Chapter Text
Cersei
When she first found out that she was pregnant, Cersei felt pure rage. She’d only lain with her husband once, on their wedding night. He’d called her by the dead she-wolf’s name and she’d almost gouged his eyes out with her fingers. She and Jaime hadn’t lain together again until two months later, and three days after that the maester had told her she was with child.
There was no one else. There was no other option. She carried the spawn of that bastard Robert within her, and it took everything she had not to slice herself open with a knife to get it out.
She hated the developing babe all throughout her pregnancy, hated it with her entire being. She hated how fat and useless she felt, hated the way her legs would swell and ache, but most of all, she hated that she carried a piece of Robert Baratheon within her. It felt like a parasite, stealing parts of her bit by bit as it grew.
The birth was terrible, more painful than she could’ve imagined. It took place during the worst storm Westeros had seen in a hundred years, thunder and lightning crashing down and shattering the sky above her. The wind howled and shrieked, and Cersei shrieked alongside it. She hated the babe, hated it for putting her through this, hated it for its father -
And then it was over. As the storm outside died, Maester Pycelle handed her the child. Cersei took it, and looked down at its face.
It was a girl, Pycelle told her. She had tufts of black hair like her father, and Cersei wanted to smash her into the walls, but then -
Then the babe opened her eyes, and they were hers.
For the first time, Cersei realized that the babe wasn’t just a product of Robert’s lust for a dead woman. She was hers too, hers to mold and nurture as she wished, and the hatred twisted and turned into love.
They were both girls in a world where men made the rules. Cersei would teach her daughter - her daughter, not Robert’s, never Robert’s - what she needed to know to make herself great, to survive in this cruel, uncaring world. This girl would be hers in a way no one, not even Jaime, was.
“Have you decided on a name, Your Grace?” Pycelle asked, and Cersei smiled.
“Alysanne,” she said, running a hand possessively down her daughter’s face. “Princess Alysanne.”
~
Alysanne
Alysanne had always known she wasn’t normal. No one else held memories of a past life, after all.
In the beginning, she’d thought them childish imaginings. The life she remembered was so far removed from her current one, so fantastical, so unbelievable that it couldn’t possibly have been real. But then one day, she’d come upon a snake in the gardens of King’s Landing.
She’d been four namedays at the time. She’d snuck away from her guards and sat in her secret spot, a small copse of trees and bushes that hid a tiny clearing. She’d barely sat when she heard a small, sibilant voice from somewhere near her feet.
Human! How dare it intrude upon my home!
Alysanne looked down and froze. At her feet was a tiny grass snake, no bigger than her hand. It couldn’t possibly have spoken, could it?
Perhaps she’d imagined it. Perhaps she was going mad.
Hello, she said, and she heard a soft, hissing quality to her voice that wasn’t there when she spoke Common.
The grass snake reared up in shock. It speaks! I’ve never met a human who could speak before!
Alysanne pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t.
I can speak to snakes, she thought, half in awe, half in horror. Which meant - could it be possible that her dreams were real? That Aster Potter had truly existed?
She’d never spoken of her memories to anyone, not even her mother. Something had told her to keep it secret, and so she had. She swallowed, hard, and sat heavily on the ground.
What did this mean? What did she do now?
You reanalyze, the voice of Aster Potter told her gently but sternly. You reanalyze, think, and plan. You were a Slytherin, once. You were the Slytherin. You may not have your magic anymore, but you still have your mind, and that’s more important than magic.
That was where her Uncle Jaime found her an hour later. She heard him knock on the wood of a nearby tree, and she snapped out of her thoughts. That was their signal - it meant it was time to come out, and so she did, toddling out of the bushes.
Uncle Jaime gave a fond, exasperated sigh when he saw her.
“Alys,” he said. “What’ve I told you about giving your guards the slip?”
“Not to,” Alysanne said obediently. “But I don’t want to have to tell them about my secret spot. It wouldn’t be secret anymore.”
Uncle Jaime smiled. “Do I not count?”
Alysanne shook her head. “No, you’re better than them.”
His eyes danced. “Am I, now? Because I’m a member of the Kingsguard?”
Alysanne fought the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she wrinkled her nose. “No, silly. Because you’re my favourite person.”
It was true. Alysanne loved her parents, but she saw the cruelty and possessiveness in her mother’s eyes, the adulterous, drunken tendencies of her father, and the way they both hated each other. Even her younger brother, Joffrey, though he was only three, had a cruel streak. Uncle Jaime, though, was kind and gentle and indulgent of her, and always made time for her when she needed him. It was a new sensation for Alysanne and Aster both, to have an adult go to such lengths for her happiness and well-being.
