[Dorne - Sunspear]

"Should we wake her?" Alysanne heard as her mind began to awaken.

"I can't believe she fell asleep out here." Another added.

With a start, Alysanne's eyes snapped open to see her cousins, Arianne and the Sand Snakes, hovering over her. The gentle whispers of the ocean breeze and the distant melody of the waves had indeed lulled her into a doze on the bench.

"Ah, you're finally awake," Obara said with a smirk, her muscular arms crossed over her chest.

Alysanne sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and took in the scene around her. The garden looked ethereal in the soft light of dawn, the leaves of the exotic Dornish fruits shimmering with dew. The sight of them brought a smile to Alysanne's lips, pushing away the shadows of the night's restlessness.

She stood, her pregnant belly showing slightly through her robe, and stretched her arms to the sky, feeling the warmth of the sun kiss her skin. Her silver hair fluttered around her like a halo, a stark contrast to the dark green foliage of the garden.

"What time is it?" Alysanne asked, her voice a mix of grogginess and curiosity.

"Just past dawn," Arianne replied, her own eyes sparkling with amusement. "You missed quite the spectacle, sleeping beauty. The sunrise painted the sky in hues of gold and pink, a true Dornish welcome for you."

Tyene, the youngest of the three, giggled. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone sleep so soundly outside a featherbed."

Nymeria, the second eldest, offered a hand to help Alysanne up. "The dragons will be stirring soon. We wouldn't want you to miss their morning display."

Alysanne took Nymeria's hand, feeling the strength and warmth of her cousin's grasp. She looked over to see Ser Aundrey Dalt, her loyal guard, standing a few paces away, his eyes vigilant despite the peaceful setting. He nodded to her, his expression serious, but there was a hint of relief that she was awake.

"Thank you for watching over me," she murmured to him, her voice still thick with sleep.

Ser Aundrey offered a courteous bow. "It is an honour to serve, Your Grace."

The cousins made their way back to the castle, their footsteps crunching on the gravel path as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The warmth grew more intense with each passing moment, but Alysanne felt a chill run through her veins. Her dreams had been troubled, filled with whispers of battles yet to come and the cries of those who would be lost in the struggle for the Iron Throne. She pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the comforting presence of her dragon, Elaenys, who awaited her in the dragon dome.

The dome was an architectural marvel of Dornish craftsmanship, the air within it always carrying a faint scent of dragonfire and hot stone. As they approached, the deep purple dragon stirred, her gold eyes gleaming as she recognized her bonded rider. Aegarax, the smallest of the trio, let out a curious croon, while Visemyria, the fiercest, watched from a distance, her orange eyes gleaming with a hint of challenge.

The cousins fell silent as Alysanne stepped into the dome, her gaze locking onto Elaenys. The pearl white dragon stretched her wings lazily, revealing their intricate design of purple membranes that matched her eyes. Alysanne felt the bond between them, a warmth that grew stronger with each passing day. She approached the dragon, her hand reaching out to stroke the soft scales that felt like the finest velvet under her fingertips.

"Good morning, my dear," she whispered, her voice echoing gently in the vast space.

Elaenys nuzzled closer, the warmth of her breath brushing against Alysanne's cheek. Alysanne felt a sense of peace wash over her, the weight of her burdens momentarily lifted by the dragon's affectionate embrace.

"You're a sight to behold, aren't you?" Alysanne whispered to the creature, her hand tracing the line of scales that ran down the dragon's neck. The dragon's eyes closed in contentment, a low purr resonating from her chest.

Aegarax let out a sharp roar at this compliment.

"Easy, little one," Alysanne chuckled, turning to the deep purple dragon with gold eyes. "Your turn will come."

Aegarax's pupils narrowed playfully, and he stretched out his neck to nudge Alysanne's side, his scales surprisingly warm against her skin. She laughed, her hand moving to his snout to give it a gentle pat. The dragon retreated slightly, his playfulness retreating into a more dignified posture.

"Very well," Alysanne said with a smile, "you're all beautiful in your own way."

The dragons seemed to understand her words, as each one of them offered a unique response. Visemyria, ever the stoic guardian, let out a low rumble that Alysanne took as an acknowledgment of her own fierce beauty. The other two dragons chuffed softly, their tails swishing in a silent display of affection.

Again, much like what happened when she bonded with Elaenys, Alysanne felt a strong kick as she petted Aegaraz.

It was strange. It only seemed to occur when she interacted with Aegarax.

