King Aemon, the First of His Name, and Baelon, Prince of Dragonstone, were enthusiastically fighting with wooden swords. The wedding celebrations had ended two days earlier, but the excitement still hadn't died down, at least not in their case. They absolutely loved the tourney, and when Nurse Myranda told them they were too small to compete and would have to wait until at least they were twelve (and even then it would be nothing more than the squires' tourney for them), they were devastated.
Still, they had their toy swords for now, and it was better than nothing.
They loved the feasts, too. They were allowed to have way more sweetmeats than usual, and stayed up almost as late as the grownups. Aemon thought that it would be nice if there was another wedding soon.
He didn't yet fully understand what they had been celebrating for three whole days. Mother told him that she was getting "remarried", which at first scared him because he thought it was some sort of medical operation at the maester's. But she explained that it was nothing like that, that it simply meant that Lord Alaric Stark, Alarra's father, would now be living with her and that they would spend some of their time in Winterfell.
Aemon wasn't sure that he liked Lord Stark. He was always frowning, and his bushy dark hair and beard frightened Aemon. But if Mother said that Lord Stark would now be living here, then there was little to be done about it: even at his age of six, Aemon knew it.
Besides, Alarra was nice. At Aemon's last nameday, she gave him a toy horn and told him the story about the Horn of Winter that could wake giants.
"Your Grace! My prince!" Nurse Myranda called to them. "Time for supper! You will eat with Her Grace and Lord Stark tonight."
Your Grace was Aemon's name. Last year, the High Septon put a crown on his head and said some long prayers Aemon had never heard before, and Mother said that Aemon was now King after Father died.
Aemon still remembered Father, but only vaguely. He remembered how he used to laugh and rock him on his knee and allowed him to tug at his hair, but when he thought of Father's likeness, his mind mostly drifted to the portrait hanging in Mother's antechamber or to the statue at one of the city squares. Aemon preferred the statue, because the portrait also had him as a baby in it, and he hated how stupid it made him look. The same was with Daenerys, his sister: Aemon could still recall her scolding him about being too noisy or too lazy, or about her letting him sit on her toy dragon, and yet the details of her face were gradually fading from his memory.
Last year, he had been very frightened when the Red Keep was all suddenly draped in black and Mother was weeping, while Daenerys, and soon afterwards Father, had vanished without a trace, but then Septon Barth sat by his side and explained everything to him. He said that Daenerys and Father went to the heavens and that, while he couldn't talk to them anymore, he could go to the sept and ask the Seven to care for them.
Aemon was fond of Septon Barth. He was always kind and never acted, as many grownups do, as if he knew everything and Aemon nothing. However, since last year, they had rarely ever talked: Septon Barth was very busy, either talking to nobles in the throne room or discussing this thing with other septons. This thing, whatsitcalled... Excepshism. Essentionism. It was a terribly long word, and Aemon kept forgetting it, but when he asked Mother what it meant, she smiled sadly and told him that everyone would forget it soon anyway.
Myranda Hogg brought the boys, and Alysanne smiled as she noticed their red cheeks and tired looks: they had clearly been practicing with their favorite toy swords.
"Your Grace, my prince," Alaric, Lord Roderick and Lord Edwyn each stood up and bowed in turn. Alarra, on friendlier terms with Aemon and Baelon, simply curtseyed and smiled.
The younger Starks were leaving for the North in the morning and decided to spend the last evening in the capital in the company of their sister and father. Alysanne's presence, she could tell, made them feel awkward – at twenty-three and twenty, respectively, Roderick and Edwyn were almost her age, and although they got on well with her during her progress three years ago, she saw that currently they stuttered and mumbled nearly every time they addressed her. Had she been able to do so, she wouldn't have imposed her presence on them right now – but, unfortunately, it would be pretty eyebrow-raising for a newlywed lady to shun her lord less than a week after the ceremony.
"...The next harvest, too, needs to be distributed between all the lords."
"But, Father, wouldn't it be better to give less to those who refused to put the grains away for the winter? They need to understand it's their own foolishness that brought it upon them."
