Chapter Text
Laena lasted into the early hours of the next morning before succumbing to childbirth.
Laenor’s cries could be heard throughout all of Dragonstone when that raven arrived. And Alysanne hid behind her mother’s skirts at the sound, despite being the age of nine and having two younger brothers whom looked up to her for comfort.
And alongside Laenor’s cries, the world seemed to mourn with him, as it stormed on Dragonstone in mighty gusts of wind and rain, halting any further communication by bird.
“Alright children, let’s go, let's get moving before the tide breaks.”
Alysanne’s teeth chattered as she was ushered onto the royal ship in the dark. Hila and the other of the children’s maids pushed their belongings onto the boat before making sure they were on as well. The thick dress that she had been put into even before the sun was up may have been built to withstand the cold, but even it could not stop the winds from biting at her cheeks as she steadied herself against the rough wood.
"Up you go," Hila said, ushering Lucerys up the rail and over the side of the ship.
From where she stood, the young princess watched as Rhaenyra kissed Joffrey on the head before handing the two-year-old back over to the wetnurse and then boarding the boat herself.
From afar, Syrax screeched sadly from the cliffs, longing after her rider. But Rhaenyra just readjusted the thick, black cloak that was bunched up along Luke's shoulders so that it might lay more comfortably.
Her own black coat felt too heavy upon Alysanne as well. A real shroud for a real funeral.
Laenor was already aboard the boat somewhere beneath the deck lost to his cups with Ser Qarl watching over him silently.
A few quick words were exchanged between the crew and dock attendants before the ropes were flung and the ship pushed off from the landing. As the early dawn winds picked up, Alysanne felt the boat lurch forward and set sail. Her light breakfast of oats and dried meat threatened to turn in her stomach with each jolt of the waves. Sea travel was never her favorite because it made her queasy. But this morning especially left her feeling especially unwell as the sea air bit at her face and stung her eyes. Instead, she tried to focus on her fingers, picking anxiously at the wooden rail before her.
As she studied the splitters of the varnished oak, she tried to push away any thoughts of reunion with her grandsire's children. Her mother and Alicent had once been as close as sisters, did that make Helaena and her brothers her cousins as well? At least that is what she remembered hearing once back at the Red Keep. Although, that had been two years ago. She tried not to think very much about that time now.
The image of a lifeless man and a severed tongue crept into her mind so she pushed the thoughts away entirely. She would get through the funeral, pay her respects to her sparsely-seen cousins, Baela and Rhaena, and try not to think about King’s Landing, nor the life she had lived there before.
And she would certainly not think of Aemond.
~~~
The journey to Driftmark was a short one. By the time the sun had risen and the morning rays had created a thin layer of dew along the ship, the isle of Driftmark came into view. As the ship came into port, Alysanne pulled her cloak even tighter around herself to try and fight off the chill. They all gathered up on the deck as the ropes were being tossed ashore and the muffled calls of sailors were carried away from Alysanne’s ears as the ship was tied up and the ramps lowered.
At the top of the island, a few figures already stood up on the cliff tops, waiting.
But on the ship now, Laenor was slumped against the side of the mast looking much paler and more sick than the night before. She could tell by the hustle around them though that something was amiss, as multiple people boarded rather quickly, including a few members of the Driftmark staff that Alysanne vaguely remembered.
“Princess.” The gruff voice of Ser Harrold Westerling broke over the wind. His normally even but good tone seemed draped in something akin to regret as he bowed his head respectfully.
Her mother’s already drawn face tightened and she squared her shoulders. “What is the meaning of this?”
It was an unspoken assumption that they would be received by the King upon their arrival. It was common procedure for the heir. From her side, Lucerys grabbed Alysanne's hand and held onto it.
Ser Westerling grimaced apologetically as he motioned for some of the Driftmark staff to begin taking their belongings ashore. “I have been sent to fetch you myself and bring you up from the docks.”
Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched. “Sent by whose orders exactly?”
Alysanne may only have nine years in her short line to call hers, but still, she understood that it was not orders of her Grandsire that they had met by the docks. A glimpse of green cloth up on the cliff tops of Driftmark, belonging to a figure looking down at them confirmed it. She knew her mother could see it, too.
