Regalus Aegon II's expression was grim, fully aware of the perilous situation. He swiftly ordered the gates of the Red Keep to be shut and bolted, while doubling the guards on the ramparts to ensure the castle's security. Afterward, he and the Queen led their children in devout evening prayers within the Sept.
When the prayers ended, they returned to Rhaenys's chambers, shared a simple supper, and retired for the night.
As the night deepened, at the hour of the owl, Princess Daenerys gently shook Queen Alysanne's arm, rousing her from sleep.
"Mother," the princess's childish voice carried a frail note, "I'm cold."
Who could have imagined that such simple words would herald a dreadful fate—Princess Daenerys had fallen victim to the dreaded shivering sickness.
What followed was a heart-wrenching ordeal.
Daenerys Targaryen, the kingdom's most cherished treasure, received every possible care and treatment. People exhausted every remedy they could think of. They prayed fervently for her, begging for the gods' protection; applied ointments in hopes of easing her pain; fed her hot broth to warm her icy body; immersed her in scalding baths to drive away the illness; wrapped her in heavy blankets, soft furs, and even placed heated stones around her, trying to bring her warmth; and even brewed nettle tea, placing their faith in the small hope it might work a miracle.
Though the princess was six years old and long weaned, her wet nurse was urgently summoned, as rumors claimed mother's milk could cure the tremors. Maesters came and went, busily searching for a cure; Septons and Septas prayed without rest, their chants never ceasing.
Regalus, tormented with worry, declared the immediate hiring of one hundred more rat-catchers, offering a silver stag for every dead rat, gray or black, hoping to halt the plague at its source.
When Daenerys asked for her kitten, it was brought to her at once. But her trembling grew worse, until the frightened kitten wriggled free and scratched her hand.
As dawn neared, Queen Alysanne's composure broke. She leapt to her feet, crying out that her daughter needed a dragon's strength to fight the sickness. Ravens carried her urgent command to Dragonstone, ordering the wardens to bring a newly hatched dragon at once to King's Landing.
But fate was cruel; all efforts proved in vain. Barely a day and a half after waking her mother and whispering of her cold, the little princess slipped into a coma.
The Queen, stricken with grief, collapsed in Regalus's arms, her body shaking so violently it seemed she too had caught the sickness.
Regalus, choking back his sorrow, carried her back to her chambers and gave her milk of the poppy, hoping it would grant her rest and soften her pain.
Weary beyond measure, he stepped into the courtyard and drank a cup of dreamwine to steady himself. Then he summoned Barth Septon.
"Why has this happened?" Regalus cried, his face contorted with anguish. "What sin has she committed? Why do the cursed gods want to take her? Why?"
Even Barth Septon, famed for his wisdom, could find no words. He could only endure Regalus's fury in silence.
Every mortal remedy had been exhausted. But as a father, Regalus could not give up.
Refusing to delay further, he returned to his daughter's chamber. Before the stunned eyes of all present, he gouged out his own left eye and gave it to his beloved child.
He exchanged his left eye for Daenerys's left eye.
Infused with the divine essence of the Emperor's eye, Daenerys's condition seemed to ease. Though her body still trembled faintly, a spark of hope rekindled.
The following morning, amidst prayers and anxious waiting, Princess Daenerys slowly awoke at dawn.
The Red Keep erupted in joy, hailing the miracle wrought by Regalus.
This marked the first case of a patient cured of the shivering sickness through human means—an undeniable triumph.
Princess Daenerys, like her brother Jaehaerys, now bore eyes of slightly differing hues. Both were violet, yet her left eye was markedly deeper, as though imbued with a hidden power.
Her father, Regalus, had only two dim, pale violet eyes left. The flesh-and-blood eyes Aegon now cultivated were scarcely stronger than those of the dragonborn. For a deity, divinity exists in fixed measure. To extend life or wield powerful divine arts consumes it—each use lessens the whole.