Uncle Jaime blinked at her, looking taken aback. “Your favourite person?” he said faintly. “Surely not. Your parents -”
“They don’t treat me the way you do, Uncle Jaime,” Alysanne said quietly. “I love them, and I know they love me, but sometimes I get the feeling that those loves aren’t quite the same. Mother… she sees me as her legacy. Father sees me as a pretty little doll. You, though… you see me as my own person, and I appreciate that.”
She gazed at him with wide, earnest green eyes, and saw him swallow, lost for words for the first time.
“I…” Uncle Jaime stared at her. Then he gave her a soft, gentle smile. His eyes were bright. “Thank you, Alysanne,” he said quietly. “You’re my favourite person, too.”
~
Jaime
She was an odd one, Cersei’s daughter. Jaime hadn’t lied when he’d said she was his favourite person - she was sweet and kind and gentle, and she looked at him like he hung the moon and stars.
It’d been a long time since anyone looked at him that way. Cersei… he loved her, but she looked at him like he was hers, which of course he was, but it wasn’t the same. His father looked at him like he was a disappointment. Tyrion was the last person who’d looked at him that way, and that was only when he’d been a child.
He’d thought, before she was born, that he’d hate her. He and Cersei both had. But then he’d visited Cersei after the birth, and the babe he’d thought he’d despise, with Robert’s hair and Cersei’s eyes, had smiled and babbled at him and grasped his finger in her little hand. His heart had melted, then, and he’d smiled softly back.
Even when she’d grown and learned his history, learned his unofficial title of Kingslayer, she’d never stopped looking at him like that.
“You had your reasons, didn’t you, Uncle Jaime?” Little Alysanne said softly, her eyes strangely knowing. “I don’t think you’d have broken your oaths for no reason. It’s not who you are.”
It had taken everything in Jaime not to break down and cry at her words. No one, not even Cersei, had ever asked him why he’d done what he had - they’d simply judged him for it. But little Alysanne, a young girl of six, had changed that.
He didn’t tell her the reason why he’d killed the old king - it was too bloody and cruel a story for a young girl. But he’d quietly confirmed that yes, there had been a reason, and Alysanne had smiled at him sadly.
“I thought so,” she’d said simply, and then they’d sat in silence.
She had him wrapped around her little finger, and Jaime didn’t even mind it. She was good , good in a way no one else, not even Cersei, was. She was kind to the servants, remembering their names and asking after their families; she was gentle with the animals, speaking to them in soft tones; she’d even cried when she first learned of the poverty in King’s Landing, which had spurred her to begin charitable initiatives in the city.
Yes, she was strange. So strange. She was more clever and knowledgeable than she had any real right to be, despite the alarming number of books she devoured. She knew her way around politics and economics and trade, and his father seemed to have - alarmingly - taken her under his wing.
His father and Alysanne - now there was a strange relationship. In the beginning, he’d thought they’d hate each other - Tywin was cold and cruel, and Alysanne kind and good. But his father had seen Alysanne’s intelligence, evident even at such a young age, and her well-concealed cunning.
Because oh, Alysanne was cunning. Few people knew, because she hid it under her genuine sense of kindness and goodwill, but the girl was as manipulative as Jaime’s father. Alysanne had goals, and she always, always got what she wanted. She’d wanted to lift the people of King’s Landing out of poverty, and she’d done it. She’d wanted more books, more time with her tutors, and she’d gotten that, too. She’d even wanted to learn how to wield a dagger after learning of what had happened to Princess Elia Martell, and she’d somehow gotten that as well.
~
Alysanne had found him after her lessons that day, close to tears. Jaime, alarmed, had knelt and asked her what was wrong.
“Princess Elia Martell,” Alysanne had began, her voice choked, and Jaime had understood instantly. He’d pulled her into a tight hug, and Alysanne had buried her face in his shoulder and wrapped her little arms around him.
“She was innocent,” Alysanne had whimpered, voice muffled. “She and her children were innocents, and the Mountain killed them anyway . ”
Jaime had stroked her hair, heart breaking for this small girl in his arms. He thought of Elia Martell’s kind brown eyes and warm smile, of the way little Rheanys had begun to toddle about, of the way tiny Aegon had babbled. Elia - she’d asked him to call her that, never Princess Elia - had always been kind to him. She’d been kind to everyone, but fierce in her own way. He thought of the way her lips had pressed together when she’d learned of Rhaegar’s betrayal with Lyanna Stark, of the way her eyes had shone with unshed tears but how she’d lifted her chin and kept going regardless.
