apter 1
"Speech"
"Valryian"
Death watched the Queen kneel before her sept's altar, hands clasped tight enough that her knuckles had gone white. Her lips moved in silent prayer, forming words meant for the Seven, though those gods were about as real as a merchant's promise. Only two forces held true dominion over existence: Life and Death, and every desperate plea eventually found its way to one of them.
He supposed he couldn't blame the mortals for their confusion.
This universe was his charge, his responsibility, and he'd grown rather fond of it over the millennia.
The world below teemed with fascinating creatures: dragons that could melt stone, direwolves large enough to ride, even those irritating ice necromancers up north who kept trying to tip the scales toward eternal winter.
It beat the hell out of some of the assignments his siblings had drawn. One poor bastard oversaw a universe where mortals had invented something called "reality television," and another had gotten stuck with a realm where the mortals could actually challenge divine authority.
No, he'd take his dragons and political intrigue any day.
The Targaryens were his favorites, though they didn't know it. He'd been slipping them gifts for generations: prophetic dreams so vivid they'd fled Valyria before the Doom, dragon bonds so strong they'd conquered a continent, bloodlines so pure they'd survived years of intermarriage that should have destroyed them.
They were his champions in the great game, his pieces on the board, and he'd grown genuinely attached to watching them stumble through their messy, passionate, tragically beautiful lives.
Small universe, sure. Barely a blip in the grand scheme of the multiverse. But it was his, and he was content.
"Brother."
Death spun so fast his robes billowed around him, cosmic energy crackling at the edges of his form. His sister stood three paces away, arms crossed, wearing that expression that meant she wanted something. She was Death too, pulled from another corner of the infinite multiverse, and the last time she'd visited his domain had been... shit, had it been three thousand years?
"Sister." He kept his voice carefully neutral. "What brings you to my corner of the multiverse?"
"Don't play coy with me." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I don't suppose you recall that favor I granted you so long ago?"
He did recall it, actually. She'd helped him untangle a particularly nasty temporal paradox that had threatened to collapse his entire timeline. He'd promised her a favor in return, one to be called in at her discretion, and then he'd promptly tried to forget about it because debts between cosmic entities rarely ended well.
"Perhaps?" He offered her a slight shrug.
"Wonderful." Her grin widened as she reached into the folds of her own robes and pulled out something that glowed with unstable, flickering light. "It's time to pay it back."
She tossed the object at him, and he caught it on instinct. The moment his fingers closed around it, he knew what he was holding: a soul, but wrong, fractured in ways that made his divine senses recoil. The thing pulsed with chaotic energy, magic that felt foreign to his universe, and underneath it all was a core of something that might have once been a person.
"Who the fuck is this?" He held the soul up to examine it more closely, watching the way it flickered between states of existence.
"That, dear brother, is one Harry James Potter." His sister's voice carried a note of satisfaction. "Or at least what's left of him. His body is still back on my Earth, but his soul... well, that's become your problem now."
Death looked up sharply. "I'm sorry, what?"
"You heard me." She laughed, the sound echoing across the void between worlds. "I granted you a favor, and I told you I expected repayment. This is your repayment. You will deal with Harry Potter's future now."
"But he's dead." Death gestured with the soul, watching it pulse weakly in his palm.
"Is he?"
Something in her tone made him pause. He narrowed his eyes and dove into the soul itself, letting his consciousness sink into the tangled mess of memories and magic and trauma. What he found made him want to curse in every language his mortals had ever invented.
The boy was dead but not dead. Another soul had been living inside him, a parasitic fragment that had leeched off his life force for years, and when it had finally been ripped away, it had taken pieces of the boy's psyche with it. The remaining soul was unstable, volatile, held together by raw magic and sheer stubborn will.
"Shit." He pulled his consciousness back out. "This is a fucking mess."
"I know." His sister examined her nails with exaggerated disinterest. "That's why he's your problem now. Make him one of your precious Targaryens."
Death's head snapped up so fast that if he'd been mortal, his neck would have shattered. "What?!"
"You heard me." She met his gaze without flinching. "You owe me a favor, a big one, and I think your universe is too boring. Its future is bleak anyway. Harry Potter may be mortal, but he is a key player in my universe, a prime universe imbued with the Creator's magic, not the small seeds you get out here in the wastelands."
"Now wait just a goddamn minute—"
She held up one hand, cutting him off, and began ticking points off on her fingers. "He's powerful, kind, righteous, and fundamentally good. He is everything your universe needs to actually win against those wretched ice necromancers, or would you rather they rule and you be out of a job?"
"Of course not!" Death could feel his temper rising, divine energy crackling around him. "But I have been preparing my Targaryens for generations, carefully cultivating their gifts, guiding their bloodlines—"
"Yes, yes, you have been preparing them for generations, blah blah blah." His sister made a mocking puppet motion with her hand. "And yet when I peer into your future, they lose more than seventy percent of the time. I'm merely helping you, dear brother."
"Don't look into my universe's future!" The rebuke came out sharper than he'd intended. He never looked ahead, never peeked at the outcomes. That ruined the entire point. What was the fun in watching mortals struggle and triumph if he already knew how it would end? He'd rather be surprised, rather feel genuine investment in their choices, even if it meant watching them fail sometimes.
"I don't understand why you insist on not looking ahead." His sister rolled her eyes. "No wonder your world is so fucking depressing. Whatever, it's not my business anyway. Just make Harry Potter a Targaryen. Then I will consider your favor fulfilled, and we will be even once more."
Death reached up to massage his temples, manifesting the physical sensation of a headache just to have something to do with his hands. "You want me to stick the soul of a seventeen-year-old boy, whose mind is fractured due to soul possession and volatile magic, into a family of mortals who are already known for their mental instability? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"
"Nope." She grinned at him with all the warmth of a winter storm. "I'm Death, just like you, brother. Now, will you do what I asked, or shall I go to the Creator and explain that you're refusing to honor your debts? We can see what becomes of your little world after that conversation."
The threat hung in the air between them, heavy and undeniable. Death felt something cold settle in his chest. She had him cornered, and they both knew it. The Creator didn't tolerate entities who broke their word. One complaint from her, and his entire universe could be wiped from existence, all his careful work undone, all his beloved Targaryens erased as if they'd never been.
"Fine!" The word came out harsh, bitter. "Fine, you manipulative bitch, I'll do it."
"Wonderful." His sister waved cheerfully and vanished into nothingness, leaving him alone with the fractured soul in his hand.
Death stood there for a long moment, staring down at what remained of Harry Potter. The boy's magic was powerful, he'd give him that, though thankfully the rules of his universe would place restrictions on it. Magic here was more subtle, more tied to bloodlines and prophecy than raw power. The boy would be strong, but not unstoppable.
"Fuck." He sighed and looked down at his favorite family, watching them move through their lives far below. "You're going to give me such a headache, you little mortal brat."
There was only one option, really. If Harry Potter's mind was as fractured as it appeared, if his magic was as volatile as it felt, then he would need the strongest possible parents. He would need stability, love, guidance, and the kind of fierce protection that only certain Targaryens could provide.
Plus, a prayer had just been answered.
Death smiled despite himself, feeling the pieces click into place. His sister thought she was disrupting his plans, but maybe, just maybe, she'd handed him exactly what he needed. The game was about to get far more interesting.
He began to weave the soul into the fabric of his world, preparing to give the Targaryens their most unexpected gift yet.
Finding Out
Alysanne pressed a hand to her stomach as she sat in her solar, the embroidery in her lap forgotten. The nausea had started three days ago, subtle at first, then persistent enough that she'd waved away breakfast that morning. She knew this feeling, had felt it thirteen times before, but that was impossible.
She was six and forty.
Gael had only just celebrated her first nameday. Her moon's blood had grown sparse and irregular over the past year, and the maesters had assured her that her childbearing years were behind her. Yet here she sat, fighting the urge to retch into the chamber pot while her breasts ached with a tenderness she hadn't felt in years.
"Your Grace, are you unwell?" Septa Edyth asked from her seat by the window, concern creasing her weathered face.
"I'm perfectly well," Alysanne said, though her voice came out breathier than intended. She set aside her embroidery with trembling fingers and stood, smoothing down her gown. "Actually, I need to speak with Maester Allar. Immediately."