"Is something wrong?" Arianne asked, noticing the sudden tension in Alysanne's features.

Alysanne took a deep breath, her hand moving protectively to her belly. "It's just the baby," she assured them with a small smile. "He's quite active today."

"He? You believe you are having a boy?" Tyene asked.

Alysanne nodded, still smiling. "Yes, I have a feeling it's a son." She paused. "Though, Maestar Caleotte is quite persistent that there is more than one babe."

Obara raised an eyebrow. "Twins?"

Alysanne nodded, her hand still resting on her stomach. "Maestar Caleotte insists on it."

The cousins exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of excitement and concern. Twins were rare, even among the Targaryens, and the thought of Alysanne carrying two potential dragonriders in her womb was both thrilling and daunting.

Giving birth was hard enough. But, with a multiple birth, the risks only increased.

"Perhaps this means one of my children will bond with Aegarax."

The words slipped from Alysanne's lips, unbidden, and she felt a sudden tightening in her chest as she considered the implications. Two dragonriders, born from her union with Laenor, would be a powerful symbol of House Targaryen's rebirth. It was a thought that both thrilled and terrified her, the weight of her family's legacy pressing down on her shoulders like a crown of iron.

"What about Visymeria?" Nymeria asked.

The largest of Alysanne's three dragons remained unclaimed.

There were very few left in the world, who held the possibility of bonding with a dragon.

One was Alysanne's husband, Laenor Velaryon.

The other, the second child in her womb if Maestar Caleotte's suspicions were true.

Alysanne took a moment to collect her thoughts, her hand still resting on her belly. She knew that the dragons would choose their riders when the time was right, and she trusted in their instincts. For now, her focus was on preparing for the birth and ensuring the safety of her children, both those born of flesh and scale.

"Your children will be strong," Nymeria said, her voice filled with confidence. "Like their mother."

As they left the dome, the sound of the dragons' calls faded behind them, replaced by the lively chatter of the Dornish court as the castle began to stir with the activities of the day. Alysanne felt the comfort of her cousins' company, their shared heritage and purpose creating an unspoken bond between them.

The group made their way to the grand dining hall, where the smell of sizzling meats and freshly baked bread filled the air. The walls were adorned with ancient tapestries, depicting scenes from Dornish history, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the darkness of the dragon dome. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a warm glow on the polished stone floor and the wooden table that was already laid with an assortment of fruits, cheeses, and meats.

As they sat down to breakfast, Alysanne spoke in hushed tones to Arianne and the Sand Snakes, sharing her latest strategy to regain a foothold in the capital. "I've had word that there's a discreet brothel in King's Landing for sale," she began, her eyes gleaming with purpose. "I believe it could serve us well as a cover for our spies."

Obara leaned in, her interest piqued. "How so?"

Alysanne took a bite of a sweet, juicy orange, pondering her words before speaking. "We could train these 'ladies' in the art of espionage. They could listen for whispers of the Lannisters' and Baratheons' plans, gathering information that would be invaluable to our cause."

Arianne's eyes widened at the audacity of the plan. "Few would think to look for spies in such a place," she murmured, her tone filled with admiration.

"While that might be true, what about Littlefinger?" Tyene interjected.

Alysanne sighed. "He is a cautious man, but he has his... distractions. If we are discreet, we may find some of his men less vigilant than he."

The cousins nodded, their expressions a mix of excitement and trepidation. The plan was risky, but the potential rewards were great.

As they discussed the finer points of the operation, they were interrupted by the arrival of Doran Martell, Arianne's father and ruler of Dorne. His gait, on the very rare occasion he managed to stand, was slower than Alysanne remembered, his once robust figure now slightly stooped under the weight of his years. His face, lined with wrinkles, bore the marks of a man who had seen much and survived it all. Despite his ailing health, his eyes were sharp and alert, missing nothing as he took in the scene before him.

"Good morrow, my dears," he greeted them, his voice carrying the warmth of a man who cherished his family.

"Father," Arianne stood up to kiss his cheek, "you're up early."

Doran chuckled, his hand patting her shoulder. "Couldn't sleep, dear. Too much to think about." He took a seat at the head of the table, his gaze lingering on Alysanne. "What's this I hear about a new acquisition in the capitol?"

Alysanne took a sip of her warm tea, the hint of lemon helping to clear her mind. "Just a small establishment, Uncle. A brothel, to be precise. Well, a brothel and tavern."

Doran's eyebrows shot up, but his expression remained neutral. "Interesting choice. How do you plan to use it?"

