offers, gently embracing her daughter and kissing her brow. “You must understand that he cares for you deeply, in his own way. He is a warrior, a man of battle and strategy and few words. He is not like your uncle Aenys who speaks freely and as his heart compels him. You simply must learn to understand your father, to understand how he shows his love for us. There are many ways that those we care about show their love for us, and we all must learn to see the meaning behind the method to truly understand one another.” 

Would that I could make him adore you as much as I do, my sweetling, Ceryse thinks as she pets her daughter’s hair. I would see him pick you up and twirl you in his arms and call you sweet little names. I would see him sit you on his knee and embrace you and pet your hair as a father should, as my father did with me when I was a girl.

The two go to the private altar to the Seven that Ceryse has in her solar, having never been one for large and lofty septs. Despite being born and raised at the Hightower, with the Starry Sept ever close for her family's spiritual nourishment, Ceryse much prefers to keep her faith close to her heart and pray to the Seven in private comfort than surounded by a sea of worshippers. In truth, her childhood of singing paeans and listening to sermons in High Valyrian warbled out by some ancient and feeble septon whose frail body can hardly support the weight of the white and cloth-of-golden robes had always felt more a performance than a show of true faith. Ceryse pulls away from her thoughts, summoned to the present by a sharp trilling from her daughter’s hatchling, Meleys, who stirs from her nap in the warm sunlight beneath the windowsill.

The lilac and silver hatchling stands alert with its neck as straight as a rod, sharply turning its head towards the east and emitting a piercing cry that threatens to give Ceryse a headache. Alysanne runs to the window to comfort the beast, taking Meleys into her arms as if the crying dragon is a startled cat even as it shrieks and hisses further. Ceryse watches, wary as her daughter scratches at her pet's vibrant lilac scales, cooing comforting words to her precious dragon in an attempt to calm the beast.

“Mama, whatever do you suppose is making Meleys cry out?” Alysanne asks, voice thick with worry as she looks over the beast for any injury.

Ceryse stands to her feet and gently tucks a silver lock behind her daughter’s ear, petting her hair and casting a wary glance at Meleys as the dragon ceases its hissing. She wonders vaguely if the creature understood her admonishing gaze, brushing off the matter as she turns daughter and dragon away from the window and towards the door. “She likely needs feeding, swettling. I believe we have some rabbit freshly caught from the kingswood this morning in the kitchens. And perhaps we might see if they have some cakes and cider for us. I'll sumon a servant and we can see about—“

Ceryse’s words are suddenly cut out by a deafening roar from across Blackwater Bay, a sound which seems to shake the very ground beneath them and threatens to send the roof of the manse they’re in crumbling down over them. Ceryse hardly thinks as she wraps herself around Alysanne and Meleys, ferrying both towards the sturdiest corner of the room where they huddle together as the roar drowns out all other sound. It is a roar of pain, a roar of sheer agony and loss, and Ceryse feels her blood run cold as she realizes what has happened. She has heard that roar before, when Aegon rode to Oldtown to commemorate the tenth anniversary of his coronation in the Starry Sept. It is Balerion the Black Dread whose roar splits their ears.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

A stroke, Maester Olyvar says with certainty. A stroke is what killed the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men, and Protector of the Realm. The Conqueror who brought Westeros to heel and united six squabbling kingdoms into one realm was brought to the Stranger’s embrace by a stroke. It is almost impossible to believe such a man could be felled by an affliction which took Ceryse’s great-grandfather, that King Aegon has failed to live another thirty years before passing away peacefully in his sleep after finally managing to bring Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms and seeing his children and grandchildren grow to adulthood.

Ceryse supposes there is little to do but mourn the man who had allowed her marriage to Maegor, which blessed her with a daughter she cherishes and a goodsister she loves as if she were her own blood. Alyssa holds her hand during the funeral proceedings, tightly squeezing her fingers. Perhaps she thinks herself unprepared to be Queen, a thought which would make Ceryse laugh in happier and more appropriate circumstances. Ceryse knows deep in her heart that her goodsister is more than ready and will shine brighter than all the stars. Her children prove that much.

Rhaena, fourteen and quiet but no longer meek, stands tall and proud beside her mother, further anchoring Alyssa to the ground during the funeral proceedings. Her eyes are unreadable behind a calm but mournful facade,, her back straight and her eyes raised to meet the world rather than hide from it. At age eleven, Aegon is suddenly next in line for the Iron Throne and looks as pale as a ghost for the fact, likely wondering how he found himself in a position he expected to be a great many years away. Viserys, on the other hand, maintains a brave face considering his tender age of eight years. Ceryse knows it is not for the assembly or his mother and father, but for Alysanne who weeps into Viserys’ chest as he holds her in his arms and pets her hair, weeping for her grandfather who showed her something close to the affection her father was incapabe of. Jaehaerys, the youngest of Aenys’ children, is only three years old and clings to Alyssa's skirts with a chubby fist as he watches the pyre holding his grandfather's reains smolder Ceryse feels some measure of relief for Jaehaerys, who is so young so as to hardly understand what has happened to his grandfather who bounced him on his knee and showed him the Painted Table. 

Perhaps most surprisingly, Aenys stands tall and proud for the first time as long as Ceryse has known him. His lilac eyes are set on the smoldering pyre that held his father only a few hours prior, the slowly dying embers illuminating his silver golden curls which fall to his shoulders and his silky beard and mustache which Alyssa has always trimmed by her own hand. His lanky and weedy appearance seems to fade for a time, assisted by the cut of his tunic and the large cape on his shoulders creating the illusion of strength, making him look every inch the crown prince ready to take the reins from his father. With three strong sons and a lovely daughter by his faithful wife, the line of succession is secure and the assembled nobility seem satisfied with their new king’s potential as Grand Maester Gawen places Aegon’s iron and ruby crown upon Aenys’ head and declares him King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. 

The assembly watches as Maergor, who had pulled Blackfyre from the pyre when the flames died, comes forward to kneel before his brother and present their father’s sword. The Valyrian steel of Blackfyre’s blade remains completely unharmed by Vhagar’s flames, save for the Valyrian steel ripples appearing darker than before. Ceryse looks over the assembly, seeing expectation in every eye. They expect as much as Ceryse for Aenys to sheath the sword in its scabbard and put it around his waist. Instead, Aenys surprises Ceryse and the lords present by bringing Maegor to his feet and kissing his cheek, a gesture which only serves to exaggerate the difference in height between the two as Maegor has to stoop down for his brother to actually manage his token of affection. 

“Brother, you need never kneel to me again. We shall rule this realm together, you and I.” Aenys then presses the sword gently towards Maegor, a smile on his lips as his lilac eyes look into Maegor’s own dark violet eyes. “You are more fit to bear this blade than I. Wield it in my service, and I shall be content.” 

The assembly cheers their new king as Aenys takes Alyssa’s hand away from Ceryse, thanking her gently and kissing his wife’s brow as he guides their children forward to present themselves as a strong royal family. The assembly echoes cries that can be heard even from King’s Landing across the bay. Long live King Aenys! Long live Queen Alyssa! Seven blessings on our new King and Queen! Seven blessings on their children!

Ceryse looks at Maegor, his dark eyes focused only on Blackfyre for a few minutes before his eyes snap up to Aenys. Not to see his brother triumphant, but his iron and ruby crown. Maegor’s eyes turn even darker as he steps down to follow the cheering masses to the boat to carry them across the bay to King’s Landing. Ceryse can only follow with Alysanne’s hand in hers, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach that Aenys' ascension will not be cause for celebration to every lord of Westeros.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

With the Conqueror dead, the realm has thrown itself into rebellion. A rebel calling himself Harren the Black’s grandson—Harren the Red, Ceryse marvels at his originality—takes Harrenhal from Gargon Qoherys and declares himself King of the Riverlands. In the windswept Vale, Lord Ronnel’s brother Jonos names himself King of Mountain and Vale while his brother rots in a sky cell and his Stark goodsister and her falcon pups are thrown from the infamous Moon Door. In the Iron Islands, a madman claiming to be the son of their Drowned God declares himself priest-king. And finally, in the blistering sands of Dorne, a Vulture has named himself King and rallies forces to seek vengeance for the Dornish wars of the past by invading the Stormlands. Ceryse almost has to laugh when the news reaches King's Landing, for her goodbrother is not the warrior his sire was and is it truly a surprise that men aren’t eager to offer loyalty to Aenys, the notoriously weak son of King Aegon?

Aenys, perhaps yet unused to being Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, dithers and delays any course of action to deal with the rebels. His love for alchemy and astrology and astronomy will do little to serve him or the realm as the rebels all cry defiance towards him. Ceryse finds herself surprised her goodbrother does not simply appoint a seasoned warrior as his Hand of the King to see to the matter, until she recalls many of the strongest lords seem relctant to take up arms against the rebels, seeking to wacth Aenys' reaction to the uprising. Aenys prevaricates while his councilors all insist on their own courses of action, each commanding their King to follow thier plan of acction. Some bolder councilors go forward with their plans without Aenys' knowledge, encouraged by Visenya granting them her permission. Dowager Queen though she may be called, Ceryse knows it would be foolish to expect Visenya to idly sit by while herenpjeher nephew allows his father’s great work to be undone by the rabble that rally behind the four rebel Kings.

The four rebels are all of them dealt with, put down quickly and savagely. The priest king Lodos “the Twice-Drowned” can hardly escape the naval forces of Goren Greyjoy, who sends his ships to Great Wyk and Old Wyk with Ironborn sailors slaughtering thousands of Lodos’ followers. There is no exact account of who killed Lodos, but Goren Greyjoy sends Aenys a jar holding the man’s head pickled in brine with the added tale of how he killed Lodos while one of Lodos’ female followers… worshipped Goren’s manhood. Harren the Red is faced with Aenys’ Hand of the King Lord Alyn Stokeworth, who he kills in battle, and is then himself killed by Alyn’s squire Bernarr Brune. The Vulture King cannot fly away from the combined forces of Lord Dondarrion, Lady Caron and Lord Tarly, who leave him tied between two posts in the desert, a naked feast for the birds he styles himself after.

As for King Jonos Arryn, Lord Allard Royce amasses a force of men to siege the Eyrie and hold firm until Jonos’ followers surrender. But perhaps Maegor’s impatience or desire for glory drive him to make a swift end of the rebellious Valemen by mounting Balerion the Black Dread and threatening to turn the Eyrie to a second Harrenhal. The traitorous lords swiftly push Jonos out the Moon Door as he did to his brother, and they all find themselves at the end of a noose, hanging from the battlements of the Eyrie for all to see as Maegor rides back to King’s Landing with pride in his glorious victory.