The walk to the maester's chambers felt longer than usual, her heart hammering against her ribs with each step. She couldn't allow herself to hope, not yet, but the signs were unmistakable. The exhaustion that had settled into her bones. The way certain smells made her stomach turn. The strange, fluttering sensation low in her belly that she'd convinced herself was merely her imagination.
Maester Allar looked up from his desk when she entered, surprise flickering across his face before he rose and bowed. "Your Grace, I wasn't expecting you. Is something amiss?"
"I need you to examine me," she said without preamble, then added more quietly, "I believe I may be with child."
The maester's eyebrows shot up. "Your Grace, forgive me, but given your age and the irregularity of your courses, it seems unlikely that..."
"I know what seems unlikely, Maester," Alysanne interrupted, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. "I also know my own body. I've carried thirteen children to term and lost three before they could draw breath. I know what this feels like."
Allar's expression shifted from skepticism to professional concern. He gestured to the examination table. "Of course, Your Grace. Please, if you would."
The examination seemed to take an eternity. Alysanne lay still as the maester pressed careful hands against her abdomen, asked questions about her symptoms, studied her eyes and tongue. She watched his face for any sign, any hint of confirmation, but he maintained the same neutral expression throughout.
Finally, he stepped back and wiped his hands on a cloth. "Your Grace, I cannot say with absolute certainty this early, but all signs do indeed point to pregnancy. Your womb is enlarged, your breasts show the typical changes, and given your symptoms..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I would estimate you are perhaps six or seven weeks along."
The world seemed to tilt sideways.
Alysanne sat up slowly, one hand instinctively moving to her stomach. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, bright and disbelieving. "Truly? You're certain?"
"As certain as I can be at this stage," Allar said, though worry creased his brow. "Your Grace, I must counsel caution. At your age, the risks are considerable. Childbirth is dangerous even for young women, and you..."
"Have delivered many children," Alysanne finished, her voice firm despite the tears suddenly blurring her vision. "I am well aware of the risks, Maester. But this is a gift. A blessing I never thought to receive again."
She slid off the table, her legs steadier than they'd been in days. Joy flooded through her, warm and golden, chasing away every ache and discomfort. Another child. Another babe to hold, to love, to watch grow. After Gael, she'd mourned the end of her childbearing years more than she'd admitted to anyone, even Jaehaerys. The thought that her body might have one more miracle left in it made her want to weep and laugh in equal measure.
"I need to tell the King," she said, already moving toward the door. "Thank you, Maester Allar. And please, keep this between us for now. I want to tell my lord husband myself."
She didn't wait for his response.
The walk to Jaehaerys's solar passed in a blur. Alysanne's mind raced with a thousand thoughts at once: how to tell him, what he would say, whether he would share her joy or only her fear. They'd spoken of being done with childbearing after Gael, of finally having time to themselves as their children grew and married and built lives of their own. Would he see this as the blessing she did, or as a burden they were too old to bear?
The guards outside his door bowed and opened it without question. Jaehaerys sat at his desk, bent over a stack of parchments, his reading glasses perched on his nose. He looked up when she entered, and his expression immediately shifted from concentration to concern.
"Alysanne? What's wrong?" He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the room to take her hands. "You're pale. Are you ill?"
"No," she said, then laughed at the inadequacy of the word. Her hands tightened around his, and she looked up into his face, this man she'd loved since she was a girl of thirteen. "No, I'm not ill. Jae, I'm pregnant."
For a moment, he simply stared at her. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "You're... what?"
"Pregnant," she repeated, the word tasting like honey on her tongue. "I've just come from Maester Allar. He confirmed it. Six or seven weeks along, he thinks."
Jaehaerys's hands went slack in hers. He took a step back, then another, until he was leaning against his desk as if his legs wouldn't hold him. "That's not possible. You're six and forty. The maesters said..."
"I know what they said," Alysanne said, moving closer. She could see the shock written plainly across his face, the disbelief warring with something else, something that might have been hope. "I know how unlikely this is. But it's happening, Jae. We're going to have another child."
"Another child," he echoed, the words barely a whisper. Then, louder, with a note of wonder creeping into his voice, "Another child. Alysanne, are you... how do you feel? Are you well? What did Allar say about the risks?"
"He said what any maester would say," she replied, waving a dismissive hand. "That I'm old, that childbirth is dangerous, that I should be careful. But I feel wonderful, Jae. Tired and sick and sore, yes, but wonderful. This is a gift. Don't you see? After everything, after all our losses, the gods have seen fit to bless us one more time."
Jaehaerys pushed off from the desk and closed the distance between them in two long strides. His hands came up to cup her face, his thumbs brushing away tears she hadn't realized were falling. "You're certain? Truly certain?"
"As certain as I can be," she said, covering his hands with her own. "I know my body, husband. I've done this enough times to recognize the signs."
A smile broke across his face, slow and wondering, transforming his features from shock to pure joy. He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe, and she felt him shaking against her. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet.
"My beloved" he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. "My love. If this is truly happening, if the gods have blessed us again..." He trailed off, seeming unable to find the words.
"Then we will welcome this child with all the love we have," Alysanne finished for him. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her hands resting against his chest. "I know we're not young anymore. I know this won't be easy. But Jae, I want this. I want this baby more than I can say."
"Then we'll have this baby," he said firmly, his hands moving to rest on her still-flat stomach. "And we'll keep you safe, and healthy, and when the time comes, you'll deliver another perfect Targaryen child into this world. Just as you've done eleven times before."
"Fourteen," she corrected with a watery laugh. "Don't forget the three I lost."
His expression sobered. "I never forget them, Alysanne. Not a single one. But this child..." He paused, his hands pressing gently against her belly. "This child will be born healthy and strong. I feel it."
"So do I," she whispered.
They stood there for a long moment, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight and wonder of this unexpected blessing settling over them like a warm cloak. Outside the window, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Alysanne closed her eyes and let herself simply feel: the strength of her husband's arms around her, the flutter of new life beginning in her womb, the fierce, overwhelming love that threatened to burst from her chest.
Another child. Another chance. Another soul to love.
"We should tell the children," Jaehaerys said eventually, his voice rough with emotion. "They'll want to know."
"Not yet," Alysanne said, pulling back to look at him. "Let's keep this between us for a little while longer. Just until I'm further along and we're certain everything is well. I don't want to worry them unnecessarily."
He nodded slowly, though she could see the reluctance in his eyes. Jaehaerys had never been good at keeping secrets, especially happy ones. "As you wish. But Alysanne, promise me you'll be careful. No more flying on Silverwing until after the babe is born. No long journeys. You'll rest and eat properly and let the maesters fuss over you as much as they like."
"I promise," she said, though she had no intention of giving up flying entirely. She'd flown while pregnant with half their children and never had any trouble. But that was an argument for another day. For now, she simply wanted to bask in this moment, in the joy of knowing that their family would grow once more.
"I love you" she murmured, rising on her toes to press a kiss to his lips. "Thank you for giving me this. For giving us this."
"I think the gods deserve more credit than I do," he said with a soft laugh, but his arms tightened around her waist. "But I love you too, Alysanne. More than words can say. And I already love this child, whoever they may be."
She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, and smiled.
Pregnancy Ensues
Alysanne smoothed her hands over the swell of her belly, still marveling at how prominent it had become in just a few short months. She stood before the mirror in her chambers, studying her reflection with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. At nearly five months along, there was no hiding her condition any longer, not that she'd wanted to.
But it wasn't just her belly that had changed.
Her skin practically glowed, smooth and unblemished in a way it hadn't been since her youth. The fine lines around her eyes had softened, and the age spots on her hands had faded to near invisibility. Her hair, which had grown brittle and thin over the past few years, now cascaded down her back in thick, lustrous waves that shone like spun silver in the morning light. Even her nails had grown stronger, no longer prone to breaking at provocation.
She felt better than she had in years. Better than she'd felt during any of her previous pregnancies, if she was being honest. The exhaustion that had plagued her early weeks had vanished entirely, replaced by an energy that left her restless and eager to fill her days. The nausea had lasted barely a fortnight. Her back didn't ache, her feet didn't swell, and she slept through the night without needing to rise half a dozen times to relieve herself.
It was, quite frankly, bizarre.