Aegon's demigod essence drew divinity slowly from the Outer God, making it all the more precious. He would never expend it lightly unless no other choice remained.
The miracle of the princess's recovery once again proved the "exception rule" of the royal line. Both her parents were Targaryens, granting her the pure blood of ancient Valyria.
As Valyria's heirs, members of House Targaryen had always been set apart. They stood like cranes among chickens, marked by violet eyes and silver-gold hair, the symbols of their high blood. They alone could ride dragons across the skies. They stood above the Church's dogma and the taboos against close kin marriage.
Since "the Exile" Aenar first settled on Dragonstone, it had been accepted knowledge that Targaryens did not fall ill. They never died of smallpox or blood plague, nor did they succumb to red spot, brown leg, or epilepsy. They were immune to wormbone disease, lung-clogging sickness, sour-gut, and countless other mysterious afflictions scattered upon mankind by the gods for reasons unknown.
People believed dragonblood carried fire, and fire could cleanse and burn away plague. Thus, when a pure-blooded princess recovered from a deadly sickness, the people saw it as only natural. What would have been unthinkable was for her to die of the shivering sickness like any ordinary girl.
...
That afternoon, the young dragon sent urgently by Queen Regent Rhaena finally arrived from Dragonstone. It was a strong black hatchling. Knowing her sister's desperate plea, Rhaena had chosen Dragonstone's mightiest young dragon to send.
This black dragon was the offspring of the Black Dread, Balerion, hatched from an egg laid by Dreamfyre. That egg had once been stolen to Braavos by Elissa Farman, before Regalus reclaimed it in war. Only recently had the hatchling emerged.
Though Daenerys had recovered, the Queen still believed her daughter's sickness had come from lacking a dragon's protection. And so, under the watchful gaze of the royal family, young Daenerys began her dragonbonding.
All went smoothly. The black hatchling, already sizable, submitted at once when the princess approached, forging a bond with her. From that day, another dragon knight was added to the royal line.
Daenerys named her black dragon Berelion, hoping it would one day match its sire Balerion's might and stand as a protector of her house.
Among those watching, Aerea looked on at her niece's success and fell into thought. The royal dragon-taming decree allowed only Targaryens to claim dragons. Both she and her sister Rhaella had borne children to Regalus. Yet after their infants were born, the Emperor and Empress had not placed dragon eggs in their cradles, as Targaryen custom dictated.
Now Aerea felt it was time to claim that right for her children.
The two consorts pressed the matter privately with Regalus. After due consideration, he judged that under the palace system he himself had created, the consorts' children did indeed bear the Targaryen name and thus had the right to bond dragons. He granted the sisters' request.
Days later, Aerea's and Rhaella's children returned to Dragonstone with Queen Rhaena. All three of Regalus's offspring succeeded in taming their own dragons.
Thus, the number of dragon knights within the royal line rose to eleven, further strengthening their power.
...
Beyond the Red Keep, Regalus and the Empress were far from the only parents stricken by the shivering sickness. "Grief" was the truer word.
That winter, thousands of mothers and fathers—highborn and lowborn alike—endured the torment of losing their children. All of Westeros sank into mourning, until at last the shivering sickness began to fade.
Regalus II, suppressing his sorrow, threw himself back into the heavy burden of state affairs. His foremost task was a grim one—filling the void left by departed friends and loyal counselors.
Ser Robert, eldest son of Lord Manfryd Redwyne, was appointed Captain of the City Watch, entrusted with maintaining order in the capital. At Ser Gyles Morrigen's recommendation, two knights of fine repute—Ser Lian Redwyne and Ser Robin Shaw—were inducted into the Kingsguard. Regalus himself cloaked them in white, hoping they would guard the royal family as faithfully as their predecessors.
Replacing the capable hunchback Justiciar, Albin Massey, proved far more difficult. To address this, Regalus turned to the Vale, summoning the young but well-learned Lord Rodrik Arryn of the Eyrie. When he and the Queen had first met the boy, he had been only ten years old. Now he had grown into a man ready to lead.
