Harrenhal
"Lord Harroway, your daughter won't marry the man you have chosen for her," Maegor calmly declares, sitting on top of Balerion.
Lucas Harroway, the newly made lord of Harrenhal rises from his seat, his face flushes red. "Even if you're a prince, you still have no right to interfere with my daughter's marriage!" he retorts, eying the dragon with caution.
Alys— Lord Harroway's daughter was standing right next to Ceryse earlier. Now she cowers behind the older woman's back, fearing her father's wrath. Offering a reassuring pat on young Alys' shoulders, Ceryse glances at her husband worriedly. What are you planning to do, Maegor?
Ceryse has gotten him to promise not to use Balerion or attack with Blackfyre, but knowing Maegor… there are many ways this can go wrong—
"I have the right because I'm her intended," Maegor announces, "I have decided to take Lady Alys Harroway as my second wife."
Ceryse's eyes widen. Her jaw drops. Though countless words of fury surge through her mind, no words come from her mouth.
Excuse me? I'm standing right here!
—
A few hours ago…
"You— you're one of those Targaryens! With a dragon!" a young maid, no older than seventeen, exclaims upon seeing Maegor and Balerion. Her eyes wide with wonder, she hurries toward them, offering a relieved smile. "I've heard a Targaryen has come to the riverlands, but I never thought…"
Her words trail off as Balerion swoops down and nudges his head forward, signalling her to pet him. The girl hesitates, extending her hand, then quickly pulls back when Maegor glares at her.
"Do you need something?" Maegor asks flatly. "If it's help you seek, we'll offer it. If not, Balerion and I have places to go."
They don't actually, Ceryse reflects. They came to the riverlands after hearing of a rebel, Harren the Red, claiming to be a grandson of Harren the Black and taking up residence at Harrenhal. But when Maegor and Ceryse arrived, they found out that the Hoares on the Iron Islands had denounced Harren the Red as false, and the riverlords had already crushed the rebellion, leaving Maegor with nothing to do.
Ceryse is relieved she won't have to watch Maegor and Balerion deal with another pretender, but Maegor must feel rather annoyed.
"I do, I need your help!" the girl nods, her expression immediately turning into one of distress, "My father is forcing me to marry a monstrous man, one who abuses any girl who crosses his path. If I marry him, he'll ruin my life. Please, stop this marriage!"
Maegor remains silent for a moment. "…Wife," he finally says, turning to Ceryse. "You deal with this. It's more your area of expertise."
Ceryse sighs, resigned. Of course. Putting on a polite smile, she steps closer to the girl. "What's your name, young lady?"
"Alys, Alys Harroway," the girl answers, eyeing Ceryse curiously. "And you are…?"
"Ceryse Hightower, wife to Prince Maegor Targaryen, Hand of the King," Ceryse replies automatically, though her mind is still processing Alys' answer. "Harroway… Lord Lucas Harroway was recently awarded Harrenhal for crushing the Ironborn rebel. How are you related?"
"I'm his eldest daughter," Alys admits.
Oh no. Ceryse had hoped she would only be a merchant's daughter, but now that hope is gone. "And the man your father wants you to marry is…?"
"Davos Darry, the youngest son of Lord Darry," Alys sighs. "He's been widowed three times already. None of his wives lasted more than six months. I don't want to be the fourth wife who dies!"
"I… I see." Ceryse frowns, a headache incoming. While it's no common affair, marriage disputes sometimes happen in Oldtown too, and Ceryse has seen the Faith intervene. For women in such distress as Alys, the Starry Sept can offer a safe refuge.
Typically, the woman in question would return home after speaking with her parents and betrothed, reassured that her marriage wouldn't be as terrible as she feared. In some cases, she would find taking the vows of septa preferable. This is the solution Ceryse is going to suggest, but…
It only works if she isn't a noble. Even the Starry Sept can't take in a daughter of Hightower without Lord Hightower's consent, and the Starry Sept is where the Faith is most influential. If Lord Harroway insists on this marriage, it's entirely in his right and no one in the Seven Kingdoms can object to it.
Not even a prince. Not even a king.
