Jaehaerys' POV
Flashback
I still remembered the birth of my grandson — how long it took.
Alysanne had counted the hours with me; nearly ten and eight of them my daughter labored, pale and shaking.
Grand Maester Elysar had come out once during the night, face drawn and tight. And then he said it — the same atrocity suggested by that wretched crone Runeciter: that we should cut my daughter open.
Before I could speak, Baelon had already risen to his feet, voice like rolling thunder as he threatened the maester.
Aemon was no calmer; his anger was quieter, but it burned hotter. Both my sons stood firm, refusing to let the maester even finish the suggestion.
"To reenact Jocelyn's birthing folly would be a sin," I told them. "And I will not hear it again."
Hours later, as dawn stained the windows—
"How much longer will it take?" my beautiful Saera asked, pacing in front of me.
"It takes long sometimes, princess," answered my Hand, Barth, folding his hands behind his back.
"Just like Alyssa — always making us wait," Saera muttered, rolling her eyes.
I couldn't help the twitch of my mouth. Truly, Alyssa always was late to her obligations…
Baelon burst from the birthing chamber the moment the baby's cries were heard.
He was laughing, breathless, telling us how Alyssa had pleaded with her child to come out — "Enough pain, my sweet, enough," in Valyrian — and the babe listened.
We thought it a jest.
But Baelon swore it was true.
Their son slipped into the world moments after her whispered plea.
A blessed birth after a cursed labor.
Aemon, flushed with relief, knelt before little Viserys and Rhaenys, explaining gently:
"A little brother is the best friend an older brother can ever have. Viserys — you must love him as father, brother, and friend."
Rhaenys snorted, her hands on her hips.
"I wanted a girl, not another stinking boy."
Viserys' face twisted in outrage, and Aemon chuckled as he scooped them both into his arms.
We laughed then.
I remember that laughter more clearly than the cries.
Flashback Ends
"Jaehaerys."
Alysanne's voice pulled me back.
I opened my eyes.
No more Aemon. No more Baelon, Alyssa, Jocelyn…
No more Saera.
Only ghosts and decisions.
Such a disastrous, blessed life the gods have given me.
"Yes, my love," I answered softly.
"Shall we talk? Or do you need rest?"
I could see the anger, the hurt, the pain in her eyes.
Only Daemon understood the threat that would have come if Rhaenys had ever been crowned. Such things I never fathomed in his youth — but now I know.
He was never a fool.
He simply refused to outshine his brother and cause him grief.
But now his eyes have opened.
His elders plot against him, and so does his brother — the very brother to whom he was fiercely loyal. And we expected him to smile and humble himself in grace.
"Jaehaerys."
Her voice sharpened.
"Yes, Alysanne. Let us talk. Sit. What troubles you?"
She drew a breath. "Is it true you have annulled Daemon's betrothal?"
I exhaled slowly.
"Alysanne… I never approved of many things you did. But I crowned you Queen — not queen consort — and with that crown, I swallowed my disputes.
"When you took half the North — the only land fertile enough for them to feed themselves — and gave it to the Night's Watch, when no Northman rose against our family after their own she-wolf was killed in the Vale… they swore their oaths and caused me no grief. Yet still, you chose to punish them. You and my Hand plotted against the First Men — you in your pride, and Barth in his desire to weaken the old gods. I disagreed, but I stood beside you."
She looked down.
Her fingers trembled faintly.
"When you fought for the rights of women across the realm, I supported you. Even when the Faith — the very Faith that gave you the title of Good Queen — complained endlessly, saying I listened too much to a woman… I still approved your changes."
I leaned back, letting the weight of years settle on me.
"When Rhaenys was made Aemon's heir, I was pleased. I told Aemon a dozen times to wed her to Viserys — he is soft-willed, perfect to be a consort for a strong queen like her."
Alysanne's lips parted, as if to speak, but she did not.
"But Rhaenys married the most ambitious man on this side of the world. A family that caused the accursed war in ours before we rose, poisoning our father through our mother — and you think I would allow such a snake as King? That the future queen, who gave up her name and became Velaryon, would still expect to be heir while her husband refused to become her consort?"
My voice dropped.
"I could not accept that."
A pause.
A long one.
"Even Daemon understands this. Yet my wife and my heir refuse to."