From the Citadel came Bennifer's successor—the sharp-tongued Grand Maester Elysar. Twenty years younger than his predecessor, he was outspoken and biting in speech. Some whispered that the Conclave had grown tired of his temperament and dispatched him to King's Landing to be rid of him.
Regalus's greatest uncertainty lay in choosing the Dragonlord's Treasurer and Master of Coin. Rego Draz, though widely despised, had undeniable skill with finance.
"Such men are not found wandering the streets," Regalus told the Small Council with resignation, "but truthfully, they are even rarer within these castle walls."
The so-called "Air Lord" had never married but kept three bastard sons close, training them in the art of trade. Regalus wished to appoint one of them as heir to the position, but he knew the realm would never accept another Pentoshi holding so critical an office.
"We must choose a Westerosi lord," he declared wearily.
Familiar names resurfaced—Lannister, Velaryon, Hightower. These houses held great power in both wealth and arms.
"But they are all too proud," Regalus objected.
Barth Septon was the first to suggest alternatives.
"House Tyrell of Highgarden has extensive experience in administration," he reminded the king. "They manage the royal court and lands in the Reach flawlessly. The Reach is larger than the Westerlands and equally rich—though its wealth is of a different kind. Bringing young Martyn Tyrell into the Small Council would be a worthy addition."
Lord Redwyne scoffed. "The Tyrells are all fools," he said bluntly. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but Lord Bertrand was a drunkard."
"Even so," Barth countered evenly, "Lord Bertrand is dead. I speak of his son, the promising young Martyn. Though I cannot vouch for his cleverness, it is said House Tyrell's income has risen by a third under his hand."
After a moment of thought, Regalus sighed. "Our good Septon has yet to be wrong. Let that fool have his chance. May my loyal subjects not pelt his head with stones again."
The Seven demand, but the Seven also give. Perhaps the Mother Above had heard Westeros's cries, pitying the broken hearts of House Targaryen.
Two months later, the Queen was with child once more.
...
Winter's icy grip still clutched Regalus and all of Westeros. Choosing caution, the Queen returned to Dragonstone to await the birth.
In the first half of the sixty-first year since the Conquest, she safely delivered her fifth child—a daughter, whom she named Alyssa after her mother.
"This honor would mean far more had Lady Alyssa lived to see it," Grand Maester Elysar remarked privately. He did not dare speak such words before the king.
Following ancient Targaryen custom, Regalus II placed a radiant red dragon egg in Princess Alyssa's cradle. None could have predicted what came next.
The instant the egg touched the infant's tiny body, it began to crack with sharp, clear sounds. As though the gears of fate had turned, a wet and glistening hatchling broke free from its shell. Its small body was slick with yolk, yet already brimming with vitality.
By some wondrous design, the dragon had hatched on the very day its master was born.
Overcome with emotion, Regalus thought to himself:
"The birth of this crimson hatchling must hold profound meaning."
He resolved to name the dragon personally—Meleys.
...
Not long after the Queen's confinement, the long winter finally ended.
Alyssa was lively, energetic, and healthy. As a baby, she bore a striking resemblance to her elder sister, Daenerys. But as she grew, the likeness faded. Her face lengthened, her frame grew thin, and she shared little of her sister's beauty. Her hair was a wild tangle of red-gold, without a trace of the silver strands that marked the dragonlords of old.
She was born with heterochromia—one violet eye and one green. Her ears were large, and when she smiled, her mouth pulled crooked. At six, while playing in the yard, she was struck in the face by a wooden sword. The blow broke her nose, and when it healed, the bridge was left crooked.
Yet Alyssa cared nothing for these flaws, growing up cheerful and unbothered.
By the time she reached six or seven, Queen Alysanne realized the girl did not resemble Daenerys at all… but Baelon.