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Part 2 of The Last Hope for Westeros Saga
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2018-06-16
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2023-09-19
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Chapter 55: Memories and Dreams

Summary:

1. Jon spends time with his wife, son and parents. Rhaegar shares some dreams he had in his past life.
2. Robb prepares for the parley with the Freys.
3. Aerys receives a proposition from the Iron Bank. Jon Connington shares news with him about his estranged wife.
4. Lynesse and Tywin attend Robert's declaration of war.
5. Alysanne takes a dragon ride and Shireen helps her with matters of the heart.

Notes:

cmyatt01 - Sorry for the long wait. We hope you enjoy.

CastleColin: I know that good things come to those who wait, yet I understand if this delay was more frustrating. Anyways, I believe you’ll still find the story engaging.

Longclaw: Stuff came up, what can I say? We spent the last week or so trying to make this perfect, and more action is on the way. Enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Jon CH 55.1

 

Jon Targaryen

Nose wrinkling at the acrid stench of wildfire that permeated all of Winterfell, even such couldn’t break the muted smile that remained plastered to Jon’s face. His hand trembled ever so slightly as he sat besides Daenerys. “I still can’t believe this…” His wife cradled their not so little babe in her arms - not having let go of him since their reunion not long after arriving, cheek often pressed on Rhaegon’s - but both their eyes were focused on their companions. “You’re… you’re actually here. How?”

Lyanna Stark Targaryen - his mother - looked nothing like her statue in the crypt. Many said Arya resembled her, but she was taller. Less slender but no less a beautiful woman. She was all Stark though, Dany whispering to him that she didn’t find any mystery to why Rhaegar fell for her. Those same grey eyes that he saw in the looking glass shone with the greatest warmth. “I suppose our families still hold great magic.”

Jon smiled back. “I suppose so… Mother.” Theirs had been great confessions in the last hours. While the men cleared Winterfell of the rubble and Bolton corpses - Domeric locked in the dungeons to be dealt with later - the four Targaryens of blood and marriage withdrew to Ned’s solar. They needed to be alone, and no one begrudged them. “With the truth of your story, it doesn’t surprise me that you believed ours.”

“I knew our family had a great destiny long ago,” Rhaegar interjected, taking a seat next to Lyanna with two goblets of warm spiced wine. He handed one to Lyanna, and Jon saw his mother smile, scooting closer till her shoulders and legs touched his father’s. With how Rhaegar’s arm wrapped automatically round Lyanna’s waist, it was clear the two loved each other dearly.  “And I managed to see my son come of age into greatness… I only regret that I wasn’t alive to see it all.” He trailed off, falling into a pensive, brooding frown. One Jon knew all too well.

Perhaps it wasn’t Uncle Ned that I took after on that. In a way, it elated him - he was just like his father.

“If only I had defeated Robert on the Trident, like I thought I was destined to, we could have been the family we were supposed to be… The family I saw in my dreams,” he added softly, taking a sip of his wine. 

“In your dreams?” Dany inquired, looking up from Rhaegon and meeting Rhaegar’s eyes.

“Yes, in my dreams, I always thought I was seeing Lyanna and I with our children. But I know now that was wrong... because the children I saw growing up alongside Aegon and Rhaenys were actually you and Jon,” he answered as he tightened his grip on Lyanna’s waist. “I always thought you were my Jaehaerys and Visenya,” he added with a chuckle. 

“You really saw us in your dreams?” Jon asked. 

“I did,” His father confirmed. “And even in my dreams, you and Dany seemed to show an unbreakable bond… However, there was something wrong with Aegon and Rhaenys in my dreams.” His father furrowed his brow once more.

“What do you mean?” Jon found himself asking. His father had already told him stories about his wild older sister, and Aegon had barely reached his first name day when he had been butchered.

“Well, in the dreams, they also started out incredibly close and so in love with the other, just like you and Dany… However, as they aged in the dreams, they seemed to grow apart. Aegon began acting more and more like my father…”  Rhaegar explained softly. Jon could tell it was painful for his father to speak of these dark dreams. “I began to fear for Rhaenys and the dreams would become more about getting her to safety...  I always thought it was my mind's way of telling me to keep all my children close, and show them that I loved each of them the same as the other.”

Suddenly Daenerys gasped. “Oh my gods,” she muttered.

When he looked at his wife it appeared as though the color had drained from her face. “Dany, what is it?” Jon was concerned.

“I don’t think it is Aegon and Rhaenys you saw in your dreams… I think it might have been Aerys and Alysanne.”