He thought of her body, stabbed and broken. Of little Rhaenys and tiny Aegon, gone forever, laid at Robert’s feet. And so, when the girl in his arms, his beloved niece, older than Rhaenys and Aegon would ever be, asked, in a trembling voice, to be trained with a dagger, Jaime didn’t say no. And when she asked him to keep it a secret from everyone, even her own parents, Jaime didn’t say no to that, either.
~
Alysanne was seven years old now, and had single-handedly lifted hundreds, if not thousands, out of poverty through her charitable works. She’d recently begun to implement a crown-funded education system in King’s Landing that took promising young children and paid for their apprenticeships and educations - and hadn’t that been a sight to behold! She’d asked her father, in a high, sweet voice, if she could possibly attend a small council meeting, for she had a proposal to make. The king, indulgent of his firstborn, had allowed it.
Jaime had been guarding the king during that meeting. Alysanne had walked in with more grace than any child should possess, her chin lifted and green eyes bright. The rest of the small council had indulgent looks on their faces as she began to speak - Jaime wasn’t the only one Alysanne had wrapped around his finger - but those looks had soon turned to shock and contemplation once the former had faded.
Alysanne had been eloquent and persuasive in her arguments for a small pilot project that, if successful, would decrease poverty, thereby lessening crime. It would increase the number of maesters and tradespeople in the city and country, who would be grateful to the crown for providing the opportunity. It would decrease the strain on the charities as well, and the income of the artisans and tradespeople and merchants it produced would be taxed, providing a long-term return on investment.
She’d come prepared, not only with practical and logical talking points, but with numbers and graphs and charts. The upfront expense of funding even a single child throughout an apprenticeship would likely be recouped twenty times over throughout the course of the child’s life if they were even mildly successful.
Jaime had seen her working on the project with her tutors, of course, so he’d been somewhat prepared - but the rest of the small council had been veritably blown away. Baelish had raised his eyebrows, looking reluctantly impressed. Renly had looked at his niece with a new contemplation in his eyes. Stannis simply looked dismissive. Varys had given a small, pleased smile. They’d tried to poke holes in her arguments - what if the children failed their apprenticeships? What if they turned to crime anyway? - but Alysanne had answering points for each one. If, out of ten children, even a single child graduated, they would more than cover the expenses of all ten. Furthermore, it was highly unlikely for someone, once lifted out of poverty, to turn to a life of petty crime. Alysanne had the statistics she’d commissioned from the maesters to show for it, having conducted extensive interviews among the people in King’s Landing.
In the end, they had no reason to refuse her proposal, and it had been enacted. So far, King’s Landing had seen a slight decrease in petty crime already, though it’d been a mere two months since the pilot project had begun.
That wasn’t her only project - when she was four, she began requesting charitable donations as birthday gifts instead of dresses or jewels. When she was five, she began visiting orphanages, always heavily guarded, to read books to the children, bringing them gifts of food and clothes that came out of her own allowance.
The people of King’s Landing loved their princess with a ferocity that scared Jaime, sometimes. They’d started calling her the Good Princess Alysanne, after the Good Queen Alysanne of old, and she was often smiled at and stopped in the streets. There were even songs about her, though he suspected that was his father’s doing.
Cersei had been against Alysanne’s charity and projects, in the beginning. She’d raged about it to Jaime, saying that Alysanne was a lioness who need not concern herself with the lives of sheep. It was a point of contention between them even now. Cersei couldn’t seem to understand why Alysanne wanted to help better the lives of the smallfolk.
It had been the beginning of his disillusionment with his sister. Oh, he still loved her, of course - he always would. But to see Cersei so angry at her daughter’s kindness was jarring. At least the king was indifferent as long as he had his hunts and feasts.
The anger had faded somewhat after a talk with their father, who, surprisingly, had supported Alysanne’s pursuits. It was good for their image, he said, and good for Alysanne’s image as well. And less crime and poverty could only be a good thing - too much, and riots were a possibility. With bread in their bellies and a steady income, however, discontent capable of spouting riots was nearly impossible.
Not that Jaime believed Alysanne was doing it for those reasons - he knew her. He saw the way her eyes lit up when the orphanage’s children greeted her, the way she was genuinely interested in the inner lives of the castle servants, the way she smiled when she met the first person who’d been chosen for her pilot project, even if she clearly knew that that person was her father’s bastard.
