The corridors of the Red Keep were utterly silent.
Only the distant rhythm of iron boots striking stone could be heard as the Kingsguard changed shifts, accompanied by the increasingly heavy pounding of Baelon’s own heart within his chest.
The swaddled bundle in his arms radiated a gentle warmth.
Baelon lowered his head and looked at the infant once more.
Daeron…
what am I supposed to do with you?
Perhaps I could claim Daeron as my own bastard?
Viserys is a good boy.
Perhaps he would…
Just as he approached the familiar corner, a door opened.
Soft candlelight spilled into the corridor, driving away the cold gloom and illuminating Baelon’s face—which instantly drained of all color.
His mother stood in the doorway.
She was no longer wearing the black mourning gown from earlier that day.
Instead, a pale blue velvet sleeping robe was draped around her body.
Her honey-colored hair hung loosely over her shoulders, its edges gilded warm gold by the candlelight.
Alysanne showed no surprise.
No anger.
Not even the slightest trace of irritation at having her sleep disturbed.
Her deep blue eyes calmly regarded her son.
Then the swaddled bundle in his arms.
“Aemon’s blood, isn’t he?”
Alysanne’s voice broke the silence.
Looking at her son’s pale face, she smiled.
“Never forget, there are no secrets in the Red Keep, my child.
That is the first lesson you must learn now that you are heir to the throne…”
She stepped aside, opening the way into her chambers.
The candlelight cast the long shadow of her robe across the floor.
“Don’t stand in the cold.
Come and speak with your mother for a while, my child…”
Almost mechanically, Baelon moved forward.
Still carrying Daeron, he entered his mother’s solar.
He stood in the middle of the room like a thief caught red-handed, utterly uncertain what he should do.
Alysanne closed the door.
The cold wind and distant footsteps were shut outside.
She walked to a table, picked up a wine pitcher, and took a clean cup.
Slowly, she poured a stream of golden wine into it.
His mother did not return to her chair.
She simply remained standing.
Her gaze fell once more upon the infant in Baelon’s arms before returning to her son’s face.
Alysanne took a sip of wine.
Her blue eyes seemed especially deep beneath the candlelight.
“I thought I had become strong enough…”
She finally spoke again.
Her voice was softer now, almost as though she were speaking to herself.
“Strong enough to calmly accept my children’s departures.
To watch them come into this world one after another…
and then watch the Stranger take them from me before my own time came.”
Alysanne’s fingers unconsciously traced the side of her wine cup.
“My heart has been pierced so many times that there should be nothing left of it, my child.
I thought it could no longer feel the pain of loss.”
“I thought I had learned to accept the cruelty and uncertainty of fate…”
“Sit down, child.
Must you wait until I command you?”
Alysanne sighed.
Her eyes focused once more upon Baelon’s face.
There was no attempt to hide what lay within them.
The immense grief of a mother.
And exhaustion.
“And now, not only must I endure the pain of losing him…”
Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly.
“I must also watch your father, after Aemon’s funeral and in such a place, strip his daughter—my eldest granddaughter—of the rights she possessed from birth.”
Alysanne slowly shook her head.
Bitterness filled her voice.
“But how could I blame you, my child?”
Baelon raised his head and looked at his mother.
There was only profound sorrow in Alysanne’s eyes.
And something almost like compassionate understanding.
“Rhaenys is my eldest granddaughter.
I watched her come into this world.
I watched that stumbling little creature grow into the proud, fearless girl she is today, with dragonfire burning in her eyes.”
“I love her.”
“Just as I have loved every one of my children.”
“But…”
“You are my son.”
“One of only two sons I still have left in this world.”
“Vaegon has chosen another path.
And now…”
Her fingers trembled against his skin.
“I only have you left, Baelon…”
Baelon felt his throat tighten.
Never before had he heard his mother speak in such a voice.
He opened his mouth.
He wanted to say I’m sorry.
He wanted to tell her, This wasn’t what I wanted.
Yet in the end, he merely tightened his hold around Daeron.
As though the tiny life in his arms were the only piece of driftwood left to a drowning man.
A nearly imperceptible softness flickered through Alysanne’s eyes as she watched her helpless son.
“Let me see the child.”
Baelon carefully handed the swaddled infant to her.
His movements were awkward and overly cautious, as though the slightest mistake might disturb the sleeping baby.
Alysanne received Daeron with practiced ease.
The motion was so natural that it seemed the skill had never faded despite the passing decades.
One arm securely supported Daeron.
With her other hand, she gently pulled aside the corner of the blanket covering his little face.
Beneath the candlelight, the sleeping infant’s features were fully revealed.
Sparse, soft wisps of pale platinum hair covered his head.
Plump baby cheeks.
A small but unusually high-bridged nose…
Alysanne stared at that little face.
For a long time.
A very long time.
Her fingers brushed the infant’s warm cheek with extraordinary gentleness.