A bitter taste rose in my mouth.
"And Viserys…"
My jaw clenched.
"Well, Viserys drinks, feasts with lickspittles, then ruts into Aemma — a young girl, daughter of our sweet Daella — and I am forced to restrain Daemon from striking his own brother… while holding myself back from doing the same."
Alysanne's face paled.
"So tell me, Alysanne — when have I not indulged you?"
My voice cracked then — from age, from grief, from exhaustion.
"Viserra is dead because you wished to punish her. When I wished to marry her properly, you twisted the knife, giving her to an old man to mend ties you yourself broke with the North. Not even to a Stark, but to their seven-worshipping bannerman."
Her tears began to fall.
Soft, silent.
"And now here you stand, claiming I have wronged you."
I shook my head.
"Go on, Alysanne. Enlighten me."
She did not speak.
Only wept.
I watched her for a long moment.
Then I shook my head once more.
"I thought not," I said quietly.
And I left the chamber.
Alysanne's POV
The door closed behind him with a soft thud — soft, yet it struck me harder than any slammed gate ever could.
For a moment, I simply stood there, hands pressed against the carved wood of the table, breath caught somewhere between anger and despair.
He had never spoken to me so — not in all our long years, not through war or plague or reform or grief.
My tears came not from the sharpness of his words, but from the weight behind them.
From the truth he believed he carried.
I wiped my cheeks with the heel of my palm and forced myself to breathe.
I had been Queen of these Seven Kingdoms longer than many nobles had been alive; a queen does not tremble like a frightened maid. But it is a lonely thing, sometimes, to be wife first and queen second.
"Jaehaerys…"
I whispered it to no one, to shadows on the stone.
He spoke of indulgence.
Of all he bore in silence for my sake.
He spoke of Viserra, of the Night's Watch, of Rhaenys's claim, of Viserys's failings — a litany of old wounds reopened all at once.
But he did not speak of the nights I held him when his grief threatened to choke him.
He did not speak of the years I kept peace between our children when his temper and their pride clashed.
He did not speak of the loneliness I carried every time he chose his councils over our marriage.
He did not speak of the daughters we lost, the sons we buried, the burden we both wore — but that I bore differently, deeply, quietly.
He did not speak of my grief.
He said I punished Viserra.
But he never asked why I pushed for that match.
Viserra danced too close to ruin, and ruin clings to royal daughters in ways he never understood.
If she lived under the roof of honour, it was because I feared for her soul, not her usefulness.
He spoke of Daemon — as though I did not see the boy he once was, wild and bright, seeking love in all the wrong corners because none of us knew how to reach him properly.
Aemon loved him dearly, but Aemon is gone.
Baelon tries, but Baelon carries the realm on those broad shoulders.
Viserys loves and fears him in equal measure.
Only Aemma and Gael soften him.
And he has designs on Gael… my sweet daughter. Can't you understand that, Jaehaerys?
Jaehaerys said Daemon "understood."
But Daemon understands only when it serves him — and even then, his understanding burns too hot, too fast.
A fire with no hearth around it.
He spoke of Rhaenys.
He forgets that I held that child when Jocelyn could not rise from her bed.
That I soothed her cries as though she were mine.
He forgets that Rhaenys's claim was Aemon's dying wish — and that my daughter-in-law chose Corlys because she wanted a life of her own making, not a marriage built for convenience.
He forgets so much.
I sat down heavily, the chair creaking under the sudden weight of years.
He said I wronged him.
Perhaps I did.
Perhaps I have.
Marriage is not a straight path, and between two dragons it never could be.
But he wrongs me too — without seeing it, without meaning to.
I placed a trembling hand over my eyes.
I needed a moment to breathe, to think, to gather myself back into the woman the realm expects.
Across the room, a faint breeze stirred the tapestry depicting the Conquest — three dragons flying in unison, wings spread wide.
For a heartbeat I envied them.
"Queen Alysanne," I whispered to myself, "not Alysanne the wife. Not Alysanne the mother. Queen."
I stood. Slowly, but I stood.
There was work to do — wounds to mend, truths to face, a husband to meet again when tempers had cooled.
But for now, for this small sliver of morning, I allowed myself the sovereignty of sorrow.
