A story in four parts.

Alysanne has met her brother Aegon but once. When she was young – before Queen Elia had demanded that her father send Alysanne from King's Landing. And thus the mother-less Princess has lived her whole life in the frozen tundra of the Northernmost territory of the Seven Kingdoms. At Winterfell, Alysanne is taken care of by her uncle Eddard, her aunt, Catelyn, and her cousins, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon.

She and Arya have adventures in the Wolfswood, and listen in awe at Old Nan's stories of how the Old Gods came to be. Sansa pays little mind to Arya, but is eager to find things in common with Alysanne, which frustrates Arya to no end.

"Do you think you might have a loving husband?" Sansa says hopefully, "You are so lucky you of marrying age."

Alysanne frowns. She does not feellucky. Her father was meant to make a match for her, and he wrote to her but once a year on her nameday without a single mention of a suitor at all. She would prefer to stay North, to have a marriage with a husband her Uncle has chosen. After all, the Quiet Wolf is nearly her father. Truly he is her father in all but name.

"I cannot say," Alysanne replies, "All I know is that it will notbe a squid."

Arya snorts and Bran chortles at the dig, both aware of Theon Greyjoy's many dalliances with women of all sorts.

Winter is in full force, but Alysanne knows it is nothing compared to the brutal winters that Old Nan has told them of. Before Alysanne had been born, the winters could last years, and the Northerners would starve no matter how many provisions they stored underneath Winterfell. But the Northerners were a hardy folk, tougher than their Southern brothers, the Starks most of all. After all, their words were Winter is Coming.

Now however, the whole of westeros experienced the seasons in equality. They enjoyed summer, winter, and the seasons between. Currently, winter was leaving. Old Nan believed that autumn would last only two more turns and soon they would have heavy winter snows with ice sharp days.

"Might you marry a Karstark?" Sansa asks, "Father says he hopes to keep you close. I hope you are close too."

Alysanne smiles and holds her younger cousin closer, "I hope that for us as well. I would miss you all ever so much if I had to leave."

Sansa is naïve, but she knows that if King Rhaegar makes a southern marriage for his youngest daughter, then she will never come north again. Her head is full of dreams and songs and knights. There is nothing wrongwith that, but Alysanne knows that Sansa, as southron as she wishes to be, knows little of Southern ambitions.

"I hope they do not send you to Dorne," Arya says morosely, "It's too far."

"Why Dorne?" Alysanne questions then narrows her eyes, "Have you been eavesdropping again, Arya Underfoot?"

"No! Well, sort of. Only when father gets ravens from that funny looking one with the white feather. He always seems even more angry after."

"Tell me you haven't been snooping through Lord Stark's correspondence?"

"I haven't! I swear on… uh… I swear on Winterfell!"

"Alright, I believe you. I wouldn't mind Dorne, but it is far. I would rather be closer."

Sansa smiles eagerly, "Perhaps if you are not married to a Karstark cousin then you will marry in the riverlands."

"Not to a Frey," Robb says gruffly, "Perhaps to a Tully. Uncle Edmure is unmarried."

"He's much too old," Sansa sniffs, "Alysanne is a Princess. She deserves a dashing prince. Or perhaps a knight, like in the songs."

"Boys are stupid," Arya chimes much to Bran's insult.

"Stop it you two," Alysanne says before the two begin to bicker as they often do, "I will not be marrying anyone soon. Let's not speak of it."

Sansa's starry look fades and then she yanks on Alysanne's sleeve, "Can we embroider? Mother says there are new fabrics for us to choose from."

Arya begins to moan until Alysanne promises to join her for an activity she enjoys more later.

She hopes to never leave the North. It is her home. Her family is here. They may not have her name, but they have her blood and to her, they are family all the same.

The north is cold, but the fire in her blood keeps her warm. The furs over her shoulders frame her rosy cheeks. There is snow and there is splendor, but sometimes, Alysanne dreams of sand. She dreams of stone and fire and sun and warmth.

