Sister's Keeper

Edited by xXFallenSakuraXx52

Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones


Chapter 51: Shade of the Evening.

Three months later…

A rugged scar mared my back as I stared through the reflection of a mirror. From the left shoulder down to my right hip. Some parts deeper than others, but I must thank the gods that the Sons of a Harpy did not sever my spine or stab me. Although the entry points showed gashes, dents. Even my left bicep showed dents, as scar tissue formed. Amateurs, Daario called the two Harpies who attacked me. If it were two mercenaries no doubt, I would have been dead. Then again, I did wear that golden scalemail. If the scalemail were made out of steel, then there wouldn't have been these wounds. How was I supposed to know the Harpies were going to attack?

Daenerys came over as she applied some ointment on the scar. Lately, Daenerys has been by my side, either it was through training or paperwork. Taking the preparation for the invasion of Westeros. Ser Barristan mainly took charge as he went over the possible scenarios of how we can take King's Landing along with Tyrion's assistance of the tunnels, possible secret entrances, and Houses who are currently serving the false Baratheons. A boy, Tommen Baratheon, a mere boy, ruling the Seven Kingdoms. Tyrion insists that Tommen is an innocent child, being manipulated by his mother. If the rumors are true, that he is not Robert Baratheon's son, then I will have the boy abdicate and assign him to a small keep. I do not kill children. Daenerys was hesitant, about the decision, but I reminded her we don't hold children accountable for the crimes of their fathers.

The men part of the rebellion are dead. Jon Arryn, the Kingmaker, died of sickness. Robert Baratheon was dead, killed by a boar. Ned Stark beheaded under false pretenses of treason by Joffrey Baratheon order. Hoster Tully died from old age. Tywin Lannister murdered by his own son. Stannis Baratheon killed in battle against the Boltons. Any threats for the claimant are most likely dead. Renly Baratheon killed by one of his Kingsguard supposedly. Shireen Baratheon, unfortunately, burned alive as a sacrifice for the Lord of Light, and Joffrey Baratheon poisoned at his own wedding. Thus, leaving the Martells who have a small claimant, but they were satisfied in Dorne. And if the rumors are true about Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister siring Tommen and Myrcella, they have no claim to the Iron Throne.

Daenerys and I hold the better claim. We will take back our home, avenge our family, and restore House Targaryen's name. If only Rhaegar hadn't abducted Lyanna Stark. From all the memories I had of Rhaegar, it made no sense why he did it. Even Ser Barristan didn't understand why Rhaegar took the Northern Maiden. However, Ser Barristan said there was some sense of love for the Stark girl. Except, wasn't he happy with Elia? Rhaegar was an intelligent man, had a sense of honor, so why did he break that code knowing that Lyanna was betrothed.

I sighed when Daenerys finished applying the ointment. "You all right?"

"I'm fine, just a lot going through my head," I assured her. "How is your Khalasar?"

"No deaths just yet, or trouble in the city," Daenerys reported. "Been training the youngbloods and sellswords on fighting on a horse. Daario seems to enjoy the spares."

"As long as he doesn't lose his head," I muttered.

Daenerys chuckled knowing Daario does have a mouth. I sighed, my days were spent preparing for the invasion, keeping the peace for Slaver's Bay, and establishing a new council. Establishing a new government by the people. Although I have a feeling, the Masters would hold temptation. So, I need to develop a new military, sacrificing some of my men to do so.

"We need to discuss a new name for the Ghiscari Province. Slaver's Bay doesn't seem appropriate now that slavery has been abolished." I announced.

"Indeed," Daenerys agreed. "We should at least keep the word Bay."

I nodded as we spent some time going over name options until we decided to rename the province the Bay of Dragons. There are three dragons and three cities. If we were permanently staying, we could have set a dragon statue hovering over each city. Astapor would have Drogon, Yunkai would have Rhaegal, and Meereen would have a statue of Viserion. As much as I made a difference in the Land of Harpies, it was not my home. Even though the safest option is to rule over the Bay of Dragons. If there wasn't a Great War that is to come, I would have taken that selfish approach and make Meereen my home.

"When do you think we will get news from Varys?" Daenerys asked.

"In a few months, traveling by sea is not as quick as it seems," I answered.

"How long does it take to travel by sea?" she asked.

"It takes a month from King's Landing to Braavos, took us three from Qarth to Astapor, then again we were dealing with dead winds. Five months, if all the ships are battle ready." I guessed.