"They already understood it when hunger struck them. Distribute equally. I'll check it when I visit Winterfell next time."
"Should I buy more grain from Braavos?"
"Nonsense. Their prices are outrageous. Trade with the riverlands, and ask the Reeds to send us part of their dried fish supply..."
The winter, which only ended six months ago, had been very harsh, and the North, as usual, had been hit particularly hard and was only just recovering. Alysanne would have joined the Starks' discussion, but she didn't wish to look even more like an intruder. She had already spirited Alaric away to King's Landing, and now he had to count every minute he could spend actually talking with his sons and thinking of the affairs of the North.
Aemon and Baelon, she could see, were getting bored, and since she was sitting right by Alaric's side, there was no way she could talk to them without bothering the Starks.
"Alarra," she mouthed, and, thankfully, the girl got the hint. In a whisper, she started telling something to the boys – probably, judging by their intrigued looks, some legend of the North. Alarra loved those.
Aemon and Baelon looked like fae princes from the songs, with their pink cheeks and their silvery-golden curls and their big bright eyes (Aemon's were lilac and Baelon's indigo)... Alysanne's heart clenched. How can anyone call them abominations?
"I am so glad Alarra gets on with my kids," said Alysanne when they retired for the night.
"She has known them for three years now, she likes them a lot," Alaric agreed. Personally, he couldn't find any warmth in his heart for the little king, prince and princess, but he was ready to treasure them at least because they were Alysanne's beloved children, and of course he knew that now it was his duty, too, to raise Aemon into a proper sovereign.
As Alysanne dismissed her maids in a curter voice than it was customary for her, Alaric realized she was looking tense, perhaps even more tense than on the wedding day.
"What's the matter, Alysanne?" he asked as soon as the maids went away. (He did love it how her name rolled off his tongue).
"Oh, nothing," she smiled.
"Alysanne, I can see something's happened."
"I'm simply tired, don't worry."
Probably reminiscing about Jaehaerys again, he thought angrily.
"Tired? Would you prefer I left?"
"As it happens... yes, I am rather too exhausted to do anything but sleep. If it please you, husband, I would like to be alone tonight."
Please me? Of course it doesn't bloody please me! After saying goodbye to his sons whom he wouldn't see for who knew how long, Alaric was feeling dreadfully homesick for Winterfell, and he longed to lose himself in Alysanne's embrace and realize, once again, for whose sake he had gone away from the North. He had to be more restrained in his touches than he would have liked, but even then the feeling of her lips against his and her petite body cradled in his arms took away his breath.
He briefly thought of insisting on staying the night with her, but when he imagined how she – not very passionate at the best of times – would lie down stoically and endure, the idea swiftly lost its appeal.
"Good night to you, then," he said as he made his way to his chamber.
"Good night," she murmured.
Alaric was woken up by quiet but insistent knocking on the door. It was pitch-black outside the window, and the knocking didn't seem panicked, so he wondered what could happen in the Keep to demand his attention in the middle of the night. Maybe some servant was caught stealing, and their superiors didn't want to bother Alysanne or Septon Barth.
But when he opened the door, he saw Alysanne herself. Her eyes, he noticed, were red with tears.
"Did I wake you?" she asked. "Oh... I mean... that's ridiculous, of course I did... I'll just go."
"No," he caught her by the hand. "Alysanne, you're crying. Come here and tell me what's going on at last."
He ushered her into the room and put his fur cape over her – she was shivering after walking through the hall. For a while, she seemed hesitant to speak, until finally she heaved a sigh and leaned against the door:
"Lady Turnberry," Aspen Turnberry was the mistress of whisperers, "told me that people... people still aren't happy. With Exceptionalism as good as gone, many are saying Aemon and Baelon and Alyssa are abominations and shouldn't be even in line for the throne at all... should be called bastards," her voice shook, and Alaric felt rage rising in his chest at all the heartless fools who upset her. He had no love for Jaehaerys and never really got this "but we are different" Exceptionalism doctrine either, but if Aemon's succession was challenged, it was a challenge for the entire Targaryen dynasty.
"By that way of thinking, you shouldn't be queen either. Do they want a civil war?"