"Lady Alys, I'll need to speak with my husband," Ceryse says, excusing herself. Maegor shoots her an unhappy look but urges Balerion to follow her. Once they are out of earshot, Ceryse tells Maegor her concerns.
"…It's a pity, but I don't think there's much we can do for her, Maegor," Ceryse concludes with a sigh, "She can defy her father, but it will only bring her more pain once the marriage happens."
Maegor frowns deeply. "Will she be wedded even if she refuses to say the vows?"
"If she refuses to say it, it'll be a scandal," Ceryse replies, reluctant to speak the harsh truth. "But she'll still be wed. When the time comes, she won't have the choice. She knows the consequences of resisting."
Maegor nods, considering. "You've said the Faith can't help, and if I interfere with the crown's authority, the riverlords will resent us. However…" he pauses, musing, "If I just… yes, that would work, no doubt. I have another way."
"Another way?" Ceryse doesn't like the sound of that. "Please tell me that it doesn't involve Balerion. Or Blackfyre."
"I'm no mindless brute, woman," Maegor scoffs, glaring at her, "I know violence isn't the answer here."
"Then what's your plan?" Ceryse asks, dreading his response. "If it's like the last time in the Vale… you don't mean to simply take Alys away without her father's permission, do you?"
"No, of course not. I'll speak to him," Maegor says with confidence. "He'll listen to my reasoning."
Ceryse remains skeptical. Reasoning is rarely Maegor's strong suit. "You won't be threatening him, will you?"
"None of that," Maegor assures her. "I'll handle it. This time, all you need to do is watch."
And so she watches.
—
Upon hearing Maegor's words, Lord Harroway's eyes widen. "Second wife? You want to marry my daughter… when you're already married?"
"My father Aegon had two wives. This practice isn't unheard of for us Valyrians," Maegor explains, "I'm a prince and the Hand of the King. I'm a much better match for your daughter than anyone you could have found. I trust you'll consent to the engagement?"
A series of emotions flicker across Lord Harroway's face. Rage turns to confusion, and then a calculating gleam appears in his eyes as he glances at Alys, still hidden behind Ceryse's back and clearly bewildered.
Finally, he smiles. "I would, Your Grace. But I trust your wife, Princess Ceryse, also consents?"
"Of course," Maegor answers before Ceryse can speak. "My wife will treat Alys well. See," he gestures toward the pair, ignoring the deadly glare Ceryse gives him, "They're already as close as sisters."
"Then I have no objection," Lucas Harroway says, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "You honour my House with your choice, my prince."
Ceryse finds it tempting to push Alys aside, to declare loudly that she doesn't approve nor consent to this marriage. But she hesitates, not only for Maegor's sake, but because the girl clings to her sleeve, trembling, shaking her head slightly, silently begging her to go along.
It pains Ceryse to see Alys so terrified at the thought of marrying her betrothed, that she would prefer being Maegor's second wife. If Ceryse protests now, she might break the engagement, but Alys would be branded a wanton girl who tried—and failed—to seduce a married prince.
Can Ceryse do that to her? Alys is a stranger, yes, but she's also just an innocent girl caught in something much bigger than her.
Yet, if Ceryse lets the marriage go through, how will the rest of Westeros react? Will her family in Hightower and her brothers and sisters in the Faith denounce her and Maegor?
Ceryse hesitates. She ponders. She struggles. Struggled between her desires and her faith, her duty as Maegor's wife and as a Septa.
Then Maegor turns to face her and Alys. "Lady Alys, have no fear," he says with a kind, gentle smile— a fake smile, but more natural than the one he had when he first met Ceryse, "I'll never mistreat you. When we return to King's Landing, I'll introduce you to my family, and you'll be known as a princess of the realm, with all the freedoms and allowances you are entitled to."
Hearing that, Alys' face brightens. She leaps from behind Ceryse, throwing herself toward Balerion. "Thank you, Your Grace! Thank you so much!" she exclaims, laughing as Balerion nuzzles her, previous despair forgotten.
Ceryse wants to say something, to do something, but she's frozen on the spot. Should she approach them and welcome Alys into the family, as if she agrees with Maegor's plan? Or should she storm away in a silent protest for this insult?
She doesn't know, and the indecision is tearing her apart.