Daenerys sighed, "If only we could fly over and just take it."

"It is an option, just take the dragons and burn the walls of the city and parts of the Red Keep. But once we are off our dragons, we are more vulnerable than ever. We are nothing without our dragons. Yes, we are immune to fire, but, in the end, we still bleed." I said. "We need our armies to secure the grounds. To prepare for battles. We are not sailing the Narrow Seas so I could be Queen of the Ashes."

"I know," she said. "If only wars could be quick and easy."

"Some wars can last for months, others years," I agreed. "But we need the men. If my vision from the House of the Undying is true, there is a far greater threat than men."

"You truly believe in that?" She asked. "An army of the dead?"

"I saw a massacre of a wedding, a flay man stabbing another whose head was that of a wolf, after holding his pregnant wife's corpse. A woman with red hair pleading the old man to spare her son's life, calling him Robb. When word came of the Red Wedding, Robb Stark and his army butchered by Walder Frey, it came true. Maybe the Army of the Dead could be a symbolism for something as was the woman being fucked by four men, the woman being Westeros and the remaining five kings. Either way, something is coming. Something that the people can't fight alone."

"You also saw Rhaegar and Elia, what did that vision mean?" She asked.

I paused, wondering why the Undying Ones showed me that vision. I closed my eyes, trying to remember:

"Aegon," Rhaegar murmured, gently stroking his son's back. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" Elia asked.

"He has a song," Rhaegar replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and he is the song of ice and fire."

I stood there watching Rhaegar and Elia talk, awing at their son, Aegon. My eyes watered, recalling a small memory of them together. Remembering seeing Aegon in his crib asleep with Rhaenys.

"There must be one more," he said, as he turned his head facing me. As if he knew I was there. "The dragon has three heads."

"Probably to earn my trust with the people I cared for," I guessed. "A song of ice and fire, his desire to have three children, believing the dragon has three heads."

"Maybe it could represent our dragons, we have three. If the dead are from the land of ice, then the dragons are fire. A war that can be easily dealt with."

"It's shocking that you believe me, you must be mad as well," I jest.

Daenerys smiled slightly shaking her head, "After all the magic we have seen and experienced, visions you received from the Undying Ones, and the Red Wedding, it's hard not to believe from a logical person like yourself."

I sighed for I genuinely wanted to tell her about Visenya. However, the first Queen Consort forbade it. She comes to those who are destined for Greatness. As the dowager queen stated, Daenerys is in between Greatness and Madness. If I keep Daenerys on track to control her impulses and educate her, then the madness won't consume her. But Daenerys did one thing that was part of Visenya's riddle on when to sail west. My sisters brought the horses that will lend aid. If the Dothraki were a House, their sigil would be a stallion. Now all that remains is the Kraken, and then we sail for Westeros.

So much is going through my head, as I told Daenerys I needed to rest for a bit. She nodded since it was late in the evening anyway. She pecked my forehead and retired to her chambers. Once she was gone, I stared out to the balcony. Nights have become longer than the day. It was the autumn seasons is most parts of the world, as the Dothraki Sea started to fall into hibernation. Tyrion said, the winds have brought a chill to King's Landing, meanwhile here in Bay of Dragons, a long night and temperatures are dropping to wear two layers. The Starks always say as their motto, "Winter is Coming." I just pray that this coming winter isn't the beginning to the Long Night.

Already the R'hllor priest and priestess are preaching about the Long Night, the legends of Azor Ahai who fought the Others in the Age of Heroes. That was thousands of years ago, leaving the legend like that. Yet, from what Visenya foretold, and other cultures talking about an unknown made of white consuming the lands, has me concern.

"For the night is dark and full of terrors," I quoted, then sighed. "There will always be terrors, either it is man or beast."

"There is a beast in every man, and it stirs when you put a sword in his hand," Jorah's voice whispered in my head.

I sighed, wondering where my Bear was in the world right now and his state of health. How far has the Greyscale consumed him? Every person is different based on their constitution. In the end, the disease was killing him slowly turning a good man into a stone man, a beast of stone. Daenerys keeps telling me to have faith, even Tyrion said, that Stannis Baratheon's daughter, Shireen was infected by Greyscale until many maesters and healers around the world saved the poor child. Although, the infliction scarred her face. So is there a chance to cure Greyscale …possibly. Yet the cure is not open to the public unless it's cutting off the limb even then it's not effective. Prince Garin's Curse, they called it. Garin the Great called out to Mother Rhoyne to curse the Valyrians, by the goddess, in turn, flooded the city with foul waters and damp fogs that inflected his enemies. Again, the Valyrians were grey people, they were not good, nor were they evil, and they made many enemies during their empire. Taking almost a third of Essos. Still, for a superstitious person if Prince Garin did not beg Mother Rhoyne to curse his enemies, how many lives could have been spared from this terrible disease?