Alysanne met his gaze, her own filled with determination. "It's a place where secrets are bought and sold every night. It's a perfect cover for our spies. We'll train the 'ladies' to listen for any whispers of value to our cause."

Doran leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "You're proposing to turn a house of pleasure into a nest of vipers," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "It's a clever idea, but risky. King's Landing is a serpent's pit."

Alysanne nodded, her eyes never leaving his. "I know the risks, Uncle. But we must have eyes and ears in the city if we're to survive this game of thrones."

Doran's gaze softened, his affection for his late sister's daughter evident in his eyes. "Elia would be proud of you," he murmured, his voice filled with a melancholy that seemed to hang in the air like the scent of the oranges on the table. "Your mother was always one to think outside the box."

Alysanne felt a twinge of sadness at the mention of her mother, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. "Thank you, Uncle," she replied, her voice steady. "I will also need to write Laenor soon. My pregnancy is nearing its end. We agreed he would return to Dorne to see his children born. Despite his new position as Lord of Driftmark, I believe he would still hold himself to our agreement."

Arianne nodded solemnly. "We will prepare for his arrival. And, in the meantime, we must ensure the brothel is secured and the training begins swiftly."

"Where exactly are you to find women to work in your establishment, cousin?" Tyene asked. "Littlefinger has nearly cornered the entire market."

Alysanne's gaze grew distant as she considered the question. "We'll look to the Free Cities," she decided. "Their streets are full of those seeking a better life. I'm sure we can offer them something more... substantial than what Littlefinger can."

The Sand Snakes exchanged knowing glances. They were all too familiar with the unsavory ways of the world outside Dorne's protective embrace.

"The Free Cities are a dangerous place," Obara warned, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "You must be careful who you trust."

Alysanne nodded, her gaze drifting to the map of the realm that hung on the wall. "I know, Obara. But we have allies there. House Targaryen has always had friends in Braavos and Pentos. We shall start our search there."

But, that was only the beginning of her plan.

Alysanne knew that to truly understand the heart of the snake that was King's Landing, she had to infiltrate its very soul. The City Watch and the Red Keep's inner workings were a labyrinth of loyalties and lies, and she intended to navigate it with a silent tread. Her spies, once recruited and trained, would be as unnoticeable as shadows, blending into the fabric of the city's life.

These agents would not be mere informants; they would be chameleons, adept at shifting their roles as needed. Some would serve in the Watch, their eyes and ears attuned to the whispers of treachery that wove through the streets. Others would find themselves within the Red Keep's walls, performing duties that kept them close to the very people they were meant to watch. They would be the unsung heroes of her quest, their faces forgotten as soon as they left a room.

Alysanne knew the risks of infiltrating the very institutions that upheld the reign she sought to topple. Yet, she also knew that information was the lifeblood of any campaign. Her spies would need to be skilled in the art of deception, as comfortable wielding a knife as they were a feather quill. They would be her eyes and ears in the lion's den, her silent guardians in a world of shifting alliances and deadly betrayals.

The cousins spent the rest of the morning in deep discussion, planning the recruitment and training of their new spies. The chosen women would be taught the art of seduction and stealth, as well as the subtleties of court intrigue. They would be melded into the fabric of King's Landing, invisible yet invaluable. Alysanne's eyes gleamed with the fire of her ancestors as she outlined her vision.

"Our spies must be like the shadows that follow the sun," she said, her voice low and intense. "Always there, but never seen."

Arianne nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "But how do we get them into the City Watch or the Red Keep? The selection processes are rigorous and not easily manipulated."

"We'll start with those who already have a foothold," Alysanne replied. "Serve in taverns and inns where the Watch and the castle staff frequent. Gain their trust, learn their routines, and then we'll find a way to replace them."

"But how do we ensure our people won't be discovered?" Tyene asked, her gaze sharp and assessing.

Alysanne's hand stroked the hilt of her own dagger, the weight of it a comforting reminder of her own skills. "We must train them to be invisible," she said with a firm nod. "Their true talents will be hidden beneath layers of deception. They will be the ones who serve the meals, mend the clothes, guard and clean the chambers. The ones that no one looks at twice."

Her cousins nodded in understanding. The idea was a bold one, but the stakes were high, and the Targaryen blood that ran through their veins thirsted for victory.

In fact, she already had two servants in her network. Women, who were easily overlooked, as servants often are.

