[Dragonstone - Alysanne's Chambers]

Alysanne's fingers trembled as she unrolled the parchment from her spies in the Red Keep. The raven's message was clear: Cersei had sent her brother Jaime, the Lannister army, and Randyll Tarly to Highgarden. Cersei's move was bold, reckless even. But it was also calculated. Highgarden's gold and food would fuel the Lannisters' war machine, and its fall would crush the Tyrells completely.

She dipped her quill into the inkpot, her hand steady despite the storm in her chest. The letter to Willas Tyrell was short, urgent.

Prepare for a siege. Jaime Lannister and Randyll Tarly march on Highgarden. Hold the walls. Do not let them take your home.

She sealed it with the Targaryen sigil, her thoughts lingering on the Tyrells. They had lost so much already. Margaery, Mace, Loras—all gone in a single, fiery blast. Willas and his brother Garlan were all that remained of the main line, and even he bore the weight of his family's legacy with a quiet, unyielding strength.

The raven flew, its wings cutting through the gray skies over Dragonstone. Alysanne watched it go, her heart heavy. She knew what was at stake. Highgarden was more than a castle; it was a symbol. If it fell, the Reach would crumble, and the Lannisters would tighten their grip on the Seven Kingdoms. She couldn't let that happen. Not again.

[Highgarden]

In Highgarden, Willas Tyrell sat in the solar, his cane resting against the arm of his chair. The letter from Alysanne lay open on the table before him. He read it once, twice, then leaned back, his jaw tightening. The news wasn't unexpected, but it still stung. The Lannisters had taken everything from him—his siblings, his father, his peace. Now they wanted his home.

He called for his grandmother, Lady Olenna. She entered the room with her usual sharpness, her eyes narrowing as she saw the letter. "Bad news, I assume?" she asked, her voice dry.

"Jaime Lannister and Randyll Tarly are marching on Highgarden," Willas replied, his tone flat. "They mean to sack it."

Olenna's lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't flinch, but her hands tightened on the arms of her chair, his leg propped on a cushioned stool. The pain was a constant companion, but today it felt sharper.. "Randyll Tarly," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "That traitor. He'll regret siding with the lions."

Willas nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. He thought of his brother Garlan, Lord of Brightwater Keep with his wife Leonette. He thought of the cadet branches, scattered across the Reach. They would need to rally, to stand together. But time was against them.

"We'll hold the walls," Willas said finally, his voice firm. "The labyrinth will slow them down. The outer defenses are strong. We'll make them bleed for every step."

Olenna studied him for a moment, her gaze softening. "You've grown into a fine lord, Willas," she said quietly. "Your father would be proud."

The words hit him harder than he expected. He looked away, his throat tightening. "I just hope it's enough," he murmured.

Garlan entered, his face grim. "You've heard?" he asked. Willas nodded, handing him the letter. Garlan read it quickly, his jaw tightening. "We'll hold them off," he said. "Highgarden has stood for centuries. It won't fall to the Lannisters."

Willas wanted to believe him. But he knew the truth. Highgarden's walls were strong. Despite being able to field the largest army, most of its people were not warriors. The Tyrells had always relied on diplomacy, on alliances. Now, those alliances were crumbling. Randyll Tarly, once a loyal bannerman, had turned his cloak. Willas felt the weight of it all pressing down on him.

The Tyrell army was strong, but not what it once was. The War of the Five Kings had bled them dry. And Randyll Tarly—he was no fool. He knew Highgarden's weaknesses as well as its strengths.

The servants moved quickly, preparing for the siege. Barrels of grain were brought into the castle. Archers took their positions on the walls. The briar labyrinth, once a place of beauty, was now a weapon. Willas watched it all, his heart heavy. He had never wanted this. He had never wanted war.

Garlan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We'll get through this," he said. "Together." Willas nodded, but the words felt hollow. He could see the doubt in Garlan's eyes. They both knew what was coming.

Willas stood on the walls, looking out over the Mander. The river glinted in the fading light, a ribbon of silver. He thought of the stories his father used to tell him, of the Age of Heroes, of the knights who had defended Highgarden. He wondered if they would be enough now.

The night was quiet, but the air was thick with tension. Willas couldn't sleep. He walked the halls, his cane tapping softly. He stopped at the portrait of his family, painted years ago. Margaery's smile was bright, her eyes full of life. Loras stood tall, his hand on his sword. His father, Mace, looked proud, his chest puffed out. Willas felt a lump in his throat. He reached out, his fingers brushing the frame. "I'll protect them," he whispered. "I swear it."