Maegor… jumps off from Balerion's back. "Get familiar with Alys," he tells the dragon before turning to Ceryse, walking toward her with a strange smile. For a moment, Ceryse can't read him. It's not the fake sweet smile he gave Alys, but it's not a genuine one either. It's… off, somewhat, almost comical.
Ceryse kneels and extends a hand towards Maegor. He climbs onto her shoulder. "Sorry I didn't tell you," he whispers, "but this is the only way we can save her."
At the moment, Ceryse understands. His smile… It's an apologetic smile.
Maegor knew this would anger her, that she would surely protest if he'd told her earlier. And so he chose not to say anything, knowing she would be reluctant to oppose him publicly.
Now, he hopes a simple apology will suffice.
Oh, Maegor.
Ceryse suddenly feels tired, very tired. Maegor… he has no idea what he has done, beyond angering her. This is much, much bigger than just the three of them.
To Maegor, this is just offering Alys shelter when she has nowhere to turn to. Married or not, Maegor could never truly be a "husband" to any woman, nor does he desire to take a woman to bed. Ceryse knows that. But most of the realm doesn't, and she doubts they'll listen to Maegor's explanation, even if he offers it.
"Maegor…" Ceryse says softly, her voice tinged with concern. "The realm will see this as an outrage. A lot more people than just me will be angry. To marry another woman when you already have a wife… people will see you as a sinful creature unworthy to be a prince. Are you sure you can handle this?"
"I—" Maegor looks confident, but then he sees Ceryse's expression, and falters. "…I don't know," he answers, quietly, truthfully, "But if we can save her, it's worth it."
—Is it? Is saving a girl worth the ire of the whole Westeros?
Ceryse glances at Alys again. She's holding Balerion in her arms, laughing and giggling as the dragon licks her face affectionately.
"…I suppose." She finds herself compelled to agree.
—
Aegonfort
"Maegor!" Aenys shouts as Maegor enters the throne room, Quicksilver diving towards Balerion. "What happened? We've received letters from all over Westeros—" He stops short, noticing Alys. "…Oh."
Ceryse sighs. Those letters must have informed Aenys about the events in the Riverlands. If he had doubts before, the sight of Alys beside Maegor would have confirmed them.
It has already caused quite a mess back in Harrenhal, when all the septons Lord Harroway could find refused to perform the wedding— In the end, Maegor told Lucas Harroway he would wed Alys in a Valyrian ceremony instead, but the damage was done. And it's not just the Faith or the riverlanders; a third of their retainers went missing after the marriage was announced. Worse, some of those men are from Oldtown—men who went to Dragonstone with Ceryse when she married Maegor. They are certainly returning home, bringing the news to Starry Sept and Hightower.
Since then, the news had spread like wildfire, with whispers following Ceryse wherever she went, louder and fiercer as time passed. Fearing for their safety, she urged Maegor to return to King's Landing as fast as possible, but even in the capital she sensed hostility she never felt before. Not towards Ceryse, perhaps, but to Maegor and Alys.
Even if she doesn't hear it, she sees the word whore forming on people's lips when they see Alys all the same. Maegor might have saved her from an abusive marriage, but he has doomed her to be despised by all.
Ceryse has severely underestimated the hatred Westeros would feel towards Alys, but it's too late for regrets. Standing firm before Aenys, she squeezes Alys' hand, trying to reassure her.
"Brother," Maegor nods, gesturing to Alys. "Let me introduce you. This is Alys Harroway, my second wife."
Alys steps forward and curtsies, bowing deeply. "Your Grace—"
"Maegor," yet Aenys rudely interrupts her, looking more serious than ever, "we need to talk privately. You, me, and your wife— I mean Ceryse."
Maegor's face darkens. "Alys is my wife too."
Balerion growls as Quicksilver squirms, terrified of the older dragon's reaction. Aenys likewise looks shaken, but he recovers faster than his dragon. "Even so, I would like to discuss important matters in the realm with you, privately, as my Hand."
Maegor huffs, yet nods curtly. "Very well. Ceryse, go and settle Alys in. I'll join you later."