"You look radiant, Your Grace," Septa Edyth said from her seat by the window, her embroidery forgotten in her lap. "I've never seen you glow quite like this."
"I feel radiant," Alysanne admitted, turning away from the mirror with a smile. "I feel better than I have any right to at my age. The gods have been kind."
"Indeed they have," the septa agreed, though something in her tone gave Alysanne pause. A hesitation, perhaps, or uncertainty. But when she looked at the older woman, Edyth's expression was nothing but warm approval.
Alysanne shook off the odd feeling and moved toward the door. "Come. It's time to tell the children. I've kept this secret long enough, and if I wait any longer, they'll figure it out on their own."
She'd gathered them all in the solar, the room large enough to accommodate her sprawling brood. Aemon stood near the window with Jocelyn at his side, their daughter Rhaenys perched on a cushion at their feet. Baelon lounged in a chair with Alyssa draped over the armrest, their eldest, Viserys, was playing with wooden dragons on the floor nearby as baby Daemon sat on his mother's lap. Vaegon sat apart from the others, a book open in his hands. Saera sprawled across a settee with all the grace of a cat, her sharp eyes already watching Alysanne with undisguised curiosity. Viserra sat beside her, braiding and unbraiding a lock of her silver-gold hair. And in the corner, Maegelle sat with Gael in her lap, the one-year-old babbling happily as she played with her sister's sept pendant.
Jaehaerys stood beside Alysanne, his hand resting at the small of her back. She could feel the warmth of his palm through the fabric of her gown, steady and reassuring.
"Thank you all for coming," Alysanne began, her voice carrying easily across the room. "Your father and I have something we wish to share with you."
"You're pregnant," Saera said flatly, not bothering to look up from examining her nails. "It's obvious, Mother. You've been glowing like a bloody candle for weeks."
"Saera!" Alyssa gasped, her face flushing pink. "You can't just say that!"
"Why not? It's true." Saera finally looked up, one eyebrow arched in challenge. "Am I wrong?"
Alysanne bit back a laugh. Leave it to Saera to cut straight through any attempt at ceremony. "No, you're not wrong. I am indeed with child. Nearly five months along now."
The room erupted.
Aemon crossed the space in three long strides, pulling his mother into a careful embrace. "Mother, that's wonderful! Truly wonderful!" He pulled back, his hands on her shoulders, his expression torn between joy and concern. "But are you well? At your age, the risks..."
"I'm perfectly well," Alysanne assured him, patting his cheek. "Better than well, in fact. I've never felt stronger."
"Another sibling!" Alyssa crowed, bouncing Daemon on her hip hard enough to make the babe squeal with delight. "Oh, this is marvelous! Baelon, did you hear? Another little dragon for our brood!"
"I heard, wife," Baelon said, grinning as he rose from his chair. He moved to kiss his mother's cheek, his hand briefly resting on her belly. "Congratulations, Mother. Father. This is a blessing."
"A blessing indeed," Jocelyn agreed, her smile warm as she approached with Rhaenys in tow. "Though I confess I'm surprised. We'd thought..."
"That I was too old?" Alysanne finished with a wry smile. "So did I. But the gods, it seems, had other plans."
Rhaenys tugged on her grandmother's skirt, her violet eyes wide. "Will it be a boy or a girl, Grandmother?"
"We won't know until the babe is born, sweet one," Alysanne said, crouching down to be at eye level with the eight-year-old. "But whichever it is, they'll be lucky to have you as a cousin."
"I hope it's a girl," Rhaenys declared. "There are too many boys already."
"Oi!" Viserys protested from the floor, looking up from his wooden dragons. The five-year-old's face was scrunched in indignation. "Boys are better!"
"Are not!"
"Are too!"
"Enough, both of you," Aemon said, though his tone was more amused than stern. "Your grandmother doesn't need you squabbling right now."
Alyssa approached next, her movements hesitant but her smile genuine. "I'm happy for you, Mother. Truly. Though I confess I worry. You're not as young as you once were, and childbirth is so dangerous..."
"I know, darling," Alysanne said gently, taking her daughter's hand. "But I promise you, I'm being careful. The maesters are watching over me, and I feel better than I have in years. There's no need to worry."
"I'll worry anyway," Alyssa murmured, but she squeezed her mother's hand before stepping back.
Vaegon finally looked up from his book, his expression thoughtful. "Statistically speaking, the odds of a successful birth at your age are quite low. The maesters have documented numerous cases of complications in women past their fortieth year, including increased risk of stillbirth, maternal death, and..."
"Vaegon," Jaehaerys said, his voice carrying a warning edge. "Perhaps now is not the time for statistics."
"I'm merely stating facts, Father," Vaegon replied, unperturbed. "Though I suppose congratulations are in order regardless."
"How gracious of you," Saera drawled, rolling her eyes. "Truly, brother, your warmth is overwhelming."
Viserra rose from the settee and approached, her movements languid and graceful. She studied her mother with an assessing gaze, her head tilted slightly to one side. "You do look different, Mother. Younger, almost. Your skin is practically luminous."
"Pregnancy agrees with me this time," Alysanne said, though she felt a flicker of unease at the observation. She'd noticed the changes herself, of course, but hearing someone else remark on them made them feel more real, more strange.
"It's more than that," Viserra insisted, reaching out to touch a lock of her mother's hair. "Your hair is thicker than it's been in years. And your face... the lines around your eyes are gone."
"Perhaps the gods are being especially kind," Jaehaerys interjected smoothly, though Alysanne could hear the slight tension in his voice. He'd noticed the changes too, she knew, though they'd both chosen not to speak of them. "Let us simply be grateful for this blessing and not question it too closely."
Maegelle approached with Gael still in her arms, the septa's expression serene. "A new life is always a gift from the Seven. We should give thanks for their mercy and grace."
"I'll give thanks when the babe is born healthy," Alyssa said bluntly, though her smile took any sting from the words. "But I'm happy for you, Mother. Truly. And Gael will have a little brother or sister close to her age. That will be good for her."
As if understanding her name, Gael reached out toward Alysanne, babbling happily. Alysanne took her babe from Maegelle, settling her on her hip despite the added weight of her own belly. Gael immediately reached for her mother's hair, tangling chubby fingers in the silver strands.
"Little love" Alysanne murmured, pressing a kiss to Gael's forehead. "You'll be a wonderful big sister"
Daemon, who'd been largely ignored since being placed on the floor, suddenly toddled over on unsteady legs. He crashed into Alysanne's skirts, grabbing fistfuls of fabric to keep himself upright, and looked up at her with wide violet eyes.
"Baby?" he asked, the word garbled but recognizable.
"Yes, darling," Alysanne said, shifting Gael to one hip so she could ruffle Daemon's white-gold hair with her free hand. "There's a baby in here." She patted her belly. "A new uncle or aunt for you."
Daemon stared at her stomach with the intense focus only a one-year-old could muster, then reached out and patted it clumsily. "Baby."
The room filled with laughter, warm and genuine, and Alysanne felt her heart swell with love for her chaotic, beautiful family. This was what she'd wanted, what she'd prayed for: all of them together, sharing in this joy, bound by blood and love and the knowledge that they were stronger together than apart.
"Well," Saera said, breaking the moment with her usual irreverence, "I suppose this means we'll have to suffer through another round of Mother being insufferably cheerful and Father hovering like a nervous hen."
"Saera," Jaehaerys said, but there was no real heat in his tone.
"What? It's true. You were unbearable when she was carrying Gael. I can only imagine how much worse you'll be now that she's ancient and supposedly at death's door."
"I am not ancient," Alysanne protested, though she was smiling. "And I'm certainly not at death's door. In fact, I feel better than I did carrying any of you lot."
"That's what concerns me," Vaegon muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
Alysanne frowned. "What do you mean?"
Vaegon closed his book with a soft thud, his expression thoughtful. "You're six and forty, Mother. By all accounts, you should be exhausted, ill, and struggling with the physical demands of pregnancy. Yet you claim to feel better than ever. Your appearance has improved rather than deteriorated. It's... unusual."
"Perhaps I'm simply blessed," Alysanne said, though the unease from earlier returned, stronger this time.
"Perhaps," Vaegon agreed, though he didn't sound convinced.
