The only exception (Green queen) - Kmikse (2024)

Chapter 1: Orange

Chapter Text

128 AC

How is it possible to look at someone you used to think you knew perfectly and see a complete stranger? Maybe it's not the person who has undergone changes, but oneself, maybe it was always like that.

'Always was' an echo echoed in his mind.

Would you dare to honestly assess yourself and notice how much you have changed? How much have the small lines between your eyebrows varied to now look like a set expression, the scars on the cuticles of your fingers that have enraged the skin, her stealthy steps as she walked alone through the castle, the panic and fear skillfully hidden behind an iron mask?

Both were pinned face to face, hurling silent daggers of doom at each other with the precision of skilled assassins. Despite this, Alicent opted for stubborn silence, reminding himself again that duty demanded it. He sheltered once again under the cloak of duty and affection.

"Our purposes were never the same," she told him, perplexing him for a long time. "I see that now. Rather, I have been a piece you moved around the board. I wanted what you imposed on me to want. But now, I am beholden to the King."

"To the King? Or your childhood companion?" Otto practically sneered. "You take after your mother in some ways."

Those last words were said with violence and anger, but Alicent didn't think there was anything wrong.

Alicent looks at him unperturbed, refusing to look away.

"I have lived now longer than she did."

As Alicent turned to finally let him go home, he wondered if the cold he felt on his sword, which he assumed came from her gaze, was real. She questioned him, why not be proud of her, hadn't he raised her as an extension of his hand, hadn't he expected it, had he really never expected it? Idiot. After all, they say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree; she now had seeds of her own. He was no longer all she had.

As she walked deeper into the shadowy corridors of the fortress, she remembered pieces that led her there, to a place she could no longer stay. At least not with him

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107AC

Alicent Hightower remained for most of her childhood isolated from the court, sometimes unseen and even unknown to the newer ones, always under the shadow of her mother and now her father's. Her father's face, barely an acquaintance in her world, loomed more like a myth to the child, a fairytale figure woven into her mother's stories. Her father's face, barely an acquaintance in her world, loomed more like a myth to the girl, a fairytale figure woven into her mother's stories.

Alicent had arrived in King's Landing a few days ago, then been placed in the tower of the hand and was just getting used to her new routine. Her mother had passed away a few moons ago, and on the second day of wearing mourning clothes she had left with a delegation to King's Landing to join her father and older brother.

She had met her brother Gwayne shortly after arriving in the capital. Alicent had more memories of him in his mind than he had of his father. This time, however, the three-year gap between them was evident, marking the years they were apart and lacking. Nevertheless, the initial difficulty of striking up a conversation dissipated as she sensed the lack of rejection from Gwayne. Despite his gruff, hurried demeanour, he showed no indifference, which was a relief to Alicent.

His arrival in the capital coincided shortly thereafter with Princess Rhaenyra's 7th onomastic. So, she was there now.

Otto Hightower, always imposing with his stature and stern face, greeted Alicent dressed in an olive green dress, the distinctive colours of his house. Otto gave her a small, pleased smile, marking one of the first moments of silent approval.

At nine years old, Alicent was quickly absorbing the complexities of her surroundings, thanks to countless afternoons spent reading, encouraged by her mother. However, the news of her father's intention to bind House Hightower to the Targaryens, using Gwayne as a cog, left her surprised that her father thought Gwayne was the best choice to secure this goal. No doubt there was more behind those narrow thoughts that Alicent did not understand at the time.

In a lonely corridor, his brother Gwayne, at twelve years of age, was facing the difficulty of the task assigned to him by his father. He tried to express his doubts and difficulties, only to be met with the indifferent mockery of Otto, who belittled his son's concerns with disdain.

"She's just a child. She shouldn't give you so much trouble," Otto's words echoed, while Alicent silently repeated in his mind, "She's just a child."

Not just any girl. Even this far south of the kingdom's capital, the news was falling like drops. Alicent had never heard of such a troubled princess. As she recalled some gossip that may or may not be true, a small smile appeared on her face.

A commotion up ahead brought all attention back to the huge door. The entrance to the sumptuous hall was preceded by a slight shiver running down Alicent's spine. The Hightower household filed gracefully in, with his uncle Hobart and his father leading the group, as the attention of the court turned to them for a moment.

"Otto!" exclaimed King Viserys with a warm greeting. "I am delighted to see that you have managed to bring the whole family this time."

The king was not noted for his subtlety. Alicent kept his gaze down during the exchange, his fingers feeling a twinge as he acknowledged that they were not, in fact, complete, and never would be.