Perhaps the south is not too bad. Perhaps she would be happy beyond the Neck. Her uncle Ned would never allow it, though. Sansa is right that Ned hopes to keep Alysanne close. She may not be his daughter but Eddard Stark dotes upon Alysanne as though she is his pride and joy. He may never let her go south again.

She thinks this far too soon because days later her father announces that the Starks will visit the South for a tourney in a missive that irritates Uncle Ned to no end. Alysanne is positively baffled by this. Her uncle has no interest in tourneys, and even less interest in Southron politicking. A tourney is a show of frivolity and the North has no use for wastefulness.

Robb tells her that the King has demanded they all go – and Alysanne's heart shrivels. Why force her from the North when she was sent there in the first place? What use does her father have by forcing her South when they are nearly unrelated? Afterall, Alysanne is not a true Targaryen. Her family had not even bothered to invite her to Rhaenys' wedding to Willas Tyrell. Alysanne was barely a Targaryen, and yet she had the name and could be used as a bridal pawn.

The wheelhouse is packed, and Sansa braids her hair as intricately as possible, excited by the prospect of making a southern match. They play games, and Sansa plays the harp as Alysanne sings sorrowful songs of Bael the Bard. The days are barely growing longer, but soon the weather will change.

The journey South is agonizingly slow. It takes hours each day to make progress south. There are so few hours of day, and such a fear of brigands that they leave before the sun and make camp just after the moon rises. Rickon and Catelyn stay at Winterfell with Robb. Only Sansa, Arya, and Bran join Alysanne and Ned. They're accompanied by a retinue of course, including Alysanne's ladies-in-waiting, chosen by the Lord of Winterfell. They're all Northern daughters, used to the harsh winter and the Old Ways. Wynafryd Manderly of White Harbour, Alys Karstark of Karhold, Lyra Mormont of Bear Island, and Myha Magnar of Kingshouse share Alysanne's tent each night, sleeping soundly as the wind howls across the snowy terrain.

Alysanne can tell when the South becomes closer. The air is sticky, the breeze weaker. The wind is not as sharp, and the air has a dewy mist rather than a fine crystal of frozen water. Further south they go until they reach a swampy area that Alysanne knows from the infamous song of the Knight of the Laughing Tree – the song of her mother's ploy to save Lord Howland Reed, a Crannogman of the Neck. By the time they reach the Neck, the weather has become humid, and Alysanne's white gold hair is the only crown in the wheelhouse that is resisting the effects of the South.

"It's too hot," Arya moans as she fans herself.

"We haven't even hit the South yet," Bran says in tandem, "This is truly terrible."

Alysanne smiles and fans Arya softly with a silk fan that had been one of the few gifts she had received from her father. She hadn't had much use for it until now.

"We've a ways to go, yet," Alyssane says, "The tourney is in Duskendale."

"An odd choice," her uncle murmurs, but he is mostly ignored.

"I am glad that we left in time to visit Maidenpool," says Sansa, "Even if it is a bit out of the way."

"I've always wanted to go to Maidenpool," replies Wynafryd pleasantly, "It's supposed to be quite lovely."

"It seems stupid," Arya mumbles but quiets when Myha gives her a measured look. While Arya has little patience for Sansa and Jeyne Poole's chattering about, all of Alysanne's ladies have earned her respect, one way or another.

The journey lasts far too long. A turn passes and they have finally reached Maidenpool, where they will stop to replenish supplies before they continue on to Duskendale.

"This is so boring," Arya complains as they arrive at the healing waters of Maidenpool, "I don't want to go to a stupid healing spring with stupid Sansa."

Alysanne ignores her, considering what happened to her namesake in the very place she stands.

Sansa rushes in, still graceful and without a hair out of place, "I overheard a guard say there are brigands nearby!"

Arya looks up with excitement from where she is leaning in the pool, perhaps thinking of the small sword that Robb had snuck her before their journey south.

"This is no game, Arya," Alysanne scolds, "I would never want any of our guards' bones sent home because brigands attacked us here."