"You're overthinking it, brother," Baelon said, clapping Vaegon on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. "Mother's healthy, the babe is healthy, and that's all that matters. Let's not borrow trouble where there is none."
"Agreed," Jaehaerys said firmly. "This is a time for celebration, not speculation. Now, I believe your mother needs to rest. She's been on her feet long enough."
"I'm fine," Alysanne protested, but Jaehaerys was already guiding her toward a chair, his hand firm at her elbow.
"You're sitting," he said, brooking no argument. "And you're going to let your children fuss over you, because that's what they want to do."
Alysanne sighed but allowed herself to be settled into the chair, Gael still on her lap and Daemon clinging to her skirts. Her children gathered around her, their voices overlapping as they asked questions and offered congratulations and made plans for the new arrival. She answered as best she could, laughing at their enthusiasm and basking in their love.
But even as she smiled and nodded and accepted their well-wishes, a small part of her mind kept circling back to Vaegon's words. It was unusual, wasn't it? The way she felt, the way she looked. She'd carried children before this one, and not a single pregnancy had been this easy. Especially with Gael, her last and most recent, she'd been exhausted and achy and plagued by swollen ankles.
This was different. This was... wrong, somehow. Or if not wrong, then at least strange.
She pushed the thought aside. She was healthy, the babe was healthy, and that was all that mattered. Whatever the reason for her unusual vitality, she would accept it as the gift it was and be grateful.
Still, she couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was different about this child.
Maester Allar stood in the corridor outside the Queen's solar, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression carefully neutral. Beside him, Septon Theodor shifted his weight from foot to foot, his usually serene face creased with concern.
"She looks better than she did three moons ago," Theodor murmured, his voice pitched low enough that the guards at the door wouldn't overhear. "Better than she has in years, if I'm being honest. How is that possible?"
"I don't know," Allar admitted, and the words tasted like ash in his mouth. He'd been slipping the tincture into her food for months now, the same mixture that had worked so effectively on her previous pregnancies. Small doses, carefully measured, designed to weaken the womb and encourage the body to expel the child before it could come to term. It had never failed before.
But this time, it wasn't working. If anything, the Queen seemed to be thriving.
"You've been administering the treatment?" Theodor asked, his tone carefully neutral.
"Every day," Allar confirmed. "In her morning tea, in her wine at dinner. She's ingesting enough to fell a horse, yet she shows no signs of distress. No cramping, no bleeding, no weakness. It's as if her body is rejecting the tincture entirely."
"That shouldn't be possible."
"I know."
They stood in silence for a moment, both men lost in their own thoughts. The plan had been simple: ensure the Queen lost this child as she'd lost so many others, weakening the Targaryen line and making it easier for the Faith to reassert its influence over the crown. But if the tincture wasn't working, if the Queen was somehow immune to its effects...
"We need to increase the dosage," Theodor said finally. "Double it, if necessary. This child cannot be allowed to survive."
"If I increase the dosage much more, she'll taste it," Allar warned. "The tincture has a distinct bitterness. She's not a fool, Theodor. If she suspects something is wrong..."
"Then be more careful," Theodor snapped, his composure cracking for just a moment. "Find a way to mask the taste. Add it to her food instead of her drink. I don't care how you do it, Allar, but this child must not be born. Do you understand?"
Allar nodded slowly, though his stomach churned with unease. He'd taken oaths as a maester, sworn to heal and protect. What he was doing now went against everything he'd been taught, everything he believed in. But the Faith had been clear: the Targaryens were an abomination, their dragons a blight upon the world, and their line must be weakened at every opportunity.
Still, looking at the Queen's glowing face through the open door, seeing the joy in her eyes as she held her grandchildren, he felt something uncomfortably close to guilt.
"I'll find a way," he said quietly. "But Theodor, if this doesn't work... if she carries this child to term despite our efforts..."
"Then we'll deal with that when the time comes," Theodor said, his voice hard. "But it won't come to that. It can't. The Faith is counting on us, Allar. Don't fail."
He swept away down the corridor, his robes billowing behind him, leaving Allar alone with his thoughts and his guilt and the growing certainty that something about this pregnancy was very, very wrong.
Or perhaps, from a certain perspective, very, very right.
Daella's Death
Alysanne sat in the gardens with her embroidery forgotten in her lap, one hand resting on the swell of her belly. Seven months along now, and the babe was active, constantly shifting and kicking as if eager to meet the world. She smiled at the sensation, marveling once again at how easy this pregnancy had been compared to all the others.
The morning sun was warm on her face, and the scent of roses filled the air. Jaehaerys sat beside her, reading through a stack of correspondence, occasionally muttering under his breath about some lord or another's complaints. It was peaceful, domestic, the kind of moment she'd learned to treasure over the years.
"The babe is restless today," she said, pressing her palm against a particularly vigorous kick. "I think we have a dragon in the making."
Jaehaerys looked up from his letters, his expression softening. "All our children are dragons, my beloved. This one will be no different."
"Perhaps," Alysanne agreed, though something in her tone made him set aside his correspondence entirely.
"What troubles you?"
"Nothing troubles me," she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she felt a flicker of unease. "I've just been thinking of Daella. She should have had her babe by now, shouldn't she? It's been weeks since we've had word from the Vale."
"Ravens can be delayed," Jaehaerys said, though his brow furrowed slightly. "I'm sure she's fine. Rodrik would send word immediately if anything were amiss."
Alysanne nodded, trying to push away the worry that had been gnawing at her for days. Daella had always been her most fragile child, prone to fears and tears, and the thought of her going through childbirth without her mother nearby made Alysanne's chest ache. She'd wanted to go to the Vale herself, to be there for her daughter, but the maesters had forbidden it. Too dangerous, they'd said. Too much strain on her own pregnancy.
She'd listened, though it had nearly killed her to do so.
A guard appeared at the garden entrance, his face pale and drawn. He approached with hesitant steps, and Alysanne felt her stomach drop even before he spoke.
"Your Grace," he said, his voice rough. "A raven has arrived from the Vale. Lord Rodrik requests your immediate attention."
Jaehaerys was on his feet in an instant, crossing the space to take the sealed letter from the guard's trembling hands. Alysanne watched as he broke the seal, watched as his eyes scanned the contents, watched as all the color drained from his face.
"Jaehaerys?" Her voice came out small, frightened. "What is it? What's happened?"
He didn't answer. He just stood there, the letter hanging limply from his fingers, his expression one of absolute devastation.
"Jaehaerys, tell me." She struggled to her feet, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. "Tell me right now."
"It's Daella," he said, and his voice broke on their daughter's name. "She's... Alysanne, she's gone."
The world tilted.
Alysanne heard a sound, a horrible keening wail, and realized distantly that it was coming from her own throat. Her knees buckled, and Jaehaerys caught her before she could fall, his arms wrapping around her as she collapsed against his chest.
"No," she gasped, her fingers clutching at his doublet. "No, no, no. Not Daella. Not my baby. Not my sweet girl."
"The childbirth," Jaehaerys said, his own voice thick with grief. "There were complications. Rodrik says she fought, but... the bleeding wouldn't stop. The maesters couldn't save her."
"The babe?" Alysanne forced the words out through her sobs. "What of the babe?"
"A girl. Healthy. They've named her Aemma." He pressed his face into her hair, his body shaking. "Daella held her before... before she..."
Alysanne couldn't breathe. The pain in her chest was physical, crushing, as if someone had reached into her ribcage and torn her heart out with bare hands. Daella, her gentle, fearful, loving Daella, was gone. Dead at eighteen, barely more than a child herself, and Alysanne hadn't been there. Hadn't held her hand, hadn't whispered comfort, hadn't been able to do anything to save her.
"I should have been there," she choked out. "I should have gone to her. I should have..."
"You couldn't have known," Jaehaerys said, but his words were hollow, meaningless. "Alysanne, you couldn't have..."
A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her abdomen.
Alysanne gasped, her hands flying to her belly as liquid gushed down her legs, soaking through her gown and pooling on the ground beneath her feet. She stared down at the wetness, her mind struggling to process what was happening even as another wave of pain crashed over her.
"No," she whispered. "No, it's too soon. It's too soon."
"Guards!" Jaehaerys roared, his voice echoing across the gardens. "Get the midwives and maesters! Now!"