Though the calm before the storm, I worry for Jorah. He was out there in a world where they give the infected two option: exiled to old Valyria or be executed. A mercy death. Many of the Free Cities would do that. Give the infected a nice meal, a glass of wine filled with a tonic to put them to sleep and then kill them quickly and humanely as possible.

My eyes watered and I took a deep breath. There were two things Jorah ever wanted, to return home and to stand by my side. Now he cannot do either. I thought about the what-ifs, if he didn't contract Greyscale. He would be here by my side, reinstated as general. After some time, we could have been together. Then came the debate, I was a queen, and there would be an expectation to marry a Lord from a great house. A Lord without disgrace. Jorah was a disgraced knight, he sold slaves and exiled himself. However, he redeemed himself over the years in exile, and helped in the liberation of Slaver's Bay. I would have pardoned him ultimately once I take back the Seven Kingdoms. And maybe…make our relationship official.

Another thought came when Jorah advised Daenerys to sell the eggs in order for us to become rich women instead of burning them on Drogo's funeral pyre, or if Dany succumbed to the fever after giving birth to Rhaego. I asked Jorah what he would have done, if I told him I don't want to be Queen, abdicating my claim to the throne. And he answered, "I will always follow and protect you." Just kill our old identities, moved to Braavos or some free city and start over again.

I sighed once more before getting ready for bed.

.o0o.

Clank

Steel clashed against steel.

Ser Barristan was getting me back into training. Although, instead of going back where we left off, he was testing me on my strengths. Three months out of practice and the past few days is nothing but gaining strength with the sword and shield. Along with getting used to fighting in armor. Currently, I wore chainmail, spaulders, and bracers. It added weight to my upper body, yet it helped to build muscles, the same as wielding the sword and shield.

Ser Barristan continues to strike while I block each attack. Today was about defense. However, because of Visenya's training, I keep forgetting to act like I was limited to the art of dueling. Barristan would ask, how did I learn a few tricks, which I lie saying 'Jorah taught me.' Or 'I don't know, instincts, I guess.'

The older knight did an oberhau, striking down from above towards my left shoulder. Immediately, I lifted my shield, blocking it, then maneuver my sword to lock his sword by the cross guard. It would not harm the knight, but this method is a way to push the attack back, as I forced my weight forward into the shield, causing the longsword to slide off.

"Good," Barristan said, stepping back, as he points his sword at me.

I did a schielhau, leaning forward, closing the line attack, leading with a false edge, biding to the left, then cross over to the blade and got Barristan in the right bicep. If we were not using sparing swords, the blade would have cut him deeply. By instinct, I stepped back and got into a defensive position. Barristan nodded. If I was taller, I could learn more about targeting the opponents head, but since I wasn't, my focus has to be on the arms, shoulders, and neck. All through practice, it has been that. Ser Barristan addressing a type of attack and I figure out a way to defend myself or block it.

Once we were done, we put the swords away and walked over to the canopy where refreshment were set out, along with Daenerys and Missandei who were watching our duel. Daenerys handed the goblet of water, which I accept greedily drinking it. The weather warm, and wearing the chainmail and padding made it feel hotter. After finishing the glass, I took a clean rag to wipe the sweat off my neck and brow. It brought back memories of Jorah teaching me how to fight in the Red Waste, near the only lake the barren lands had. The weather dry and hot, sweat trying to form yet evaporated by the blazing sun.

"Damn heat," I muttered.

"It's not that hot," Daenerys chuckled.

"Once you get used to wearing armor the temperatures will be nothing," Ser Barristan said, taking a sip of his drink.

"Seriously, which weather is worse for wearing plated armor?" I asked.

"Depends where you are and the padding," Barristan answered. "The armor I wore for your fathers Kingsguard was a breastplate, pauldrons, bracers, gauntlets, and greave. Underneath was gambesons. But when we were battle, we made sure to wear the full armor."

"And the armor your making for Alysanne, it's like Rhaegar's?" Daenerys asked.

"Similar, Rhaegar had two sets one for jousting and one for fighting. His jousting armor had more character, yet no one expected the strength on Robert's hammer." Barristan answered.