With the four rebels taken down, Aenys has the freedom to rule as the eloquent king who shines when his realm is at peace. He organizes a grand celebration to honor the lords and knights who fought all the traitors who threatened his hold on the crown. He bestows gold, titles, and lands on every knight and lord who fought for his cause, even going so far as to personally knight Bernarr Brune for the killing of Harren the Red. For Goren Greyjoy, he offers the man “any boon he might desire”, perhaps expecting Goren to ask for gold or noble wives or lands. But rather, the man asks for permission to expel the Faith from the Iron Islands, which surprises Ceryse very little considering the Faith had been attempting conversion of the Ironborn for centuries and with little to show for their tremendous efforts. 

After the honors and titles and gold and lands have been distributed accordingly, Aenys smiles at his brother Maegor who is in good cheer considering his victory and claiming of Balerion. Perhaps Aenys means to honor Maegor further and thinks his decision to make his brother Hand of the King will only delight him further. Ceryse can see that the honor is lost on Maegor, who only looks at Aenys’ crown and to Aenys’ smiling face and offers his muted thanks before returning to his seat beside Ceryse, who notices that Maegor’s eyes never leave his brother’s new crown. It is a glittering confection of bright yellow gold inlaid with jade and pearl carved in the faces of the Seven, a gift from the High Septon, used to crown Aenys at the Starry Sept upon his presentation to the High Septon as King. No doubt Maegor finds it a poor substitute for the iron and ruby crown stowed away in Aenys and Alyssa’s manse.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

With Maegor as Hand of the King, Ceryse and Alysanne have all the more reason to live in the capital. They share the manse on Visenya’s Hill with Aenys and his family while Aenys continues construction on the castle that his father had begun before his death. The pale red stone chosen for construction makes it easy for the smallfolk to dub the castle “The Red Keep”, and it quickly becomes Aenys' passion as he oversees its construction with a fervor, swearing his descendants shall hold the seat for many years to come.

Life in King's Landing sees Alysanne care for her dragon every day, feeding the beast by her own hand and allowing her to fly openly around the city as she wishes. Alysanne always smiles when Ceryse asks acter the beast during one of its flights, insisting Meleys knows to come back to her. The lilac and silver beast has grown to the size of a horse, but with all the loyalty of a hound towards Alysanne, who it seems to adore as much as Ceryse. Loyalty aside, Ceryse insists Alysanne wait a few more years to ride her dragon, if only so that the beast can grow larger and stronger so as to more easily hold her daughter while flying. 

Rhaena, sixteen and practically in love with flying, pesters Ceryse almost daily to let her teach Alysanne how to properly mount a dragon with riding leathers and chains, insisting it is her right as a Targaryen to ride dragons and surely Ceryse does not wish to deny Alysanne the exhilarating experience of flight. 

“Gracious aunt, my little cousin is only a few years away from being able to ride her dragon. Can’t she at least learn how to properly mount her dragon and ensure she is safely chained to the beast?” 

Ceryse looks up from her needlework, finishing the detail of the Maiden petting an ivory hart's head as it rests in her lap, sitting beside Alyssa who is overseeing affairs of the realm while Aenys focuses on his castle. Alyssa’s deep violet eyes plead with Ceryse, as do Rhaena’s amethyst eyes, and both are so tender and sweet so as to make Ceryse sigh and wonder at the Seven for making her weak for those she loves.

“There will be one lesson every week and neither of you will have your dragon’s claws leave the ground. The lesson will only be to ensure my daughter knows how to properly mount her dragon for when the time does come for her to ride Meleys.” She offers, Rhaena barely registering her words before she beams and runs out to the courtyard where Alysanne and their dragons await, not paying mind to Ceryse's command that they be careful not to startle Meleys. She lets out a slight chuckle and turns to Alyssa, quickly noticing her knowing smile and regaining a stern expression. “I won’t indulge them as much as you do, Alyssa. I’ll have you know that my mother raised me never to spoil my children.”

Alyssa stifles a laugh and shakes her head fondly as she looks at some parchments documenting a grievance, one between Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood by the color and shape of the wax seals. “I expect nothing less of you, Ceryse. You are as the Seven made you. And I for one am very thankful for that fact. Now lend me some of your clever wit on this land dispute between Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood regarding the Mother's Teats.”

Overseeing the realm with Alyssa, watching her daughter grow and play with her cousins, it is indeed a charmed existence that Ceryse never fails to be thankful for. It’s a miracle the Seven haven’t robbed her of her tongue for all that she thanks them every night in her prayers. Perhaps the reason they don’t silence her is because of what comes next.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

The words reach Ceryse privately long before they officially reach her. When Maegor flies to Harrenhal to feast with Lord Lucas Harroway, she’s informed. When Lord Harroway sends his son to squire for Maegor, she’s informed. When Lord Harroway’s eldest daughter Alys is said to have vanished from Harrenhal without a trace, and Balerion was seen flying over the Riverlands one quiet night, she’s informed.

She’s sitting with Alyssa and Aenys as they break their fast, Aenys always preferring to eat alongside his family. She looks over and smiles as Viserys tries and fails to slowly move his chair towards Alysanne. Alyssa insists that as a prince of the crown, a more valuable match will be necessary for Viserys, and while Ceryse appreciates the political wisdom behind her words, her heart mourns for her daughter and nephew who are clearly infatuated. She can only hope that the infatuation will go the way of many childhood romances and simply fade with time.

A messenger comes through the door, face red as he pants with exertion, holding out a letter sealed with the Targaryen sigil in black and red wax. Ser Raymont Baratheon takes it from the man and inspects it before giving it to Aenys who carefully opens it to read. Aenys’ lilac eyes go wide, flitting to Alysanne and Ceryse in worry as he reads and rereads, brow furrowed in confusion and then… anger. It’s strange to see Aenys’ face turn red as he stands and storms out of the room, the letter abandoned.

Ceryse grabs the letter from Alyssa, looking over it in shock as she recognizes her husband’s familiar scrawl, the words cutting deeper than any knife. 

Brother, 

I write to inform you that I have taken a second wife due to my first wife having failed in duties to deliver me a son, with only a daughter to show for fourteen years of marriage and no lack of effort to conceive. The lady Alys Harroway is my new bride and she and I will remain on Dragonstone to have many sons together. My first wife may live in the city with your family or return to her home in Oldtown, I care not for what she does, only that she does nothing to arouse my anger. As for my useless daughter, she may go alongside her mother wherever they choose. I use this letter to resign as Hand of the King, but remain your loyal brother.

            Maegor Targaryen, The Prince of Dragonstone

“Fourteen years, I gave him. Fourteen years of loyalty and obedience and he repays me with this…” Ceryse whispers, standing to her feet. “Alysanne, stay with your aunt and cousins, I need to have a moment alone.”

She storms out of the open room to her private solar, only barely managing to slam the door behind her before letting her emotions pour out of her in a scream to match Meleys' cry the day Aegon passed. Anger, disgust, heartbreak, indignation, fear, and worry all cloud her mind. Her daughter’s legitimacy will no doubt be called into question. Her own name will be slandered by Maegor’s pandering courtiers who fall to their knees before him. The humiliation stings but the true pain is for the pride of herself and her daughter. She screams again in rage and throws a delicate Myrish looking glass to the floor, relishing the sound of shattering glass before collapsing to her knees.

There is a tentative knock and Ceryse doesn’t respond. The door opens and there is her precious daughter, the sweetest child who she prayed and fought to have. Alysanne who is only nine years old and never asked to be the daughter of such a man as Maegor, whose only fault was being born a girl to a father who can't see the blessing that his daughter is. Ceryse’s heart aches as she hugs her daughter tightly and pets Alysanne’s hair.

“You are the legitimate daughter of Maegor Targaryen and Ceryse Hightower, Alysanne. Remember that, dearest. You are a princess of the crown, descended of Aegon the Conqueror and Visenya the Formidable. You have the blood of Old Valyria in your veins, the blood of Andals and the First Men. Do you remember the stories I told you, sweetling? Of Garth Greenhand and King Uthor of the Hightower and Maris the Maid who was more fair than any maiden?”

Alysanne nods softly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yes Mama, I remember. I remember them all.”

Ceryse smiles and kisses her daughter’s brow. “My clever little girl, how would you like to see the Hightower, hmm?” 

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Ceryse has to plead with Aenys to visit Oldtown, insisting it would be good for her daughter to know her mother’s family and citing the flurry of activity around King’s Landing affecting her delicate constitution. Aenys eventually concedes and sends his goodsister and niece away in a fine wheelhouse, with knights of the city watch to guard them and servants and ladies-in-waiting to attend to them both.

It nearly breaks her heart to bid farewell to Alyssa, the two locked into an embrace of tears and promises to write to each other. The pain is far greater than seeing Maegor mount Balerion the Dread with his Harroway girl before flying off for five years of “banishment” in Essos. Seeing her husband leave would’ve been cause for rejoice if not for the humiliation that came with it. Alyssa and her children all were eager to come along when Ceryse announced her visit to Oldtown, excitedly talking of the simple journey as if it were a grand royal progress. Had Ceryse allowed them, it would have been one. But instead she insists that the Queen and royal children cannot follow her to Oldtown, not when Aenys needed his wife and children the most to keep a united front for the realm. Never mind the fresh pain of Alyssa’s tragic loss of little Vaella only a few months prior. Ceryse’s conscience will not allow her to spirit Alyssa away to the Reach, no matter if she wants to. 

The trip along the Roseroad to Oldtown is overrun with crowds singing the praises of Princess Ceryse Hightower and her daughter Princess Alysanne. The praises make Ceryse’s heart lighter, making the ache of Alyssa’s absence less pronounced. It is a comfort to know that the smallfolk recognize their princesses, know the graceful wife and beautiful daughter Maegor thought he could cast aside like a pair of old gloves. Alysanne smiles and waves at the people, and all the way they distribute gold and cakes to the smallfolk that they pass, visiting the smallfolk to offer ams to the poor amongst them. Their wheelhouse even has garlands of flowers thrown before it by some especially joyous smallfolk. Wherever they stop, lords and ladies of the Reach welcome them with open arms and knights kneel before Alysanne to beg her favor. 

Before long, they reach Oldtown. Everything is exactly as Ceryse remembers, which makes her heart fill with memories of her childhood, of running through the Hightower’s halls with Martyn and little Morgan struggling to keep up, of singing lessons with her mother and sewing with her grandmother and reading with her aunt Patrice. It’s so odd to think of Martyn and Morgan who are now both men grown, Martyn with a wife and children of his own and Morgan a knight of the Warrior’s Sons. Her heart quickens as they are led through the streets to thunderous applause.

“Long live Princess Ceryse! Long live Princess Alysanne! Seven blessings on Princess Ceryse! Seven blessings on Princess Alysanne!”

Ceryse holds Alysanne’s hand, smiling and waving as the smallfolk look up in awe and wonder, excitedly pointing at Meleys who flies in a lazy circle over the city streets, following her princess wherever she goes. A million hands come forward for coins and cakes and blessings, a million voices cry out in joy as Ceryse and Alysanne make their way to the Hightower.