Not wanting to get between the Targaryen brothers, Ceryse leaves with Alys quickly. However, upon exiting the room, she finds two Valyrians waiting.
Two Valyrians and one dragon. Visenya sits atop Vhagar, her arms crossed. Alyssa sits behind her, frowning, her gaze worried.
"Welcome back, Ceryse," Visenya says flatly, "And you must be Alys Harroway."
"Yes… Your Grace," Alys answers meekly.
Visenya ignores her. "Alyssa, sees that she gets a set of chambers most secure, lest someone try to scale the walls to get to her. Vhagar will accompany you. I need to speak to my good daughter—good Ceryse."
Visenya leaps from the dragon's back, and Ceryse has no choice but to lift her from the ground. Visenya stands proudly in Ceryse's palms, though she doesn't climb up her shoulders as her son would. "Take me to my chambers," Visenya orders.
Visenya's commands are as absolute as Aenys' in Aegonfort, and Ceryse obeys without complaint. Visenya's chambers are close to the throne room, a set of plain but functional chambers designed for Valyrians.
Once inside, Ceryse places Visenya on a table. "Sit," Visenya gestures to the chairs.
Ceryse sits carefully while Visenya drags a miniature chair on the table and sits across from her, allowing them to speak at eye level. "Now," Visenya urges, "I see the girl keeps close to you. Did you approve of Maegor's marriage to her?"
"I did," Ceryse admits, "but I wish I hadn't. It's a mistake. Maegor only did it because—"
"No need to explain," Visenya cuts her off. "I saw it all through your eyes. Whatever good intentions you two had, this is a grave mistake. Maegor's boldness often leads to blunders, but I expected better from you, Ceryse. You're supposed to advise him in my absence."
"I'm sorry." What else can Ceryse do but apologise?
"I'd rather you do something useful than say sorry," Visenya snaps, pointing to a pile of letters on the side of the table. "Read them and reply. It must be by your own hand, or else I fear they will simply discard it."
Ceryse picks up the first letter, her heart sinking at the familiar seal—a tower with flames. It's from her brother, Martyn Hightower, demanding Maegor set Alys aside. The second is from the High Septon, questioning House Targaryen's integrity after King Aegon's death and urging Visenya to rein in her perverse son and punish Alys. One by one, the letters pile up, all denouncing Maegor and Alys, calling them all sorts of names.
Unable to bear the harsh words, Ceryse pushes the stack aside, looking at Visenya helplessly. "What… what can we do? Even if I write back, explaining Maegor only married Alys to protect her, people—"
"They won't believe you, yes," Visenya shakes her head, "But you can still try to convince your brother and uncle that Maegor hasn't mistreated you. Tell them he'll eventually put his mistress aside."
Ceryse frowns. "That would ruin her. She has nowhere to go. Maegor… he won't agree to it."
"Don't be a fool," Visenya scoffs. "The girl has nowhere to go because she's Maegor's wife. If she's set aside, Westeros will soon forget her. She won't be able to go home, but I plan to send her to your hometown to swear the vows."
"To Starry Sept?" Ceryse is unsettled. Alys hasn't shown any indication that she wishes to join the Faith, but in truth being married to Maegor isn't much different from being a Septa…
Still, Ceryse doubts Alys would be happy in Oldtown, at the heart of House Hightower, with everyone believing she insulted Ceryse. Not even the Faith could protect Alys… and Ceryse isn't sure if they would.
Sure, Ceryse could try to explain to her kin what actually happened. But to write down such a ridiculous tale would only make her sound mad— even in person she would have difficulties persuading them.
No, Alys would be shunted and ridiculed for as long as she lives in Oldtown. Ceryse can't let that happen. They've already interrupted her life; they must take responsibility for her well-being.
"Sending her to the Starry Sept seems rather cruel," Ceryse says cautiously, "There must be something else we can do."
Much like her son before, Visenya's face darkens. "This isn't your decision to make," she hisses, glaring at Ceryse, "You and Maegor made this mess. Now it's up to—"
A dragon's roar interrupts her, then the door is shoved open. Ceryse turns around just in time for Balerion to fly onto her lap, almost knocking her off her chair.