Arya has the decency to look slightly guilty but Alysanne is only half aware. Sansa looks near green now, perhaps realizing that brigands could be a true danger, and that they are sitting in a precarious position. It's quiet – which leads Alysanne to believe that the brigands were stopped before they could cause any real trouble. She leans back into the steaming waters until she hears a loud crack and then undiscernible shouts.

Alysanne stands from the water abruptly. There are guards outside, surely, but Alysanne believes in caring for her younger cousins, who are like sisters to her. She throws on a robe and begins to frantically inspect the bath room for a place to hide.

The space is bare, with only a single alcove that Alysanne thinks might be the only place to hide. Hearing the shouts come closer, Alysanne pulls Arya from the water and shakes Sansa from her terrified stupor.

Arya isn't nearly as nervous as Sansa, but Alysanne ferries the two of them into the only hiding place she spotted earlier. It's not nearly as deep as she thought. There's enough for Sansa's willowy frame and Arya's petite body. The chance of Alysanne fitting beside her younger cousins, however, is slim. They would certainly be spotted.

"But what about you?" Sansa cries just as Arya begins to complain in tandem, "What if-"

A door crashes down and Alysanne silences them both and thinks as quickly as she can. A princess would be an excellent hostage she knows – whether her father cares for her or not, he would never allow brigands to keep her, no matter the gold dragons they might demand. At the same time, House Targaryen has enemies, and if these men are enemies of her family, then there may be nothing left of her to hold hostage.

This is a gamble she is forced to make. This is how Alysanne is standing directly in front of the door where the ruckus has become louder. This is how Alysanne waits, glaring her cousins into silence.

It's deathly silent. The door slams open, and suddenly all Alysanne can see is black.

When Alysanne comes to, she is in a room with near black stone walls filled with finery. The covers that slide across her skin are softer than the utilitarian wool and furs of the north. There are books, flowers, and all manner of decorations. This room is a place of beauty, and of pain.

The air tastes different, with a strong odor she can't describe but doesn't like. She sits up and spots wine but doesn't dare to take a sip -poison-.

A knock startles her and unfamiliar blue eyes meet her own.

"Hullo, Your Grace. It's a pleasure to you awake. Shall I-"

"Who are you?" Alysanne demands, "Where am I!"

"Your Grace-" the girl begins but Alysanne stands up angrily.

"You will let me go home at once!"

"I-"

"Alysanne?" a voice calls and she turns her head as the maid scurries to bow and back away before dashing from the room. It's as unfamiliar as the maid's eyes, as unfamiliar as this place.

"Must you scare the maids away already?" the voice says and suddenly Alysanne can place him.

Silver-white hair falling around his shoulders, violet eyes, a tall build with lean muscles and a nose she has seen in the looking glass. This must be Viserys Targaryen.

"Viserys?" Alysanne questions hollowly causing the man to laugh.

"You've been gone too long, sister."

Alysanne blinks owlishly, "Your Grace-"

"Aegon," he says, "You should say my name. We are family, after all."

Alysanne shifts uneasily, "Why- where am I?"

"I am sorry about that," Aegon replies with a grimace, "When I sent the guards to retrieve you, they clearly misunderstood my intentions towards you. They've been dealt with."

Alysanne still doesn't understand.

"Where am I?" she asks again, a bit more forcefully than before.

"Dragonstone," Aegon replies as he pours himself wine, "The home of our ancestors."

This makes no sense.

"Why am I here?" Alysanne asks, "Where is my uncle?"

"Viserys is on Driftmark." He pauses but briefly, "You are here for your wedding, dear sister."

Alysanne's mouth goes dry as she processes this new information. But she cannot. "To whom? Viserys?"

Aegon pulls a dry smile and then begins walking closer.

Alysanne takes a step back.

"You must enjoy jesting, sister. Not Viserys. To me, Alysanne."

And to this, she begins to scramble, "But father-"

"Approves," Aegon says, "After all, he was the one who summoned the North to the tourney."

She shouldn't feel betrayed, because truly her family is only her family in name. But hearing his words Alysanne's eyes begin to moisten. Is she truly worth so little that her father would not even tell her of her own betrothal?

At her silence, Aegon's brows knit together, "You must have known, Alysanne. This betrothal has been set since you first bled."