There stands her lord father, tall and broad and proud as anything, his pale blue eyes gleaming as he stands arm-in-arm with her mother, still tall and graceful even with age and weeping tears of joy at the sight of Ceryse. Martyn stands to their father’s right, the image of Manfred Hightower in his youth, strong as an auroch with thick dark brown hair and laughing blue-grey eyes with his wife Bethany Beesbury and their children Brynden, Jeyne and Joffrey. Morgan in his inlaid silver armor and rainbow cloak, his silver greathelm with crystal crest taken off to reveal his messy golden hair and sapphire eyes filled with joy at seeing his beloved older sister again. And of course, her mother’s elder brother, the High Septon who put Ceryse forward for Maegor what seems like a lifetime ago, clad in ivory silk and cloth of silver with a heavy silver pendant inlaid with crystal in the shape of the seven pointed star across his chest and the beautiful crystal crown atop his head.

Ceryse brings Alysanne to them, crying as she embraces her family, comforted by the fact that she has them behind her where they stand at the ready to defend her honor and the honor of her daughter. They all retire into the Hightower for supper and as soon as Ceryse’s mother and father and brothers all have their full of Alysanne, Bethany takes Alysanne to play with her cousins while the adults discuss the “matter” of Maegor’s affair and exile.

Martyn waits until his wife takes his niece and their children away before slamming his fist down on the table in outrage. “How could that bastard put you aside for the simpering daughter of that great pandering oaf of Harrenhal? Does he not recall that when you were married, the Reach worshipped you as the Flower of Oldtown? That Lord Tyrell was desperate to engage you to his eldest son to legitimize his claim to Highgarden? Does he not recall fourteen years of humility and obedience?”

Morgan growls, his usually warm face marred by a scowl as his eyes darken with rage. “The man has no respect for any authority, not even his own brother! He doesn’t bow to the Seven Above or to his mortal king, he thinks himself above all creatures and beings in this world. I heard he was proud to present his paramour to his brother! Think of that, the King's own brother parading his paramour as if he were a lecherous Dornishman! Proud to display the Whore of Harroway!”

Ceryse sharply turns her head towards Morgan. “I will hear no talk of whores, Morgan. The girl is innocent in all of this, a moth drawn to Maegor’s flame. She is only seventeen and likely has no wisdom of the ways of the world. Maegor likely has her head full of pretty ideas of romance froma song. I have little doubt my husband has made a thousand promises to Alys and her pandering father to win her to his bed, and likely the most beguiling is the promise of a crown.”

“A crown that belongs to you,” Martyn grumbles below his breath before Ceryse’s glare silences him.

Her uncle chooses to speak, his forest green eyes meeting Ceryse’s. “Let us not worry of Maegor and his”—It only takes a look from Ceryse to make him rethink his words—“lover . He will likely grow bored of her soon enough and return to his brother begging forgiveness. Banished to Essos without the comforts of a princely life, and all for a girl who he thinks will give him a son. He will regret his folly and come back to Ceryse in time, of that I am certain. And Ceryse will guide him into the Light of the Seven so he may repent.”

Ceryse, Martyn, Morgan and their parents all nod in agreement, returning to their meal in silence. Ceryse decides not to mention the feeling of doubt whirling in her belly.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Two years pass and the words of Ceryse’s uncle fail to ring true. The High Septon’s amity towards the Targaryens sours with each passing moon and Ceryse has begun to look at him as if he were a vial of wildfire waiting for a flicker of flame to ignite. The length of his sermons becomes longer and longer, preaching the paramount importance of honoring the Seven and humbling oneself for one’s sins. He drives men and women to their knees with his intonations of the Seven-Pointed Star making them plead with the Seven for forgiveness for even the most insignificant of sins

Ceryse decides against bringing her daughter to his sermons after hearing such reports.

Alysanne is eleven and has flourished in Oldtown, with the finest maesters of the Citadel brought to teach her history and philosophy and High Valyrian, with a septa who teaches her courtesy and humility and charity, and an army of maiden companions who teach her to sing and dance, to play the high harp and recite poetry and host a retinue. Alysanne soaks up all the knowledge her lessons provide, and even more from her hours spent in the great library of the Hightower with her uncle Martyn, who dotes on her almost as much as a father should. Ceryse is thankful for her daughter to have some semblance of a family. Her father and mother adore their precious granddaughter, and Morgan insists he would swear his sword to her in spite of the Warrior’s Sons if it ever came to that. 

The rest of the realm seems to fade away, and Ceryse finds herself thinking less and less of King’s Landing. The only true anchor she has are regular letters from Alyssa, which never fail to brighten Ceryse’s day when they arrive. However, the latest letter bears less than pleasant tidings, tidings which Ceryse barely has time to process before the realm seems to explode. 

Aenys has decided to marry Aegon to Rhaena, a brother-sister match and the first in House Targaryen since their ascendency to the crown. Ceryse isn’t surprised that Aenys would make such a decision. To him it would feel the natural choice. His father and mother were brother and sister, and if Maegor or Aenys had been born a woman, they surely would have wed each other, so it is only natural Aenys would marry his eldest son and daughter. However, he failed to take into account the tenuous relationship he has with the Faith. His taking a Septon as his Hand of the King hardly managed to placate Ceryse’s uncle, and the incestuous match has proven the perfect spark to set the High Septon alight with righteous zeal.

Ceryse can hardly recognize her uncle as he roars through sermons denouncing the Targaryens and their dragons and their incestuous marriages, denouncing the marriage of Aegon and Rhaena as sin and fornication, denouncing Aenys as a tyrant and dubbing him “King Abomination”. Even Alysanne is not free from his zealous hatred against the Targaryens, although he hesitates to say anything against the much beloved Princess in Oldtown who walks among the smallfolk when performing acts of charity alongside her mother. Ceryse doesn't think it matters, for she can see his angry eyes staring at her daughter, kneeling in front of an altar during her prayers. To the High Septon, all Targaryens are abominations, including those half-Hightower.

The High Septon’s fiery sermons against the Targaryens and their tyranny find root in the hearts of a great many and the discontented Reach, Riverlands and Westerlands all rise up in outcry over the new royal couple. Ceryse wants to scream that Aegon and Rhaena are not at fault and only obeying their father’s will and the traditions of their Valyrian heritage, that Alysanne is not a monster for her father’s sins, that Alyssa and Aenys are good to the realm and their children are all innocent. 

Septon Murmison is expelled from the Faith and butchered in the streets, Aegon and Rhaena—now Prince and Princess of Dragonstone via Aenys’ decree—are jeered at by smallfolk and lords alike as they travel along Aenys’ foolish royal progress. They don’t even have Dreamfyre to offer them some protection. Aenys is no safer with King’s Landing turning against him, the Warrior’s Sons fortify the Sept of Remembrance into their own stronghold, and two Poor Fellows attempt to assassinate Aenys in his manse, only failing due to the valiant efforts of Ser Raymont Baratheon. 

Alyssa writes from Dragonstone, where she and Aenys have sought shelter under Visenya’s care with Viserys and Jaehaerys. Visenya’s insistence that Aenys mount his dragon Quicksilver and turn the Starry Sept into a second Harrenhal falls on deaf ears, with Aenys reportedly growing weaker and weaker by the day, wracked with worry over his eldest daughter and son who are trapped at Crakehall. Alyssa’s tears stain every letter and Ceryse wants nothing more than to reach across the realm and hold her close, to bring Aegon and Rhaena to their mother’s arms, to return to those golden days in King’s Landing before marriages and defiant lords and assassination attempts.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Aenys Targaryen dies a man of thirty-five so wracked with fear, he looks nearly sixty. The maester on Dragonstone and Visenya both attest to his loose bowels, shakes, aches, and violent nightmares of his children’s captivity. Alyssa sings a dirge for him as thirteen year-old Viserys and eight year-old Jaehaerys stand by their mother. Visenya lights the pyre herself before she mounts Vhagar and rides across the Narrow Sea.

Maegor returns within days of his brother’s death, surprisingly missing his lover Alys Harroway. Ceryse suspects he wishes to keep the girl out of any potential violence that will arise from him pressing his claim. It doesn’t take a maester to predict that Maegor means to win the Iron Throne through violence and bloodshed, considering that he is hardly more popular among the smallfolk than his nephew. Knowing Maegor, Ceryse suspects he thinks himself more capable than Aegon. A man grown, a skilled warrior and man of state—as if he truly did anything as Aenys’ Hand of the King in those two years—as well as being the son of Aegon the Conqueror, and a true Targaryen. 

She doesn’t expect correspondence from him and no such correspondence comes. Rather, Maegor busies himself beheading Grand Maester Gawen for the great offense of insisting that Aegon was Aenys’ heir and by all rights and laws of succession, the new king. Once his first dissenter is taken care of, Maegor presents his claim to the smallfolk, with Visenya calling upon all men who wish to oppose Maegor’s rule face him in combat. Word of the trial by seven quickly spreads with a million different tellings spreading throughout Oldtown.

Maegor fights alongside Ser Bernarr Brune, Ser Bram of Blackhull, Ser Rayford Rosby, Ser Guy Lothston, Lord Lucifer Massey and a man-at-arms named Dick Bean. The Warrior’s Sons are represented by Ser Damon Morrigen, Ser Lyle Bracken, Ser Harys Horpe, Ser Aegon Ambrose, Ser Dickon Flowers, Ser Willam the Wanderer and Ser Garibald of the Seven Stars. Alysanne brings her mother a million retellings of the trial that she hears from the gossiping kitchen maids. Dick Bean, being a simple man-at-arms, was immediately cut down by Ser Lyle Bracken. Ser Guy Lothston, known as “the Glutton”, had his stomach sliced and the remains of forty half-digested meat pies spilled out. Ser Garibald of the Seven Stars sang a paean to the Warrior throughout the fight. Lord Massey hacked off Ser Harys Horpe’s left arm moments after Ser Harys tossed his battle-axe to his right arm, and quickly thereafter buried it between Lord Massey’s eyes. The end of the various stories is the same, Ser Damon the Devout and Willam the Wanderer left standing against Maegor, who cut Ser Damon down with Blackfyre and managed to cut Ser Willam down too, but not before receiving a terrible blow to his helm. 

Maegor lingers in the Stranger’s arms for twenty-seven days while maesters scurry about him. It is only the arrival of a ship from Pentos, bearing his lover Alys Harroway and a supposed paramour called Tyanna of the Tower, that Maegor’s chances of recovery seems to improve. Visenya banishes the maesters from her son’s chambers and lets Tyanna take over his care. throughout the night, the woman supposedly uses arcane and dark arts to bring Maegor’s strength back and save him from the clutches of the Stranger. On the thirtieth day after his trial by seven, King Maegor wakes with the sun.

The Sept of Remembrance’s burning can be seen from the Hightower, or so Ceryse imagines as she sees a thin plume of black smoke in the distance. She thinks she can smell the burning wood and flesh and hear the screams of horror of the Warrior’s Sons, the roar of Balerion relishing in a great inferno of his own creation. Any who attempt to escape the burning building are shot down by archers, and Maegor officially declares war on the Faith.