"Of course, my King. Such a special occasion deserved no less," Otto replied with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Princess, congratulations on your 7th onomastic. On behalf of the Hightower family, I wish you blessings of health and good fortune. Please accept this tome as a token of our friendship."

The girl, Princess Rhaenyra, standing to the king's left, stepped forward. The golden girl received the gift with the courtesy befitting someone accustomed to receiving numerous such offerings. She quickly thanked her and returned to her place, revealing an obvious disinterest in the formalities of court.

Alicent had already seen her the previous days from a distance, being followed by a few girls, maids and septas. There was nothing about Alicent that could draw attention to that little girl, there were so many girls that one more or one less made little difference.

Moreover, the Princess did not seem to be particularly interested in socialising as, according to the whispers, she was more interested in flying her dragon and was preparing for it.

The Princess's lack of enthusiasm for her family did not surprise Alicent. She had also noticed Queen Aemma's icy attitude towards the Hand. As the little princess resumed her seat, Alicent gave her a gentle smile. The blue eyes reflected momentary curiosity for the newly introduced stranger.

As Otto made his way to his place at the royal table, Alicent, who had been behind the group with his older brother, stepped back along with his uncle Hobert's family, other relatives and vassals.

Shortly after the meal began, Ormund settled next to her at the edge of the table, a gossipy expression painted on his face.

"Yes?" said Alicent without turning around, focused on slicing a piece of meat, her ability to ignore such situations already second nature.

They travelled together, she and her uncle's family on the delegation, and Ormund was one of the few cousins with whom she had some closeness and trust. After all, they were just children, practically invisible in the bustle of the dinner table.

"Your brother, seriously, I can't believe he keeps insisting," Ormund commented, leaning towards her with a tone of disbelief.

"It's not necessarily him. Father will be furious if he doesn't," Alicent replied, keeping her further thoughts on that matter to herself. She sighed deeply and looked regretfully at the vegetable platter on the other side of the table.

"I've spoken to him, he has no idea what to say to you anymore. The last attempt was a disaster. She barely looked at him," Ormund revealed, offering her a glass of wine.

Alicent accepted the glass gratefully. "You asked to raise a dragon?" She offered him a smile of sympathy.

"No, but it has something to do with it. He might have mistaken the dragon's name and the Princess was... not enchanted," Ormund explained, delivering details of the complicated situation.

"All Targaryens are obsessed with their beasts. Gwayne is a lost cause," Alicent muttered under her breath.

Even she had learned that Syrax was a beautiful golden creature, capturing the grace and grandeur of ancient Valyria. A Valyrian goddess gave him his name. She was a dragon worthy of a Targaryen princess. That's what people said. You'd have to be pretty sure of yourself to set foot in that territory.

Ormund sighed in shame for Gwayne.

"And you're telling me all this because...?" said Alicent slowly, waiting for Ormund to complete his thought.

"Because apparently I alone have had to put up with his nonsense," Ormund growled uncontentedly as he spoke with his mouth full. "No offence, but your father puts a great deal of faith in him. Nearly every house in Westeros is in his position. But Gwayne has other plans, he's convinced he can be a royal guard."

"I've barely arrived and I know of his affair with the Princess, I don't have to tolerate anything," Alicent stated, defending his newly acquired position.

"Your support is inspiring, my Lady," Ormund commented with a tone of sarcasm.

Alicent smiled in amusem*nt at Ormund's attitude. She dared a brief glance at the head table and accidentally met the princess's gaze. She quickly looked down at her plate, trying not to attract attention. Meanwhile, Ormund continued to talk loudly, attracting other cousins in the house who shared their own gossip, earning a few sidelong glances from the neighbouring table.

Alicent looked up again as his father approached with a frown and pursed lips, a sign that the noise had caught his attention.

The festivities were at their midway point, with nobles and ladies indulging in wine and food as they pleased. Mushroom, the court jester, had just concluded his performance, eliciting raucous laughter and applause from half the tables. The king, enjoying the spectacle, was interrupted as the lords began to approach his table again.

"The finest wine straight from Lannisport to please His Grace," Lord Jason announced, offering a golden goblet filled to the brim with wine. The king accepted the gesture with a smile, recognising the taste of the wine.

"It is exquisite in taste!" praised Viserys, in good humour at the gift.

"It is well known, Your Grace, that the Westerlands excel at many things, not just wine," Lord Jason commented arrogantly. A servant appeared holding a golden spear. "Your Grace, I had this made in the Golden Gallery in your honour. It is decorated with pure gold and rubies."