Alysanne knew that infiltrating the City Watch would require a different breed of spy. They would need to be adept at blending in, at becoming one with the very shadows that danced in the corridors of power. She had her sights set on the forgotten and the overlooked, those who knew the true pulse of the city.

Her first step was to send word through her network of contacts, men and women who had proven their loyalty to the Targaryen cause.

They would spread the tale of the "Phoenix," a mysterious benefactor who had been aiding the people of King's Landing in secret, delivering food and supplies to those in need.

Alysanne knew that the common folk held onto hope like a drowning man clings to a piece of driftwood.

The people had already painted her symbol onto walls and doors throughout the streets.

Despite not knowing who she was, they love her. They appreciated her.

And, Alysanne was grateful for it.

The "Phoenix's Bounty" had become a whispered legend in the streets of King's Landing, a beacon of hope in a city shrouded by fear and uncertainty. It was a symbol of resistance, of the Targaryen's unseen hand reaching out to the people, offering them a silent promise of better days to come.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by the timid cough of a servant, who approached the table with a silver tray holding three rolled parchments sealed with the wax of Alysanne's personal seal. The young girl's eyes darted nervously between the formidable women before her, but she remained steadfast, her hand trembling slightly as she offered the letters to Alysanne.

Breaking the seal on the first parchment, Alysanne's expression grew grave as she scanned the words scribbled in a hasty hand. "Theon Greyjoy has been betrayed," she announced, her voice heavy with concern. "Delivered to Ramsay Bolton."

The cousins exchanged dark looks. The name Ramsay Bolton was one that brought bile to the throat of any who knew of his reputation. The sadistic nature of the man was legendary, his treatment of captives a grim whisper in the shadows of the Seven Kingdoms.

Though one might call it a sick sense of justice after all Theon and his Ironborn had done in the North.

The second letter spoke of a victory, but one that tasted bittersweet. "Robb Stark's forces have taken Harrenhal," Alysanne read, her eyes narrowing at the mention of the cursed castle. "They found it abandoned, with only the bodies of Northern soldiers to greet them."

Which wasn't a surprise, given that Tywin Lannister had led his men to the Capital to aid in the Battle of the Blackwater, alongside the Tyrells; their new allies.

"His grandfather, Hoster Tully, has passed, and they now ride for Riverrun for his funeral. Roose Bolton has been left in charge of Harrenhal."

The cousins shared a tense look at the mention of Roose Bolton's name. Though, none of them had met him, they didn't trust him. Not one bit.

"What is the third letter, Alys?" Arianne asked, her curiosity piqued despite the gravity of the situation.

Breaking the seal on the third parchment, Alysanne's eyes scanned the delicate script with a frown. "It seems Margaery Tyrell is busy winning hearts in King's Landing," she said, her voice tight. "Apparently, she's been visiting orphanages, playing the role of the benevolent queen to be."

The Sand Snakes shared a knowing look. The Tyrells had always been adept at playing the game of thrones.

"It seems Lady Margaery is wasting no time in securing her position," Nymeria said, her voice laced with a hint of admiration for the political acuity of their rival.

"A facade," Alysanne murmured, her eyes on the letter. "But a clever one."

The room fell silent as the weight of the information sank in. Margaery Tyrell was not one to be underestimated, her beauty and charm a weapon as potent as any sword. Yet, Alysanne knew that the true test of a ruler lay not in their ability to manipulate, but in their capacity to inspire.

"Margaery understands the power of the smallfolk. If they wanted, they could start an uprising. They've done it before... in the dragonpit." Alysanne paused, her expression growing somber at the memory of a dark chapter in Targaryen history. "At least half a million people live in that city. If they wanted, they could storm the Red Keep. By pacifying them, she is attempting to prevent this. To cling to the possibility of being Queen."

"But she wouldn't the Queen," Arianne noted. "You are."

Alysanne nodded absently, her gaze lingering on the letter. "But she is playing the game well," she conceded. "And the smallfolk are easily swayed by those who offer them a glimpse of a brighter future."

The cousins fell silent, contemplating the delicate dance of power that unfolded beyond the sun-drenched walls of Dorne. It was clear that Margaery was a formidable player, one who understood that the true strength of any throne lay not only in the swords of its armies, but in the hearts of its people.

Alysanne turned to her Uncle Doran. "It would appear we were right. Cersei is already taking issue with Margaery. She does not like the growing influence she and the Tyrells have, especially not Margaery's over Joffrey."

Doran nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. "Keep your eyes on the Tyrell girl. She's a viper in a garden of roses."

