Chapter Text
Lady Alysanne had only ever glimpsed her cousin once, twice maybe, and always he was out of reach, at her brother’s side, silently observing the conversation, or alone. Even then he seemed too intimidating, a tall, cold sentinel, in a room full of those with fire in their blood.
He was her father’s nephew, and though they spoke it was the with the ease that men had with one another. It was short, on the topic of tourneys and war, and she supposed, women. Maekar was not the handsomest of men, and his temperament was thorny, never one for an easy smile or a jest. Or even the calm, commanding nature of his brother, Baelor. But something about him drew one’s eye, and Alysanne could not help but stare.
“Who has captured your attention, sister?”
Alysanne turned, caught the purple gaze of her elder sister. She had seen thirty-five summers, and with each it seemed she grew only more beautiful. Her pale skin was like unblemished marble, her Targaryen hair as white and soft as snow. Alysanne took after their mother, black-haired, with clear gray eyes. Rhaella was married, had produced four strong boys, and brought joy to her husband despite the fact that the match was purely political.
Perhaps it was not love, but deep affection between them, which they made plain for all to see. If they were not close to one another, it seemed that the other was cast at sea, a ship searching for its port. He was not with Rhaella then, but talking to some men not far behind her, his eyes darting to her every so often.
“No one,” Alysanne said and turned to face the wall.
Rhaella raised a white brow. “Is it our cousin who entrances you so? Baelor is handsome, and strong, even kind. An oft rare trait for a Targaryen.”
Alysanne remained silent.
“Oh, so it is not him, then? Then who? Not Maekar? Seven help us, Alysanne.”
“Stop. I was only observing. Imagining what they might talk about.”
“And did you hope it was you they spoke of?” Rhaella said, a twinkle in her eye that could only ever be at Alysanne’s expense.
“Maekar has been married and has four sons, and plenty of girls, too. If he married again, it would be for his pleasure only. It seems he does not list pleasure as his chiefest concern.”
“Well, he need not take a wife to know pleasure.” Rhaella leant close, her voice dropped to a whisper. “And you need not take a husband.”
Alysanne cleared her throat, a blush setting fire to her face. “Rhaella…”
“If father insist you stay with him, that you not marry and play the old maid, you can at least take things into your own hands. Or I would. Just be careful, choose someone who is discreet. If you chose Maekar, well, I’m sure he would never tell.”
“I find it very unlikely that he would take a mistress, or a wife, or even a friend. He is not pleasant, sharper than a knife, too.”
Rhaella snorted. “Obviously you appreciate those traits. A man is a man and a man has needs. ‘Tis only the truth.”
“What of a woman?” Alysanne turned back around.
Their father approached Baelor and Maekar. He drew them all close together, as if they all were to share some secret.
Seven hells.
“A woman has needs, too, Alysanne. Even if you’ve trampled on all of yours out of the goodness of your heart, they’re still there. Waiting with bated breath.”
Maekar held in his hand a cup of something, his long, ringed fingers gently rubbing up and down the stem. Baelor cocked his head to one side, as if her father said something very curious. Maekar’s eyes snapped to Alysanne’s face, and soon after, Baelor’s followed. Alysanne sucked in a breath but did not look away. She held their gaze and felt like a poor lost sheep confronting a dragon.
Rhaella smiled. “How very interesting.”
***
Two years went on with no glimpse of Maekar, but Alysanne still thought of her cousin. How he might say her name, how his hands, calloused, surely, might feel on her skin. It was only fantasy, something to keep her going as she cared for her father, whose aches grew so bad in the winter he could barely hold a quill. Milk of the poppy soothed him, and at night, she would read to him, stories of dragons and conquerors, and then she would go to her room and cry.
Rhaella visited as often as she could before she got with child again. Then it was only letters, long as they were, that kept Alysanne sane.
And then the Great Spring Sickness came, crept in on an ill wind, and took from them so much.
Her father was gone in two days, and she never left his side, even at the urging of the Maesters for fear of her own health. Then her uncle, the King, and Baelor’s heirs, all so quickly it seemed to be a dream.
Baelor.