It made sense. Aerys and Alys had grown up together and had been inseparable. Their love had been pure. It was not until they had gotten older, after Aerys had begun his descent into madness, that their love began to suffer.

But Jon realized that there was no way for his father to know. “You told me Father is dead.” Confusion was etched on Rhaegar’s face. “That he was rightfully executed by Jaime Lannister to save King’s Landing from being engulfed in his wildfire.”

“Alysanne and Aerys are our sister and brother,” Dany spoke softly beside him. 

She then went on to explain that Aerys was her twin brother, and Alys was their half sister, born to Lady Ashara Dayne. That after Eddard Stark informed her about the death of her brother and that Robert would not stop until Targaryens were dead, she faked her death and escaped to Westeros with her newborn daughter. Then when she got to Essos, she was met by Jon Connington, who had escaped with her twin brother, Aerys. Alys and Aerys were raised together and fell in love and were married. 

“However, shortly after they married, Aerys changed… He hatched his dragon and became obsessed with power... He turned into our father.” Dany continued sadly, an expression matched by Rhaegar. Lyanna held a sorrowful frown, which Jon didn’t begrudge her. His grandfather murdered his other grandfather by wildfire. Uncle Ned still mourns them, so for mother it must be even fresher. He wanted to squeeze his mother’s hand, but noticed his father doing it. The simple joy of watching his parents be in love - for Jon it was even stronger, considering the official tale of them spread by Robert Baratheon.

“Connington…” Rhaegar pursed his lips. “My closest friend besides Arthur. I have no doubt he’d loyally serve our family even after my death. Perhaps he could serve a bridge between us?”

Dany shook her head. “I doubt it. Connington was kind to Alys but Aerys is… determined as anything.” Even from high in the air, Jon could remember just how ruthless his uncle was. “Thankfully, just after Alysanne learned she was pregnant, she and Ashara were able to escape.”

“Gods,” Rhaegar murmured. “I cannot believe our younger brother is mad.”

“I’m sorry, Rhae,” Dany said, reaching across and giving Rhaegar’s hand a squeeze. “Ashara said she tried everything to get Aerys to return to the sweet boy she raised, but it was as if something inside of him snapped… And we all know about father, how the events of the Defiance of Duskendale cause his paranoia to take over.”

 “Where are they now?” Lyanna asked. “Are they safe?”

“Aye,” Jon answered. “Alysanne, her son, Prince Daemon, and Lady Ashara are safe in Meereen with our Unsullied and Dothraki armies as well as Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan and a few of Oberyn Martell’s daughters… as well as the dragon she has bonded with.”

“I am sure Arthur will be excited to be reunited with his sister,” Lyanna said. It was clear to Jon his mother was trying to lighten the mood. “The two of you always acted as though you were brothers, now you do share kin - your sister is his niece.”

“That is true,” Rhaegar replied, a small smile tugging on his cheeks. “And I do hope to see Barristan’s face when he sees me returned from the dead. He might shit his trousers.” The image drew all four of them into chuckles. Wiping his eye, Jon found his father staring at him, a smile on his face. “Jon…”

“Yes, father?” His breath hitched as Rhaegar stood and walked to him, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Father?”

“My boy. I’m so proud of you.” Jon’s breath hitched, eyes watering. Everything he’d ever wanted, finally he possessed them all in some act of providence. “I only wish I was a father you could take pride in return.”

Hearing the words, Jon rose. “You were never at fault, father.” Clasping his father’s shoulder, a tiny, tired smile crossed his lips. “Perhaps when I found out the truth, I didn’t take it well, but never since did I blame you or mother. Neither of you were the cause of what transpired, even if the events set things in motion earlier than the inevitable.”

The sad smile was reflected back at him, through violet rather than grey. “You are too much like me for your own good. Eloquent yet blunt.” 

“Perhaps I’ve learned to be a poet after all.” Without further words, father and son embraced… truly reunited once again. “Still going to be awkward, you and mother being the same age as Dany and I.”

Awkwardly chuckling, Lyanna rubbed the back of her neck. “That is true… forgive me, Daenerys, but sometimes I felt as if Rhaegon was like my own.”

Looking behind him, Jon could see his wife smile without ire - leaning down to kiss Rhaegon on his chubby cheek. “I can’t be upset at that. He is your grandson, and we hope the both of you will be in his life the way Jon unfortunately couldn’t.”

Nodding, Lyanna sighed. “It seems like yesterday that I held you in my arms, my son. Now it’s as if I’m looking at a cross between your father and my father.”