The touch was filled with tenderness.
Finally, Alysanne released a soft sigh.
That sigh carried too many emotions to name.
Memories.
Grief.
And perhaps something else…
“He looks so much like him…”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Aemon was much easier to raise than you and Alyssa.”
She lifted her head and looked at Baelon.
Clarity had returned to her eyes.
“I intend to return to Dragonstone, child.”
The words were like a shard of ice dropped into Baelon’s chest just as his mother’s understanding had begun to warm it.
He immediately blurted out, “Mother, you can’t—”
Alysanne raised one hand.
Baelon fell silent.
“Your father no longer needs me.”
“In the small council.
In decisions concerning the future of the realm…
he no longer needs my counsel.”
“When it comes to the blood of our family, to something as fundamental as succession, he no longer needs my approval.”
Alysanne’s expression hardened.
“He no longer even cares about my feelings.”
“This is a rejection of me…”
Her voice grew colder.
“A rejection of everything we have done together while ruling this kingdom for more than forty years.”
“But before I leave…”
Alysanne looked down at Daeron.
“Tell me, my son.”
“What do you intend to do with this child?”
Baelon’s mouth went dry.
He accepted the cup of wine his mother handed him and drank deeply, attempting to clear his thoughts.
“I will raise him, Mother.”
His voice was hoarse, but he forced himself to sound firm.
“I will care for him as he grows.
I will give him the protection and education he deserves.”
“This was Aemon’s dying wish…”
Alysanne silently stared at him.
Clearly, she was waiting for him to continue.
But Baelon stopped.
What else could he say?
He remembered Aemon’s one open eye staring at him.
Brother…
was there something else you wanted to say?
Baelon fell silent.
“Your brother’s so-called dying wish did not even mention his daughter?”
Alysanne’s voice suddenly rose. The source of this chapter is novelping.com.
She remained controlled.
Yet the sharpness hidden beneath her restraint cut through the room.
“Aemon, he—”
“Damn it!
Do you men only care whether your descendants have that thing dangling between their legs?”
Alysanne cut him off.
“Your father is like this, and now even your brother—”
She drew a deep breath, forcing down her emotions.
Yet her eyes continued to burn.
“Rhaenys!”
“Your brother’s legitimate, trueborn daughter!
The precious little girl he loved for more than ten years!”
“Did Aemon not mention her even once?”
“Tell me, son.”
“Did you spare even the smallest thought for Rhaenys’s future?”
“For how she is supposed to live after being publicly passed over in the succession?”
“Or is it simply because she is a girl?”
Alysanne’s voice turned bitter.
“Do her feelings—and the feelings of her mother, Jocelyn—mean nothing to you?”
Baelon found himself silent once again.
A heavy silence.
One filled with self-loathing.
Alysanne lowered her head and looked at the infant in her arms.
At some point, Daeron had awakened.
His clear, deep violet eyes were open.
Curious and innocent, he stared up at the unfamiliar face above him.
He did not cry.
He did not fuss.
“Let him come with me to Dragonstone.”
Alysanne’s voice sounded again.
This time, it was far calmer.
There was even something in her tone that might almost be called negotiation.
Baelon looked at her.
A sly light flashed through Alysanne’s eyes.
“Let him leave with me.”
“For now, he should be far from King’s Landing.
Far from this whirlpool of power, whispers, and ambition.”
“On Dragonstone, he can have a simpler childhood.”
“He can grow up merely as a child.”
“Not as someone constantly reminded of his birth or of the trouble his very existence might bring.”
She paused.
Her voice softened.
“Surely…”
“You would not refuse your poor mother’s request?”
Alysanne smiled faintly.
“Consider it a kindness to an old woman who has lost far too many children.
Let me keep a little one by my side to relieve my loneliness.”
And perhaps…
this is the last thing I can do for my son.
Alysanne winked at Baelon.
The gesture was so familiar that Baelon was instantly pulled back into the distant years of his childhood.
Whenever he and Alyssa had caused trouble and been caught, Mother would wink at him just like that.
It meant she was on his side.
It meant there was a tiny, unspoken understanding between mother and son.
Daeron shifted slightly in Alysanne’s arms.
A soft, indistinct little grunt escaped his mouth.
As though reminding the two adults drowning in complicated emotions that he was still there.
Alysanne lowered her head.
She looked at the infant in her arms.
At last, a genuine smile appeared on her face.
Warm.
Gentle.
Filled with a mother’s tenderness.
Though a trace of sorrow still remained buried deep within her eyes.
“Before I leave…”
She raised her head and looked at Baelon.
Her voice became calm once more.
“Let us feed poor little Daeron first.”
“After such a long journey and so much time in the cold wind, the little fellow must be starving by now.”
“Go wake my maid.”
“Tell her to prepare some warm goat’s milk.”
Alysanne glanced down at Daeron.
“Fresh milk.”