"Oh, no, Mother and Father were cousins, not brother and sister," she reminded him.
"But your father was the son of Aegon and Rhaenys."
"Well, what use is it now? People who remembered the Conqueror are gone," she wiped a tear from her eye.
"I think... wait. Why didn't you want to tell me about it in the first place?"
She lowered her eyes:
"They are saying... that my future son with you should be king instead."
"And you thought I'd support the idea?" Alaric asked acidly.
"It would be the greatest honor ever for House Stark, if its son would sit on the Iron Throne..."
"Alysanne, if you remember, I wanted to refuse you precisely because you already have children and don't need heirs! I'll stand by that opinion, even if we have a dozen of sons together. I perfectly realize that Aemon might be a child now, but if you take off his crown and announce it has all been a mistake, one day he'll fight against your decision. Against his own half-brothers, should there be any. And just because rumors are flying after the Shivers, it doesn't mean than in eighteen years or so, people wouldn't rather back the son of the Conciliator than a Stark of Winterfell!" he wasn't too happy about it, but it was true: for the majority of the Seven Kingdoms, the Starks were utterly alien.
"Forgive me, Alaric," she whispered, swallowing hard. "I was... I mistrusted you."
"It's not about trust. Sheer calculation shows that backing those idiots would be an enormous mistake."
Whatever happens, I will always be on your side, my darling, he wanted to say and barely held himself back. Instead, he suggested:
"Why don't you calm down, and we will discuss what to do in the morning?"
"Yes... yes, thank you, Alaric," she said and smiled. It was one of the rare times when he knew the smile was real and intended for him only, and his heart soared.
By this time, they had really grown too drowsy for any expressions of passion, but Alysanne lay down by his side and snuggled against him, and when Alaric found himself falling asleep for the second time, he felt utterly content.
"We need to decide our course concerning these rumors," said Queen Alysanne. "You agree that we just can't let them be; one day, they'll grow into a rebellion."
Of course Septon Barth agreed. After the failure of Exceptionalism, the problem of the three royal children stood out like a sore thumb: even the Hightower High Septon backed out of his support for the "Targaryens are different" policy. Now the whispers of "the abominations" were mostly heard among the commoners, but the sheer fact that they weren't dying down showed that the lords weren't averse to them, either. Declaring Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa to be bastards was, naturally, not an option. It would enrage those loyal to Jaehaerys's memory, not to mention it would turn the children themselves into future enemies of the rest of the family.
"We need to let them appear in public more frequently," said Lord Martyn Tyrell. "Let the people see that their king is a noble, good-hearted boy."
"You mean, my lord, let them be showered with insults, if not stones and rotten fruit, from the crowds," said Grand Maester Elysar. "First we must ensure King Aemon is safe enough before showing him to the smallfolk."
"How is he with dragons?" asked Lady Florence, Lord Martyn's wife. Septon Barth shook his head:
"He's still rather wary of them. He doesn't even go to see Caraxes if Her Grace or myself don't prompt him to do so."
Caraxes, a fierce blood-red dragon, hatched from the egg King Jaehaerys had placed in Aemon's cradle, but Aemon still wasn't eager to acknowledge the bond (if, indeed, there was any – in his research for Unnatural History, Septon Barth had found varying accounts of what a dragonrider meant to a dragon).
"After Baelon's birth, Aemon has become much more active and interested in swordplay," said the Dowager Queen. "He is the very image of a perfect prince."
"Prince, but not king," Lord Alaric was quick to note, speaking out for the first time. Septon Barth was as of yet unsure what to think about Queen Alysanne's new consort, but then, of course, he realized himself he was bound to be prejudiced against him – he had valued and cherished Jaehaerys's trust and friendship, while Lord Stark was well-known to hold a very low opinion of the late Conciliator. "The Grand Maester is right. We need to do more than hold progresses and tourneys in Aemon's favor, if we want him secure on the throne."
"We can try, you know, fire and blood. That's what the Conqueror did," offered Manfryd Redwyne.
"It won't win King Aemon any favors," Lord Arryn immediately argued. "Many people still remember Maegor."