“My son the heartbreaker,” Rhaegar boasted. “I bet the maidens of the world all teared up when Daenerys nabbed you.” Both ladies rolled their eyes, while father and son shared a look of mirth. 

 


Robb Stark

They slept under the stars.

As Robb chewed on the salted pork that comprised the bulk of their rations, he stared up at the cloudless sky - the stars all sparkled with their wondrous light from beyond the trees south of Moat Cailin. It allowed his mind to wander… to imagine what had taken place during Jon’s past, or Dany’s past. From what they had said, either held the same fate for him.

Dead. Killed by my own bannermen, along with my wife and unborn babe. Such wasn’t the man Robb would ever be, but he still felt the guilt gnawing at him. Jon was hesitant, but spilled basically everything. Of course it was his own fault, neglecting his responsibilities to chase lust and desire. A mistake he didn’t intend to make again.

Ironic was the fates, given he managed to find affection with the maiden his duty compelled him to marry. Margaery . Gods, it was as if she were an angel descended from the Andal Seven. Robb could see himself falling deeply for her in a long, solid marriage.

But the fates were also cruel in their japes. Talisa… In a sense, he couldn’t blame himself for falling for her in Jon and Dany’s pasts. She was also amazing and kind, someone down to earth and so easy to fall for. Not for the first time, Robb wished to bellow at the top of his lungs and hack away at unseen enemies to expel the headache and heartache that so consumed him.

“Your Grace, the rendezvous with the Crannogmen should happen soon.” Luckily, reality caught up with him, and Robb shifted his eyes to Toland Poole - brother of the steward of Winterfell and his lead bannerman on the expedition. “We will need to send them away quickly, in case the Freys have eyes around here.”

Flung back to the here and now, Robb eyed the five men gathered around him. He sighed. “I believe Lord Reed and I discussed that they’d only travel by night. They’ll stay close until we receive word from the Freys as to when we’re going to hold the parlay.”

“We should just sneak into the Twins and slaughter them,” one of them muttered.

Robb glared at him. “We need to secure my mother first. They’ll still have my uncle Edmure under lock and key that my father and grandfather will have to contend with… We’re sticking to the plan, understood.”

“Aye, my Prince.”

“Prince Robb.” He looked over his shoulder to see Arthur Dayne - never was Robb not awed that the legendary knight was actually alive, let alone Jon’s parents along with him. “Dispatch from Moat Cailin.” 

“The Freys?” He watched as Arthur shook his head. “Then what? My father?”

Arthur, his face expressionless, handed Robb a dispatch. “You need to read this, Young Wolf.” His tone indicated no room for disagreement… much as Robb’s birth and title outranked the Sword of the Morning.

Given they weren’t in battle, Robb wasn’t interested in pulling rank. He took the dispatch. It was short and curtly written, the style of his brother the King. A deep sigh left his lips. “It begins.”

“Aye, it does,” replied the Dornish swordsman. 

“Your Grace?” asked Toland, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Catching eyes with Arthur, the knight nodded - there was no reason to keep this from them. “The Boltons have attacked Winterfell.” Eyes widened and fists clenched. “They were defeated to the last man when Jon arrived with Wildling reinforcements… and his dragons.”

The anger gave way to confusion once again. “Dragons? I don’t follow.”

Sighing, Robb shrugged. “The war has already begun, so there’s no point in keeping the secret. Jon is not my father’s bastard, but the trueborn son of my aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

“The she-wolf?”

“I knew his Grace would never have dishonored his wife by fathering a bastard.”

“So she wasn’t violated?”

He held up his hand to stop the barrage of questions. “All of such is true, but it can be dealt with once my mother is returned to us. That being said, with the Bolton defeat there are likely to be hostilities before we know it.”

“Tywin Lannister will march for us,” frowned Arthur. “If he wants to fight and win before winter, then he will need to hurry.”

Robb nodded. “Aye, which is why I think the Freys will still try to make the deal instead of attack us. They want Moat Cailin, which means the gateway to the North… my mother the Queen in the North is the only true asset they have in this endeavor.”

Crossing his arms, Tolland Poole leaned back. “And this is why we need the Crannogmen?”

Before Robb could speak, a runner dashed into the camp - the soldiers directed him to Robb. “Prince Robb Stark… Lord Torrhen Karstark sends his regards.” From astride his horse produced a raven. The scroll was stamped with the seal of the Lord of the Twins.

“Looks like Lord Walder has begun contact.” Breaking the seal, he quickly read the poorly-written scrawl. “Lothar Frey will be the one to lead the column.”