"No one expects a war started by a woman," I sighed.

Us Westerosi sighed. We all know, none of this would have happened if Rhaegar left Lyanna Stark alone. Then again Ser Barristan said if King Aerys the Second's madness continued, a rebellion would have happened anyway. The problem was, instead of Father igniting it, it was Rhaegar. A man of honor from what I remember. He could have taken the Iron Throne as promised, making the Seven Kingdoms a better realm. He had a family, a wife, and two children. A relationship with the people by both noble and common birth. And yet…lust destroyed it all. If I were to die and see Rhaegar in the Father golden halls, he has some explaining to do. Even Visenya who mentored Rhaegar couldn't understand how this happened. She told me Rhaegar's last dream with her, she advised him to let Lyanna Stark be, or it would be the doom for House Targaryen. After that, Visenya waited alone in limbo until the gods deemed I was fit to be her pupil.

"Anyway, what kind of helmet are you going for?" Daenerys said, changing the subject.

The helmet, the last thing that will be made. It can't be a simple helmet, no. The protective headpiece must be secured when riding Viserion at the same time when I'm on the ground. I was considering using the Unsullied helmet design, connecting my relationship with my army. I was their leader, and so far, other than my usual black attire am I associated with them. The most common helmet for combat in Westeros was the nasal helmet for the foot soldiers and the barbute for knights or a close helm. As long it is not dramatic, I genuinely don't care. All I need is to see from all angles, move my neck, breathe, and it is secured without trapping my head with a lock. So, the visor must be appropriate.

"Something cross between the Unsullied and a close helm," I answered. "However, there might be some dragon wings on the side."

Daenerys chuckled imagining that. For some apparent reason, armors representing one's house is very common. The pauldrons, spaulders, and helmet define who the person is. I somewhat remember Rhaegar's helmet. The jousting helmet, it had a red three-headed dragon on it.

"I hope your grace, is not considering of marching into the battlefield?" Tyrion said as he joined us.

"No," I assured. "Barely three years is not enough to be battlefield ready. But it's important to be covered than exposed. That reminds me, Daenerys, Missandei, you two need to be measured to have your armor as well."

This surprised the two women. I know they will not enter the battlefield, but I need them to wear some sort of breastplate that protects their vitals.

"Along with some lessons in how to use a dagger or other weapons that deem fit," I added.

"Your Grace, it's against my culture to use violence," Missandei addressed.

I nodded, "Will you consider learning defensive moves then."

Missandei nodded. I need everyone to be on guard and ready when we sail to Westeros. To know how to protect themselves. Based on reports from Westeros, the code of honor is depleting. Finishing my drink, I started taking off the spaulders, when I noticed from the corner of my eye a shimmer, a dark mass crossing my peripheral vision. A person walking by in dark clothing, pale skin, and a bald head. I nearly stumbled, for a moment I thought I saw a ghost.

"You all right?" Ser Barristan asked as he caught me.

"Yes…I just startled myself," I answered, seeing the person no longer in sight.

"Maybe it's best you get inside and out of the sun, your grace," Tyrion suggested.

I nodded, for that could be a possible explanation from exhorting too much energy from training. Excusing myself, I headed inside with my two guards and Missandei. Once in my chambers, Missandei drew a bath in my private bathing chambers while I stripped. When I stepped inside the warm pool, I sighed in relief, feeling the ache in my muscles relaxing. Missandei came over from behind and started brushing my hair.

.o0o.

Time went on as I spent the rest of the day going over paperwork. The reconstruction of the city was going well, improvements on the walls, and by some miracle, the Dothraki haven't caused any trouble. Well, not killing and raping. The realization coming that in a year or two, I will be sailing home. The last time I was in Westeros, I four years old in Dragonstone. Through books and peoples accounts about my homeland, it still feels like a stranger to me. All my life as a child, I was kept in a tower in Maegor's Holdfast, because my Father was paranoid; believing someone would try to kill me. All I could remember was my room, the small private garden, and the Throne Room. When Father sent Mother, Viserys, and I to Dragonstone, I had more freedom to explore with a guardian present. The dark sand beaches, the volcanic rocks, and the countless carvings of dragons.

