[Center][h1]Dragonstone[/h1][/center]
[Center][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/08226c09-3cc7-485f-88ec-3ef0483c31be.png[/img][/center]
[Right][sub][@Vanq],  [@Almalthia] & [@Ezekiel][/sub][/right][hr][hr]

Queen Alyssa’s hands trembled, they covered her mouth, a valiant effort to stifle the sobs. Her body convulsed through the effort. She had been brought the news first, in private, while the other children kept their father company in his convalescence. Now the queen needed more strength than was left for her. 

The gods were cruel. 

Her husband’s collapse had been terrifying enough, only for a raven to arrive a day later with news of a vicious attack in the Westerlands. That Aenys had managed to begin recovery in spite of that had been a welcome reprieve from what had seemed certain tragedy. Visenya may have been a hard woman, but Alyssa credited her entirely with the fact that the king had avoided the Stranger’s cold grasp. Thank the gods, she had reiterated over and over, Aenys saved, her eldest children attacked but under the protection of House Lannister. 

How could she tell her husband now? How could she tell the children? It did not feel real, no matter the gaping hole in her soul, the ache only a mother would understand. 

A hand to her shoulder startled her. The maester, with pity in his eyes, wordlessly motioned to the door. The news had to be broken. There could be no further delay. Alyssa wiped at her face, a futile effort for the tears did not halt. She gripped the man’s arm with both hands, a heavy dread that deepened with every step that brought them to her husband’s chambers. 

She paused at the door, no longer able to stop the grief from spilling over. A piercing wail broke free from the queen, shattering the silence of the corridor, halted the quiet murmurs she had barely noticed from within the room. The door opened, she was face-to-face with a maid whose look of pure confusion quickly turned to fear. Alyssa barely held herself upright as her eyes moved towards the bed where she could see her husband and children staring back at her. 

The maester, one hand to the queen’s back to free himself of her grip, and the other to the maid to take his place, stepped fully into the room. [color=#EEE8AA]“My King, with deepest regret I must inform you we have received word from Casterly Rock -"[/color] He was interrupted again by the sound of the queen falling to her knees. [color=#EEE8AA]“Lady Rhaena is said to be recovering well, but Prince Aegon, he has succumbed to his wounds."[/color] 

[color=#9966CC][i]Aegon? What?[/i][/color] Stunned, Melyssanthi was not processing exactly what the Maester was saying. [color=#9966CC]"Aegon… you must be mistaken… Why would he be wounded?"[/color] The message started to sink in. [color=#9966CC]"Who owes me a life?! So help me I will take a page from my grandfather's book. There will be fire and blood in the Westerlands."[/color] 

Her temper burned within, making her vivid purple eyes dance with a fire that was born of rage. She looked down at her mother and snapped. [color=#9966CC]"Get up. Your living children and husband need your strength."[/color] Turning to the Maester, Melyssanthi lashed him with her temper as well. [color=#9966CC]"And you. Did you not think this would exasperate the King's condition. You who are supposed to be the greatest Maester in Oldtown. GET OUT BEFORE I DROP YOU FROM A HEIGHT INTO YOUR PRECIOUS FIRE IN OLDTOWN!"[/color] Melyssanthi bellowed with authority and a terrifyingly exquisite rage that heightened her color and deepened her breath.

Still in a beautiful rage Melyssanthi turned to the maid and in a less severe tone said. [color=#9966CC]"Fetch my Aunt Visenya to me."[/color] She took a breath in and out. [color=#9966CC]"Please. And be quick."[/color] 

The maid left quickly, running, towards the Dowager Queen's rooms. Despite Melyssanthi's outburst, the Maester stayed firmly in the room, waiting for the king or queen to dismiss him. Alyssa stood, jarred to action by her daughter's words. It was Aenys she should go to, worried as she was about what this would do to him, what it would do to them. But her daughter needed her. Unsteadily she swooped onto her daughter, enveloped the girl in a surprisingly firm embrace. [color=#9400D3]"My darling,"[/color] she got out before sobs could overtake her again, [color=#9400D3]"Rhaena will need you more than ever, do not be rash."[/color] 