“Makes sense he wouldn’t send his heir to treat with us,” Arthur mused.

Pursing his lips, Robb continued. “They’ll meet with us where the Kingsroad meets the Neck… the official border between the North and Riverlands, with three hundred men. My mother for Moat Cailin.”

 


Aerys Targaryen

“Your Grace, you wound me. I am but a humble servant of the Iron Bank. If you have any objections to the institution’s proposition, I suggest speaking with the keyholders.” Hands folded over each other, one of them reached up to straighten the high, stiff collar over which a thin beard draped.

Aerys scowled at the courteous, yet condescending visage of Tycho Nestoris seated across the table. The representative of the Iron Bank had shown up on his doorstep quite unannounced that morning, claiming “matters of utmost importance” to discuss between him and the foggy city he hailed from. If there was one thing Aerys hated more than his blasted nephew, it was men who didn’t show him due deference. He had wanted to feed Nestoris to Rhaelyx… that was until he read the letter the man bore.

What he read he deemed worthy enough to humor the purple-robed banker.

He sipped a measure of spiced honey wine to soothe his ire. Gods, the wine Lannisport was famous for was sweet. Sweeter still will be watching that wretched city burn. “Did the Sealord put your precious bank up to this so that I’d not come after him after being offended by such a ludicrous deal?” He shoved his wine aside. “I accept the loan. I can always do with more soldiers, but I refuse the aid of the Braavosi fleet with what the Sealord demands in return.”

Tycho smiled knowingly. “I thought you might say that, your Grace. However - do forgive me if I’m forgetting my place - but a wise king knows to keep his head smaller than the crown he wears.”

“Don’t patronize me, Nestoris.” Aerys not so subtly clenched Blackfyre’s pommel. “Four whole cities for mere ships? I’m sorry, but I see no reason to hand over my well-earned conquests at such a paltry price.”

“The Seven Kingdoms are the greater prize, your Grace.” Tycho spread his hands. “The Reach alone has more wealth than Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh combined. ‘Tis a small price indeed, though the return is much greater than it seems.”

“Enlighten me, then," Aerys snapped. “Exactly why should I take the deal?”

“A matter of expediency. You are not the only Targaryen seeking to reclaim a lost throne and thus, it’s in your interest to hasten your return to Westeros. Holding onto the Free Cities will tie down men and material you sorely need to pacify a land that no longer takes kindly to dragons.”

Tycho carefully poured himself a goblet of spiced wine and took an even more careful sip. Sighing in content, he fixed the rogue Targaryen royal with a new sternness. “And the Iron Bank will have its due. Your immolation of Volantis cost us a lot of coin. The merchants and masters there were some of our best clients. Braavosi rule over Myr, Lys, Tyrosh, and Pentos will provide us more opportunities for direct investment in them to recoup our losses.”

“Grant the Iron Bank a monopoly over their finances, more like,” Aerys pointed out. In spite of himself, he was beginning to warm to the scheme. It was the sort of bold, calculated plan that raised him and his army to supremacy wherever they went. Besides, it meant that he wouldn’t have to choose between Bronn or the Tattered Prince to give the city currently occupied. Nor would they waste good men fighting over it.

Tycho shrugged nonchalantly. “Call it what you will, your Grace. However, we at the bank simply regard it as an expansion of business.”

Mulling over it silently, Aerys decided to take the deal. The Free Cities were really just stepping stones to the Iron Throne. He could always come back to reconquer them after he won Westeros. Plus, he still had Jon and Daenerys to settle with, not to mention the dreaded Ice King when the Wall inevitably fell.

Putting an inked quill to the parchment, Aerys signed the letter, sealing the agreement. “Answer me this, Nestoris… Why the Sealord’s interest in annexing these cities? Braavos always struck me as more concerned with money and commerce than war and conquest.”

“Volantis is - was - our only rival,” Tycho chuckled dryly. “It being crippled opened a vacuum only Braavos can fill. The Sealord intends to do what the tigers never could succeed - claim the mantle of heir to the Valyrian Freehold.”

How pretentious. But Aerys held his tongue. As long as the Braavosi fleet came through for him, the Sealord could have Old Valyria itself for all he cared. He passed the contract back to Tycho’s waiting hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, your Grace,” he smiled. Putting on his three-tiered hat of purple felt, he bowed in respect before taking his leave.