I am a Westerosi, but my culture is many than those of one. Born in the Crownlands and Valyrian culture, the survival of the Free Cities, the exposure to the Dothraki, and samples of Ghis. The Seven-Pointed Star is my faith, yet I have respected the Old Gods, the Great Stallion, the Lady of Spears, and tolerant to the Lord of Light. And yet, the Noble Lords will see me as a foreign invader with her army of savages. The stress was building up, for there will be two wars I'll be fighting, the one to reclaim my home and the Great War.

By evening, Daenerys and I had dinner. We tried to have a conversation that did not relate to politics or war. Mainly she talked about her training with Drogon. The black dragon was massive, more significant than Viserion and Rhaegal. The training for Daenerys was mixed since Drogon was stubborn. Again, another concern. Deciding I needed a hard drink, I stood up from the table to the bar to pour some pear brandy. Once more, I felt eyes on me. Every single day, I have felt eyes on me from the guards. However, this was different. I felt a predator glance.

I took a sip of the brandy then stopped, gagging. The taste of the brandy was not of pears, it did not spoil or become of vinegar. No, it held a foul taste of spoil meat and ink. I tried to spit it out, except my lips were now sealed. The liquid numbing them impossible to open.

"Alys?" Daenerys called out, standing up from the table.

I tried prying my lips open, trying to breathe from my nose and not swallow the content. Inspecting the crystal chalice to see the amber liquid turn blue.

Shade of the Evening, I thought in panic.

I dropped the chalice, as it shattered on the stone ground. The magical wine spread throughout, staining the alabaster stone, and began to boil. The liquid in my mouth did the same. Daenerys eyes widen calling for the guards, as she came over to help me spit out the poison. Suddenly, the three guards who were in the room, coming to our aid were stabbed by the one in the middle. I gagged, choking as I fell to the ground.

The traitor Unsullied removed his helmet, revealing none other than Pyat Pree. The Warlock from the House of the Undying. Impossible, the dragons burned him alive. We saw him turn to dust.

"Pyat Pree," Daenerys gasped. "No, you're supposed to be dead."

"Pyat Pree is dead," the Warlock replied. "I am one of the few remaining warlocks alive. We all share the same face."

"What did you do to her!" she demanded.

"She drank a special blend of the Shade of the Evening, sweet sleep, the long farewell, and magic." The Warlock said.

The doors burst opened as Ser Barristan, Daario, and the Unsullied charged in. They went for the straight attack. When Daario's Stiletto struck the Warlock, he vanished, leaving a pile of armor. The Warlock appeared behind Daario and tossed him across the room. He lifted his hand using an unknown force, propelling the Unsullied and Ser Barristan to the wall. Daenerys grabbed a bottle and threw it at the Warlock. He smacked it away, and with a turn of his wrist, tossed her aside. I leaped to grab her, except a hand appeared around my neck and slammed me down. The poisons in my mouth, partially slide down my throat.

"You killed the Undying Ones," the Warlock murmured. "My brothers and I waited to strike when you least expected it. Did you think our attempt is Astapor would be the last?"

Panicked, I tried to fight him off, trying to spit out the poison. The Warlock yanked my head and slammed it on the ground, stunning me. His frail hand wrapped around my mouth and nose, preventing me from breathing. By my body's instinct, I unintendedly swallow. The Warlock blue lips grinned and removed his hand.

"You will pay for what you did to them, your fire belongs to us, Dragon Queen." He promised, cradling my cheek. I gasped, choking, feeling the spasms through my body. "Don't worry, your grace, you will not die a quick, painful death. We need your fire, your magic, your life. Until you are drained of all that, your mind will succumb to your deepest desires. A life's worth in a few days. Sweet dreams and beautiful nightmares, Alysanne Targaryen."

I choked trying to grab something, except the Warlock grabbed my hands and kissed me. My eyes widen, forcing a scream when Daenerys rushed in stabbing the Warlock in the head with Daario's stiletto. Warlock tensed dying on top of me, before being shoved off breaking the spell that retrained the guards. She hovers over me, holding me in her arms.

"Alys, Alys, stay awake, breathe," she begged.

That was the problem, I sucked in so much air, and yet nothing was coming out. The poison burning into my stomach and igniting my veins. When, the burning sensation stopped, everything started to feel cold. The weight of the world numbing my body as my eyes grew heavy.

"No, no, no, stay awake, you have to stay awake. I forbid you from dying!" she demanded.

I mustered all my strength to cradle her cheek, feeling both our tears. Trying to stay awake, yet the poison took its hold. Until the weight of it all drowned me into darkness. The last thing I heard was Viserion's roar and Daenerys's scream.

"Alysanne!"


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