The king's gaze stayed on the maester though he struggled to see anything. He heard words, he heard cries and anguished yells, but none of it was cohesive. His son, dead? The little boy who had ridden wooden dragons? The sweet child who had trailed after his older sisters? The little leader who corralled his younger siblings? His heir who would have made as good a king as him, with time? [color=#8A2BE2]"Impossible."[/color] He muttered it at first. Quietly, barely audible except to young Alyssane who had been curled up on his side. Her little face peered up to his, tears in her eyes though she too could not comprehend all that was said. [color=#8A2BE2]"Impossible!"[/color] The king spoke again, louder this time, pain and fear in his voice. His fists tightened as he gripped the blankets laid over him, his knuckles whitened even against his paled skin. [color=#8A2BE2]"IMPOSSIBLE!"[/color] 

The treatments Visenya had worked on the King were effective, but taxing. She had delved into the knowledge saved from Valyria, both the mundane and the mystical, spoken the names and prayers of the ancient Gods into the flames and only just been rewarded with saving her ailing Nephew from the brink. She had rarely been shy in her council or criticism of Aenys and his reign, but he was still her blood. The son of the Dragon. She would have placed her own child on the throne in his place, but it was not the right of the Seven Starred barbarians to take him from her.

She had maintained the same chambers on Dragonstone for all of her long life. If any of her family had thought that the chance of title would have altered that they had been sadly mistaken, and none had voiced it. The chamber was the largest not reserved for the Lord of Dragonstone, high up in the spires. For all her reputation, the space was brightly decorated and well lit, the adornments were mostly in the style of the Free Hold, but there were a few scattering of trappings that originated from the peoples of Westeros and more exotic climes. The only truly ominous feature of the room was the vast reflective slab of Dragonglass, which she now stood before. She eyed her own reflection intently, pale violet eyes gazing back into themselves.

The Queen-That-Was regarded herself, clad in a gown that was part black metal, part red cloth, and allowed a slow breath to leave her form. She could feel the commotion rising through Dragonstone as if the citadel was an extension of herself.

[color=#C71585]"What now, old friend?"[/color] She spoke the words, gazing upwards as she seem to regard the place itself. [color=#C71585]"What more would they have of me?"[/color] The last words to leave her lips before she was interrupted were barely a whisper, a ghost of a sound. Then the maid entered her chamber, and the tidings she brought were desperate enough that even Visenya would not punish her for the break of decorum.

[color=#C71585]“Out."[/color] The next words Visenya spoke were to the whole room as she entered Aenys’ chamber, an unconditional and uncompromising command that came without panic as to the situation. When the Maester protested, something as to only being dismissed by the King or Queen themselves, the two of her footmen that followed simply dragged him from the room, the Dowager Queen having no time to settle the matter herself. She paused only once, a hand calloused with a lifetime of sword work placed with surprisingly gentle touch on the shoulder of the Queen, speaking softly; [color=#C71585]“Strength, Strength for your children."[/color] It was only a moment, her stride barely halted as she reached Aenys’ side. The emotional outburst of the King was rapidly turning into less deliberate convulsions, what little strength his form had from his last bout of illness being forced into the task of his own destruction.

The air cooled around Visenya, the vibrancy of her eyes rising as it did, perhaps a trick of the light, or the Sun dipping lower, the seabound air rushing about the chamber, or it could be more. There were few options left to her at such notice, but there wasn’t anything she would leave unturned here, willing the nephew she had always thought weak to find his last strength.

Relaxing a little as her Great Aunt entered the room and in the next moment defiance and rigidity stiffened Melyssanthi’s countenance as they were ordered out. She looked at her mother as the Dowager Queen spoke to her. All the pain, fear and rage boiled inside her and she stood rooted to the spot so that her mother had to drag her from the room. She did not fight her mother. She merely looked at her mother with all of her emotions playing across her face and as the door shut she shook with the force of them.

Shaking off her mother, Melyssanthi stood tall, her rage draped about her like a living breathing thing, her eyes bright with it. [color=#9966CC]“I will hold her personally responsible if father dies. Just as I will hold [i]all[/i] those who killed my brother personally responsible."[/color] Her voice was firm and confident as well as filled with an unquenchable anger.

Alyssa stood facing her second daughter, Visenya’s words pounding in the echoing void of her grief. Little Alysanne and Jaehaerys gripped her on either side, seeking her comfort and asking questions that she could not answer. Viserys behind her tried to be strong but his face was wet and red from crying. The queen stared at Melyssanthi and for one fleeting moment felt herself shatter. Her hand was raised before she knew what she was doing and the sound of her hand meeting her daughter’s cheek was sharp, vicious. [color=#9400D3]“He is my son. I pray you never get a taste of my grief."[/color] Remorse quickly flooded her when she saw her daughter’s face clearly, the fresh redness of a handprint. [color=#9400D3]“Come, we’ll go to the sept and pray."[/color] Pray that whatever it was Visenya had done to save her husband the first time, she would be successful again. 