Baelon found me in the Queen's solar after the midday hour.
He did not knock. He never needed to. From the time he could walk, he had simply entered my rooms as though they were his own — and in truth, they always were.
He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him with a gentleness that did not match the strength in his shoulders.
"Mother," he said softly. "You sent for me."
I nodded, setting aside the embroidery I had not truly worked on.
My hands were too unsteady for fine stitching today.
"Sit, Baelon."
He obeyed, lowering himself onto the bench opposite mine.
He studied my face carefully — he had always been perceptive, more than Jaehaerys knew, more than Aemon ever admitted.
"You're upset," he said. Not a question, simply truth.
I gave a small, tired smile. "Your father and I quarreled."
He exhaled slowly. "I had heard."
Of course he had. The Red Keep carried words faster than ravens.
Baelon waited, patient as only he could be. His presence had always been steady — the one child who soothed rather than sparked chaos.
"I spoke sharply," I admitted. "But your father… he spoke as though I have been a burden to him. As though my choices were made to spite him. As though the years between us were nothing but mistakes."
Baelon's brow furrowed. "He did not mean it that way."
"Perhaps not," I whispered. "Yet it was said."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Only the faint whistle of wind against the shutters.
Then Baelon leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
"Mother… Father has carried more pressure these past few years than any one man should. The councils fight him, the Faith troubles him, the lords bicker, Viserys grows softer by the moon, and Daemon grows harder by the day. And there is Rhaenys… and your anger about that."
His eyes met mine, earnest.
"He fears losing more of us. Losing another child. Losing another piece of the future he's tried so hard to shape."
I looked down at my hands. "And does that excuse the way he spoke to me?"
"No," Baelon said immediately.
Then softer, "But it may explain it."
I closed my eyes, listening to the firmness in his voice — steadier than Jaehaerys's these days, clearer than Daemon's fire, more grounded than Viserys's drifting ease.
Baelon had always been the bridge between us all.
"He loves you," Baelon continued. "And when he loves, it consumes him. You've seen how he clings to duty — he hides behind it when he cannot bear the weight of his feelings. He didn't want to hurt you. He just doesn't know how to speak his fear."
I swallowed. "Fear?"
Baelon nodded. "He fears losing the realm. He fears losing the family. And he especially fears losing you."
The words struck deeper than I expected.
"He thinks the realm is slipping away," Baelon added. "He thinks Daemon and Viserys will tear it apart if he missteps. He thinks the Faith creeps too deeply into the Crown's business. And then there is Rhaenys…"
I opened my eyes. "Rhaenys never meant to dishonor us."
Baelon hesitated. "…perhaps not. But Father sees ambition where there is only pride. He loved Aemon more than any son, and her claim is tangled with grief he never truly faced."
I inhaled shakily. "Your father believes the world conspires against us."
"And he is half-right," Baelon said gently. "But you are not among those conspiracies, Mother. He knows that. He simply spoke in anger — and he will regret it."
I looked at him — Baelon the Brave, the boy who grew into a man of quiet strength and unshakable loyalty.
Of all my children, he held Fire and Duty in equal measure.
"What should I do?" I asked softly.
Baelon reached out and took my hand — something he hadn't done since I pushed him away for becoming heir, thinking he stole his niece's birthright.
"Speak to him," he said. "Tell him your truth, as he told you his. You and Father have weathered more storms than any marriage I know. Don't let age fray what love has built."
My throat tightened at the warmth of his palm.
"And Mother," he added, voice firmer, "do not grieve for Daemon too deeply. I will guide him. I always have. I will keep him from burning the realm — or himself."
A small laugh escaped me. "You always were the reasonable one, my sweet boy."
He smiled — that softer smile he shared only with family.
"Reasonable enough to know when two dragons need time to cool their scales," he said. "Go to him when you're ready. He'll come to you if you don't."
I squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Baelon."
"Always, Mother."
He stood, bowed his head — not as heir, but as son — and left.
Alone again, I felt the tension in my chest ease, even if only a little.
Baelon was right.
Jaehaerys and I had weathered wars, rebellions, famine, grief…
We would weather this too.
But first, the storm must break.
Jaehaerys' POV
I returned to our chambers long after the sun had dipped behind the western walls.