The pain came again, harder this time, and Alysanne doubled over with a cry. Seven months. The babe was only seven months along. Too early, far too early. Babes born this early rarely survived, and if they did, they were weak, sickly, prone to illness and early death.
"I can't lose another one," she sobbed, clutching at Jaehaerys as he half-carried, half-dragged her toward the keep. "I can't. I can't do this. Not today. Not after Daella. Please, please, not this baby too."
"You won't," Jaehaerys said fiercely, though she could hear the terror in his voice. "You won't lose this one. I swear it, Alysanne. I swear."
But she could see it in his eyes: he didn't believe his own words.
The birthing chamber was chaos.
Alysanne lay on the bed, her body wracked with contractions that came too fast, too hard, too soon. Sweat poured down her face, and her hands gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Around her, maesters and midwives rushed about, their voices a constant hum of instructions and reassurances that meant nothing.
"It's too early," she gasped between contractions. "The babe isn't ready. It's too small, too weak. It won't survive."
"Hush, Mother," Alyssa said from her right side, her hand cool against Alysanne's burning forehead. "Don't speak like that. The babe will be fine. You'll both be fine."
But Alysanne could see the fear in her daughter's eyes, could see the way Alyssa's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. On her left, Maegelle held her hand, murmuring prayers under her breath, her septa's robes rustling with each movement. Across the room, Saera paced like a caged animal, her face pale and drawn. Viserra stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself, staring out at nothing.
"Where's Jaehaerys?" Alysanne asked, her voice breaking. "I want Jaehaerys."
"He's outside," Maegelle said gently. "The maesters won't let him in. You know how they are about men in the birthing chamber."
"Fuck the maesters," Alysanne snarled, and Saera let out a startled laugh despite the tension. "I want my husband. Get him in here. Now."
"Mother, you know they won't..."
"I don't care!" Another contraction tore through her, and she screamed, the sound raw and animalistic. "Get him in here or I'll get up and drag him in myself!"
Saera moved toward the door without hesitation. "I'll get him."
Maester Allar appeared at the foot of the bed, his expression grave. "Your Grace, you need to push. The babe is coming whether we're ready or not."
"I can't," Alysanne sobbed. "I can't do this. Not without Daella. Not knowing she's gone. I can't..."
"You can," Alyssa said fiercely, gripping her mother's hand hard enough to hurt. "You're the strongest woman I know, Mother. You've done this many times before. You can do it again."
"But Daella..."
"Daella would want you to fight," Maegelle said, her voice soft but firm. "She'd want you to bring this babe into the world safely. You know she would."
The door burst open, and Jaehaerys strode in, ignoring the protests of the maesters. He crossed to the bed in three long strides, taking Alysanne's free hand in both of his.
"I'm here," he said, his voice rough. "I'm here, my love. I'm not going anywhere."
Alysanne looked up at him, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so scared."
"I know." He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath warm against her skin. "But you're not alone. You'll never be alone."
Another contraction hit, and Alysanne bore down with a scream that seemed to tear from the very depths of her soul. The pain was overwhelming, all-consuming, and for a moment she thought she might die from it. But Jaehaerys held her hand, and Alyssa stroked her hair, and Maegelle whispered prayers, and somehow, somehow, she found the strength to push again.
"I can see the head!" one of the midwives called out. "One more push, Your Grace! Just one more!"
Alysanne gathered every scrap of strength she had left and pushed with everything in her. The world went white with pain, and then suddenly, blessedly, the pressure released.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Alysanne's heart stopped. No cry. There was no cry. The babe was dead, had to be dead, born too early and too weak and...
And then she heard it: not a cry, but a sound that was somehow even more startling. A laugh. A bright, joyful, gurgling laugh that filled the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"What..." Alysanne struggled to sit up, her body screaming in protest. "What is that? Why isn't the babe crying?"
The midwife turned, and in her arms was the smallest, most perfect child Alysanne had ever seen. The babe was tiny, yes, but not sickly. Not weak. His skin was pink and healthy, his limbs moving with surprising vigor, and his eyes were open, bright and alert and the most stunning shade of emerald green she'd ever seen.
Like Alyssa's green eye. Exactly like it.
"A boy, Your Grace," the midwife said, her voice filled with wonder. "A healthy, thriving boy."
"That's impossible," Maester Allar said from somewhere behind her, his voice sharp with disbelief. "He's premature. He should be struggling to breathe, should be..."
But the babe just laughed again, his tiny fists waving in the air, and Alysanne felt something in her chest crack open. Not with grief this time, but with a love so fierce and overwhelming it nearly stopped her heart.
"Give him to me," she whispered. "Please. Give him to me."
The midwife placed the babe in her arms, and Alysanne looked down at her son, her miracle, her impossible gift. He had a shock of silver hair, fine as silk, and those extraordinary green eyes gazed up at her with an intelligence that seemed far too much for a newborn. He wasn't crying, wasn't fussing. He just looked at her, and then he smiled.
Smiled.
"Little dragon," Alysanne breathed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "My little dragon."
"He's beautiful," Alyssa said, leaning over to peer at her new brother. "Look at those eyes. I've never seen anything like them."
"They're like yours," Viserra observed, moving closer. "The green one. It's uncanny."
"He's perfect," Maegelle said, her voice thick with emotion. "A gift from the Seven. A blessing."
Saera approached last, her expression unreadable. She stared down at the babe for a long moment, then reached out to touch one tiny hand. The babe immediately wrapped his fingers around hers, his grip surprisingly strong, and Saera's face softened in a way Alysanne had rarely seen.
"Well," she said, her voice rough. "He's certainly got spirit. I'll give him that."
Jaehaerys sank onto the edge of the bed, his hand trembling as he reached out to stroke the babe's cheek. "A son," he said, wonder and grief warring in his voice. "Another son."
"What will you name him?" Maegelle asked.
Alysanne looked down at the tiny, perfect face, at the bright green eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul. She thought of Daella, of the daughter she'd lost, of the granddaughter she'd never met. She thought of the impossible nature of this pregnancy, of the way her body had healed and strengthened instead of weakening. She thought of the way this babe had been born healthy and whole when by all rights he should have been fighting for every breath.
This was no ordinary child. She knew it in her bones, in her blood, in the very marrow of her being.
"Hareon," she said softly. "His name is Hareon."
The babe laughed again, as if in approval, and Alysanne held him close, breathing in his scent, memorizing every detail of his face. Outside the birthing chamber, she could hear the sounds of celebration beginning, could hear her family gathering to meet the newest member of their line.
But in this moment, in this room, there was only her and her son and the overwhelming certainty that everything had just changed.
In the corridor outside, Maester Allar leaned against the wall, his face ashen. Beside him, Septon Theodor stood rigid, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
"It worked," Theodor said, his voice low and urgent. "The stress, the grief. Her water broke early, just as we hoped. The babe should be dead or dying. So why..."
"I don't know," Allar said, and for the first time in his life, he felt genuine fear. "He should be weak. Struggling. Premature babes don't survive, and if they do, they're sickly for years. But that child..."
"That child is thriving," Theodor finished, his voice hard. "As if he were born at full term. As if nothing we did made any difference at all."
They stood in silence, listening to the sounds of joy and celebration filtering through the door. Inside that room, a babe who should not exist was being welcomed into the world. A babe who had survived everything they'd thrown at him, who had emerged healthy and whole despite their best efforts to ensure otherwise.
"What do we do now?" Allar asked quietly.
Theodor's jaw clenched. " I don't know. I shall write to the higherups. Until then we watch."
Being Born is Weird
Being born was fucking weird.
Harry had expected a lot of things when Death shoved him into this new life, but the sheer overwhelming sensory assault of existing in a body again hadn't been one of them. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much. His skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve ending was firing at once, and the air itself seemed to press against him with physical weight.
But it was brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.
He could feel. He could see. He could hear the voices around him, high and worried and then suddenly joyful, and even though he couldn't understand most of the words yet, the emotions behind them washed over him like warm water.
Love.
So much love. It radiated from every person in the room, thick enough to taste, and Harry wanted to laugh and cry and scream all at once.
So he laughed.
The sound that came out of his tiny body was nothing like his old laugh, high and gurgling and utterly ridiculous, but it felt good. He was alive, properly alive, with a beating heart and working lungs and a body that didn't ache with old injuries and older scars.