Sighing, Aerys slumped in his seat. Gods, spare me from such greedy fools. If life - both that of his existence and that of Daenerys in their past life - had taught him anything, it was to mistrust anyone motivated by gold and coin. They dealt in the most cold-blooded of calculations with no loyalty about them. He poured himself another goblet of mead, hoping the honeyed liquid could ease his ire. One day, fire and blood will come for them. Only the crown held the divine and martial authority to justify such power and wealth.

A knock on the door disturbed him. “Enter!” Rubbing his temples, Aerys knew he’d regret it but no one would disturb him unless they had something important… or was stupid. If it was the latter, he could always feed them to Rhaelyx.

The visitor turned out to be Jon Connington, brooch of the Hand pinned to his gambeson and curly red hair pulled into a bun. He bowed. “Forgive me for intruding your Grace, but I bear information.”

“Just out with it Griff, we’ve known each other for too long for you to dither.” By all truths, Connington was the father he never had and the last person that understood him since Alysanne and Ashara left. Up to treason, Aerys would let him get away with anything.

“The Triarchy is attempting to feint us by sea. Their real attack is landward.”

This shocked Aerys. “By land? Only Tyrosh boasts any type of non-garrison force and that is pitiful to begin with… besides, we hired most of the sellswords anyway.”

Connington nodded. “Aye, we did, but the Triarchy’s extensive trade networks managed to find all the ones we failed to gain… from as far away as Yi Ti it seems.” He didn’t have a network as extensive as Varys, but his operations certainly rivaled that of Littlefinger, only in better placed positions. “They also impressed what slave populations were fit for war, as well as the surviving Volantine armies.” Apparently even one dragon couldn’t annihilate a whole city. Only a fool would think so, given Harrenhal still stood.

Snorting, Aerys shrugged his shoulders. “Unable to fight me on their own, they turn to their traditional foes. Quite admirable of them to put aside their petty squabbles, especially now that I can defeat them in detail.”

“My whispers also point out a Dornish contingent among their forces.”

Aerys raised a brow. “The Dornish? Why would they be preoccupied when war is brewing in Westeros?”

“The bulk of their limited banners are either defending the mountain passes or marching to Highgarden, but that didn’t stop Prince Doran from sending a host under the command of his son Prince Quentyn to supplement the Triarchy.”

That threatening letter didn’t do me any favors. While he would never do so out loud, Aerys admitted it to himself. Perhaps he should have instead sent Ashara to negotiate with them directly… Ashara… muna… Alysanne, my love… That might have gone better than masquerading as Elia’s deceased son. “And the fleet?”

“I suspect they’ll try to feint against us. Attack Pentos directly. But with Braavos and the Ibbenese whalers that I’ve managed to wrangle for us, we should be on pretty even terms to engage them.”

“No.” Aerys cut him off. “If you can win a bloodless victory, do it, but otherwise avoid sea battle. We need those ships so we can cross the Narrow Sea.” Just thinking about ships gave him a headache, considering how Daenerys suffered in regards to them in their shared past. “If that is all… what Griff?”

Feet shifting, Connington hesitated. “I… it’s not important.”

“Tell me now!”

Orders were orders. “News… about Alysanne.”

The room went silent. “Tell… tell me.” Aerys’ voice was uncharacteristically soft and wavering. His hand trembled in apprehension, the King-claimant almost dreading what was about to come. “Tell me about my wife.”

“She’s resided in Meereen, placed in charge of Slaver’s Bay in the Usurper’s absence.” He really looked ill in speaking, but Connington wasn’t a coward or a disloyal yes-man. “She bore a son, a Targaryen Prince. Your son, your Grace.”

It was like being punched in the face. Had he been standing, Aerys would have staggered. “What is his name?” he asked evenly.

“Daemon, your Grace.”

Not a word left Aerys’ lips for the longest of times. “Get out,” he finally said. Connington bowed and left, likely hoping to avoid the inevitable burst of anger and rage.

That would come, likely on the field of battle against whatever hapless enemies tried to challenge the dragon. But for now, in the comfort of his solitude, the great Aerys III Targaryen dropped his head on the desk. The mighty conqueror he had become withdrawing back into the scared orphan boy, tears welling in his eyes.

Aly… why did you have to leave… my son… our son…

He would get them back if it was the last thing he did.

 


Lynesse Lannister

“Hold still, mi’Lady.” 

Biting her lip in irritation, the Lady of Casterly Rock allowed her maids to tighten the laces of her dress round her waist. It was the best for the occasion - a dark crimson broken with intricate swirls of gold, the colors of her husband’s house. Her dirty-blonde hair completed the outfit, but Lynesse clenched her teeth as her swollen chest rebelled against the tight silk.