"Balerion, don't— Gods, you're heavy!" Ceryse exclaims as the dragon's weight almost crushes her legs. "Maegor, get your dragon off me!"
"Bear with me," Maegor says, climbing onto Balerion's neck to his favourite spot—Ceryse's shoulders. "Done. Balerion, get yourself comfortable somewhere else."
Balerion huffs, but he obeys Maegor and flies to the side of the room where a pile of pillows lies. Ceryse lets out a sigh of relief and slumps in her seat.
Maegor won't give her time to relax, though. "Mother," looking straight at Visenya, he says firmly, "I won't let anyone take my wife away without my permission. Not even you. Ceryse is here, but where is Alys?"
"I had Alyssa take her to her chambers," Visenya responds, meeting her son's accusatory gaze with a scold, "Where are your manners, Maegor? You should've knocked before entering. Your behaviour is unbefitting of a prince."
"I— that's not important right now!" Maegor shouts, nearing blasting off Ceryse's eardrums, "I know you planned to send Alys away in disgrace to please those Westerosi. This isn't right, Mother. She came to us for help. You always said it's our responsibility to help when asked."
"I said we should help when we can," Visenya retorts. "Whatever trouble the girl was in, it's not our concern. You've only created a bigger mess. Do you know how many letters we've received this week?"
"But we can help her," Maegor insists. "We can fix this without selling her out to the Westerosi or the Faith. We've found a way."
"We?" Ceryse asks, confused.
"Yes, we both did." Aenys echos. He files into the room on Quicksilver, looking tired and defeated. "Maegor convinced me. There's a better solution than sending Alys Harroway to the Starry Sept."
"What is it, then?" Visenya asks sharply.
Ceryse is relieved that Maegor and Aenys have sorted out their differences, but she can't help feeling nervous. The two of them together had produced some of the worst ideas she had heard.
For example, using "diplomacy" to defeat Jonos Arryn.
"I'll take her to Essos," Maegor says simply. "People there won't care if she's my second wife. I'll find her a safe place to start a new life. Then I'll return to Westeros and announce I've set her aside."
Ceryse blinks. This… actually isn't a bad idea.
The Free Cities accept all kinds of people, and Alys could blend in without the prejudice she faces in Westeros. If Maegor can find her a decent job, she'll be safe. On paper, it sounds perfect.
Visenya furrows her brows, her eyes narrow. Eventually, she says, "There's a ship to Pentos next week. You'll board it, establish a trade deal with the magister of Pentos— tell them that the city of King's Landing is growing rapidly and there are many opportunities for trades. Have Alys Harroway take on a new identity and leave her there." She turns to Aenys, "Do you have anything to add, Your Grace?"
"No— that's fine," Aenys quickly says, feeling the pressure behind Visenya's words, "Oh… I've told Maegor already, but I've decided to remove him as my Hand. It should help reduce the anger from those righteous Westerosi."
"It's for the best," Visenya says dismissively. "Maegor, did you hear all that?"
"Understood, Mother." Maegor nods obediently.
"Good. Meanwhile, Ceryse, you should do your best to convince the Faith—"
"Ceryse is coming with me," Maegor says, "She's my wife."
For a moment silence grows in the room, as those inside consider Maegor's statement: Visenya glares, Aenys frowns, Quicksilver stretches her neck and Balerion snoozes on his pile of pillows. For Ceryse's part, she just smiles wryly. Of course, Maegor will insist that she comes with him.
On one hand, the idea of leaving Maegor to conduct a trade deal by himself sounds like it'll be… disastrous. On the other…
"Taking Ceryse with you… when you're on a trip with your new mistress?" Aenys voices Ceryse's concern, his head tilting in confusion, "Won't that seem… odd?"
"Not mistress," Maegor corrects him, "Alys is my wife too."
"Yes, but those Westerosi will see it differently. Have Ceryse explain to you later if you don't understand." Losing patience with her son, Visenya turns to Ceryse, "It's your choice. I can't force you to return to Oldtown if you prefer to follow my son. But beware of the consequences. You've already made one mistake."
With Visenya's words, all eyes are on Ceryse. She sighs. Knowing Maegor, there's only one choice.
"I'll accompany my husband, wherever he goes."