The High Septon thunders and commands the Faith to take up arms against a new tyrant. Maegor’s command that all leal lords disperse the Poor Fellows who defy his order to lay down their arms is countered by the High Septon’s command for all true children of the gods to take up arms against Maegor’s reign in defense of the Faith. Maegor’s militaristic ventures prove successful, with the Poor Fellows being massacred and scattered at the Battle of Stonebridge. At the Battle at the Great Fork, Maegor further massacres the Poor Fellows and succeeds in scattering their numbers.

To celebrate his two great victories, Maegor marries his paramour Tyanna of the Tower on the Hill of Rhaenys, amidst the ashes and bones left from the Sept of Remembrance. Grand Maester Myros—Ceryse hears through whispering maids—was the only one to speak on behalf of Ceryse and her daughter, reminding Maegor of his 

She prays his soul finds a place in one of the seven heavens after learning Maegor swiftly beheaded him for his words, along with twelve septons who all refused to marry Maegor to Tyanna.

The terrible and bloody year is lightened by one bit of news. Alyssa writes to Ceryse, happily announcing that Lord and Lady Lannister have taken Aegon and Rhaena in. Furthermore, Rhaena has been delivered of twin daughters, Aerea and Rhaella. Ceryse doesn’t weep with relief at Rhaena not bearing Aegon a son and heir for his own claim to the crown, for she knows that Maegor cares little and less for any challenge to the throne he’s worked so hard to win for himself.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Ceryse prays the reprieve of Maegor’s violence will last longer, but the Seven only seem capable of providing a half year. Maegor’s bloodlust was thoroughly sated by his burning of the Sept of Remembrance and his battles in the Reach and Crownlands. The Faith Militant seems to lie in wait, with Morgan barely talking to Ceryse and insisting a day of reckoning is coming for Maegor. The High Septon continues to roar through his sermons and the smallfolk listen but take little action.

Maegor’s focus is entirely on the Red Keep, which had been abandoned by Aenys during his decline. Maegor likely believes the keep will be his legacy, and works to make it a castle beyond any rival in the whole of Westeros. He only occasionally discusses laws stripping the Faith Militant of its rights to bear arms with his new Hand of the King, Lucas Harroway, his second wife’s father. Ceryse holds little regard for him, knowing him to be nothing more than a pander who bends to Maegor’s will and sings and dances when Maegor commands him to. 

Visenya breaks the stagnation with a midnight flight through the Riverlands, burning the seats of House Blanetree, House Terrick, House Deddings, House Lychester and House Wayn in a single night. Maegor takes flight towards the Westerlands and burns the keep’s of House Broome, House Falwell, House Lorch, and many others. He saves the keep of House Doggett for last, burning the keep and incinerating the mother, father and sister of the newest captain of the Warrior’s Sons who brought two thousand men to Oldtown to restore the Warrior’s Sons to their former glory.

Ceryse watches the raging infernos with Alysanne in her arms, two sets of pale blue eyes gazing out over the smoldering realm. Alysanne looks up into her mother’s eyes, knowing what Ceryse is thinking. Two great dots are visible in the distant northern sky, dots that could only be beasts of monstrous size. Ceryse kisses her daughter’s brow as Oldtown erupts in panic, many fleeing what they suspect will be the destruction of the greatest city in Westeros.

The morning comes and so too do Vhagar and Balerion with their riders, but no destruction is wrought. The High Septon has passed away from some ailment or another in the night, and Martyn—who has been Lord of Oldtown in the two years since their father’s death— has the Warrior’s Sons disarmed and arrested, including Morgan who is privately imprisoned in the Hightower. The city gates are open and Targaryen banners fly, with Martyn sending his men to wake the Most Devout in the Starry Sept to elect a more complacent High Septon. Septon Pater, a man of ninety years who is amiable as he is ancient, is stopped with age and blind, but nonetheless promises to appease Maegor’s wroth. 

Ceryse and Alysanne are bathed and prepared, their hair brushed out until it shines like molten gold and silver respectively. Ceryse finds herself in a gown of sapphire blue Volantine silk threaded with gold and trimmed with ermine, a golden tiara with diamonds and sapphires placed upon her head and a matching necklace across her chest. Alysanne is garbed in a gown of sky blue Volantine silk trimmed in golden Myrish lace. A simple golden tiara sits upon her head, making her look every inch a princess as she carries the weight well for a maiden of thirteen years. 

Manfyd brings them down the many steps of the Hightower to the streets of Oldtown, where Maegor stands in black and scarlet silk, King Aegon’s iron and ruby crown upon his brow. It is then Ceryse realizes that Martyn wishes for Maegor to reclaim Ceryse as his wife and therefore his queen, their reconciliation would be the cement to ensure that House Hightower’s loyalty remains beyond question. Maegor speaks warmly, his voice deep but cordial, no doubt rehearsed at his mother‘s instruction until he could recite his apologies to Ceryse and pleas for her forgiveness by heart.

Ceryse looks down at her daughter, her treasure who she has done everything she can for, and back at Maegor before curtseying and giving him a smile. “Beloved husband, it would fill my heart with joy for us to be reconciled. We must have a grand renewal of our vows so that we may be truly blessed and married anew.” She gently guides Alysanne forward, wanting more than anything to run away and hide her daughter, but knowing that the only way to survive is to comply. “Husband, it has been some years since you have last seen our daughter. I present our Princess Alysanne.”

Alysanne dips into a curtsey, cheeks pale as she dares to glance up at the powerful broad form of her father, her bravery clearly abandoning as she trembles slightly. Maegor surprises Ceryse and perhaps everyone else around them as he kneels down and pulls his daughter into an embrace, only pulling away to kiss her brow. “Forgive your father for being absent, dearest little one. He will not abandon you or your mother again.”

Ceryse notices Visenya’s smile as she looks over her son and granddaughter, and she can’t help but wonder if the woman truly believes her son is sincere in any of the words she’s instructed him to speak. She feels a small amount of pity for Visenya flicker across her mind. What a sad fate, to have a son who is undeniably a monster, and to be unable to do anything but love him despite his flaws and cruelties.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Maegor moves to the Hightower for a half-year, all but pushing Martyn from his finely carved seat and taking it up as if it were the Iron Throne. He summons only his small council to Oldtown to help him govern, which Ceryse soon learns is almost entirely made up of Harroways and their ilk. Lord Lucas Harroway is Hand of the King, with his eldest son Harrold as Master of Laws. Lord Harroway’s goodbrother—his wife’s elder brother Lord Edwyn Roote—acts as Master of Coin. Only the Master of Ships is a man Ceryse knows she can trust. Lord Daemon Velaryon is Alyssa’s elder brother. The newest Grand Maester Desmond is neither ally or enemy to Ceryse, given his tendency to nod along to Maegor’s every word in a foolish attempt to avoid the fate of his two predecessors.

Their renewal of their vows is a grand affair, albeit somewhat rushed. Indeed, Ceryse simply goes through the motions of the wedding, knowing the vows by heart and playing the part of the submissive and obedient wife. Maegor, for his part, drinks and makes merry throughout their feast without Ceryse. The drunken king is only returned to her for the bedding ceremony, and their second consummation is thankfully over with quickly enough.

Maegor’s attentions are nothing Ceryse cannot withstand, even being out of practice for some years. His rough thrusts and grunts haven’t changed and Ceryse finds herself drifting away to another place until he’s had his release and falls asleep beside her. Only then does Ceryse’s hand reach down and attempt to get some pleasure for herself, if only because she can’t stand the thought of Maegor failing to satisfy her while pursuing his own satisfaction. 

It is during one of these moments that Ceryse’s eyes open to long dormant feelings that she never truly faced. For years she presumed to know herself, that she was like any other maiden and attracted to men. When Maegor reached manhood, Ceryse did admire his powerful frame from time to time. But for the lonely years with only her daughter and her family around her, she had to seek out something, someone, to project her desires onto. And as she furiously thrusts her fingers into herself one night, her breath hitches and a name passes her lips into the cool open air above her. It reverberates inside her head like a bell’s toll as she thinks only of silver hair and purple eyes and a hand that always felt so perfect in her own.

Alyssa.

The shock is immediate and Ceryse hardly can cope with it. The more she reflects on her feelings, the more she realizes the feelings she’s always felt for her former goodsister were more than just familial love and friendship. The sinking feeling she got when she had to leave Alyssa, the burning feeling of jealousy whenever Aenys stole away her attention from Ceryse. She could never admit to herself that it was love until forced to face her feelings once they were staring her in the face. She feels guilt, almost immeasurable, deep in her belly for being jealous and bitter towards Aenys who never did anything to her other than love Alyssa too. She feels guilty for the small and secret part of her that was happy when Aenys died, because it meant Ceryse could have Alyssa to herself when they eventually reunited. 

Ceryse hardly considers the Seven-Pointed Star’s passages against men loving men as men love women, or women loving women as women love men. She never much liked such passages of the Seven-Pointed Star. Faith should be a comfort in times of tribulation and an explanation for the unknown. It soured her stomach when her uncle uses the Faith to slander the Targaryens and it sours her stomach to look over passages condemning “buggery” as a sin. If love is honest and true between two people, how could it be a sin?

It takes time, but Ceryse simply has to accept her feelings and continue her life. The realm doesn’t stop moving, life goes on and Maegor has a new threat to his crown. Aegon has emerged from Casterly Rock on his father’s dragon determined to claim his rights as Prince of Dragonstone and heir to Aenys the First of His Name. Ceryse hugs her daughter tightly as they hear the news, Maegor calling his forces and leaving without ceremony, his eyes black with rage.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

The rebellion led by Prince Aegon is short-lived. Ceryse gets to hear every detail through the gossip of her ladies. The young prince somehow managed to sneak into King’s Landing in Maegor’s absence and collect his father’s dragon Silverwing, with his sister Rhaena claiming her dragon Dreamfyre. With two dragons to their cause, Aegon slowly amasses a force of Westerlands and Riverlands lords. Tarbeck, Piper, Roote, Vance, Frey, Paege, Farman, and Westerling, Ceryse wonders how Maegor will kill them all once he defeats his green nephew who has never seen battle. 

Aegon marches for King’s Landing and intends to take what is his by force. Ceryse kneels before the gods in prayer, knowing that Aegon is doomed to die but praying that Maegor will not turn his rage on Alyssa or her children and granddaughters. She knows Aegon was never a tactical boy and he hasn’t grown into a tactical man. The prince’s plans seem sporadic and completely unpredictable, decisions made in the moment without any forethought. He makes it as far as the God’s Eye before Maegor decides that the rebellion has gone on long enough. 