Alysanne cries out in shock, "Three years? I- no one ever told me-"

Aegon moves closer again and this time the shock has stopped Alysanne in her tracks.

"I told you," Aegon replies patiently, "In the letters I sent each turn."

Alysanne cranes her neck with her eyes wide, "I received no such letter. I've never received any letters from anyone," she continues, voice rising in irritation, "except for the one a year from father. Because you all abandoned me in the North so you wouldn't have to see my face!" At this she plops onto the bed unladylike, fists balled at her sides angrily.

Aegon is silent now, but Alysanne can feel the tension in the room. She thinks he might leave her to her misery until he kneels beside her.

"Alysanne, I wrote you every chance I could. I never wanted mother to send you away. Daenerys and I believed you had no interest in the south – that that was the reason you never replied to our letters." He looks frightfully unhappy, gloomy almost. Not serious like her Uncle Ned, but melancholy, the way she is told her father looks each day.

"I thought you all hated me," she finally whispers and then feels tight arms around her back.

"The only person who wanted you gone was mother."

"But father let her send me away-" Alysanne argues.

"Because Dorne threatened war if you were not sent away, and your Uncle demanded you be sent to him after what happened with your mother."

What happened to her mother is a taboo topic across the Seven Kingdoms. Her parents had run away together, married in secret without Elia's knowledge or consent. Her mother had begotten her and then had died in childbirth in the Tower of Joy where Uncle Ned had found her just after Robert's forces lost the war.

Ned had taken her to King's Landing to Rheagar and Elia had demanded she leave at once. And thus Alysanne had never met her Uncle Viserys or Aunt Daenerys, had never truly met Aegon and Rhaenys.

"You'll be happy here," Aegon says pensively, "You'll never want for anything, sister. I swear it."

I already want for something. My family.

The days cycle even as the air grows warmer.

Each morning Aegon asks for Alysanne to present herself for breakfast.

She refuses.

He calls upon her for lunch.

Yet again she refuses.

For some reason, he still asks her to join him for dinner, knowing once again that Alysanne would politely decline.

She barely leaves her chambers, sat in front of the window watching the horizon for the day her Uncle would cross the sea to retrieve her.

A knock startles her from her deep thought.

"Alysanne?" the voice says and Alysanne wonders if it is already time for her to deny her brother her presence again.

"I have a gift for you," Aegon continues, "Would you not look upon me?"

Alysanne blinks and then looks his way to see the splendor in his hand.

"It is not truly a gift," Aegon says as he walks closer, "It should have been yours this whole time. It is tradition, after all." He places a green and gold egg with shining scales that is warm to the touch in her hands.

"It's warm," Alysanne blurts before forgetting she has ignored this Prince for so long.

"Only to you," Aegon replies with a small smile, "Perhaps it will hatch. Perhaps you will ride."

The silence is not as oppressive as it once was, and so Aegon sits beside her on the small settee before him. "Daenerys will arrive this evening. She looks forward to meeting you."

This news does not truly excite Alysanne.

"Your ladies have arrived as well."

Alysanne sits up straighter, engaged at the prospect of seeing her Northern friends again, "Alys, Wynafryd, and-"

"No," Aegon interjects, "These are ladies of the South, loyal to our family and they are eager to befriend you."

"You mean to spy on me," Alysanne says, standing in annoyance and moving away.

"No," Aegon soothes, "So you might have female companionship. They will be your friends, your bedmates, or anything else you need. I know you miss your friends, but they are in the North and you are here."

"Because you abducted me-"

"We are betrothed, Alysanne," Aegon says exasperated, "I am truly sorry you were not properly informed but I-" he bites his tongue and stands, walking sharply to the door, "We are to marry, Alysanne. Please, do try not to hate me so."

Hours later, Alysanne is introduced to the girls who Aegon seems to believe will replace her best friends, girls who have been her ladies since she began her lessons.