But the words felt empty. He knew what was coming. And he knew he couldn't stop it.

The first scouts arrived at dawn, their horses lathered and their faces grim. The Lannister army was close, they reported. Too close. Willas stood on the battlements, his cane in one hand and a spyglass in the other. He scanned the horizon, his stomach churning. The banners were unmistakable—golden lions on crimson, and the striding huntsman of House Tarly.

Below him, the castle buzzed with activity. Soldiers manned the walls, their faces set in grim determination. The labyrinth between the outer and middle walls loomed like a silent sentinel, its thorny paths ready to ensnare any who dared enter. Willas had ordered the gates sealed, the drawbridge raised. Highgarden would not fall without a fight.

He thought of Margaery then, her laughter echoing in his mind. She had always been the strong one, the one who could charm anyone, outwit anyone. He missed her fiercely. And Loras—his brother, his protector. They were gone, but their ghosts lingered in every stone of Highgarden. They had been the heart of Highgarden. And now, it was up to him to keep it beating.

A hand touched his arm, pulling him from his thoughts. It was Olenna, her expression unreadable. "They'll come at us hard," she said. "But we've faced worse. Remember that."

Willas nodded, though his chest felt tight. He wasn't sure he believed her. But he had no choice. Highgarden was his to defend, his to lose. And he would not let it fall. Not while he still drew breath.

Jaime Lannister. Randyll Tarly. The names burned in his mind like wildfire. Highgarden had always been a fortress of beauty and abundance, but now it felt like a gilded cage. The walls that had once protected them might soon become their tomb.

He turned to Garlan, who stood silently beside him, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Garlan's face was unreadable, but his knuckles were white. "We can't hold them off forever," Willas said, his voice low. "Not with the numbers we have left."

Garlan nodded, his jaw tightening. "We don't have to hold them forever. Just long enough."

Lady Olenna's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Long enough for what? For the dragons to swoop in and save us?"

Garlan broke the silence. "I'll lead the force. They'll expect you to stay behind the walls."

Willas hesitated. "It's too dangerous."

"So is doing nothing," Garlan shot back. His voice softened. "You're the Lord of Highgarden. You need to survive. For all of us."

Willas looked at his brother, the weight of their shared grief pressing down on them both. He nodded, his throat tight. "Be careful."

As Garlan turned to leave, Lady Olenna reached out and grasped his arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. "Don't die out there," she said, her voice firm but her eyes glistening. "I've buried enough of my family."

Garlan nodded, his expression unreadable. Then he was gone, disappearing into the labyrinth like a shadow.

Willas watched him go, his heart heavy. The walls of Highgarden loomed above him, their white stone gleaming in the fading light. They had stood for centuries, a testament to the strength of the Tyrells. But now, they felt fragile, like they could crumble at any moment.

He turned to Lady Olenna. "We'll make them pay," he said, his voice steady. "For Margaery. For Loras. For everything."

She studied him for a long moment, her gaze piercing. Then she nodded, her cane tapping against the stone. "See that you do."

The first horns sounded in the distance, low and ominous. Willas gripped his cane, his knuckles white. The Lannisters were here. And the battle for Highgarden was about to begin.

[Dragonstone - Alysanne's Chambers]

Alysanne's fingers tightened around the edge of the parchment as she read the letter a second time. The words seemed to burn into her mind: scorpions, Qyburn, Rhaenys. Her jaw clenched. She could almost hear the distant roar of Meraxes falling from the sky, the screams of a queen and her dragon silenced forever. The memory of that story, passed down through generations, was no longer just a cautionary tale. It was a threat. A very real one.

She dipped her quill into the inkwell, her hand steady despite the storm raging in her chest. The instructions she gave her spies were precise. Destroy the scorpions, but only when the time was right. Too soon, and Cersei would tighten her grip on the Red Keep, rooting out traitors with her usual ruthlessness. Too late, and the dragons—her dragons—would be vulnerable. The weight of the decision pressed down on her. One misstep, and everything could unravel.

The servant's knock startled her. She looked up, her heart skipping a beat. "My lady," the servant said, bowing slightly. "Your presence is requested in the chamber of the painted table."

Alysanne nodded, her mind already racing ahead. The painted table. It was where strategies were born, where alliances were forged, and where the fate of kingdoms was decided. She rose, smoothing the folds of her dress, and followed the servant through the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone. The air felt heavier with each step, as if the castle itself sensed the tension building within its walls.