Maegor’s forces surround Aegon’s, with House Harroway and Tully coming down at them from the north and Ser Davos Darklyn with his five thousand Crownlands men blocking Aegon’s path towards the east. From the Reach in the south come Lords Peake, Merryweather and Caswell. Aegon orders a charge against Davos Darklyn and his men, mounting Quicksilver to lead with all of a young man’s bravado in his heart, only for Balerion to appear from the south with Maegor on his back. The battle is swiftly over thereafter. Balerion tears one of Silverwing’s wings from her body and the dragon plummets to the ground with her rider chained to her. The rebels surrender quickly thereafter and Ceryse can only pray that Aegon’s soul ascends to one of the seven heavens and Alyssa’s poor heart isn’t broken. 

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Ceryse holds Alysanne’s hand in hers, their wheelhouse full of Reach ladies-in-waiting loyal to them. Their wheelhouse is surrounded by Hightower men-at-arms, with Ceryse’s brother Morgan sitting amongst the women, stripped of his Warrior’s Sons regalia but allowed to keep his life, content in serving his sister and niece as their sworn sword and captain of their personal guard. His eyes have lost some of their spark but he smiles at her and Alysanne as a near-deafening roar can be heard from beyond the tittering ladies and soft harp music.

“Long live Queen Ceryse, our one  true  Queen! Long live Princess Alysanne! Seven blessings upon you!”

Alysanne smiles softly and looks up at Ceryse, her eyes twinkling as she hugs her mother’s arm. “Whatever Father’s court may hold for us, we have the love of the people. That is more than enough. If I am ever to be Queen, I hope that they will love me dearly, for I will give them all the love I can offer.”

Ceryse feels a few tears come to her eyes, a proud smile lighting up her face as she gently pets her daughter’s hair and kisses her brow. “The smallfolk adore you already, sweetling, but you must always remember that you need only give them your love, and they will return it a thousand-fold.” 

They need the smallfolk’s love more than ever. Maegor’s swift victory over Aegon doesn’t erase the act of kinslaying. The whispers of Maegor’s new epithet are never far from Ceryse’s ear. 

apt words to describe a man with such anger in his blackened heart, capable of committing such atrocities as butchering men for their faith alone and killing his nephew for wanting a crown that he stole from him. Ceryse has already made her ladies swear to never let slip any such whispers in Maegor’s presence. Ceryse can only protect them so long as they present themselves as her meek and timid retinue.

There’s a knock from the door of the wheelhouse as the massive wooden structure lurches to a stop. One of Ceryse’s ladies opens the door to a member of the city guard for King’s Landing, his ringmail and leather armor heavily-worn by time and frequent use, his face pinched and ferret-like, equally savaged by time if his gray hair is a testament to his age.

“Your Grace, the city gates will not open for you until your men disperse these crowds.”

Ceryse waves a hand towards Morgan, who rises and barks out orders to their men-at-arms, the crowd slowly dispersing under the commands of the guards as the cries die down and the wheelhouse finally lurches forward through the open gate. There is a feeling of satisfaction in Ceryse’s heart as the wheelhouse rolls through the city streets up towards Aegon’s High Hill and the Red Keep. The smallfolk scream even louder than those in the countryside. Or perhaps their praises are merely reverberated off of the buildings around them. In any case, the cries reach all the way to the Red Keep, and Ceryse savors them as she takes Alysanne’s hands and steps out into the sunlit courtyard.

Maegor stands tall and proud in his fine royal regalia, his iron and ruby crown perched upon his brow. On his arm is the Harroway girl, who Ceryse can only identify  by her cloak’s colors since the vibrant orange and black of House Harroway is unique to the Riverlands lords. She is pretty enough, in a common way. Her freckled skin is tanned, likely from Maegor’s exile to Essos. Her long hair is thick and shines in the sun, but it’s the color of moldering wheat left to scorch in the fields. Her face is round and she lacks any chin and her wide eyes are narrowed to slits, barely allowing Ceryse to make out their murky hazel hue. She looks more like the daughter of some blacksmith or crofter than the daughter of the Lord of Harrenhal and Hand of the King.

Behind Maegor stands a tall woman, her skin is a dark shade of olive and her eyes are the color of the black currants. Her hair is long, falling nearly to her knees in a curtain of black silk. Her figure is voluptuous and barely hidden by the cut of her dress, which seems to be in the Lysene fashion considering its almost sheer nature and the way it clings to her breasts and hips. The neckline plunges to her navel and Ceryse averts Alysanne’s eyes, turning them both to face Maegor and his second wife and Queen.

Ceryse dips into a perfect curtsey, Alysanne mimicking her as they bow their heads before Maegor, and only before Maegor. Ceryse refuses to acknowledge the presence of her husband’s mistress, no matter how she might be dressed and crowned and recognized by Maegor’s pandering courtiers who sing her praises.

“Husband, it is a pleasure to be in your presence again. I was delighted for your summons after your victory against our usurper nephew. I had heard the Red Keep was proving to be the grandest castle in Westeros under your supervision and I had such hopes to be able to see it. I can now say with confidence that the gossip does your creation little justice. Would His Grace be so kind as to—“

The Harroway girl presses herself in, not at all pleased with being excluded from the conversation. Her small white teeth are bared, quickly corrected into a forced smile as she feigns a giggle. “His Grace is much preoccupied with his small council, ruling the realm justly and wisely. You mustn’t preoccupy him with trivial matters. If you need anything, you may come to me instead. You and I are His Grace’s Queens, as is Tyanna. In a way, we are practically sisters."

Ceryse doesn’t miss how the word seems to disgust the girl as much as it disgusts Ceryse, and she has to contain a laugh at her poor social graces. She can only glean that the girl satisfies Maegor in his bedchamber, for she has little in the way of other charms. She decides to play along for Maegor, who seems amused by their interactions.

“Lady Alys, forgive me for forgetting myself. You are right, His Grace the King is much preoccupied with ruling the realm. I only had some hope that he could direct my daughter and I to our chambers. The journey has made us both weary and I had hopes to appoint my household and enjoy a quiet supper before an evening of peaceful amusement with my ladies and daughter. Perhaps his Grace might even join me later?” 

Maegor’s eyebrows lift in surprise but his eyes rake over Ceryse all the same and she doesn’t miss the way that they darken. She also doesn’t miss the Harroway girl’s face flushing with anger, turning a blotchy uneven pink. A mistress can be garbed in peach silk embroidered with golden thread, adorned with sapphires and pearls and gold, but she will never be a true wife made so in the eyes of the Seven before hundreds of lords and ladies.

She turns to Maegor and curtsies clumsily. “If I may have His Grace’s leave, I would much like to retire. I fear myself absolutely exhuasted after our evening together.” 

As soon as Maegor nods his assent, she tosses her curls over her shoulders and stomps up the stairs, followed by her father and ladies-in-waiting who all clamor to soothe her temper. Ceryse wonders if the girl is always so prone to fits, and a smile creeps to her face as she thinks that the girl is swiftly learning that being queen isn’t an afternoon frolic with cakes and wine. Especially with a husband such as Maegor. He likely doesn’t appreciate her blotchy flush and her fits of temper.

The Pentoshi woman chooses to slither down the steps towards Ceryse. She can’t think of another word for the movement than slithering. Those dark eyes seem to fix Ceryse to the stone she stands upon, and she half expects the woman’s lips to open wide to reveal a set of fangs dripping venom and a forked tongue. She is half-right, for the woman’s smile displays a sharp set of canines that hardly set Ceryse at ease. Her voice is thick and rich and sounds like liquid honey rolling off of her tongue.

“Her Grace the Queen and the little princess, how wonderful to finally meet you. I have long-awaited this day, for those in the Reach seem to think so highly of you. I had heard that the princess is skilled with the high harp, perhaps she might play for her stepmother one day? Perhaps she can sing Seasons of My Love, I have no doubt she sings beautifully.”

Ceryse feels her blood run cold at the song’s title. The first song Alysanne ever learned. The first song she plucked her harp to. She practiced and practiced for hours, even having a singer help her train her voice to create the most beautiful melodies. Tyanna is Maegor’s mistress of whisperers, men say, and Ceryse suddenly wonders if there is some credence to the stories of her having eyes everywhere in the forms of vermin.

Alysanne, bless her, speaks the words that Ceryse can’t find. “I would love to play for Your Grace, I would love to play for the whole court to see if His Grace would like me to. I fear I do not play well for others in private. Having a larger audience puts me more at ease. There is also the matter that my mother has me taking many lessons. She insists the Seven ask us to never be idle and always pursue learning of domestic arts, for women’s work is never done. Perhaps, Lady Tyanna, you can join my mother and her ladies for an evening of prayer and quiet contemplation?”

The Pentoshi woman recoils as if burned, quickly recovering her cool courtesy as she shakes her head. “I fear I am much a stranger to your customs, Princess. Surely you will forgive me for not taking part in such activities. I hope we might yet find other ways to bond with one another—” she meets Ceryse’s eyes, “—in all due time.” 

Ceryse smiles as she steps between Alysanne and Tyanna, shielding her daughter with her own body as her ladies make their way out of the wheelhouse, her sworn guards who are ready to strike down everyone who threatens Ceryse or Alysanne. She stands taller, her back straight as Morgan puts a hand on his sword’s hilt as a silent warning to the mistress of whisperers. “Seven blessings on you, Tyanna of the Tower. You are always welcome to see my daughter amongst our ladies. When I retire this evening, you will have a place in my prayers.”

She doesn’t allow the woman to respond, curtseying to Maegor and taking his arm, pressing a kiss to his cheek as she turns them towards his monstrosity of a keep. A Queen of the Seven Kingdoms hardly concerns herself with thoughts of a foreign courtesan who dabbles in potions and whispers. 

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Ceryse smiles as she watches Alysanne with Jaehaerys. The boy is only ten and acts as Ceryse’s cupbearer, for Maegor has already appointed a little cousin of Alys Harroway to be his own cupbearer and has little need for Jaehaerys. He is hardly on good terms with his brother’s youngest son, after all, and likely prefers Ceryse be the one to handle the child. Ceryse is happy for the appointment, for it shows that Maegor trusts her above Tyanna and Alys. However much Maegor may trust her, he does appoint Ser Olyver Bracken to follow the boy wherever he goes. Lord Lucas Harroway simpers that the prince needs a guard, Ceryse knows Ser Bracken is meant to be a spy to ensure the boy has no thoughts of treason. 

Thankfully, Jaehaerys seems undaunted by the newly-appointed Kingsguard shadow and enjoys the chance to spend time with his cousin. Indeed, Ser Olyver seems more than fond of the boy and minds him more like a treasured little brother rather than a hostage to be kept from any treasonous plots. Jaehaerys is clever as anything and loves nothing more than a good book. He often glues himself to Alysanne’s side as they pore over the pages of some book of legends and monsters and magic.

Life at court is a quiet existence. Many whisper that despite Maegor having three queens, his court is dreary and dark with little in the way of jubilation or cheer. What is there to celebrate for a King who has slain his own kin and made war on the Faith?  