~
No one had told her, of course. The shock on Alysanne’s face when she’d seen the boy had been genuine. She’d asked for a meeting with the boy she’d chosen from a list of candidates - she wanted to meet every one of the fifty children the crown had sponsored. She’d tried to hire out a room in a tavern for the meetings, but the tavern owner, upon learning what it was for, had simply given it to her instead. Jaime knew Alysanne was still planning on leaving a tip large enough to cover the expense to the owner and then some and hid a smile.
Then Gendry Waters had walked in.
“You’re Gendry Waters?” she’d said softly, though she’d obviously already known the answer. Her eyes had raked over his face, clearly categorizing the similarities with her father - the same hair, the same eyes, the same build. The boy was practically a carbon copy of Robert at his age. He was only nine, a young but not unheard of age to become an apprentice, and, unsurprisingly, knowing Robert’s habits, the daughter of a prostitute.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Gendry stammered.
Alysanne smiled at him. “There’s no need for formalities,” she said. “Please, call me Alysanne.”
Gendry paled. “Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly -”
“Well, I won’t force you,” Alysanne conceded. “But at the very least call me Princess Alysanne.”
“I… alright, Princess,” Gendry said, still looking deeply uncomfortable.
Alysanne smiled brightly and gestured at the armchair across from her. She was sitting in an armchair of her own next to the fireplace. She’d told Jaime that she didn’t want it to feel like an interview, with the parties divided by a table - instead, she wanted it to be a conversation.
“Please, have a seat,” Alysanne said.
Gendry sat, after sending a nervous look Jaime’s way. Jaime narrowed his eyes at the boy, daring him to harm his niece in any way. Gendry paled further.
“Uncle Jaime, stop that,” Alysanne chided gently without looking at Jaime.
“I’m not doing anything,” Jaime protested, grinning.
Alysanne slanted him a look, one delicate eyebrow raised. “Really?”
Jaime put a hand over his heart. “Really.”
Alysanne sighed, then turned to Gendry. “I’m sorry about him,” she said kindly. “He’s just terribly protective of me. It’s not personal.” She leaned forwards, an eager spark in her green eyes. “Now, how have you been doing in your apprenticeship? It’s been two months, hasn’t it?”
Gendry blinked and straightened. “Yeah. Master Mott says I’ve improved a lot,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “I’ve only been doing small tasks, like helping him stoke the fire and such, but he says I might be able to start forging in a year or so.”
“But do you enjoy the work?” Alysanne asked, tilting her head. “Is Master Mott good to you? Do you get enough to eat?”
Gendry’s eyes widened. He clearly hadn’t been expecting her questions, and Jaime didn’t blame him. Alysanne might’ve had a reputation for caring about the smallfolk, but it was one thing to hear of it and another thing to see it.
“I enjoy the work well enough,” Gendry said slowly. “I think I’ll enjoy it more once I start forging things, though. Master Mott treats me well, better than anyone else has.” He ducked his head, blushing. He’d clearly said that last bit by accident, but Alysanne only smiled and nodded encouragingly, so he continued. “And he feeds me well, too.”
“Good,” Alysanne said. “That’s good. If that ever changes, just let me know. The funding provided by the crown is contingent on your good treatment. The moment I get word that you’re being mistreated, you’ll be given the option of changing masters. I’ll be meeting with you and the other apprentices in King’s Landing once every two months, and whatever you tell me won’t be shared with your masters, so feel free to share any concerns you may have.” She gave him a sweet smile.
Gendry looked astounded. Jaime supposed this was the first time a noble had ever treated him like a person, and felt so proud of Alysanne that he thought he would burst.
“I - that’s real generous of you, Princess,” he said shyly. “Thanks.”
Alysanne only smiled, a little sad. “There’s no need to thank me,” she said. “It’s my responsibility to make sure you’re well taken care of.”
~
After Gendry left, and before the next apprentice would enter, Alysanne looked at Jaime, the only other person in the room, with a hint of vulnerability in her eyes.
“He’s my half-brother, isn’t he?” Alysanne said quietly.
“Yes,” Jaime answered, seeing no reason to lie.
Alysanne lowered her gaze. “His file… it says he was living in an orphanage before he was picked for my project,” she said quietly. Her small hands clenched into fists in her lap. “How… how could my father let that happen?”
Jaime sighed heavily. “This isn’t Dorne, Alys,” he said. “Bastards aren’t well thought of here.”
“But it’s not their fault,” Alysanne said. “They’re blameless.”
“I know.”
She swallowed. “This world is so cruel,” she whispered.
“... I know.”