"Not to mention that right now, I'm the only dragonrider," the Dowager Queen reminded them. "Even if I do try to unleash fire and blood on whoever challenges Aemon's right, one lucky shot from a scorpion can bring Silverwing down, like it happened with Meraxes."
Septon Barth noticed that at the last words, her husband's arm went around her protectively. It seemed the gesture was completely subconscious for Lord Stark, who was deep in thought and drawing some schematics with his finger on the table.
He's not in it just for the political advantages, then? When Alysanne told the small council of the match, she made it clear that her choice was based purely on the diplomatic calculations, and according to her, Lord Stark's reasons were similar. But now, for the first time, Septon Barth began to suspect that the Good Queen had slightly misjudged her new husband.
"It's possible to act against the protesters without resorting to dragonflame," said Lord Stark at last. "We could install a law affirming King Aemon's right to the crown."
"And what arguments can we provide in favor of the law? It's just us being back to square one," said Lady Florence.
"We can put it down that at the time of his birth, Aemon was lawfully in line of succession."
"That won't convince the lords," Alysanne said sadly. "At the time of his birth, the Faith preached Exceptionalism."
"Well, the Faith didn't know of the Shivers."
"Wait a moment... the Faith... Septon Barth, perhaps before issuing any laws, we should repeat what we have previously done with the Seven Speakers?"
"The idea's fine, Your Grace, but we can't turn to Exceptionalism anymore," said Septon Barth. "Except..." he thought hard on the previous suggestions. "I think... Yes... Lord Stark spoke of what was going on at the time of Aemon's birth. We should cling to that. Aemon and Baelon were born when the doctrine reigned supreme, and therefore the sin of incest was committed in ignorance rather than out of wickedness."
The Dowager Queen flinched, as she always did whenever her first marriage was called incestous and sinful. However, she quickly composed herself:
"I see where you're going with this, Septon Barth. A s-sin in ignorance is not quite the same, and therefore Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa weren't born as abominations."
"I'm not sure if the Sept can come to that conclusion – begging your pardon, Your Grace – about Princess Alyssa. She was born after the doctrine's fall."
"But conceived before it! Septon, I will not have my children pronounced to be bastards!" the Queen said furiously. "I think we can go to Oldtown and discuss the matter with the Starry Sept... and I'll go on dragonback. The presence of Silverwing might be... stimulating. I won't have my daughter treated this way, any more than my sons."
"I'll go with you," said Alaric after the small council's meeting.
"You? I thought you would stay here and take care of King's Landing," Alysanne chuckled slightly, "while I'm away."
"Septon Barth is Hand of the King, he can do that."
"Oh, if you want to, of course it will be even better if we both go to Oldtown. After all, it's the place of your children in the line of succession we're discussing now."
"Exactly," he said, although, truth be told, he hadn't thought about it. He simply didn't want to spend much time away from Alysanne, especially not in King's Landing. The city still didn't agree with him. "And Septon Barth, as far as I'm aware, isn't exactly a favorite with the Starry Sept."
"It's hard to be both a man of the Faith and a politician," she agreed. "Alaric... thank you so much for your support of my kids. I've been so wrong about you."
"Well, before I met you in Winterfell, I had been quite wrong about you. I suppose we are even."
She gave a small, half-embarrassed laugh, but one full of merriment and relief. Once again, he was able to genuinely improve her mood, and it was a delight to realize. Not to mention that he had quite forgotten how she became even more beautiful when she laughed: her sky-blue eyes lit up, her honey-colored curls trembled slightly, glittering faintly in the candlelight...
...and before he could bethink himself, he leaned in and kissed her still-laughing mouth.
It was the first time he had allowed himself any form of intimacy outside the bedchamber, and he instantly wanted to pull away and apologize – when he felt Alysanne's lips move in response.
The kiss was relatively brief and without any serious passion – their very surroundings, the small council chamber, generally stifled any lustful mood. But when Alysanne broke off, her eyes were still shining with joy, and she gently placed her hand over his for a few moments before they went to the door – it was time for an audience (for him and Septon Barth) and a women's court (for Alysanne).