She hates to admit it but they're surprisingly sweet. They are spies, she reminds herself. Daenaera Velaryon is the oldest of them at a year older than Alysanne, with amethyst eyes and wavy white blonde hair. Elissa Sunglass has the violet eyes of Valyria but with dark hair, bred true from marriage with the First Men and the Daynes of Starfall. Jeyne Bar Emmon is dark hair and light eyed, with the pale features of the First Men and high cheekbones that perhaps came from a Velaryon or a Celtigar. Elissa and Jeyne are the same age as Sansa, but they seem to be women grown. Alarra Celtigar is the youngest, of an age with Arya, with the same Valyrian looks present in Daenaera's features. Alysanne knows that Aegon has hand-picked these ladies, all loyal to the Crown, all daughters of houses that swear fealty to Dragonstone, that swear fealty to him.

"Shall we work on your maiden cloak, Your Grace?" Daenaera asks politely, "And perhaps your wedding gown?"

"There's no need," Alysanne says, "I would prefer to work on a blanket."

"Winter is near over, Your Grace," replies Jeyne cautiously, "Should you have use for a blanket now?"

"I will when I return north," Alysanne intones to the girls, who all exchange glances but agree to help her sew and embroider a new blanket.

"Congratulations, Daenaera," Elissa chirps suddenly, "I had heard that your betrothal to Prince Viserys had been sealed."

Daenaera smiles widely, "You have heard true. His Grace and I shall marry soon after Her Grace Princess Alysanne and His Grace Prince Aegon."

Alysanne's eye twitches, which Alarra notices, "Whatever is the matter, Your Grace?"

"Alysanne," she corrects and then pauses, "No one calls me Your Grace."

Jeyne pauses, "Of course, Alysanne."

"We are friends after all," Alysanne continues, to which the girls nod imperiously.

Alysanne hates to admit it, because she knows they are spies for Aegon, but she likes her ladies, even if it upsets her that Aegon picked perfect companions.

It is late. The air is cloying now, as spring has set in and winter is but a memory. The sea calls to Alysanne, but she is not to leave without a guard to protect her.

"Ser Jaime," she finally says, knowing the knight is at her door.

"Your Grace?" he questions.

"I wish to go to the port."

Jaime hesitates but eventually continues, "I will inform His Grace, for he would also desire to go."

"Alone," Alysanne says sternly.

Jaime looks uncowed, "I will inform His Grace." He turns to a servant who nods and rushes off.

Alysanne sits petulantly in the chair at her window, annoyed that she cannot do anything without being under the thumb of her brother.

"Alysanne?" Aegon questions, "Shall we depart?"

"I have decided I am under the weather." Alysanne isn't sure but aside from the sigh that leaves Aegon's lips, she thinks she hears a short snicker from Ser Jaime.

Aegon folds his arms, "It seems you are often under the weather."

"It seems so," Alysanne says, refusing to look at Aegon.

"Could you not at least bring Daenerys? She longs to see you."

"I told you already," Alysanne replies unblinking, "I am under the weather."

Aegon sighs resignedly, "Alysanne, please. We cannot go on like this forever. We shall marry soon, and we have the blessing of our family."

"We," Alysanne corrects, "Have nothing. You took me and you are lying-"

At this Aegon looks indigant, "I have not lied to you, Alysanne, ever."

"About the letters," Alysanne fumes, "You have written no such letters to me-"

"I wrote you every turn," Aegon insists, "You did not write me back."

"Uncle Ned said I never had any letters!" Alysanne argues as Aegon frowns, "It is of no consequence. I am under the weather and cannot stand company. Good day, Your Grace."

Aegon sighs again and then says a quiet farewell before leaving morosely.

But Alysanne cannot muster any pity for the Prince of Dragonstone.

He took me.

"I have already said that I do not know."

"Lies!" Umber hissed.

"Have care how you speak," Rhaegar furiously replies, "Alysanne's life may be at risk but I am still your King, and I will tolerate no disrespect."

The other Northern lords watch the argument with distaste before Ned continues.

"It has been two turns and she has yet to be found. A princess of the blood does not simply disappear into oblivion."

"Mayhaps she has not a desire to be found," Queen Elia suggests with thinly veiled dislike.