Then he was moving, being lifted by gentle hands, and suddenly there was a face above him.
Oh.
Oh, she was beautiful.
Harry stared up at his new mother with wide eyes, taking in every detail with the intensity of someone seeing another human being for the first time. And in a way, he supposed he was. Her face was otherworldly, all sharp elegant lines and smooth pale skin that seemed to glow in the candlelight. Her hair fell around them both like a silver curtain, and her eyes were the most extraordinary shade of violet he'd ever seen.
She looked older than he'd expected, maybe forty or fifty, but that wasn't unusual. Witches in his old world could bear children well into their hundreds; magic did wonderful things for longevity and fertility. This woman had clearly been blessed with both.
"Little dragon," she whispered, and even though he didn't know the language, he understood the endearment. "My little dragon."
Harry tried to smile at her, though he wasn't sure his face was cooperating properly. Everything felt strange and new and not quite under his control. But she smiled back anyway, tears streaming down her cheeks, and pressed a kiss to his forehead that made his entire body warm with contentment.
This was his mum. His new mum. And she was perfect.
Movement caught his attention, and Harry's gaze shifted to the figures crowding around the bed. More faces, all staring at him with varying expressions of wonder and curiosity and love. They looked like younger versions of his mother, each one beautiful in their own right, with the same silver hair and sharp features.
Sisters. He had sisters. Multiple sisters.
The realization hit him like a physical blow, and if he'd had better control over his body, he would have started bouncing with excitement. A family. A real, huge family. Not just one or two people, but a whole crowd of them, all looking at him like he was something precious and wonderful.
This was everything he'd ever wanted.
One of the sisters leaned closer, her face curious. She had mismatched eyes, one violet and one green, and Harry found himself staring at the green one with fascination. It was almost the same shade as his own eyes had been in his last life. What were the odds?
"He's so small," she said, her voice soft with wonder.
"All babes are small, Alyssa," another sister said, this one with a sharper face and more sardonic expression. "That's rather the point."
"He's not crying though," a third observed, her tone thoughtful. "That's unusual."
"Perhaps he's just happy," the one with the pendant suggested gently.
Happy didn't even begin to cover it.
Harry wanted to tell them all how brilliant they were, how grateful he was to be here, how much he already loved them just for existing. But his mouth wouldn't form words yet, and his limbs flailed uselessly when he tried to reach for them. So he settled for laughing again, that ridiculous gurgling sound, and watched with delight as their faces softened even further.
"He likes us," Alyssa said, grinning.
"Of course he does," the sardonic one replied. "We're his sisters. He's stuck with us."
A man appeared at the edge of his vision, tall and silver-haired and looking at him with an expression of such profound emotion that Harry felt his tiny chest tighten. His father, he realized. His new father. The man reached out with a trembling hand to touch his cheek, and Harry leaned into the touch instinctively.
"A son," his father said, his voice rough. "Another son."
His mother shifted, adjusting her hold on him, and Harry found himself pressed against her chest. The warmth of her body seeped into him, chasing away the lingering chill of birth, and he made a small contented sound without meaning to.
"I want to feed him," his mother said suddenly, her voice firm despite the exhaustion that lined her face. "No wet nurse. I'll feed him myself."
There was a moment of protest from somewhere in the room, voices murmuring about propriety and health and tradition, but his mother's expression turned steely in a way that made Harry want to cheer.
"I said I'll feed him myself," she repeated, and the protests died immediately.
Oh, he liked her. He liked her a lot.
His mother shifted again, and suddenly there was fabric moving, and then...
Oh fuck.
Harry's brain short-circuited as his mother bared her breast, bringing him closer with practiced ease. He could feel heat flooding what little control he had over his face, embarrassment warring with hunger and exhaustion and the sheer awkwardness of the situation.
This was his mother. His new mother. He shouldn't be noticing anything except the fact that he was about to be fed.
But he was also a seventeen-year-old boy's consciousness trapped in a newborn's body, and he'd never actually seen real breasts before. Just the magazines Seamus had smuggled into the dorm, grainy photos that everyone pretended not to look at. And his mother's were right there, and they were frankly magnificent.
For a woman who had to be at least forty, there was no sagging, no signs of age at all. They were full and perfect and no wonder his father had gotten her pregnant so many bloody times.
Merlin, he was going to hell. He was definitely going to hell.
His mother guided him closer, and instinct took over before his mortified brain could protest further. His mouth latched on, and suddenly nothing else mattered.
The milk was incredible.
Harry had never tasted anything like it. It was warm and sweet and rich, flooding his mouth with flavor that made his entire body relax. He could feel the hunger he hadn't even realized he'd been experiencing fade away with each swallow, replaced by a contentment so deep it was almost overwhelming.
This was what he'd been missing. This was what his body needed.
He drank greedily, his tiny hands coming up to press against his mother's skin, and distantly he was aware of her laughing softly above him.
"Hungry little thing, aren't you?" she murmured, her hand coming up to stroke his hair. "That's good. That's very good, little dragon."
The endearment made something in his chest warm even further, and Harry made a small happy sound around his mouthful. His mother's fingers were gentle against his scalp, her touch soothing in a way that made his eyelids start to droop.
He was so tired. The birth had taken everything out of him, and now with his belly full and his mother's warmth surrounding him, sleep was pulling at him with insistent hands.
He tried to fight it, wanting to stay awake, wanting to memorize every detail of this moment. But his body had other ideas, and his suckling grew slower, less coordinated, until finally his mouth went slack.
"There we go," his mother whispered, adjusting him so his head rested against her shoulder. "Sleep now, my sweet boy. Sleep."
Harry wanted to protest. Wanted to tell her he wasn't ready to sleep yet, that there was too much to see and experience and explore. But her heartbeat was steady beneath his ear, and her hand was rubbing slow circles on his back, and the world was already fading around the edges.
His last coherent thought before sleep claimed him was that this was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
He had a family. A real family.
Week One
Alysanne had forgotten how exhausting newborns could be.
Not that Hareon was difficult, quite the opposite actually. He was the easiest babe she'd ever had, never fussing, never screaming himself red in the face like Baelon had done for months on end. But he was hungry. Constantly, ravenously hungry in a way that left her breasts aching and her body struggling to keep up with his demands.
She shifted him in her arms as he nursed, his small hands pressed against her skin, and felt that now-familiar tug of exhaustion mixed with overwhelming love. A week. It had only been a week since his birth, and already she couldn't imagine her life without him.
"You're going to drain me dry, little dragon," she murmured, stroking his soft silver hair. "What am I going to do with you?"
Hareon made a small contented sound, his eyes drifting closed as he drank. His lashes were long against his pale cheeks, and Alysanne found herself memorizing every detail of his face. The shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the way his tiny fingers flexed against her breast.
Her miracle. Her impossible, wonderful miracle.
The maesters had said it couldn't happen. That her body was too old, too worn from bearing so many children already. That even if she conceived, the babe wouldn't survive. But Hareon had proven them all wrong, arriving early but healthy, thriving when he should have been weak.
The door to her chambers opened, and Alyssa swept in with Dameon on her hip. Her daughter looked radiant despite the early hour, her silver hair braided back and her mismatched eyes bright with energy that Alysanne envied.
"Mother," Alyssa said, crossing to the bed. "You look exhausted. Has he been feeding all morning?"
"Most of it," Alysanne admitted, glancing down at Hareon. "I swear he's hungrier than all my other babes combined."
Alyssa laughed, settling onto the edge of the bed. Dameon immediately reached for his grandmother, babbling something incomprehensible, and Alysanne smiled at him even as Hareon continued to nurse.
"Let me help," Alyssa said, her tone brooking no argument. "I've got more than enough milk, and Dameon doesn't need as much anymore. He's starting to prefer solid foods anyway."
Alysanne hesitated. She'd insisted on feeding Hareon herself, had refused the wet nurses despite the protests from the maesters and even Jaehaerys. But her body was struggling to keep up, and the thought of having help, especially from her own daughter, was tempting.
"Are you certain?" she asked. "I don't want to take from Dameon."
"Mother, look at me." Alyssa gestured to her chest with a wry smile. "I'm producing enough to feed half the Red Keep. Dameon will be fine, and you need rest. You've barely recovered from the birth."
