Chapter 3 – Queen Alysanne
When Prince Daemon followed his grandfather, King Jaehaerys, back to the Red Keep, he found his father, Prince Baelon of Dragonstone, and his older brother, Prince Viserys, praying inside the Royal Sept.
Prince Baelon — the Spring Prince — was tall, broad-shouldered, with silver-gold hair that shimmered like moonlight under the sept's stained-glass glow. His violet eyes burned with vigor and temper both. Seeing the bloodstains on Daemon's silk coat, Baelon frowned deeply.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice echoing through the sept's silent chamber.
King Jaehaerys's tone was dark. "Daemon only hurts others. He stabbed a man in a brothel… and another in a gambling den."
The words struck like a whip. Even the septons nearby exchanged uneasy glances. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Ryam Redwyne, stepped forward and quietly recounted the night's events.
Baelon's fury exploded. "Aemma is about to give birth, and the whole family gathers to pray for her safety, while you—" He struck Daemon in the chest with his boot. "—are out causing bloodshed in Flea Bottom!"
Prince Viserys moved quickly to interpose himself. "Father, don't be angry. Daemon only punished scoundrels. He meant no harm."
Viserys's soft features and round frame made him seem gentler, but his loyalty to Daemon was unshakable. His short-cropped silver hair framed a face that still carried the warmth of boyhood. Yet he was no ordinary prince — he had once ridden Balerion the Black Dread, last of the dragons from Valyria's glory. When Balerion died, Viserys refused to claim another mount. With the Black Dread's passing, an age itself had ended.
Baelon's voice grew louder, echoing through the marble hall. The sound drew others to the sept. Among them came Queen Alysanne — leaning heavily on her cane — accompanied by the stern Sister Layla and her youngest daughter, Princess Gael.
The Good Queen's once-bright eyes were veiled with age, her silver hair as pale as winter snow. Frail though she appeared, her presence silenced the hall. Few dared forget she had once soared across the skies upon Silverwing, a dragon nearly as fierce as Vermithor himself.
"Baelon," Alysanne said, her tone calm but commanding. "Why do you scold my grandson before the gods?"
Baelon's jaw tightened. "Perhaps, Mother, you can tell Daemon to stop staining the family's name."
King Jaehaerys remained silent, his gaze fixed on Daemon — cold, disappointed. Viserys guided his father away, leaving Jaehaerys and Alysanne alone with the boy.
"Daemon has become a thorn in our side," Jaehaerys muttered. "Brothels, gambling houses… what am I to do with him?"
Alysanne sighed. "He's sixteen, Your Grace. Still young, still full of fire. Do you not remember Saenella at that age?"
"Do not speak that name," Jaehaerys snapped. "She is dead to me."
The king and queen — famed across the realm for their wisdom — were far less successful as parents. Their surviving children were scattered between tragedy, scandal, and duty.
Their son Vaegon had fled courtly life to become a maester at Oldtown. Their daughter Daella, timid and sweet, had died of childbed fever after giving birth to Aemma Arryn. Another daughter, Princess Visenya, wild and reckless, perished after a drunken fall from her horse. But Saenella… Saenella had been the worst wound.
Once sent to the Silent Sisters, she escaped to Lys, where she became a courtesan of legend — a Targaryen princess who dressed as a holy nun and sold the illusion of innocence to lords and merchants alike. Her name was whispered from Braavos to Volantis, a tale of shame that haunted Jaehaerys's reign.
Outside the sept, Daemon scowled. "Grandmother, I may be wild, but I'll never sell myself like Aunt Saenella."
Alysanne chuckled softly. "Perhaps. But that wild heart of yours needs direction. You should marry."
Daemon's lips curled. "Aunt Gael is older than me, and she's not married. Why must I be?"
Princess Gael, standing nearby, frowned and folded her arms. "Why drag me into your nonsense?"
She was slender, silver-haired, and soft-spoken — nicknamed Winter's Child, born in the twilight of Alysanne's years. Daemon had known her since childhood. Gentle, kind, and shy, she had always been the quiet balance to his fire. Secretly, Daemon dreamed of marrying her. It would keep his bloodline pure and his future bound to someone who truly understood him.
Daemon grinned. "If no one will have her, I'll marry her myself."
Gael's cheeks flushed. "I'd rather become a Silent Sister than your wife!"
Even Alysanne looked startled. "My dear boy," she said gently, "Gael is not for you. You would burn her like a moth before the flame."
Alysanne squeezed his hand with her frail fingers. "I've arranged hundreds of matches. Leave it to me. Perhaps Maya Redwyne — sweet girl, gentle heart. Or Monica Lannister, charming and fair. Even a Manderly lady would do nicely."
Jaehaerys's deep voice cut in. "There's always Rhea of Runestone."
Daemon's expression soured instantly. "I'd rather wed a sheep from the Vale."
Alysanne's cane struck the floor. "Mind your tongue! Aemma's from the Vale as well. Speaking of which—come. She'll need our prayers."
They made their way through the Red Keep's corridors to Aemma Arryn's birthing chamber. Outside waited a gathering of maesters and midwives. Maester Barth, the King's Hand, stood beside Archmaester Elysar, both men deep in discussion.
"This birth must go well," Elysar murmured. "The child will be heir to the Iron Throne."
Aemma's face was pale as parchment. "My mother died in childbirth," she whispered. "What if I—"
Alysanne took her trembling hand. "You will not. The gods will bless you, child."
Just then, a messenger hurried in, bowing low. "Your Grace, the Sea Snake's fleet approaches the harbor. Princess Rhaenys rides Meleys, the Red Queen."
Jaehaerys's face darkened. "So, she comes uninvited — to remind us of her father's claim."
Archmaester Elysar chuckled dryly. "Princess Rhaenys would ride her dragon even to the privy, Your Grace. She comes with her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon, and their children, Laena and Laenor."
The old king sighed. "Then let her land at the Dragonpit. I won't have her shadow darken the Red Keep."
But as they stepped into the courtyard, it was already too late.
A sudden rush of heat swept over the castle. The shadow of Meleys, crimson as blood, fell across the towers of the Red Keep. The Red Queen's roar shook the air, a thunderous declaration that the Princess Who Never Was had arrived.
Queen Alysanne raised her eyes to the sky, her grip on her cane tightening. "The storm begins," she whispered.
And beside her, Prince Daemon Targaryen — wild, fierce, unbroken — smiled faintly, as though he could already hear the wings of destiny beating overhead.
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