Ned shoots daggers at the woman with his grey eyes, "Or perhaps the Crown must needs more desire to find her."

"She is my daughter," Rhaegar intones angrily, "From my beloved wife, Lyanna, good-brother. We have all the desire to see her safe and sound."

"Aye, perhaps," grumbles Manderlay, eyes looking at Elia with disdain, "Perhaps not."

"I refuse to listen to this treasonous talk," Elia declares, gathering her skirts and readying to storm away.

Ned lets out an almost inhuman sound in his rage, "Then I refuse to export timber, ice, and rock until my daughter is found. Mayhaps then she might be located sooner."

"That is most unwise," the Lord of Griffin's Roost argues, "Summer is upon us and Northern ice is a necessity to keep Southern crops fresh."

"Then you'd best find my Alysanne before summer arrives," Ned replies angrily, "Or Southern crops will rot."

"You are bluffing," Connington replies confidently, "The North depends on Southern crops each winter. If they die your Northern savages will starve."

"Ha!" the Thenn replies with a thick laugh and continues in heavily accented Common Tongue, "We follow the old ways in the North. Not the flashy finery of the South! We take care of ourselves just the same. The north is in our blood, southerner, and we survive."

Connington looks at the Northern lords with such hate in his eyes that Ned knows that the North has made an enemy for life out of the Stormlord.

"Our terms are set," Ned says finally, "Until Alysanne is in my arms again, there shall be no trade between the North and the rest of the kingdoms."

Rheagar slits his eyes at the Northern lords, who leave in haste, cursing a stolen Northern Daughter for the second generation.

The air is warmer, thicker, cloying, on Dragonstone.

"Wouldn't you love for a walk on the shore, Your Grace?" asks Alarra.

"Perhaps," Alysanne sighs without joy.

"You might do well with fresh air," Daenaera says, looking up from her fine needlework, "It's cleansing, you know. That's what the maesters have said."

Alysanne sighs, thinking about the last time she had been outside. She hadn't left her apartments since she had arrived at Dragonstone, hadn't seen outside but for the sheer drop into jagged rocks below her balcony.

"Alright," Alysanne says finally and the whole room silences.

"Alright," Daenaera parrots in shock, reacting quickly by shoving her needlework off her lap and shaking the surprised girls from their stupor.

"Ser Jaime," Elissa says, "We would like to walk the shore, please. Just us ladies."

Jaime's eyes narrow but he looks at Alysanne in concern and then nods, "I shall notify the others. His Grace is busy today."

Ser Jaime is the closest thing that Alysanne has to an older brother – since her true older brother is not a brother to her at all. He is stationed outside her door, and leaves only when Ser Gerald stands in front of her door so he might eat and sleep.

And thus, Ser Jaime hears her cry. He hears he weep when she bathes, cries as she thinks of Sansa and Arya, sobs, as she mourns her friends in the North. And yet he says nothing of what he hears. Though, Alysanne knows he listens, because when she said she missed the sweet and soothing song of her harp to no one but her wall, Ser Jaime had presented her a harp the very next day.

Thus, Alysanne's frame relaxes, as she knows that Ser Jaime knows she will not see Aegon. She is without worry until Jaime continues.

"Should I request the presence of Princess Daenerys?"

Alarra turns to Alysanne pleadingly, "Oh please, Your Grace? She's ever so lovely. You two would get along splendidly!"

The other girls all give her a doe-eyed look and then finally Alysanne sighs, "That is acceptable."

This is when Alysanne meets her aunt Daenerys for the first time. She is petite but with soft curves, like Alysanne, with the same white-gold hair. But where Alysanne's eyes shown lilac, Daenerys' orbs were a deep violet, as dark as those of Aegon. Most shocking, is the small ball of silver-grey fur in her arms.

Daenerys curtsies carefully before kissing Alysanne's cheek, "Niece, it is such a pleasure to truly meet you. I rushed with haste when Ser Gerald told me you requested my presence. I have something for you."

She reached her hands out and Alysanne was greeted with the sight of a little pink tongue and pointed ears.