Something my dear husband doesn’t yet know. Lynesse would tell him tonight… after the ceremony. These matters were best done in private.

A knock on the door drew an irritable roll of the eyes. “What?!” she called out, hoping the guard on the other side would make himself scarce.

The voice that did answer was the one person that Lynesse didn’t mentally groan at imagining. “It’s your husband. Let me in.” One of the maids - all her own from Oldtown that had gone even to Bear Island and Lys with her - darted quickly to the door, opening it. Tywin Lannister strode in, dressed impeccably in full armor and cape. Taking in the state of the room while meeting eyes with Lynesse, he gestured to the servants. “Get out. I’ll finish my wife’s preparations.” At a nod from her, the servants made their exit.

Just the two of them, Lynesse propped her arms upon the dresser - smirking all the while her husband walked behind her. “You know,” she mused, feeling Tywin’s hands begin to work at her laces. “The Hand of the King shouldn’t bother himself with such mundane labor.”

He grunted behind her. “If a man can’t take care of his own bride then what man is he?” This was the highborn that caught his own fish and gutted his own game, so it wasn’t that much of a shock. “We’re all waiting on you, dear wife.”

Lynesse fought not to moan. Gods, she wished Tywin would just rip the dress in half and take her. Damn this babe… He was such a better lover than Jorah had ever been, even considering his age. She pushed away the urge, though. “I’m sure Cersei is taking longer to prepare herself.”

“You… aren’t wrong. Robert is also insufferable, wishing to have this in the Red Keep to spite the Targaryens.”

“Harrenhal is a proper place. The parade ground is the largest, while he’s announcing the destruction of House Targaryen from the sight of Aegon the Conqueror’s greatest triumph.” At his pat on her back, Lynesse turned, looping her arms round his neck.

Tywin cracked a tiny grin. “Sometimes I wonder if the rumors they say about us are true - that we share minds.”

“I wouldn’t presume to imagine myself as wise as the great Tywin Lannister.” A short kiss followed, which she needed to keep short for the sake of her sanity. “Shall we, Lord Hand.” He nodded and allowed her to hold onto his arm, leading Lynesse out of her chambers towards the waiting assemblage.

By the irony of the gods, Queen Cersei was seated on the hastily constructed platform draped with the crowned stag banners of the royal House Baratheon. She sat silently beside Lynesse’s goodbrother Kevan, casting her a dirty look… though the one of sheer loathing was reserved for the King. His look of ire was just as his entire personality - blatant and full of bombast. “Where the fuck were ya?!” 

Tywin bowed his head. “Forgive me, your Grace. I was merely escorting my wife.”

Robert’s gaze shifted to Lynesse. “Well? What do you have to say for making your King wait?”

I wish to keep my nose away from your vile stench for as long as possible. But Lynesse was too polite and intelligent to say her true thoughts. Just as her governesses taught her, she smiled gently and curtseyed. “I wished to look my best, so as to provide the best presentation for my King and husband’s goodson.” Her voice was flirty and light, one that made both Cersei and Crown Prince Renly - seated across a gap in the assembled chairs - raise their eyebrows. Tywin made no expression, but it was clear he was impressed.

As for Robert… his ire turned to humor. “Well that’s the proper attitude from a woman. Now sit down so we can get this cunt started.” Lynesse bit back her preferred responses to take her seat, thankful to be quite far away from both the King and her bitter gooddaughter. Her husband, meanwhile, stood beside Robert, hands pressed behind his back and looking far more kingly than the fat oaf that gripped his new warhammer - flanked on the other side by Lord Commander Meryn Trant.

Before the various highborns of House Baratheon, House Lannister, and the Small Council, thousands of soldiers were lined up within the Harrenhal parade ground. Various banners of the Stormlands, Westerlands, and Riverlands fluttered in the breeze among the cavalry, men-at-arms, siege operators, and archers. The warboar of House Crakehall. The rearing stallion of House Bracken. The sparrowkeets of House Caron. The lion of House Lannister. The sheep of House Stokeworth. All obeying the call of their King… more her husband’s call, for the intelligent ones knew who ruled.

She couldn’t help but feel smug about it.

Robert, the dolt he was, clearly let the masses of troops energize him greatly. “Men of Westeros!” he boomed, for once looking like the great Storm King as his ancestors were. “Today, the final fight for our destiny begins!”

A line of spearmen in the van smacked their spears into the ground, followed soon by the swordsmen beating against their shields. Obviously a coordinated effort to drum up morale, but the King saw it as a spontaneous confirmation of his own popularity and prowess as a leader.