The torches were lit, their flames dancing against carved stone, and the air held the faint scent of lavender — Alysanne's doing. She always tried to tame the Red Keep's drafts with warmth and fragrance.
For a moment, I stood at the door, hand resting on the iron latch.
The weight of the crown on my brow felt heavier than the Valyrian steel circlets of old kings.
Heavier because it sat between us even here, where it never should.
I opened the door.
Alysanne sat near the hearth, a book open but unread on her lap. She did not look up immediately.
She knew I had entered — she always knew — but she waited for me to begin.
She had always been the braver of us in matters of the heart.
I cleared my throat softly.
"Alysanne."
Her eyes lifted then. Red around the edges, yes — but steady.
She was not a woman easily broken.
I closed the door behind me and walked toward her, the old ache in my knee flaring with each step.
I felt older than I ever had — older than the dragons buried under Dragonstone, older than these walls around us.
She said nothing, but her gaze held a patient expectation.
It was my turn.
I exhaled slowly.
"Alysanne… I spoke cruelly. I will not dress it in excuses. I hurt you, and that was not my intent."
She blinked once — slow, controlled.
"Intent does not always soften the wound, Jaehaerys."
"No," I murmured as I lowered myself into the chair opposite her. "It does not."
For a moment I looked into the fire, letting its warmth loosen the tightness in my chest.
"You know me better than any soul alive," I said quietly. "You know how I carry my grief — with logic, with decisions, with order. When I am afraid, I speak sharply. When I am overwhelmed, I turn my fear into command."
Alysanne set her book aside. "Fear?" she echoed softly.
"Yes," I admitted. "Fear."
She leaned back slightly, studying me with a calm I did not deserve.
"The realm is changing," I continued, voice low. "Our children and grandchildren have grown into people neither of us fully recognize. Viserys drifts through life with the only ambition of becoming king and siring an heir. Daemon burns brighter than any fire — a hurt little drake one day, a tempestuous dragon the next. Rhaenys pushes at boundaries in her grief and rage for the throne she thinks was stolen — more than for the father she lost."
My voice tightened.
"You see the faithlessness of lords; I see the ambition of houses. And Baelon…"
Her expression softened.
"Truly, Alysanne," I said quietly, "your anger toward Baelon over my naming him heir has wounded me more than anything else in our quarrel."
I pressed a hand to my brow.
"I fear losing the realm we bled for. Losing you. Losing the family we tried to shape. And when fear rules a man of my age… words become weapons without meaning to be."
Silence settled between us like dust after battle.
Alysanne lifted her chin slightly. "I have never sought to stand against you, Jaehaerys. Only beside you."
I nodded slowly.
"I know. And I have not always shown you the same grace."
Her eyes glistened before she forced them steady.
"You spoke of Viserra," she whispered. "Of choices I made… choices I have regretted every night since her death."
My throat tightened.
"Alysanne," I said gently, "I should never have thrown that at you. Her blood is not on your hands. Grief blinds me… blinds us both."
She swallowed, but she did not cry again.
Alysanne was strongest when she chose quiet over tears.
"And Daemon," she continued, "for all his fire… he is still that little boy who chased his grandsire across the gardens begging for dragon tales. I fear for him. I fear the path he takes."
"I know," I murmured. "As do I."
She looked at me — truly looked — and for the first time since morning, I felt seen.
Not as king.
Not as judge.
But as her husband.
"Come here," she said softly.
I moved to her side, lowering myself with the stiffness of age. She took my hand, her thumb brushing the knuckles worn by decades of ruling.
"We have weathered too much to let one quarrel sour us," she whispered. "But speak to me, Jaehaerys. Not at me."
I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the weight lift — just enough.
"I will," I promised.
"And I will hear you," she replied. "Even when I disagree."
A faint, tired smile touched my lips.
"Then perhaps," I said, "there is still hope for these old dragons."
She leaned her head against my shoulder.
"And perhaps," she murmured, "hope is what we needed more than truth today."
The fire crackled quietly.
The realm pressed at the door, but for this moment — just this one—
we were only Jaehaerys and Alysanne again.
Husband and wife.
Two tired hearts, learning each other anew.
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If the fic reaches top 10 I any of the rankings either power stones or collections I will post and extra chapter this week