𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ||Aegon Targaryen||

17. "It's hard to be nobody."

Author note: English is not my first language, so if there are any mistakes (they will) I apologize.

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"Your Grace." Ser Erryk said, his voice steady as he held Alysanne by the collar. The young girl squirmed and twisted in his grip, her eyes wide with fear and desperation, but Ser Erryk's hold remained firm. Rhaenyra and Daemon, startled by the sudden intrusion, turned quickly. Their eyes widened in shock at the sight before them.

Alysanne's once vibrant face was streaked with dirt, and her hands were blackened with soot. Her clothes were torn, and patches of her skin were charred, showing the evidence of a recent ordeal. The air around her carried the faint smell of smoke and burnt fabric.

Rhaenyra, her heart pounding, sprang from the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor with urgency. She rushed towards her daughter, her voice trembling with concern,

"Alysanne! What happened?"

As she reached them, Rhaenyra gently cupped Alysanne's soot-streaked face, her eyes searching her daughter's for any sign of serious injury. Tears welled up in Alysanne's eyes, her lip quivering as she tried to find the words to explain. The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the dying fire in the hearth, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on them all.

Her eyes scanning her daughter for injuries. Alysanne stood silent, her small form trembling, eyes downcast, refusing to meet her mother's gaze. Panic surged through Rhaenyra, her voice rising with each word.

"What happened?" The fear and worry were palpable, thickening the air between them.

Ser Erryk, standing nearby, hesitated. His eyes flicked to Alysanne, silently seeking permission or perhaps guidance. The little girl remained mute, staring at her feet, her shoulders slumped in defeat. The knight's face tightened with concern, his voice low and steady as he finally spoke.

"Princess Alysanne was found by the sea," he began, his words careful, each one carrying a weight of unspoken dread. "Seasmoke was several meters in front of her."

At the mention of her father's dragon, Alysanne's silent tears turned into quiet sobs. She tried to stifle them, but her small frame shook with the effort, betraying her fear and anguish.

The image painted by Ser Erryk's words was stark and terrifying. Rhaenyra's mind raced, piecing together the implications, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the realization dawned on her, a cold, hard truth settling in her chest. Her daughter wanted to claim her husband's dragon.

Rhaenyra’s gaze softened as she watched her daughter, Alysanne, collapse into her arms, tears streaming down her face. The room was heavy with the scent of dragonfire and the metallic tang of blood, remnants of a perilous attempt to claim her father’s dragon, Seasmoke. Alysanne’s chest heaved with sobs, not from the agony of her wounds, but from the deep, aching desire to bond with the dragon that once belonged to her father.

Her fingers trembled as she clutched the hem of Rhaenyra’s gown, seeking solace in her mother’s embrace. Her heart ached with the desperate yearning to feel a connection to her father through Seasmoke, to prove her worth and find her place among the dragons, despite the profound loss she felt.

Rhaenyra's eyes, filled with a mixture of pride and sorrow, scanned Alysanne’s battered form. The young girl's ambition and courage were evident, but so was the heavy price she had paid. Rhaenyra pulled her daughter closer, smoothing her hair with a soothing touch, her own eyes misting with tears.

In a quiet, solemn gesture, Rhaenyra glanced at Ser Erryk, who stood by the door, his expression unreadable. The knight met her gaze and nodded solemnly. Rhaenyra’s silent acknowledgment was enough. Ser Erryk turned to Daemon, who, with a subtle nod, indicated his understanding.