Tyanna holds no court, has no ladies, no family, no one. She is Maegor’s mistress of whisperers, his serpent who slithers through shadows and brings back secrets to the King’s ear. Servants avoid her, bowing their heads and scurrying away like frightened mice when she decides to throw orders at them. She contents herself with her books of arcane secrets and dark knowledge, as well as her unquestioned position at Maegor’s side and in his ear. Her eyes are ever-dark and unsettling as she sits back and watches the other two queens. 

Alys’ court is full of her relations. Her Roote mother and Harroway brothers and sisters and cousins. Her father’s power trickles down to the men of their family, Lord Harroway’s son and goodbrother are on the small council, his nephews are the king’s own squire and cupbearer, Alys’ female cousins make up her court of ladies. They all sing and dance and do everything Alys commands of them. They soothe her fits of anger when Maegor doesn’t show her the attention and affection she believes herself entitled to, they stroke her pride by praising her beauty and wit while insulting Ceryse as nothing more than a “pious bitter bitch”. There have even been times that Alys has proved herself not above raging at her father for not showing her the proper respect she deserves as his Queen, once even threatening to convince Maegor to strip him of his title.

Ceryse’s court is a menagerie of Reachmen and women. A Beesbury, a Cuy, and a Mullendore make up her trusted trio of ladies, her own women of vassal houses whose loyalty is beyond question. The rest of her retinue of ladies-in-waiting consists of a Merryweather and a Fossoway and a Redwyne. Her guardsmen come from the finest men-at-arms serving her family at the Hightower, with Jon Bulwer as her brother Morgan’s lieutenant of Ceryse’s personal guard. Her ladies hold a simple court, with some playing the harp or bells or singing hymns to the Seven when Ceryse feels like the silence is too much. They weave while twittering like birds and sharing stories and gossip of Alys’ court. They dance and Ceryse sits at the center with Alysanne at her right hand and Jaehaerys at her left, never feeling more a Queen than those moments of reprieve from Maegor’s presence. 

Maegor’s visits are few. He spends twice as many nights with Alys and Tyanna than he does with Ceryse. His visits to Ceryse mark nights where he is simply too tired for his other queens. He quietly eats his supper with Ceryse and Alysanne, listens to Ceryse play her high harp for a short time, has Alysanne sing for him and retires to sleep beside Ceryse. He rises with the sun and spends the next fortnight with his other two queens. It is an agreeable arrangement for the three of them, and it becomes even more enjoyable when Maegor surprises Ceryse and Alysanne with permission to visit Dragonstone. With a few conditions. 

While Jaehaerys is fostered at court as Ceryse’s cupbearer, Alyssa and Viserys are prisoners in all but name at Dragonstone, with an aging Visenya as their warden. Visenya Targaryen, the once intimidating queen who was known as Visenya the Formidable is two and seventy years old and very clearly clinging to life like a drowning sailor to a plank. She is thin of frame and haggard with a persistent cough. She leans on an ebony cane and her long hair which falls in a curtain of pure ivory is no longer braided or ringed. Her flesh hangs off her bones, turned a strange pale yellow with age and looking fit to fall away at any moment. Her dark violet eyes are cloudy with age and her voice sounds like the creak of an ancient door. The maester says she has her wits about her still but Ceryse catches the moments where Visenya Targaryen almost calls Alysanne “Rhaenys”. When she is lucid, she clucks like a mother hen and tells Alysanne of the conquest, her spotted hands coming up to pet her cheek.

“You were worth all the struggle, my sweetling. You were worth all the trials and wars. Do try to visit your old grandmother more often, will you? These ancient halls are so cold and lonely…” 

Perhaps the years of isolation before being made warden to her nephew’s wife and son have rendered Visenya half-mad, for she grants Viserys and Alyssa a great deal of freedoms. It is mostly the guardsmen who keep the mother and son from leaving the island or going past the keep’s territory. Not that they would dare attempt, for Alysanne and Ceryse’s visits are seen as a gift they are offered which can be taken away in an instant with the slightest infraction. It pains Ceryse to realize that she and Alysanne are little more than further leverage for Maegor to hold over Alyssa and Viserys’ heads. 

Viserys has grown into a strong young man of fifteen, training under the master-at-arms of Dragonstone with only wooden practice swords at his disposal. He is also forbidden any dragon to claim, with the hatchling he was given as a baby killed and thrown into the sea by Maegor’s men to ensure he couldn’t attempt any escape. He’s intelligent and well-read, voraciously reading every book in Dragonstone’s library and educating himself in history, mathematics, economics, astronomy, and warcraft. Ceryse can see that he is listless in Dragonstone, his deep amethyst eyes always flitting as his fingers fiddle about and his feet tap. So like a boy even when nearly a man, so eager to prove himself capable and strong. He only ceases his listlessness when Alysanne and Ceryse visit, his eyes not leaving Alysanne as he follows her like an ardent green boy eager for her affection.

Alyssa is no better, starved of information on the realm and her children who are far from her. Ceryse informs her of Rhaena’s flight to Fair Isle where she is known to be safe and cared for by Lord Farman, with her daughters spirited away by allies so Maegor and Tyanna cannot find them. She tells of how Jaehaerys remains in Ceryse’s care and is largely unharmed by his Bracken white cloak shadow. Surprisingly, Ser Olyver Bracken has proven fond of the boy on more than one occasion, and he has never shown any disdain towards Alysanne or Ceryse. This news proves a comfort to Alyssa along with their conversations which last hours while their children hide away in the library.

Ceryse is sitting at her needlework with Alyssa one day when Alyssa gently takes her needlework away from her, setting it aside and grabbing Ceryse’s hands and holding them tightly. Ceryse is about to ask what Alyssa could want when Alyssa’s lips are against her own and she forgets to think. She wraps her hands around Alyssa’s waist and pulls her closer, pulling her into her lap and holding her in an embrace as they kiss and kiss and kiss until they have to pull away for breath and Ceryse can only smile for joy and the two laugh and continue to kiss until Viserys and Alysanne come with a Dragonstone man-at-arms who insists Alysanne and Ceryse must leave. With a final kiss, Ceryse lets go of Alyssa’s hands and turns to the door. As they take a ship back to King’s Landing, Ceryse imagines she can still feel Alyssa’s lips on her own.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Ceryse’s simple joy in her court and her visits to Dragonstone sours the moment Maegor and Alys Harroway announce her pregnancy to the court, and her stomach roils with a sense of dread as Alys Harroway’s belly grows larger and larger. 

Maegor confines Alys to her bedchamber as he did to Ceryse nearly fifteen years before when she had announced her own pregnancy. Alys Harroway is less active in court, content to lie in bed surrounded by her relatives who revel in their great victory and wait on her every need to ensure the blessed baby growing in Alys’ stomach stays healthy and thriving. Lucas Harroway is overjoyed at his daughter’s pregnancy and loudly insists that his grandson will make Maegor a proud father and Maegor can expect more sons from Alys once she has healed from carrying his first. Tyanna and Ceryse are ordered to assist Alys but the woman thankfully only wishes for Tyanna, insisting Ceryse will be of little help.

Despite this insistence, Alys is all too eager to summon Ceryse to her court to gloat of her pregnancy over the older woman. Two and twenty and so proud of herself, looking at Ceryse in all her two and forty years.

“You actually taught me a good deal, Lady Ceryse.” Alys thinks aloud one day while Ceryse has brought some of her ladies to sing and play the harp at Alys’ request. “You have taught me how I should not allow myself to be treated. You are weak and spineless and allow Maegor to dash your fragile body into the ground and still stand by him and play the humble and loyal wife. Once I have given Maegor his son, he will respect me and I will never allow him to treat me in such a way.”

She pauses, as if wanting Ceryse to throw herself into a fit of anger over her words. Tyanna brings Alys a flashing silver cup filled with some liquid that spills a verdant green down her chin as she sloppily drinks it without so much as looking, a fierce smile on her lips as her ladies daub her face and gown.

“Tyanna has been giving me Pentoshi medicine. We mustn’t let Maegor know, of course. We women have our secrets too. She assures me that the medicine will make my son the most robust babe in all Seven Kingdoms.” She declares, eyes shining with triumph before falling on Alysanne. “And I know for certainty that the only daughters I will give Maegor will be queens and princesses to marry their brothers, while your whelp will be wed to some petty lord or another. Perhaps I’ll convince Maegor to give her to some ancient wheezing man with a voracious appetite.” 

Alysanne smiles serenely at her needlework, tilting her head up with pale blue eyes glittering. “If the King’s mistress would like to arrange a match for me, I would appreciate her efforts. However, my mother, Her Grace the Queen, has been much at work looking for a suitable match for me. A Targaryen princess cannot marry just anyone. Mother has already talked with me of a match with House Tyrell or House Tully, and Father has made some note that the Reachmen need to be mollified after his wars.”

Alys’ ladies-in-waiting all fall silent. The implications in Alysanne’s words are many. Her refusal to acknowledge Alys’ place as Queen, her ignoring Alys’ threats as if they hold no weight, and countering with her own political knowledge as well as the fact that Maegor and her mother have discussed matches and Ceryse has Maegor’s ear. All of the implications make Alys’ skin flush a blotchy pink and she opens her mouth as if to scream, with Tyanna rushing forward to place a hand to Alys’ belly and whisper in her ear. The woman deflates and scowls at Ceryse and Alysanne.

“You and your ladies-in-waiting have my leave to return to your chambers.” 

Ceryse and Alysanne have hardly left the room when she hears Alys furiously screech as she throws insults and threats at her retinue. There’s no doubt in Ceryse’s mind that all of Alys’ ladies remain silent for the tantrum, lest the tempers of a pregnant woman result in their banishment from court. 

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

The months pass and one night while Maegor lies beside Ceryse, a guard bursts into the room and yells at the top of his lungs. Ceryse feels her spirit threaten to ascend to the seventh heaven as Maegor grabs the guard by the neck and quiets him in an instant.

“If you wake your King from his slumber in such a manner without a damned good reason, you may just lose your tongue. What is the meaning of this disturbance at this damnable hour?” He growls at the petrified guard, letting go of his neck so that he may speak.

“T-T-The Q-Queen… Your Grace… s-she’s… t-t-the baby…”

Maegor is on his feet in an instant, his brow furrowed as he throws a cloak over his nightshirt, storming out of the bedroom and out into the corridors of the Red Keep. Ceryse follows after, her bare feet on the stone making her wince as she hears wails echoing through the halls of the Red Keep meant for Alys and her retinue and relatives. She can only stand by the door that Maegor storms into, hearing voices through it.

“Your Grace, you should not be near your wife, she is—“

“Where is it? Where is the babe?”

“The babe is stillborn, Your Grace, it is hardly formed and Your Grace needn’t—“

“Show me the babe or I’ll have your head, Desmond!”

There is silence and then sounds of shock and horrified gasps from the women in the room. Ceryse shudders as she waits for Maegor’s voice. A gasp, a wail, anything at all. She is answered with a roar that threatens to throw the door wide open.