That was true enough. Alysanne felt better than she had any right to, considering she'd given birth at six and forty after months of stress and grief. But she was still tired, still sore in places she'd forgotten could be sore, and the maesters had been very clear that she needed to avoid strenuous activity. Including, much to Jaehaerys's disappointment, anything that might lead to another pregnancy.
Not that she minded that particular restriction. Her children were quite enough, thank you very much.
Hareon's suckling slowed, then stopped entirely. Alysanne looked down to find him staring up at her with those extraordinary green eyes, his expression one of perfect contentment. He didn't cry, didn't fuss. Just looked at her with what seemed like understanding far beyond his days.
"Hello, sweet boy," she whispered, adjusting her clothing before lifting him to her shoulder. "All done?"
He made a small gurgling sound that might have been agreement, and Alyssa laughed.
"He's so strange," her daughter said, though her tone was affectionate. "I've never seen a babe so quiet. Dameon screamed for hours when he was first born."
"All my children screamed," Alysanne said, patting Hareon's back gently. "Except this one. It's like he's just... happy to be here."
"Can I hold him?"
Alysanne passed Hareon over carefully, watching as Alyssa cradled him against her chest. Her daughter cooed at him, and Hareon's face split into what could only be described as a grin. Not the grimace that newborns sometimes made, but an actual smile, bright and joyful.
"Oh, you're a charmer, aren't you?" Alyssa said, bouncing him gently. "Going to break hearts when you're older, I can tell."
The door opened again, and this time Saera and Viserra entered together. They'd been inseparable since Hareon's birth, united in their fascination with their new brother. Saera carried a tray of food, while Viserra had what looked like a new blanket draped over her arm.
"Mother, you need to eat," Saera announced, setting the tray on the bedside table. "The maesters said you're not eating enough."
"The maesters can mind their own business," Alysanne said, but she reached for the bread anyway. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she'd skipped breakfast entirely. "Thank you, darling."
Viserra moved to Alyssa's side, peering down at Hareon with undisguised adoration. "Can I hold him next?"
"You held him yesterday for an hour," Saera pointed out. "It's my turn."
"You held him this morning before Mother woke up."
"That doesn't count. He was sleeping."
Alysanne bit back a smile as her daughters bickered. It was good to see them like this, united in their love for their brother rather than competing for attention or favor. Hareon had brought something out in all of them, a gentleness and protectiveness that warmed her heart.
"You can both hold him," she said, taking a bite of bread. "But let your sister feed him first. He's still hungry."
Alyssa shifted, unlacing her gown with practiced ease. Hareon watched the movement with what seemed like intense focus, and when Alyssa brought him to her breast, he latched on immediately with the same greedy enthusiasm he'd shown with Alysanne.
"Merciful gods," Alyssa said, her eyes widening. "He really is hungry."
"Told you," Alysanne said, reaching for the cheese. "He's been like this since birth. I don't know where he's putting it all."
Saera leaned over to look at Hareon, her expression thoughtful. "He's growing fast though. Look at his cheeks. They're already filling out."
It was true. In just a week, Hareon had gone from the slightly gaunt look of a premature babe to something healthier, rounder. His skin had lost that translucent quality, and his limbs had more substance to them. He was thriving in a way that defied explanation.
Another miracle. Another impossible thing about her impossible son.
"Where's Maegelle?" Alysanne asked, suddenly noticing her septa daughter's absence. "I thought she'd be here by now."
"Praying," Viserra said with a roll of her eyes. "She's been at the sept every morning since Hareon was born. Says she's thanking the gods for his safe arrival."
"That's sweet of her."
"It's excessive," Saera countered. "The gods didn't have anything to do with it. Mother's just strong."
Alysanne felt a flush of warmth at her daughter's words, but she shook her head. "The gods had everything to do with it, Saera. I'm six and forty. I shouldn't have been able to conceive, let alone carry to term. Hareon is a gift."
"A gift who eats like a dragon," Alyssa said, wincing slightly. "Slow down, little one. I'm not going anywhere."
But Hareon didn't slow down. He drank with single-minded determination, his small hands kneading against Alyssa's skin, and Alysanne found herself laughing despite her exhaustion.
"He knows what he wants," she said. "Can't fault him for that."
The door opened once more, and Jaehaerys entered with Gael in his arms. Their youngest daughter, barely a year old, was babbling happily about something only she understood. When she saw Alysanne, she squealed and reached for her.
"Mama!"
"Hello, my sweet girl," Alysanne said, taking Gael from Jaehaerys and settling her on her lap. "Have you been good for your father?"
"She's been perfect," Jaehaerys said, though his tone suggested otherwise. He moved to sit beside Alysanne, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," she admitted. "But well. Alyssa's helping with Hareon."
Jaehaerys glanced at their daughter, his expression softening as he watched her nurse his son. "That's good. You need to rest more, my love. You're pushing yourself too hard."
"I'm fine."
"You're exhausted," he corrected gently. "And the maesters said you need at least another month before you're fully recovered."
Alysanne wanted to argue, but the truth was he was right. Her body ached and the constant feeding schedule was wearing her down. But every time she looked at Hareon, every time she held him close and felt his warmth against her chest, the exhaustion seemed worth it.
"I'll rest," she promised. "After he's fed."
Gael squirmed in her lap, trying to see what Alyssa was doing. "Baby?"
"Yes, darling. That's your brother Hareon."
"My baby?"
"Our baby," Alysanne corrected, pressing a kiss to Gael's silver hair. "He's everyone's baby."
Saera snorted. "He's certainly acting like it. I've never seen so many people fighting over who gets to hold an infant."
"That's because he's special," Viserra said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Anyone can see it. He's different from other babes."
Alysanne's chest tightened at the words. Different. Yes, Hareon was certainly that. But it wasn't just his quiet nature or his constant hunger or even his unusual green eyes. There was something else, something she couldn't quite name, that set him apart.
The way he looked at people, as if he understood more than he should. The way he never cried, even when left alone. The way he'd survived when he shouldn't have.
Her miracle. Her impossible, wonderful, different miracle.
Hareon finished feeding and Alyssa lifted him to her shoulder, patting his back gently. He let out a small burp, then turned his head to look directly at Alysanne. Those green eyes locked onto hers, and she felt her breath catch.
He smiled at her. A real, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made her heart feel too large for her chest.
"My little dragon," she whispered, reaching out to stroke his cheek. "My precious little dragon."
Jaehaerys's hand tightened on her shoulder, and when she glanced up at him, she saw her own emotions reflected in his face. Wonder. Love. Gratitude for this unexpected gift they'd been given.
"He's going to be extraordinary," Jaehaerys said quietly. "I can feel it."
Alysanne nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. She'd borne many children, had loved each one with everything she had. But Hareon was different. Special in a way she couldn't explain, even to herself.
He was her last child. Her final gift. The babe who'd survived against all odds and brought joy back into a household still grieving Daella's loss.
And she would protect him with everything she had. Would love him and nurture him and make sure he knew, every single day, how wanted he was.
"Can I hold him now?" Saera asked, breaking the moment. "Before Viserra steals him again?"
Alyssa laughed and passed Hareon over carefully. Saera cradled him with surprising gentleness, her usually sharp expression softening as she looked down at him.
"Hello, little brother," she said. "Ready to cause chaos? Because I have so many ideas."
"Saera," Jaehaerys said warningly.
"What? I'm just saying, with those eyes and that smile, he's going to be able to get away with anything. Might as well start planning now."
Alysanne laughed despite herself, the sound bright and genuine. This was what she'd needed. Her family, all together, united in their love for this tiny person who'd somehow brought them all closer.
Hareon looked up at Saera and made a small cooing sound, and her daughter's face split into a grin.
"Oh, you're going to be trouble," Saera said. "I can tell already. We're going to be great friends, you and I."
Viserra moved closer, reaching out to touch Hareon's hand. His tiny fingers wrapped around hers immediately, and she made a soft sound of delight.
"He's so strong," she said. "Feel his grip."
"All babes have strong grips," Jaehaerys said, but he was smiling. "It's instinct."
"This is different," Viserra insisted. "He's holding on like he doesn't want to let go."
Alysanne watched her children crowd around their brother, each one vying for his attention, and felt tears prick at her eyes. This was everything she'd ever wanted. Her family, whole and happy and full of love.