The bald man’s metal armor gleaned in the early morning light and he shifted in a manner that seemed almost remorseful as well. “And I have been instructed to deliver this to you upon your arrival.”
From the satchel around his waist, he produced a tan messenger scroll, tied off with the mark of House Strong.
The familiarity of it made her mother’s face drop and Alysanne watched as pale fingers took it from Ser Westerling’s outstretched hand.
Was it news from Ser Harwin? His letters had become less and less as the last two years had passed by. Even Jacaerys no longer waited excitedly for Rhaenyra to read out his reports of his time spent at Harrenhall.
Rhaenyra seemed to read the somber look coming from the knight and her fingers trembled as she undid the scroll. The harsh winds of Driftmark blew around them as her violet eyes scanned the scroll, whipping the silver hair away from her solemn face.
Alysanne watched as the careful expression of a cool facade fell from her mother’s face. A pained sound slipped out of her lips and the scroll dropped to her side.
Ser Westerling looked to the ground respectfully, but there was a resigned look upon his face as well. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with grief and regret. “I’m so sorry, Princess.”
Rhaenyra leaned heavily against the rail of this ship, her breath coming in short inhales. There was a pain in her eyes that Alysanne had not seen since Ser Harwin left them. Harsh and devastating pain. But then the princess took a breath and straightened herself out, forcing her face to fall back into an indifferent mask.
When she turned back to Ser Westerling, her expression betrayed nothing. All but for the harsh line of her jaw.
“You did not see it fit for this message to find itself to me before my departure?” she said in quick, hushed words.
The knight’s gaze flicked up to one of the figures upon the clifftop cloaked in green, not black. His expression flickered for a moment. “T'was out of my hands.”
Rhaenyra followed his gaze and landed upon the same figure. Her eyes harded before she straightened her back and smoothed out the front of her gown. Passing the scroll off to a nearby maid, she clenched her jaw.
“I see.”
Jacaerys looked over to Alysanne with a nervous face. She could see in her twin's eyes that he recognized Ser Harwin’s house colors too.
Little Lucerys piped up from where his cold hand held on tightly to Alysanne’s. He could not read the atmosphere around them and his eyes followed the scroll as well. “Is that from Ser Harwin?” he asked excitedly.
Jacaerys hushed him quickly, telling him to mind his voice while they were out in public. The little prince looked onward in confusion but with one more stern look from Jace, he held his tongue and did not say anymore.
“Shall I escort you and the children up to the cliffs?” Westerling asked. His gaze drifted uncomfortably over to where Laenor leant unsteadily against the mast, supported only by the arm Ser Qarl around his waist.
Rhaenyra followed his gaze as well and then nodded stiffly, “Yes, I believe that is for the best.”
“Alright, come along,” he said to her and her brothers, his voice softening as he leaned down. “And tighten your cloaks, the wind is blowing something fierce today.”
True to his word, the wind was blowing mightily. As they made the hike up the hill from where the ship had docked, the unease within Alysanne began to grow steadily. The silk of her slippers kept snagging on the rocky outcrops of the steps and the cold breeze pushed the smell of salt and wood into her nose.
Even the weather seemed to reflect how the world around her felt. Dreary. Anxious. The storm had broken the night previous but the clouds still hung heavy and threatening in the sky. While Driftmark was similar to Dragonstone, the constant sound of ship-working could be heard as they climbed and teal crests fluttered from every poll showcasing the Velaryon symbol. By the time they reached the top of the cliffside, Laenor had already stopped to vomit over the side of the steps but gathered himself enough to stand by Rhaenyra.
Alysanne clutched onto Luke’s hand tightly as together, they crested the last few steps.
Before them, stood her Grandsire, Otto Hightower, Vaemond, and… Queen Alicent with Ser Criston Cole behind her.