"Apparently so. She has begun sparking a 'friendship' with Sansa Stark."

"Befriending the girl whose betrothed she stole?" Nymeria scoffed.

"To be fair, Sansa is surely glad to not be marrying the boy responsible for her father's death." She sighed. "Though, it appears there is an ulterior motive to this newfound 'friendship'. She has brought up the possibility of Sansa marrying Loras."

"Why?"

Alysanne looked up from her letter at Arianne's question, her gaze piercing through the early morning light. "Why what, cousin?"

Arianne leaned forward. "Why would Margaery want to marry Sansa to Loras?"

"The Tyrells do not choose sides lightly. They will side with whomever has the surest path to victory. Which means, they believe the Lannisters will defeat Robb Stark and his army. If Robb dies, Sansa becomes the heir to Winterfell. This way, they can use her to gain control over the largest of the Seven Kingdoms. She is also a Tully, so those loyal to the Tullys would support her husband, also granting them the allegiance of the Riverlands."

"If that is true, the Lannisters would never allow such a marriage to take place. The Tyrells would control three of the kingdoms, while the Lannisters only have the Westerlands and King's Landing."

"Exactly," Alysanne concurred. "Which is why, when the Lannisters find out, as I'm sure they will, about this plan, they will personally oversee Sansa's marriage to some loyal to them. A cousin, perhaps? Or Tywin's nephew, Lancel."

The room grew quiet as they digested the political chessboard unfolding before them. It was a delicate game, one where a wrong move could lead to catastrophic consequences.

The game of thrones was a deadly "game".

But, that's just it. It was no game.

Lives were changed and lost all for the sake of an iron chair.

Alysanne loathed the very essence of the game of thrones, the way it twisted people into monsters, the way it turned kin against kin, and the way it had torn her family apart. Yet, she understood the necessity of playing it.

Her ancestors had ruled with dragons at their side, a fiery dynasty that had shaped the very fabric of the Seven Kingdoms. Their reign had been marked by both splendor and madness, their bloodline a tapestry of power and tragedy.

The Iron Throne, a monstrosity forged from the swords of their enemies, was a constant reminder of the brutal cost of their rule. Yet, it was not the throne itself that Alysanne desired, but the power to protect her people and restore her family's legacy.

Her thoughts turned to her own marriage to Laenor Velaryon, a union born of duty rather than love. The Velaryons were one of the few houses that had remained loyal to the Targaryens through generations, and their Valyrian blood was almost as pure as her own.

Their children would carry forth the legacy of the dragonlords, and the possibility of bonding with Visymeria or Aegarax, Alysanne's unclaimed dragons, who grew stronger with each passing day.

Not all dragons who are born were made to be ridden, as history had shown with the wild dragons that once occupied Dragonstone.

And, dragons could lay clutches fairly early in their lives, bringing the possibility of dragon eggs that could spurn new life.

The Iron Throne was not a prize to be won, it was a burden to be borne.

Alysanne understood this more than most. Her family's reign had been marked by both grandeur and madness. The very chair they had sat upon was a testament to the lives lost and the kingdoms conquered. Yet, those who now claimed it, those who had usurped her family, saw only the power it represented, not the responsibility it entailed.

They cared not for the people, their desires driven by greed and a thirst for dominance that had torn the realm apart. The Lannisters, the Baratheons, and now the Tyrells, all seeking to control the Iron Throne like a plaything to be fought over and claimed.

But the Iron Throne was not a toy to be bandied about by those who knew not its true meaning. It was a symbol of the fiery power that had forged the very essence of the Seven Kingdoms, a legacy of dragons and blood.

The Targaryens had always known the importance of keeping their bloodline pure, to maintain their bond with the creatures that had carried them to victory time and time again. Yet, Alysanne understood that the world had moved on from the time when such a union was seen as a mere political strategy. The very idea of incest was now abhorrent to most.

But the whispers of the old ways still echoed in the hallowed halls of Dorne. Her marriage to Ser Laenor Velaryon was not one of love, but of strategy and necessity. Their children would be born of two great houses from Old Valyria, with the potential to bond with the ancient beasts that were their ancestral legacy.

Alysanne's hand absently caressed her swollen belly, feeling the reassuring kick of new life within.

But, the thought of her unborn children and the future they might face, filled Alysanne with a cold dread. If she did not win this game, they would live in a world where their heritage was a death sentence.

She had to win. She had.

It was either win... or die.

And Alysanne had no intentions of dying.