[Chamber Of The Painted Table]

When she entered the chamber, the sight of the painted table brought a strange mix of comfort and dread. The carved map of Westeros sprawled before her, its edges worn smooth by generations of Targaryen hands. Her allies were already gathered around it—Daenerys, Tyrion, Jon Snow. Their faces were grim, their eyes sharp with focus. Something had happened. Something urgent.

Alysanne's fingers tightened around the edge of the painted table as the weight of the decisions ahead pressed down on her. The room felt heavy, the air thick with unspoken fears. Daenerys stood at the head of the table, her violet eyes sharp, but Alysanne could see the flicker of doubt beneath her aunt's calm exterior.

"Tormund's reply," Jon said, holding up a scroll. "The wildlings are moving south. No sign of the Night King yet, but it's only a matter of time." His voice was steady, but Alysanne could hear the tension beneath it.

Alysanne's gaze shifted to Ser Laenor, her husband, who stood silently beside her. His hand brushed hers briefly, a small gesture of reassurance. She knew he understood the stakes better than most. The Velaryons had always been loyal to the Targaryens, but loyalty wouldn't stop the dead. She thought of the scorpions in King's Landing, of Qyburn's twisted ingenuity. If Cersei had her way, the dragons would fall, and with them, their best chance against the Night King.

"The Twins," Alysanne said, stepping forward. "Edmure agreed. The wildlings can shelter there until the war is over. It's defensible, and it's far enough from the capital to avoid Cersei's notice." She glanced at Daenerys, who gave a curt nod.

Daenerys' lips pressed into a thin line. "And what of the Stormlands? You've secured them, but can they hold? Shireen is a child. The lords will see her as weak."

"Shireen is my ward," Alysanne said firmly. "And she's stronger than they think. The Stormlands will hold. But we can't rely on them alone. The North is our priority. The Dreadfort, Hornwood, Oldcastle—they're ours now. The Boltons are gone, but the scars they left run deep. The people need stability. The wildlings can help rebuild."

Davos cleared his throat. "What about King's Landing? You've been evacuating civilians, but Cersei won't sit idle. She'll notice the empty streets eventually."

"She already has," Alysanne admitted. "But she's too focused on her scorpions to care about a few missing smallfolk. Let her think they've fled the city out of fear. It buys us time." She paused, her gaze sweeping the room. "But we need to move faster. The longer we wait, the more she'll prepare. And the more she prepares, the harder it will be to take the capital."

Daenerys stepped forward, her voice low but commanding. "And what of your spies? Can they destroy the scorpions when the time comes?"

"They can," Alysanne said, meeting her aunt's gaze. "But not yet. If we act too soon, Cersei will know we're coming. She'll turn the city into a fortress. We need to strike when she least expects it."

The room fell silent, the weight of their plans pressing down on them. Alysanne could feel the tension in the air, thick and heavy. They were playing a dangerous game, one misstep away from disaster. But there was no other choice. The dead were coming. And if they didn't unite the living first, they would all fall.

Ser Laenor stepped forward, his hand brushing hers. "We'll make it work," he said quietly, his voice steady. "We have to."

Alysanne nodded, but the knot in her chest didn't loosen. She glanced at the painted table, at the carved figures representing their armies, their allies, their enemies. So much depended on their next move. So many lives hung in the balance.

And then there was the Night King. The thought sent a chill down her spine. They were preparing for one war, but another loomed on the horizon, darker and colder than anything they had faced before. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. They couldn't afford to fail. Not now. Not ever.

"We'll send word to Dorne," she said, breaking the silence. "The gardens are thriving, but we'll need more food if we're to feed the wildlings and our armies."

The room seemed to exhale, the tension easing just enough to breathe. But Alysanne knew it wouldn't last. The Night King was coming. And when he did, nothing would ever be the same.

"That is why I sent a warning to the Tyrells."

"The Tyrells?" Daenerys asked. "Why?"

"Cersei has sent a bulk of the Lannister army and Tarly bannerman to sack Highgarden."

The news came as a complete shock to everyone in attendance.

"Well, what are waiting for?" Daenerys asked. "We need to help them."

"I have sent a raven to Willas Tyrell to prepare for a siege."

Daenerys' violet eyes burned with impatience as she turned to Alysanne. "You would have me sit here while our allies are slaughtered? The Tyrells have stood by us. We cannot abandon them."

Alysanne met her aunt's gaze, unflinching. "I would have you think," she said, her voice steady but edged with frustration. "Flying Drogon into battle might win you a skirmish, but it won't win the war. Cersei doesn't care about Casterly Rock. She cares about power. And every time you act without strategy, you hand her another advantage."