It made an opposing group and there was a strange stiffness to the new head of the King’s guard. The Dornish man's gaze turned distasteful, along with the Queen consort’s when they landed upon the swaying, washed-out figure of Laenor before falling to Alysanne's dark hair. The coldness of his gaze had her wishing she had never left her bedroom at Dragonstone and sailed to this forsaken castle. His eyes upon her and her siblings seemed to be pinned to her dark hair and sun-kissed skin. Bastard, they seemed to taunt.
“Rhaenyra.” King Viserys’ cracked voice was filled with warmth as he reached out an arm to her. His eyes were light, and his face broke out into a crooked smile.
Rhaenyra approached him cautiously, her eyes never once looking to Alicent or Vaemond. “Father,” she said with a smile, taking his hand and leaning in to kiss his cheek. “It is good to see you.”
Viserys’ smile did not dim but his voice did lower softly. “You as well, my daughter. I only wish it was under much better circumstances. King’s Landing has been far colder without you.”
Queen Alicent’s head whipped toward Rhaenyra, expression sharpening, but the Princess made no sign that she felt it
“I have missed the courts as well,” she replied steadily, keeping her eyes landed firmly on the King.
“And my grandchildren!” the old man crowed, turning his eyes upon Alysanne, Jacaerys, and Luke. “How I have missed your presence! Come, let me look upon you.”
Alysanne glanced warily at her twin but shuffled her feet forward upon her mother's nod.
Luke’s small hand was still clutched in hers as she and Jace came to stand before the old king who was now leaning heavily on a staff. “Ah,” he said wistfully, his eyes falling upon her and her brothers.
The first thing she noticed upon closer inspection was that the man looked far worse than when she had last seen him. In two years, his already flaky pallor now began to sag his cheeks further downward, and a sour stench emanated from his open-breathing mouth. His smile and voice were warm, but even speaking seemed to take some energy from him.
“How much you have all grown! Jacaerys you have become even more strapping. Looks fit for a King, no doubt. No doubt.”
Alysanne could feel Jacaerys shift nervously at her side before giving a quick nod of his head to the decaying man before them. Even in his nervousness, there was still a pride within his tone. “Thank you, grandsire.”
Lucerys’s tiny form peeked out from behind Alysanne’s cape and Viserys learned even harder on his cane so that he could look at him. His eyes caught on Alysanne and for a moment a look of wistful happiness clouded his features. “So much like my Aemma you are.”
Alysanne thought back to the old tapestry of Aemma Arryn in the first queen’s abandoned chambers. Arryn features. She used to stare longingly at the faded woman and trace her own face. She may have the dead Queen’s face, but not the hair to match it. And while she couldn't see it, the new queen’s hands tightened ever so slightly on the green hem of her dress sleeves at the words of her Lord Husband.
Viserys was oblivious to it all as he continued, “And you! Lucerys, I can hardly believe it. You look as though you were born for the sea. No doubt you'll take to it just like your father.”
From behind her, Rhaenyra took in a sharp, tense breath.
Even Alysanne cringed slightly as Luke pushed further away into her cloak, uncomfortable with the sudden attention put upon him.
A loud huff of disbelief came from Ser Cole’s direction but Alysanne refused to look anywhere other than her own hands. Jacaerys too seemed to feel uncomfortable from the scrutiny placed upon them as he shifted unevenly from one foot to the other.
Anyone could practically hear the grit of Princess Rhaenyra’s teeth as she stepped forward stiffly to place a proud hand on Jace’s shoulder and another on Luke’s back, effectively shielding all three of her children.
“Yes, no doubt at all your Majesty,” She said, keeping his grip firm and her head high.
The King bestowed a happy smile to his daughter like nothing was afoot, oblivious completely to the look of cold fury coming from the brother of the Sea Snake. Viserys tapped his cane against the ground and it seemed he was about to declare something when Vaemond opened his mouth, his eyes sharp and angry. Mock sympathy danced upon his Valyrian features before the words had even left his tongue. His gaze fell from Rhaenyra, to Laenor’s hunched-over form, to the children, all three of them with brown hair clumped together. His words were like ice as they came out.
“Princess, how sorry we all were to hear about the death of your former guard. I know how… close the two of you were.”
The hand on Jacerys’ shoulder tightened to a death grip as Rhaenyra’s face paled at the comment.