Within the bedchamber, Aenys found a moment of lucidity. His breath heavy and ragged, he felt as if a heavy stone had been placed on his chest. But he was able to focus on his aunt, to see her and to know that there was nothing she could do. Tears came to his eyes that he could no longer protect his family. [color=#8A2BE2]“Aunt."[/color] He raised his arm, with frailty, towards her, beckoning her to his side. 

The moment was shared between them, a brief flash of grief and rage as Visenya knew that their foes had succeeded. She had spent the last weeks caring over Aenys as if he was her own son, and even had she not relied on arts that perhaps only she could still master, she felt his strength flooding out of him as if it were her own. Only then did she allow the tension to flood out of her, giving up the fight in the same moment. The same weakness rushed into her, staggering as she took the step needed to bring herself fully to his side. Another fleeting reminder that soon even her supernatural ability to hold off the curse of time would come to an end. [color=#8A2BE2][I]Just a few more years, there is still so much to do[/I].[/color] 

[color=#C71585]"Hush now, nephew, I am sure there are kinder souls to you than I that you would wish to share your last words with."[/color] For a rare moment, she took his hand in both of her's, stroking her fingers over the sickness-wracked heat baking from his skin. When she looked at him, a spattering of tears fell from her eyes, unable to ignore the likeness in his face.

So like Rhaenys, another who this land had taken from her. Perhaps no one else but the dying man before he could understand the ache her passing had left, the great chasm in their lives. How different, happier, they all could have been.

[color=#8A2BE2]"Please, I need -"[/color] His lips were dry, his mouth struggled to form the words he needed to get out. Every syllable was a battle, and he felt the return of being a disappointment in comparison to his brother. He had always just been sufficient. A lark of destiny that he had been conceived first. But for his children, he could fight to at least ensure their future. The Stranger would have to wait just a little longer to claim him. Aegon gone, young Viserys would need a strong hand. [color=#8A2BE2]"We named him for you. Protect him, make him a king like father was."[/color] Aenys fell back, sweat dripping down him, soaking the bed, from the effort and the sickness that ravaged him. His hand went weak in his aunt's embrace, but he kept his eyes on her, searching for her promise so that he could pass in peace.

[color=#C71585]"I will keep them all safe, Nephew, they will never harm your blood again."[/color] She did not mention that what he asked, in the way he meant it, was impossible. His second son was young, barely out of infancy, and for all that time seemed to rest only lightly on Visenya, she did not have the years left to forge a new King from such clay. She had tried, for so long, to guide her family. Even her beloved siblings had often ignored her council, while leaving the consequences of both their mercy and brevity for her to resolve. She leaned down, feeling more of her own strength returning to her with every passing moment as Aenys faded, the vitality she had worked into his recuperation left unspent by the failure of his heart for this final time. With another moment of tenderness that surprised even her, she placed a kiss to his cheek, pausing only to give her final words to the passing King, switching to the ancient words of their lost people as she did so, [color=#C71585]"The fires will dance with your mother's joy to see you once more."[/color] 

As she pulled away, and her own tears fell on to the face of her departing Nephew, she spoke louder in Valyrian, enough that the sworn guards of the household pulled the doors reverently open, allowing the light to return to the chamber.

The slap jerked Melyssanthi’s head to the side. She'd never been struck before and she froze after her mother hit her. Slowly she turned her head and regarded her mother as if she were a stranger. Her mother's words rang in her ears and bounced around within her and faded into inconsequential noise. Of course she'd bury children. A husband. Friends. No one was immortal. 

[color=#9966CC]"You would not have a reason to if Dreamfyre had gone with them."[/color] Melyssanthi’s face was colder than the land of always winter. [color=#9966CC]"You could have pushed for them to take her. You're the Queen and his wife. [i]You alone[/i] had the right to press that decision. So while yes I may bury a child, husband, friends or lovers it will not be because [i]I[/i] did not fight for their right to protect themselves to their fullest capabilities."[/color] 

Melyssanthi stood firm and shook her head. [color=#9966CC]"I shall wait here to receive word from Aunt Visenya."[/color] 

The queen had been stopped fully at her daughter's defiance. The littlest ones began to wail, from confusion and anger and grief. It only served to enrage Alyssa further. The girl was selfish in her grief, so absorbed in herself she could see little else. And the queen, the mother, the wife, she could do little but stare open mouthed in shock. As if she had not been living lifetimes of regrets in the little time since news had arrived. 