Hareon turned his head, his gaze finding hers across the small distance. And even though he was only a week old, even though it should have been impossible, she could have sworn she saw understanding in those green eyes.
Thank you, they seemed to say.
Alysanne smiled through her tears.
Because Hareon wasn't just her miracle. He was their miracle. The babe who'd brought light back into their lives when they'd needed it most.
And she would spend every day making sure he knew how loved he was.
Month One
Being a baby was fucking brilliant.
Harry had spent the first month of his new life coming to terms with several important facts. First: he was a prince now, which was mental but also pretty damn cool. Second: his Mum and Dad were apparently the Queen and King, which explained why everyone bowed and scraped whenever they entered a room. Third: he had more siblings than he could count on his tiny baby fingers, and they were all obsessed with him.
Fourth, and most importantly: he was practically never set down.
Someone was always holding him. Always. Whether it was Mum with her soft hands and gentle voice, or Dad with his deep laugh and careful grip, or one of his sisters cooing over him like he was the most precious thing in the world. Which, apparently, he was.
It was brilliant. Absolutely fucking brilliant.
Harry lay in Alyssa's arms now, staring up at her face as she talked to someone he couldn't see. Her silver hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, and her mismatched eyes sparkled with amusement at whatever was being said. She was beautiful, his sister. All his sisters were beautiful, but Alyssa had this warmth to her that reminded him of Mrs. Weasley.
Except Mrs. Weasley had never breastfed him, thank fuck.
His stomach growled, and Alyssa glanced down at him with a knowing smile.
"Hungry again, little dragon?" she asked, shifting him in her arms. "You're always hungry."
Harry made what he hoped was an agreeable sound. He was hungry. He was always hungry, which was weird because he'd never been this hungry in his old life. But his new body seemed to burn through food like a furnace, leaving him constantly wanting more.
"Let me find Mother," Alyssa said, standing. "She should be in her chambers."
But when they reached Mum's rooms, they found her asleep in her chair with Gael curled up in her lap. She looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, and Harry felt a pang of guilt. He knew he was wearing her out with his constant feeding, knew she was struggling to keep up with his demands.
"Poor Mother," Alyssa murmured, stroking Harry's cheek. "She's been pushing herself too hard."
Harry wanted to agree, wanted to say something comforting, but all that came out was a small whimper. His stomach was really starting to hurt now, the hunger gnawing at him in a way that made him squirm.
Alyssa looked down at him, then at their sleeping mother, then back at him. Her expression shifted to something determined.
"All right then," she said quietly, carrying him out of the room. "Looks like you're stuck with me, little brother."
She took him to her own chambers, settling into a comfortable chair near the window. The sunlight streamed in, warm and golden, and Harry felt himself relax slightly despite his hunger. Alyssa unlaced her gown with practiced ease, and Harry tried very hard not to think about what was about to happen.
Except he couldn't not think about it, because he was a seventeen-year-old boy who'd never actually seen real breasts in his first life, and now he was about to get very up close and personal with his sister's, again.
This was so fucking weird.
Alyssa brought him to her breast, and Harry latched on instinctively. The milk flowed immediately, rich and sweet and plentiful, and his embarrassment was momentarily forgotten in the face of blessed relief. He drank greedily, his small hands pressing against her skin, and tried not to think about how soft she was.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Alyssa's breasts were bigger than Mum's. Noticeably bigger. And while her milk wasn't quite as delicious as Mum's, there was definitely more of it, which his constantly hungry body appreciated. He could feel the fullness of her breast against his face, the warmth of her skin, and his traitorous teenage brain catalogued every detail for later mortification.
The door opened, and Baelon walked in. Harry recognized him now; his brother, though also Alyssa's husband because apparently Targaryens married each other. Which was weird, but whatever. The magical world had done the same thing, and most of those families had turned out mostly okay.
Mostly.
"There you are," Baelon said, crossing to them. "I've been looking everywhere for... oh."
He stopped, taking in the scene, and a slow grin spread across his face.
"Well," he said, his tone amused. "Looks like little Hareon is getting more action with your tits than I am these days."
Harry choked on the milk, sputtering, and Alyssa burst out laughing.
"Baelon!" she said, though she was clearly delighted rather than offended. "Don't be crude."
"I'm not being crude, I'm being honest," Baelon said, settling into the chair across from them. "The boy's been attached to you for weeks now. I'm starting to get jealous."
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm neglected."
Alyssa rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. She looked down at Harry, who was trying to recover from his choking fit, and her smile turned mischievous.
"What do you think, little brother?" she asked, her tone playful. "Do you love your sister's boobies?"
Harry wanted to die. Right there, right then, he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. His face felt hot, which was probably impossible for a baby but was definitely happening anyway, and he made a strangled sound that could have meant anything.
Alyssa laughed harder, bouncing him slightly. "I think that's a yes."
"Poor lad," Baelon said, though he was grinning. "Doesn't even know what he's in for when he's older. Women are going to ruin him."
"Or he'll ruin them," Alyssa countered. "Look at those eyes. He's going to be a heartbreaker."
Harry wanted to protest, wanted to say something, but his mouth was full and his face was burning and all he could do was continue drinking while his sister and brother discussed his future romantic prospects like he wasn't even there.
This was his life now. This was actually his life.
When he finished feeding, Alyssa lifted him to her shoulder to burp him. Harry took the opportunity to do something he'd been curious about for weeks now, something his baby body could get away with but his adult mind knew was absolutely inappropriate.
He reached out and squeezed her breast.
Just once. Just to see what it felt like.
It was soft. Really soft. Softer than anything he'd ever touched, with a weight and fullness that his inexperienced brain struggled to process. He squeezed again, fascinated despite his mortification, and felt the give of her flesh under his tiny fingers.
For research purposes, obviously. Purely scientific curiosity. Nothing weird about it at all.
Except it was absolutely weird, and he knew it, and he was going to hell.
Alyssa glanced down at him, then at her breast, then back at him. Her eyebrows rose.
"Are you... are you groping me?" she asked, her tone caught between amusement and disbelief.
Harry froze. His hand was still on her breast, still squeezing slightly, and he had absolutely no defense for what he was doing.
Baelon started laughing. Proper, full-belly laughing that echoed through the chamber.
"Oh, he's definitely our brother," Baelon said, wiping his eyes. "That's pure Targaryen right there."
"He's a baby!" Alyssa said, but she was laughing too. "He doesn't know what he's doing."
Except Harry did know what he was doing, which made it so much worse. He quickly pulled his hand back and tried to look innocent, which was difficult when his face was probably still red and his sister was staring at him with barely contained mirth.
"Cheeky little thing," Alyssa said, adjusting her gown. "You're lucky you're cute, Hareon."
Harry made a noncommittal sound and tried to pretend the last few minutes hadn't happened. He would never, ever do that with Mum's breasts. Never. That was a line he absolutely would not cross, no matter how curious his stupid teenage brain was. But Alyssa was his sister, and she was young, and somehow that made it slightly less mortifying.
Slightly.
The door opened again, and Saera swept in with Viserra close behind. They both stopped when they saw Alyssa holding Harry, their expressions shifting to identical looks of delight.
"Is he awake?" Saera asked, crossing to them immediately. "Can I hold him?"
"You held him this morning," Viserra pointed out.
"That was hours ago."
"It was an hour ago."
"Same thing."
Alyssa handed Harry over to Saera, who cradled him with surprising gentleness. Harry looked up at her, taking in her sharp features and clever eyes, and felt a surge of affection. His sisters were brilliant. All of them. Even when they were arguing over who got to hold him.
"Hello, troublemaker," Saera said, booping his nose. "Have you been causing chaos?"
Harry grinned at her. He couldn't help it; the word chaos just made him happy. He'd caused plenty of chaos in his old life, and he fully intended to cause more in this one.
"He's smiling," Viserra said, leaning over to look at him. "He's always smiling. It's unnatural."
"It's adorable," Saera corrected. "And he's going to use it to get away with everything."
"Probably," Baelon agreed from his chair. "He's already figured out how to manipulate Alyssa."
"I am not manipulated," Alyssa said primly. "I'm just... generous with my affection."
"You let him grope you."
"He's a baby!"