“The Targaryen scum! We destroyed them and toppled their decadent dynasty almost two decades ago, sending their survivors into the lands of the eastern eunuchs and slavemasters - but they have returned!” He let it hang, likely to induce terror among the men. “The daughter of the Mad King has returned to our shores, bringing along a Blackfyre bastard that claims to be the son of the vile rapist Prince Rhaegar!” Robert spat out the name, while Lynesse heard Cersei’s breath hitch.

A complicated relationship between the Light of the West and the Last Dragon.

Robert suddenly banged the steel shaft of his warhammer into the wood. “But they will fall!” His loud words echoed in Harrenhal’s courtyard, illuminating the melted towers of Harren the Black. “Their greatness is dead! Destroyed by centuries of incest and madness! They think that foreign savages and Northern half-wildlings will bolster their chances, but when have these fools ever defeated the brave men of Westeros?”

“NEVER!” bellowed the soldiers in unison… this line actually riling up their passions and pride.

“Before our steel, they will be defeated! Before my warhammer, the usurper will die! Before the weapons of our glorious Citadel, the dragons themselves will fall from the sky!” At Tywin’s signal, the siege operators trained in Casterly Rock itself removed tarps covering over four dozen devices of different sizes. Mounted on wagons, the black-painted scorpions and ballistae looked as menacing as possible. Many had customized them, painting beasts or demons upon them to add to the effect. 

Lynesse had to concede that even she felt a thrill up her leg… imagining the dragons not being able to break through this. My husband outsmarted them yet again. 

“THEY WILL ALL DIE!” Robert screamed.

Stepping up, Tywin took over as anger seemed to cloud the King’s mind. “From Winterfell to the Eyrie! From Riverrun to Highgarden. From the Wall to Sunspear, there will be no stretch of land safe for the dragons. To victory!”

“TO VICTORY!”

 


Alysanne CH 55.5

Alysanne Targaryen

“WHOOOO!”

The roar of the wind overpowering in her ears, Alysanne nevertheless hadn’t ever felt more alive. Faster, girl, faster! Ragnar hooted, the blue dragon shuddering as she beat her growing wings. Higher did she climb, passing the fluffy clouds that now blocked the shimmering city of Meereen from Alysanne’s view. Even in the sweltering equatorial sun, the air felt icy against her skin, pumped hot with dragonblood.

Perhaps that was why their blood ran so hot. That they were born to soar through the skies. Alysanne was certain of it, because this was where she belonged. Soaring through the heavens themselves, untouched by the wiles of man and directly challenging the might of the gods. 

And the command was almost instinctive. “Dive!” she cried in Valyrian, waiting for it to happen.

Ragnar almost recoiled in the sky. Everything slowed with one massive wingbeat, stalling in the middle of the air as she arced - the blur of the ground cleared up, Alysanne thinking she could almost see the entirety of the Bay of Dragons from her perch. All felt… just right.

And in an instant, the glorious view disappeared in a great flash, Ragnar folding her wings back as gravity drew her in a great plunge. Alysanne hugged the dragon’s blue spines with all her might, fighting the red tinge threatening to consume her vision and the sheer force of the air currents threatening to hurl her backwards towards certain death. Faster! Faster, girl! I can take it!” Ragnar folded her wings even tighter against her body, increasing the speed and angle of the dive. Meereen grew larger and larger as they shot through the clouds. The Great Pyramid loomed largest of all, growing from a mere pinprick into the massive structure it was…

Break dive! 

Screeching, Ragnar evened out, her wings shooting out to slow her dive as she began to circle the city. Alysanne sucked in deep breaths, heart beating out of her chest. “By the gods…” A laugh rumbled from her throat before it grew. Gods, that was what she was meant to be… what she was meant to do.

She was a dragon.

Her heart was still pounding as she made her way back to her chambers at the peak of the Great Pyramid. She fully understood why Queen Rhaenys loved to fly - the feeling of freedom and unlimited sense of empowerment. Of course, her most recent excursions on Ragnar had been a bit reckless if she admitted. Her mother cautioned her never to dive so swiftly that she couldn’t pull up in time to avoid crashing splat on the ground. Oops.

The wails of her son assailed her ears as she entered the bedchamber. Standing by the bassinet was Shireen, frantically rocking little Daemon in her arms as he belted out his lungs. Looking up from her fruitless effort to settle him, the young Lady Baratheon smiled in relief at Alysanne’s appearance. “Your Grace! Thank goodness! This little one won’t stop crying, and I’ve tried to soothe him for the past half hour.”