It was Viserys instead, who stepped around their mother, his hand scrubbing awkwardly at his face to clear it of tears and to steady his voice. [color=#EE82EE]"Do not speak to mother that way."[/color] His voice had yet to deepen, he still sounded like the boy that he was, barely out of playing with wooden swords instead of learning swordplay. And yet he knew that he was now heir. He feared that he was now king. 

Looking down at her little brother, Melyssanthi's heart broke for him. He would never truly be king. Very quickly he would be something to represent a king but at his age would have a regent. Visenya and or Maegor would rule. Her mother was too soft. Rhaena would be remarried. Probably to their Uncle as was suggested earlier. She'd be stuck somewhere, gods knew where. Jaehaerys and Alyssane were young enough that they could be molded; maybe this let them fight for a place. That is if they weren’t all just killed. [color=#9966CC]"Viserys. May you learn to listen and hear truths when they are spoken little brother."[/color] She looked at her mother. [color=#9966CC]"Then [i]when[/i] you are King you can make the right choices yourself."[/color] 

Try as he might, the boy struggled to respond. He turned back towards his mother instead, seeking comfort from harsh truths or encouragement to act like a man. He floundered in both for the Queen had knelt to hug the two youngest to her. She sang to them softly, between gasps of trying to stifle sobs.

[color=#9400D3][center][i]"The Seven Gods who made us all, are listening if we should call.
So close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children.
Just close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you, little children.”[/i][/center][/color] 

The doors swung open and Alyssa slowly lifted her head to look over the heads of Jaehaerys and Alyssane. She looked behind her to see Viserys with his head bowed, sniffling heavily. She looked to Melyssanthi, contempt and anger but a mother could see the grief it buried. Her heart ached for the loss of her son, her husband, her living children. [color=#8A2BE2][i]Strength[/i][/color] , Visenya had said, but where in seven hells was it to come from? 

[color=#C71585]“Come, but quietly and gently, to see your father."[/color] 

The King’s eyes remained open, his breath alternated between quiet wheezing and sudden, ragged gasps. He knew that his family surrounded him, but not all of them. His mother, he could barely recall her face, knew only the stories that had been told to him. She was nothing and everything. His father, would he be remembered the same? How could he be, he had done so little. Aenys’s eyes looked over those assembled. He wished he could stay, wished he could grow old and see his children have children. He wished that he had never sent Aegon and Rhaena away. Aenys’s strength faded, his mouth moved to form the name of his wife, the names of his children, but there was no sound except for the awful rasping breaths. 

He closed his eyes, unsure of how much time had passed but so tired. He was so tired of everything, he wanted to see his mother like he sometimes did in his dreams. He wanted to fly on Quicksilver beside her on Meraxes. He wanted to see what he had only spoken of with maesters. He closed his eyes and felt a dozen hands on him, warmth, finally he was warm again. Aenys felt the warm sun on his face, land and sea whirl beneath him, and then nothing. 

The white hot rage that burned like dragon fire sputtered and died as Melyssanthi viewed her Aunt's forlorn expression and she knew. The press of the Stranger was heavy and in a conciliatory gesture she paused and grasped her Aunt's hands. Grief threatened to suck her down into a bottomless abyss that she knew she would end up walking alone or it would swallow her whole. Her pause was brief but spoke volumes about her reigning herself in.

Moving to her father she watched as he struggled to breathe. Silent tears fell as Melyssanthi held his hand and gave him what comfort she could. She sang. Her voice was soft and unsteady at first as her broken emotions laid bare. Gaining strength her voice steadied and became stronger with each note.

She sang an old Valyrian lullaby that spoke of being the one that was called home. A home across swirling seas where you could feel the pulse of the land with the sun warm on your face. A place untouched by time where you wait for your loved ones with love and patience knowing that time has no meaning, that you would see them soon. She sent him off with the Stranger knowing that he was loved and missed but someday he'd see them just like he would be reunited with his parents.