“This cannot be my son!"

There is a sound of a sword unsheathing and the sounds of screams from the midwife and septas Maegor brought to the keep for Alys’ confinement. Ceryse gathers her skirts and runs back to her bedroom, her heart sinking as she realizes what has happened, the mistress-turned-Queen has lost the baby she no doubt promised Maegor many times over. Ceryse finds herself weeping, weeping as she hugs her knees to her chest, heart clenching with a foreboding sinking feeling in her stomach.

Her feelings are proven to be justified. Days pass and Ceryse and her retinue share gossip of Alys and her infant. One of the ladies-in-waiting describes a monstrous babe with twisted limbs. Another adds that the babe had no eyes and another still insists that the babe’s head was almost as large as its body. Ceryse is about to command them to leave the subject alone when the first scream echoes through the halls. A woman’s scream, high-pitched and agonizing. Next comes a man’s scream, deep and pained. The screams continue to come closer and closer and Ceryse grabs Alysanne and Jaehaerys, looking at the door in horror as it is opened to reveal four guardsmen in Targaryen colors, looking around the room as if for someone hiding from them. Once they have checked every available spot, they bow their heads and leave, as quietly as they entered. 

The halls of the Red Keep run red with Harroway blood. Ceryse quickly learns that Alys has been accused of adultery by Tyanna of the Tower and taken down to the lowest dungeons while Lord Lucas was thrown from his precious Tower of the Hand which he’d been proudly surveying. Harroways, young and old, men and women, all have been thrown into the dry moat surrounding Maegor’s Holdfast, along with the thirty-two men accused by Tyanna of being Alys’ lovers.

Ceryse holds Alysanne who weeps into her arms, shaking her head over and over. “Mother, I prayed for them to go away, I prayed for them to go away and never come back but this is not what I meant. I wanted them banished, not killed. I wanted that Harroway girl married to some courtier who would take her away from Father. It’s so horrible, Mother, how could Father do this?”

Ceryse cannot find an answer, she has no words to comfort her daughter. All she can do is hold Alysanne and let her cry. She can only hope that is enough and that time will heal her daughter's wounds. That night finds her on her knees, praying for Lord Harroway and his kinsmen and women, and for Lady Alys most of all. Their pride was a terrible blight on the realm but their souls deserve some respite beyond their mortal coil.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Two weeks pass and Maegor returns from the dungeons with Alys Harroway’e body in seven pieces which he mounts on spikes at each of the seven gates of the city. He departs the city after amassing a strong force of knights and men-at-arms, marching for Harrenhal. The word comes quickly of the Harroway massacre, of King Maegor ensuring any man, woman or child who has so much as a drop of Harroway blood has that blood split. Ceryse notices that after the bloodletting, men begin to whisper that Harrenhal is cursed.

When Maegor returns from redistributing the lands around Harrenhal and finding a new House to claim the seemingly cursed keep, Ceryse learns with him that Visenya Targaryen has died in the night, her fragile body failing her after so many years. Maegor hardly shows sorrow at his mother’s death, it is only at the events that took place thereafter that he shows any emotion. In the confusion following Visenya’s death, Alyssa and Viserys have vanished, with Viserys seeming to have claimed both Vhagar as his mount and the sword Dark Sister for himself, escaping into the pitch black of night. To where, no one seems able to say for certain.

Maegor’s rage is beyond anything Ceryse has seen of him yet. He roars and turns red in the face with anger as he demands that Jaehaerys be brought to him and calls for Tyanna. Ceryse tries to calm her husband but he strikes her across the face and orders her to her chambers. Ceryse can only collect Alysanne and run away as young Jaehaerys is brought to Maegor, crying and kicking and screaming for his mother and brother as Tyanna gleefully helps Maegor take him towards a black cell deep below the Red Keep.

Ceryse and Alysanne weep in each other’s arms that night, laying in the same bed as they try to find any sleep, both plagued by every small noise turning into Jaehaerys’ pleas for help. The boy is only ten and will no doubt be horrifically tortured to punish Alyssa and Viserys for daring to escape Maegor and offending him by taking his mother’s dragon and sword. Alysanne climbs from the bed and kneels before their altar, praying just loudly enough for Ceryse to understand her words.

“O’ Warrior, grant Viserys strength of arms to defeat my father and end this tyranny. O’ Mother, help Aunt Alyssa’s heart heal from this tragic loss of her precious little son. O’ Father, judge Jaehaerys’ soul fairly and grant him eternal peace in your warm and loving embrace. Please, O’ Seven Who Are One, guard over us all and help us withstand this tyranny and bloodshed.”

Ceryse climbs out of bed and kneels beside her daughter, joining her in her prayers for a better future for the realm. 

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

The Red Keep is finally complete, and Maegor’s pride in his great keep which he finished—even if his father began its construction and his brother oversaw it for five years—is almost unsettling. He calls for a feast for the workers who built his legacy, having the men gorge themselves on sweetmeats and wine and entertain themselves with whores from the finest brothels in King’s Landing. Ceryse and her ladies and guardsmen all stay in her chambers, too wary of celebration after the Harroway bloodletting.

Their wariness is proven justified when after three days of revelry, Maegor has the workers put to death, each and every one of them. Their bones are interred somewhere deep in the dungeons beneath the Red Keep, joined by the bones of the Warrior’s Sons which have been cleared from the Hill of Rhaenys along with the rubble of the Sept of Remembrance. It would seem Maegor is in a mood for building, for he decrees that a great stone stable for dragons will be erected, a lair fit for Balerion and all other dragons of House Targaryen. Perhaps unsurprisingly, there are few volunteers and Maegor has to resort to prisoners under the supervision of builders brought in from Myr and Volantis. 

Maegor spends four months overseeing the construction of his Dragonpit before mounting Balerion and flying towards the great wood south of the Blackwater where outlawed remnants of the Faith Militant are said to have made an encampment for themselves under the leadership of one Poxy Jeyne Poore. He leaves his new small council, overseen by his new Hand of the King, Lord Edwell Celtigar, to oversee the realm while he is away.

Ceryse’s ladies tell her whispers of what comes next. Maegor captures Jeyne Poore who is betrayed by three of her own followers in exchange for pardons and knighthoods, Maegor orders that Jeyne Poore be burned as a witch and three hundred of her followers, Poor Fellows and peasants alive, attempt a rescue and are brutally slaughtered by Maegor’s men. But killing them doesn’t stop the Faith from continuing to spread its hatred of Maegor. Septon Moon, a High Septon claimant raised by the Poor Fellows, roams the Riverlands and Reach at will and draws large crowds whenever he preaches against Maegor. Ser Joffrey Dogget, self-proclaimed Grand Captain of the Warrior’s Sons rules the hill country north of the Golden Tooth. 

Maegor returns in the first months of 46 AC with two thousand skulls, a year of campaigning having borne considerable fruit. He claims they are the heads of Poor Fellows and Warrior’s Sons, though most are so deteriorated it is hard to identify who they could’ve been, and some are noted as being much too small to have been any grown man. No one says as much to Maegor’s face, but whispers abound claim that the skulls come from crofters and fieldhands and swineherds whose only crime was their allegiance to the Faith of Seven.

For all the blood Maegor has spilt, there will be no more blood for Ceryse. Her courses dry and Grand Maester Benifer deems her unable to give Maegor any more children other than Alysanne. Maegor doesn’t seem surprised by this turn of events, though he seems loath to attempt to conceive a child on Tyanna who is eight and twenty and much hated by the smallfolk, so any son she might give Maegor will no doubt have his rule challenged for his “foreign witch” mother and tyrant father.

The whispers swirl at court and they say that Tyanna is displeased that Maegor seems more content to have her as his mistress of whisperers than his wife, and that Maegor’s small council insists it is long past time that Maegor marry again and seek a young fertile bride to give him a son to cement his claim to the throne. Lord Edwell Celtigar and Alton Butterwell and Daemon Velaryon all put forward their suggestions of who would make a fitting bride, but Maegor holds his own council on his choices before summoning them to court.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Lady Jeyne Westerling is the widow of Lord Alyn Tarbeck who died fighting for Prince Aegon in the Battle Beneath the God’s Eye. She is tall and slender with lustrous chestnut brown hair and eyes of silver. She is meek and timid and pious, all the gossips agree, and was being courted by Lyman Lannister’s third son Gerold when Maegor summoned her to court to be his wife and Queen.

Lady Elinor Costayne is the widow of Theo Bolling, a landed knight in service to House Rosby who fought for Maegor in his last campaign against the Poor Fellows. She is delicate with a mane of fiery red curls that tumbles down her back and eyes as green as emeralds. Her husband was arrested by the Kingsguard hardly a fortnight before the wedding, accused of conspiring with Queen Alyssa to put Viserys on the throne, and beheaded. Lady Elinor was given seven days to mourn before being summoned to marry Maegor, and the whispers say that she spat in the face of one guard and screamed her defiance, only coming along in silence when her sons were threatened.

And finally, Princess Rhaena returns to court, to the castle her father had focused on building for the whole of his reign, to the city that she grew up in, to marry her tyrannical uncle. She speaks not a word to anyone, amethyst eyes unreadable as she drifts through court like a ghost as wedding preparations are made for a grand affair. After all, it isn’t every day that the King of Westeros takes three wives.

The wedding is attended by Maegor’s courtiers, Ceryse and Alysanne’s retinues, and the kin of Maegor’s two non-Targaryen brides, along with Jeyne’s young son, Elinor’s three sons and Rhaena’s twin daughters. The reason Maegor has wed these women becomes all too clear looking at their six healthy children. Elinor’s youngest wails for milk through half the ceremony, and Ceryse nearly misses the smile that spreads across Maegor’s lips. He thinks Elinor will give him a son, or perhaps Jeyne will, or Rhaena. He has tripled his chances of conceiving a male heir, and marrying Rhaena ensures Prince Viserys will have to contest any child they have to press his own claim. 

Ceryse sits with Alysanne by her side, her daughter holding her hand tightly throughout the wedding feast and the announcement for the bedding ceremony, the two of them walking to their chambers as Maegor and his Black Brides are carried off to their marriage bed. 

The next morning sees Maegor decree Alysanne his lawful heir “until such time as the gods grant me a son” and leaves Aerea and Rhaella in the care of Ceryse. He disinherits Viserys from the throne in the same decree, ignoring the fact that no man or woman can say for certain where the prince and his mother have spirited away to. Jeyne’s infant son is declared Lord of Tarbeck Hall and sent to foster with Lyman Lannister, while Elinor’s two eldest are sent to foster with House Tyrell and House Arryn, the youngest being allowed to stay within the Red Keep in the care of a trio of septas and a wetnurse.

Maegor also decides to have his four wives housed within his holdfast with their own apartments conjoined together. They are forbidden leave from the fortified keep and kept together with their ladies-in-waiting and servants to attend to their every need. Ceryse is rather bewildered at the turn of events, but takes them in stride as best she can. 