He, too was gone, by the own hand of his brother.
Maekar, who was called kinslayer by all. Cursed by the Gods.
Alysanne's small world was crumbling and she was all that was left. Even after the death of her mother she had not felt so alone. She had her father, she had Rhaella.
She spent her days in her father’s study. She read over the same books, the ones he liked most. She did not eat, rarely slept, and kept wholly to herself.
Then, one cool spring morning, Rhaella appeared, as if by magic. She sat on Alysanne’s bed, stroked her hand over her hair, humming as she did when they were children.
“How are you here?”
"I had the baby two weeks ago. A boy. We called him Daemion, after father.”
Alysanne buried her face in her blankets, squeezed her eyes against the tears that wanted to spill.
“I have come to tell you something, Alysanne. To fetch you.”
“Fetch me? Why for? I want to stay here.”
Rhaella looked at her with pity, and it stung like a wasp. “Do you remember when we were at Summerhall years ago? How we spoke of Maekar?”
Alysanne turned away. She did not wish to speak of such things.
“Remember how father spoke with him, and Baelor? He spoke of you, Alysanne. He proposed marriage between you and Maekar. And Maekar grows ever closer to the throne. He needs a wife, a queen.”
Alysanne sat up, her dark hair tangled around her face like some madwoman’s.
“You jest.”
Rhaella touched Alysanne’s hand, gave it a squeeze.
“Maekar has agreed.”
“Out of pity? Duty to an uncle he never so much as visited?”
“Alysanne, please. You cannot dwell here, turning into some grey ghost, haunting the halls. You are still young, six and twenty is not so very old. You can still have a life, give him children.”
“Stop. I will not. I don’t want to.”
Rhaella withdrew, stared at her from the corner of her eye, sly and serpentine. The dragon was always simmering just below the surface with Rhaella. She was a Targaryen through and through.
“Jon and I have agreed to it.”
Alysanne’s heart thrummed in her chest like a bird caught in a net. “No, Rhaella. No, you cannot. I am a woman grown! You cannot command me as if I were a child.”
Rhaella stood, her face as if it were made of stone, unmovable as her heart.
“Gather your things. We leave now.”
***
They rode in silence.
Alysanne said nothing, and Rhaella only spoke of trivial things—how gray the day was, how she hoped it wouldn’t rain, how her new son had such a calm temperament, his father’s nose.
Alysanne would not break.
When they were little, Rhaella had always been able to turn Alysanne back to her side, with jokes, gifts, a hug forced upon her until she stopped struggling.
Not this time. This time was real, and no words or gestures could mend what had been so forcibly broken.
Soon, far too soon, Summerhall came into view.
Alysanne’s stomach lurched at the sight of it, at what fate lay within. She pressed her hand over her mouth.
“I thought that you desired him,” Rhaella said softly. “I thought it would make you happy.”
“Who is happy with a choice that is forced upon them, Rhaella?”
“I was. I learned to be.” She lifted her chin.
“What did Jon think? Did he think it would make him powerful? That somehow Maekar will take the throne, against the very Gods’ will, and he will be granted some boon? I am not something to bargain with. I am my own person, with my own feelings and desires.”
“Jon wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t he? He’s a man. Perhaps I am even more worldly than you, sister. A man would do anything for power.”
Alysanne departed the wheelhouse, leaving Rhaella behind. Ushered inside by servants, Alysanne met with far too many familiar faces—Daeron, not too drunk but certainly on his way, Maekar's girls, countless cousins, people of a few noble houses, here and there. It didn’t bode well, not at all.
Before a massive hearth, where two dragons clashed in a deadly dance above the mantel, stood Maekar.
He was dressed in black velvet, his back to them all. Alysanne took a steadying breath, gave a small smile to Daeron, to everyone who glanced her way. She knew how she must have looked—thinner than usual, wan, fragile as a wounded bird.
Rhaella followed her like a ghost, and her husband joined her. Alysanne gave him a withering glance. Jon was not deterred. He held out one hand in the direction of Maekar, a silent instruction to approach.
Fine, she wanted to say, I will do as bade.