"Rhaenys' cat, Balerion, sired another litter of kittens. I took one for each of us. This one is for you. She's really sweet, and gets along with my kitten, Syrax. They're litter mates, which I thought was nice since we are almost litter mates," Daenerys says so sweetly that Alysanne is having trouble continuing to hate her. She plops the ball of fur into Alysanne's hands and the kitten yowls before snuggling into Alysanne's dress.

"She's so cute," Jeyne cooes, "I positively adore cats."

"What will you name her, Your Grace?" asks Elissa, "Perhaps after a dragon?"

"Or after an ancestor-" begins Alarra.

"I will name her Silverwing," Alysanne decides, "For the first Silverwing, who was Good Queen Alysanne's closest companion."

Daenerys smiles widely and moves to fall in step with Alysanne.

As Alysanne's maids ready the bed for her and Daenaera, who was frequently her bedmate in the last few weeks, Alysanne thought about Daenerys. She seemed nice, genuine, and kind. She was nothing at all like the impression that Alysanne had thought she might see of her aunt. She'd always thought of her as the type of princess that was in the songs that Sansa liked – vain, and stupid.

Daenerys was neither. She held herself with impossible grace, yes, but she spoke to Alysanne of the small folk, and of her personal desire for the education of orphans and widows. She never spoke of Aegon, never tried to force Alysanne to like her.

As Daenaera's breath began to even out, the band of nerves in Alysanne's stomach began to expand. What if everything she had known to be true was false? If Daenerys was nothing like Alysanne expected, could her other family members be different than she thought? Could Rhaenys be the kind older sister that Alysanne had so desired from her childhood? Was Viserys a doting uncle? Mayhaps step-mother Elia was not so wicked, and her father was not as unloving as she believed. What terrified her the most however, was the possibility that Aegon was not what she thought.

Alysanne had precious few moments of sleep that night, biting her lip in worry over her predicament until the red sun of dawn.

Alysanne finds she spends more and more time with Daenerys. It is on their fifth journey to the sea shore that Daenerys finally mentions the taboo topic of Aegon VI Targaryen.

"I have no desire to speak of him," Alysanne says firmly.

"Please, Alysanne," Daenerys says, "He is in anguish over this."

"I," Alysanne begins, "Am in anguish. I am away from my family, and am not permitted to leave this island, or send them letters, because my brother, who claims we are betrothed, has decided we are to be wed."

Dany sighs, "My brother accepted the betrothal."

"But I did not," Alysanne points out.

"Would you just try?" Dany pleads, "If not for him, then perhaps for me? I cannot stand the two of you not speaking. It is driving me to madness."

She makes the face. It's the same face Sansa makes, that Bran and Rickon have made. Alysanne cannot resist that face.

"Fine," Alysanne says, "Once."

Dany smiles so brightly that Alysanne almost feels guilty for not agreeing sooner. Almost.

"Great! I shall have Ser Jaime retrieve him now."

"Now?" Alysanne questions, "It seems hasty-"

But the job is done and soon Aegon is striding across the sand, hands in his trouser pockets, wind tousling his hair.

"Hello, Dany; sister."

Alysanne murmurs a quiet hello as Dany watches on hopefully.

"Egg, did you know that Alys plays the harp?" Dany says, "Perhaps you can play me a show together. Egg makes me cry when he plays his lyre."

Alysanne shuffles where she sits but she agreed to try, so she is trying.

"What is your favorite song to play?"

"I have a few," Aegon says carefully, "The Knight of the Laughing Tree is one of my favorites."

Alysanne blinks at him owlishly, "Knight of…"

"Yes," Aegon confirms, "About mother Lyanna."

"Mother… Lyanna?"

Aegon frowns, "Is there something the matter?"

Alysanne pauses and then decides to be truthful, "I did not know you spoke of my mother in such a way."

Dany sighs sadly and Aegon gently takes Alysanne's hand, "Though she was not my mother in blood she was still a mother to me, if for how short it was. She gave me that which is most precious to me, Alysanne."

Alysanne stares at him.

"You, Alysanne. She gave me you."