Her fellow wives, on the other hand, each respond differently to their relatively comfortable confinement in their court consisting of a barren queen and her princess daughter, three black brides, two little girls and a small army of ladies-in-waiting and servants and guardsmen.  

Jeyne Westerling seems to comfort herself with Ceryse’s company, quietly praying and singing hymns while she’s at her needlework, never far from the older woman’s side. She is constantly doted on by Ceryse’s ladies who treat the twenty year-old woman like a skittish fawn ready to bound away at any moment. Alysanne seems especially fond of Lady Jeyne and treats her with much kindness, which seems to help soothe her anxious spirit immensely. 

Rhaena keeps her hands still while her eyes are anything but, always scanning and searching the walls of the rooms, as if looking for some near invisible seam to doorways unknown and hidden passages to escape through. Ceryse manages to bring her down from her frenzied attempts at escape with stories of Alyssa and Viserys’ time on Dragonstone, stories which Rhaena seems exceedingly thankful for. She clings to all memories of her family, along with her daughters who are kept in their quarters with them. Aerea and Rhaella are both four and quiet as mice, the image of their grandfather and each other with their pale lilac eyes and small frames. 

Elinor paces like a caged lion for the first few weeks, never engaging in any activities other than counting the minutes and hours and days. It is Rhaena who extends the hand of friendship and brings Elinor to some semblance of peace. The others soon learn that Elinor is clever and well-read, always pondering the questions of life. She reads with Alysanne and enjoys sharing bawdy jokes and stories, reminiscing on her experiences. Half of Ceryse’s ladies-in-waiting blush as Elinor describes her having lost her maidenhead to a wandering hedge knight in temporary service to Lord Costayne, which resulted in her father punishing her by marrying her to a mere landed knight rather than a lord.

Ceryse and her three fellow wives are never truly free from Maegor’s presence. For a man of five and thirty, his appetites seem to have returned with a vigor that Ceryse hasn’t seen since the years after Alysanne’s birth. Every night he comes to their chambers and chooses Elinor, Jeyne or Rhaena to share his bed. Ceryse wonders where Tyanna is and if Maegor has her shut up in some tower or another for when he needs her whispers and doesn’t desire her body. She has no doubt the Pentoshi woman is likely seething with jealousy, having been ousted by three new wives.

Her suspicions are soon proven correct when Elinor and Jeyne are both declared to be carrying Maegor’s children. Elinor and Jeyne are both confined to their beds and the months pass as their bellies begin to grow. But no sooner are the pregnancies announced that Tyanna comes to their chambers often and offers Jeyne and Elinor silver cups of the same verdant liquid she gave Alys. Ceryse feels a wave of disgust overtake her as she watches the women drink the concoction at Tyanna’s behest before the Pentoshi witch slithers away with a venomous smile upon her lips. 

Three weeks before Jeyne and Elinor are due to deliver Maegor’s babes, they both bleed horribly in the night as the infants slip from their bodies, revealing their monstrous forms to the world. Jeyne’s babe is legless and armless with male and female genitalia, while Elinor’s is a boy with rudimentary wings and no eyes. Both women are horrified but thankfully live through the ordeal, for Maegor decides there is no lover to blame for the deformed babes and has Tyanna brought before the Iron Throne, where she confesses to poisoning Jeyne and Elinor’s babes, as well as Alys Harroway’s. Maegor has her heart cut out and fed to his dogs. The court and realm are all relieved to see the end of the Pentoshi witch, but a storm brews in the south that cannot be ignored any longer. 

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

Rhaena whispers the truth to Ceryse one night. Viserys and Alyssa have hidden away in Lys and will return to Westeros and land in Storm’s End, where they will press Viserys’ claim. Maegor is currently facing Ser Joffrey Doggett in the Riverlands and Septon Moon in the Resch intent on taking the place of the “High Lickspittle”. Edwell Celtigar has resigned as Hand of the King, and Maegor is at his weakest.

The plan is simple but daring. Rhaena steals Blackfyre from Maegor as he sleeps after attempting to get a son on her, and steals away to Dreamfyre and Meleys, collecting both dragons. She mounts Dreamfyre with Jeyne Westerling, Elinor Costayne and her twin daughters. Ceryse insists on staying behind, and begs Alysanne to fly alongside them on Meleys, but her daughter stubbornly refuses to abandon her mother. They watch as Rhaena disappears into the night with Maegor’s sword and his two other Black Brides. Alysanne squeezes her mother’s hand and the two return to their bed, preparing themselves to feign ignorance come the morning.

Maegor’s rage is potent but he is sluggish and confused in how to direct it. His Black Brides have vanished along with Blackfyre and Rhaena’s daughters. Elinor’s youngest son is safely in the care of one of Ceryse’s ladies who rides for Highgarden where the boy’s older brother is. Maegor commands for Grand Maester Benifer to send ravens to call for his forces, only to find Benifer has fled to Pentos. He sends orders to Lords Tyrell and Arryn to kill Elinor’s sons, only to receive defiant cries that they bow to no king but King Viserys, the First of His Name.

Lord Daemon Velaryon abandons Maegor, directing the royal fleet to the harbors near Storm’s End, and rumor has it that Elinor Costayne and Rogar Baratheon have grown fond and more than fond of each other since Rhaena arrived with Dreamfyre. Scores of lords across the realm eagerly support Viserys who proves a capable opponent at nineteen, riding Vhagar, the only dragon who could possibly match Balerion in battle, intelligent and clever with a skilled swordsman with Dark Sister. Alysanne prays often for his good health and victory when out of her father’s sight and hearing, and Ceryse knows her nephew will make a fine king.

The night comes when the bloodshed must end and Maegor must die. Morgan stands in the shadows of the throne room, waiting for his older sister’s command. Elinor comes to Maegor, kneeling before his monstrosity of a throne in a pale blue modest gown with a matching cowl held in place by a silver crown dotted with diamonds. She looks more septa than queen as she bids him come to her bed. 

Maegor descends from his throne looking like a petulant schoolboy caught playing the truant, muttering of treasons and traitors and beheadings. The scabbard which once held Blackfyre hangs empty on his hip. He’s made it to the base of the throne when Ceryse lures him out towards the throne room floor. She beckons him gently, with sweet words to put him at ease, and he doesn’t notice the flash of Morgan’s blade before it drives into his back and comes out of his chest.

Maegor’s eyes are wide with shock and Ceryse watches as he collapses to the floor, his blood pooling. Neither she nor Morgan have so much as a drop on them. She looks down at her husband, the man she’s been married to and suffered for twenty-three years, the man who gave her her daughter, her most precious treasure, and can only feel disgust as he gasps for air while his lungs fill with his own blood. She turns in a twirl of skirts and leaves the room in silence with Morgan behind her. While Morgan cleans his blade, she says one final prayer for Maegor’s soul. 

“May the Father judge him accordingly for all which he has done.” She whispers, and Morgan nods his assent.

—•—-•—-•—•—-•—

The morning comes and Ceryse finds Maegor’s body and wails loud enough to wake the palace. The city guard and smallfolk act as Ceryse knew they would. The city gates are opened and ravens are sent to Storm’s End inviting Viserys and his men to come and claim his birthright, promising he will find no opposition. Ceryse plays the distressed widow for only an hour before composing herself. She is still a Queen and she has much preparation to oversee. She arranges for the court to be swept of Maegor’s supporters, making space for all the lords and ladies who support King Viserys.

She orders Alysanne to be bathed in rosewater the day that Viserys is due to arrive, her hair brushed until it shines like White Harbor silver. A beautiful gown of ivory Volantine silk embroidered with golden thread appears from its hiding place in Ceryse’s own gowns, along with matching slippers. The gown is bordered with Myrish lace as white as snow. A beautiful crown of gold is placed upon her head, dotted with sapphires and diamonds, with a matching necklace slung across her neck and a large ebony cloak with the Targaryen dragon carefully woven in scarlet thread. Thus attired, Ceryse brings her daughter to the throne room and has her stand before the Iron Throne. Maegor’s body has already been taken and burned by Balerion, its ashes thrown over Blackwater Bay by Ceryse’s command. 

Viserys enters the city to cheering crowds with Rogar Baratheon at his left and Alyssa Velaryon at his right, and Ceryse chuckles at the sight of Elinor Costayne’s cheeky smile from the back of Rogar’s horse, her arms wound tightly around his waist. The smallfolk are in awe as Dreamfyre soars around the city several times, Rhaena’s triumphant cries stirring them into a frenzy as the victorious procession of King Viserys makes its way to the Red Keep.

Ceryse stands on the palace steps in a dress of ebony and scarlet silk, a Targaryen Queen Mother whose neck drips with rubies, a simple coronet upon her head. She will not steal this day from her daughter, who she knows will be Viserys’ wife and Queen. She curtsies as gracefully as she pleases, watching as the young man comes up the palace steps in ebony plate armor with the Targaryen sigil embroidered onto his surcoat. He kisses her fingers and bids her rise.

“Beloved aunt, you need never kneel to me again. Come, my mother has a great desire to see you.” His purple eyes spare Ceryse a knowing look as Alyssa scales the steps in deep sea green silks, looking every bit a Queen Mother as she pulls Ceryse into a tight embrace and they both cry for joy and sorrow and all the hurt that has passed.

Ceryse carefully kisses Alyssa’s cheek, resting their foreheads together. “You and I will never part from one another, this I promise you. I am yours and you are mine and we can finally be happy in this realm our children have inherited.”

King Viserys flies to Oldtown on Vhagar to kneel before the High Septon and receive his father’s crown of gold and jade and pearl. The High Septon also gives his blessing for the marriage of Viserys to his cousin Alysanne, a match which Alyssa and Ceryse agree will further help Viserys’ reign by joining the bloodlines of Aegon’s two wives into one strong Targaryen family. Rhaena sets aside her rights to the crown, choosing instead to retire to live with her mother’s family on Driftmark, bringing with her Jeyne Westerling and their three children. Elinor Costayne dons her bridal cloak one final time, marrying King Viserys’ newly appointed Hand of the King, Lord Rogar Baratheon. Lord Rogar proves eager to please his new lady and summons her three sons to Storm’s End, much to his new wife’s joy. 

Ceryse herself gets to walk Alysanne down the aisle of the Starry Sept towards Viserys in what will forever after be known as The Gilded Wedding by singers, as the entire southron court who attend the union of the two heirs to House Targaryen bear witness to the dazzling gold and silver raiment the royal couple wear throughout the ceremony and celebrations thereafter. Ceryse’s joints have begun to ache, and so she refrains from dancing, sitting happily with Alyssa Velaryon by her side as they watch their children dance and make merry. Ceryse feels a sigh of relief leave her. She has done all that she can for Alysanne, now she can rest and watch as her daughter proves her right. She will be the finest Queen Westeros will ever know.