Ser Laenor shifted uncomfortably beside her, his hand brushing hers in silent support. He knew better than to speak—this was a clash of wills between dragon blood.

Tyrion cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife. "If I may—"

"No, you may not," Alysanne interrupted, her tone biting. She turned to him, her eyes blazing. "Your advice has cost us too much already. Casterly Rock was a distraction. A waste of time and men."

The Unsullied had captured Casterly Rock, but at what cost?

The Iron Fleet had destroyed a large portion of Daenerys' ships. Alysanne had almost anticipated this, even before learning of the attempt to siege Highgarden. It was why she forbid Laenor from sending ships from the Velaryon Fleet.

Tyrion cleared his throat, his sharp eyes darting between the two women. "Casterly Rock was a calculated risk. One that didn't pay off as we'd hoped. But it's done. We need to focus on what's next."

Alysanne's jaw tightened. She understood the weight of loyalty, but she also knew the cost of recklessness. Despite Alysanne having the superior claim as the daughter of Rhaegar, she had done her best to include Daenerys in decision making, as per their agreement to rule as co-queens.

"And if you fly to Highgarden, what then? You'll burn the Lannister army, yes. But what of the people caught in the crossfire? The smallfolk who will die in the flames of your dragons? Or the ones who will starve when the fields are scorched?"

Daenerys hesitated, her hands curling into fists. "I am not my father. I do not burn innocents."

"No," Alysanne said, her voice softening but still firm. "But you are not thinking like a queen. You are thinking like a conqueror. And that is what Cersei wants. She wants you to act without thought, to give her a reason to rally the realm against you."

Jon Snow stepped forward, his voice low but steady. "Alysanne is right. We need to be smarter than this. If we lose the people, we lose everything."

Daenerys' gaze flicked to Jon, then back to Alysanne. "And what do you propose? We let Highgarden fall?"

Daenerys' lips pressed into a thin line. She hated being questioned, especially in front of her council. But Alysanne's words struck a chord. She had come to Westeros to break the wheel, not to become another tyrant. Still, the thought of sitting idle while her allies suffered gnawed at her.

"We can't wait," Daenerys said, her voice cutting through the silence. "Every moment we delay, more lives are at risk. Cersei knows this. She's counting on our hesitation." Daenerys' gaze softened, just for a moment. "I'm not reckless," she said. "I've faced worse than Cersei Lannister."

"And you've lost more than you should have," Alysanne shot back. Her voice cracked, betraying the fear she'd been trying to hide. "I can't lose you too."

The room fell silent. Even Tyrion, usually quick with a sharp remark, said nothing. Missandei's eyes were downcast, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Varys shifted uncomfortably, his usual composure slipping.

Daenerys stepped closer, her expression unreadable. "You won't lose me," she said finally. "But I can't sit here while people die. Not again."

Alysanne's throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to scream, to beg her to stay. But she knew it wouldn't change anything. Daenerys had made up her mind.

Alysanne stood at the edge of the chamber, her fingers gripping the cold stone of the windowsill as she watched Drogon's massive form shrink into the horizon. The dragon's wings cut through the clouds, carrying Daenerys toward Highgarden. A knot tightened in her chest. She had tried to reason with her aunt, but the blood of the dragon burned too hot for caution. Daenerys had always been fire made flesh, and fire did not stop to think. It consumed.

Behind her, the room buzzed with tension. Ser Laenor approached, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. His touch was steady, grounding. "You did what you could," he said softly. "She'll return. She always does."

Alysanne turned to face him, her violet eyes sharp with worry. "And if she doesn't? If this is the moment Cersei has been waiting for? Daenerys is not invincible, Laenor. She's reckless. And recklessness gets people killed."

Across the room, Tyrion cleared his throat. "If Daenerys succeeds, Highgarden remains ours. If she fails..." He didn't finish the thought. He didn't need to. The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating.

Varys stepped forward, his hands clasped behind his back. "We must prepare for both outcomes. If the Lannisters take Highgarden, they'll have the Reach's resources. And if they capture Daenerys..." His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear. Cersei would not hesitate to use her as a bargaining chip—or worse.

Alysanne's gaze flicked to Jon Snow, who had been silent throughout the meeting. His face was unreadable, but his eyes betrayed him. They were dark, stormy. He had seen what Daenerys was capable of, both the good and the bad. And yet, he had chosen to stand by her. Alysanne wondered if he regretted that choice now.

The wind blew harder now, the sound drowning out the silence. Alysanne took a deep breath, steadying herself. There was work to do. And no time to waste.