Death? Alysanne's eyes widened. What was he talking about? No one had died. Not other than Laena. She looked up to her mother's familiar face in the hope of finding comfort but instead all she found was a shadow of her mother, her expression frozen, and her chest not rising in breath.
Luke’s voice was shaky as he followed Alysanne’s gaze, his eyes wide with unshed tears.
“Mother?” he asked in a trembling voice. “What is he talking about? What did he say about Ser Harwin? is he oka-”
Jacaerys’ hand found Luke’s waist immediately and pinched it, hard, until the boy stopped speaking and slammed his mouth shut.
The eyes that were watering now spilled over in tears as he looked up to Alysanne instead. “Alys…?” he whispered, confused and frightened. Ser Cole’s eyes were upon the three of them with a maleficent glint and even if Alysanne did not seem to understand the situation, she knew enough to know that now was not the time for tears.
The King stepped forward, a frown plastered upon his cracked face and Alysanne quickly tucked Lucerys into her side, hushing him.
To her surprise, even Alicent looked shocked at such a blatant remark, but she did not comment.
“Yes, well it was indeed a tragedy,” King Viserys said, his eyes flicking around unsure from Rhaenyra’s rigid form to the victorious smirk upon Vaemond's face. “The Strongs are a loyal supporter of the Crown. And Harwin, a fine member of the King Guard.”
Alysanne wished to curl away from the fraught exchange happening around her. Was Ser Harwin dead? Is that what the letter had contained? In truth, she hadn’t given much thought to the man who bore such resemblance to her and her brothers since they left for Dragonstone. Memories of him were tainted with blood and tongueless men and the word 'bastard', whispered through rancid breath. But at one time, she had thought him to be a father, had she not? Jacaerys had said it himself the night before they fled King’s Landing.
The wind from the cliff tops of Driftmark whipped at her hair and she pulled her cloak tighter around herself and Lucerys. Maybe if she closed her eyes hard enough, she would return back to Dragonstone, away from all these prying eyes and harsh tongues.
But no such travel occurred. Relief only came when Ser Westerling stepped forward, his metal armor clanking, as he held a hand out for one of the Princess’s bags. “Perhaps I shall show the Princess and the children to their chambers. The remains of Lady Laena do not arrive until the morrow and I am sure the Princess and her children have traveled long enough already.”
Alysanne wished she could run up and give the knight a hug out of gratitude. Anything to do other than stand here underneath the heavy cloak of unease and discomfort.
The knight's words seemed to snap something out of Rhaenyra because she quickly shook herself free from her momentary stupor and gave a grateful, if not somewhat pained smile toward Westerling.
“Yes,” she said graciously, the only emotion left in her voice, a slight tremor. “I fear the children may be tired from a journey at such early hours and will wish to settle in as soon as possible. It will also, I’m sure, be a relief for my Lord Husband to be at his home island during the time of mourning. Isn’t that right, Laenor?”
Her tight words and stiff figure seemed to draw the man from his grief and malady momentarily, as the man Alysanne knew to call father stepped forward and placed a hand against the small of Rhaenyra’s back. He straightened himself out and placed the other hand on Lucerys cloaked shoulder in an image of solidarity.
“Yes-” he coughed, his voice cracking upon the syllable before steadying. “Yes. The children must rest.”
Silence followed momentarily before Viserys tapped his cane against the stone once again, breaking the still.
“Of course. I have a dislike for sea travel as well. Never easy on the stomach. Ser Westerling, will you please accompany my dear Rhaenyra and her children to the East wing. There are rooms made up for them there waiting their arrival.”
“Of course, your Majesty.”
Alysanne turned as Rhaenyra began to lead them away to see the Queen, dressed in layers of Hightower green, hiss something angrily to Vaemond Velaryon.
“Mother-” Jaecerys started.
But Rhaenyra quickly shushed him, keeping him walking as they followed Ser Westerling to the winding path that led to Castle Driftmark. “Later.” Her voice was firm but still, the woman was betrayed by the slight tremor in her hands. “I will explain later. For now you must walk, and you must keep your head high.”