What choice did she have? She was already there. She couldn’t turn back, as much as she wished to, to hide in some deep part of her father’s study.
Alysanne stepped closer. She held out her hands to the fire, let the warmth seep into her weary bones. “My prince,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She gave a deep curtsey and kept her eyes rooted to the floor, stealing only a glance when he wasn’t looking.
“Lady Alysanne.” His voice was deep and she realized that she had never truly heard him speak, at least in not such close quarters. He was taller, too, than she remembered, broad-shouldered and wholly intimidating. She wanted to shrink away, to find some shadowed corner where she wouldn’t be noticed.
“Look at me,” he said. She raised her gaze. Maekar stared at her, his pale eyes travelling the breadth of her face. “You are young. Younger than I remembered.”
“I am surprised you remember me at all. We have never spoken, truly.”
“But I’ve seen you. Even as a girl you were always the spit of your mother.” He turned the ring on his little finger round and round as he gazed into the fire. “I have decided the wedding should be today. There will be a septon, but it will be here. We will do away with all the rigmarole.”
“But she is not ready,” Rhaella blurted. Alysanne had forgotten she was even there. “It should be done properly, in a sept, with a fine dress and a banquet. You will pardon me for speaking, my Prince, but she has not been married before.” Alysanne winced and turned to look at Jon who wore a similarly pained expression. Maekar sighed wearily, peering at Alysanne from the corner of his eye.
“It is fine, Rhaella. I agree that we should be done with it as quickly as possible.” If she had to wait, she could be climbing up the walls and tearing at her hair before the end of the month. Let it be done. Let this chapter close.
Maekar stared at her, his eyes unreadable, his mouth set in a grim line. Her answer did not seem to please him as she thought it would. He said nothing else at all.
Rhaella ferreted Alysanne away to some fine chamber, furnished with red bedclothes and a fire already laid to fight away any winter chill that still clung on as if aware of its impending doom.
“I can at least do something about your hair.” Rhaella pinched Alysanne’s cheeks, pulled a vial of perfume from somewhere that smelled of violets and splashed it across her neck and wrists. “Alysanne…” Rhaella did not meet her eyes. She was quiet, a strange thing for her.
Alysanne did nothing to assuage whatever had struck her tongue useless. She did not wish to speak to her, to even look at her.
“You know what is expected, don’t you? Tonight, I mean?”
“I cannot speak of it.” Already her face was aflame. She may have been a maiden, but she was not stupid. She had seen animals, had heard the titters of women at court and spied a man’s body in a book on anatomy. But it would be far different to experience it. Nothing, she wagered, could ever truly prepare a woman for that.
“Father could not speak of it either and I was left struck dumb by fear, crying in the arms of my husband. I will not have it be so with you.” Rhaella turned to pick up a golden hairbrush. She turned Alysanne around and began to take down her haphazard braid.
“Please, Rhaella, you need not.”
“I disagree. Maekar is a prince, but it does not make him a gentleman. Or a gentle man, for that matter.” She combed through a snarl in Alysanne’s hair and cursed beneath her breath. “I had hoped I would have more time. This is not at all how it should be done.”
“Then cease talking.” Rhaella caught her eye in the mirror, a sharp glance that would usually make Alysanne shrink away. But she raised her chin in quiet defiance. “You are angry with me now, but you will be grateful that I tell you this. Do not expect him to care for your wellbeing, if it hurts or if it is too much. I was luckier than most that Jon did not force me. Still, it pained me. It took a long time to feel anything other than that. Just hold fast, and it will be done with quickly.”
Alysanne certainly didn’t feel grateful. She felt frightened, felt that a mother should have been there instead of a sister, that she was so far from everything that was her own that she was nothing more than a shade of Alysanne Targaryen. She felt pain, deeper than anything physical, a wound in her soul. To lie with Maekar would at least give her something physical, something that she could worry over, like a tongue that couldn’t stop going back to a loose tooth.
“I will endure it,” Alysanne whispered.
“Will you be able to endure the bedding ceremony?”
“I assumed that was another part of the ‘rigmarole’ that so disgusted the prince.”
“If you are lucky, your assumption will be right.”