Chuckling at her lady-in-waiting, Alysanne gently took Daemon from Shireen. “He’s hungry. The little dragon has a monstrous appetite.” Shireen respectfully averted her gaze as the babe took to his mother’s breast. After having his fill, Daemon yawned hugely and stretched out his growing limbs. Alysanne tenderly kissed his forehead before putting him down for a nap. She then sunk into a chair besides the bassinet.

“Your ride on Ragnar must have been exhilarating, your Grace,” Shireen teased, her blue eyes twinkling with mirth. “I could hear your whoops and hollers from the terrace.” Alysanne blushed bright red. She couldn’t help it - it was only natural for the blood of the dragon.

The two women chatted amiably for the next hour. Alysanne asked Shireen if she missed her home back in Westeros. The latter replied that she was never very fond of Dragonstone - it smelled of salt and smoke. Shireen inquired about Alysanne’s life growing up in Norvos with her mother and brother. The former spoke glowingly about the view over the Noyne and waxed nostalgic about the gentle chiming of its three bells.

When the Lady Baratheon brought up Daemon’s father, Alysanne hesitatingly shared her estrangement from her brother-husband. Shireen was very sympathetic, having known her late father died consumed by an obsession to kill Jon Targaryen, she understood what madness did to otherwise good people.

“I doubt we’ll ever reconcile,” Alysanne admitted sadly. “He’s gone down a path that I can’t follow nor would care to.”

Shireen nodded slowly with her lips tight. “Perhaps it’s for the best, your Grace. Prince Aerys may have been right for you when you were young, but now that you’ve come into your own…” She turned to look at Ragnar, who was poking her bright blue snout into the room from the terrace outside. “You need to spread your wings and be unafraid to fly alone.”

Recalling the rush of power she felt coursing through her veins while astride Ragnar, Alysanne could believe it. Yet, she also couldn’t help but feel a sense of melancholy as she suspected that she would inevitably cross paths with Aerys again. Seeing Daemon snoozing peacefully, his cheeks puffing with each breath, she wondered how he’d grow up without his father. More pressing was how she’d explain the falling-out his parents had when he grew older.

Alysanne tried to part the storm in her head. When the time is right. For now, she must focus on her duty to House Targaryen and her personal growth as a leader.

“I’ve noticed a particular fondness you’ve shown toward Ser Jaime,” Shireen said, breaking the princess from her brooding. “It seems a lion is sometimes a better match for a dragon than another dragon.”

Alysanne blinked, then waved dismissively. “The Lannister is comely. However, a dashing knight is not what I’m on the lookout for. My husband was once like Ser Jaime and given how he turned out, I refuse to make the same mistake again.” Honestly, she enjoyed her flirtations with the Lion of Lannister, though she was by no stretch ready to open her heart to him. Heartbreak taught her to be wary of men who might actively seek her favor.

“So are you just going to keep stringing Ser Jaime along forever?” Shireen looked at her disapprovingly.

“What? No… no… of course not.” From Shireen’s still judgemental gaze, it was clear she wasn’t convinced. Frankly, Alysanne wasn’t convinced herself.

“If you won’t allow him to court you, stop teasing his affections. Don’t be like Aerys and break Ser Jaime’s heart, even if unintended. He too is getting over a heartbreak, and the last thing either of you need is to repeat that.”

Alysanne privately winced - Shireen’s words stung. But she was exactly right. While the princess was only faintly familiar with Cersei Lannister, the way Ser Jaime spoke of his sister reminded her greatly of how she now felt about Aerys. It was comforting to empathize with someone with an experience much like her own. She would do him no favors by treating his attraction to her as a mere token.

“I would open myself to him… it’s just that after what I’ve been through with my brother, I’m afraid to become intimate that closely.” Alysanne’s gaze settled on Daemon, who rolled over onto his side and was drooling from the corner of his mouth. “I’m thankful that I’ve my mother to talk to, though I wish I had Daenerys here to confide in.”

Shireen softened her tone. “I’m no experienced romantic, but I know mutual understanding is the key to a healthy relationship. Something my own parents never quite grasped. If you want to know whether you and Ser Jaime are right for each other, you must meet him in the middle.”

The corner of Alysanne’s lip curled up ever so slightly. Yes, mayhaps I could.

Notes:

cmyatt01 - Targaryens and their dreams...

CastleColin: We have yet to see the full might of the dragons.

Longclaw: The Battle of Winterfell was only the beginning. Now the real war starts.