Viserys frowned at the spear, though he gave a faint smile out of politeness. "It is a most generous gift, Lord Jason," he said, gesturing for the servant to take charge of the spear.

"The chests of House Lannister are filled with gold and, in time, our only intention will be to multiply our wealth. Even a princess would find it appropriate to reside at Casterly Rock without feeling deprived of her position," Lord Jason added, eliciting a tense reaction from Viserys, who clutched his goblet tightly.

At this comment, Viserys clutched the goblet tighter and glanced sideways at Rhaenyra, who kept ignoring his side completely, as if there was nothing more interesting than her lemon cakes in front of her.

As for Otto Hightower, his knuckles turned white and he took a deep breath to calm himself. The Lannister was being too reckless. Fortunately Jason had enough sense to stop and with a deep bow finally returned to his table.

"What a pompous ass...," Rhaenyra whispered to Viserys in her childish voice, taking the king by surprise and causing him to release the wine from his mouth.

Viserys, embarrassed, replied, "He is our guest and ally, don't you dare speak of him like that again.”

The king stood up and walked away from the lords who continued to insist on matters that he would not even discuss in the small council. But he would not be released so easily. Lord Hand had been waiting for Viserys, Otto stepped ahead of him and approached the King with a worried look on his face. After sending a couple of lords, Viserys' patience wore thin. When he had the chance, he quickly returned to his place on the makeshift throne with a sigh of relief, hoping to have concluded the courtesies for the moment.

The music grew louder as the younger nobles occupied the ballroom. Alicent could see his kinsmen among them, he identified some of their partners.

His table was half empty with the withdrawal of his cousins and brother. So, she thought it was a good time. She turned to her uncle who was slow to notice her. When he caught her gaze with a polite nod he took his leave. She walked around the sides avoiding colliding with the crowd of people dancing to the beat right in the middle.

Taking a deep breath she walked away from the voices and music being followed by a guard and a maid. They climbed some stairs, passed through some passages, by the time they turned a second time at a fork she felt lost. They walked through luxuriously furnished corridors: granite floors, marble walls, stained glass windows, numerous statues and columns, tapestries. Alicent was so distracted that she didn't even notice when she reached the tower of the hand.

She could not explain such a day, she had not prepared to show herself to a court that had hitherto been unfamiliar with her and it had caused some discomfort, but it did not turn out to be as unfortunate as she had thought.

The next morning, having coped with a quick need in the bathroom, she absentmindedly walked over to her window. That unlike the Oldtown, Landing would not present him with breathtaking views.

Not even the fragrance, here it smelled of sea breeze, seaweed and rotting fish. She also caught a "note" of manure, she thought it might be some problems with the sewers at King's Landing. Leaning against the window frame, for the first time she began to examine what he could.

His room was not high enough in the tower to appreciate the city outside the walls. But she could imagine the narrow streets running down to the sea, low houses, multi-hued tiled roofs and chimneys. And the calm sea was preparing to welcome a new day, listening to the song of the seagulls. From below, from the city, came the sound of the capital waking up. Leaning against the side wall, she listened carefully.

After thinking over some unimportant matters she changed his position. The sun was up, the city was awake. The smell of fresh bread reached her as if the kitchen were in her own room. The noise grew louder. Not far away, probably in the kennel, a dog barked.

"Bitch! Shut your mouth!"

There was a harsh obscenity, a dull thud, a squeal, and all was silent again.

Chapter 2: Orange

Chapter Text

Every step she took she took with force while breathing heavily. She tried to let her anger fade, but she really only hoped it wouldn't turn to tears. Rhaenyra would not cry over something like that; it simply wasn't worth it. She turned, letting her feet carry her on their own towards her usual spot by the heart-tree and literally stopped mid-step when she saw her.

Alicent was there, sitting casually on the ground by a tree, when Rhaenyra discovered her. In her indifferent, melancholy glory, she seemed to be deep in her own thoughts, fiddling with a branch in her right hand.

Alicent, though she hesitated to disappear as if she had never been there, finally chose to remain. She had walked the gardens a couple of times in the last few days, this was her favourite. There was a certain peace that kept the homesickness away, at least for a while. She would lie or sit browsing a book or just looking around, at a time when Rhaenyra would often go to ride her dragon. There was some truth in "the known will always give some security". Her room was silent, reading was a turn-off if it was all she did, the library became too familiar, and her friends... she didn't even have them. The girls with whom she sometimes received instructions from the septas, when those moments of "good behaviour" were over, always engaged in long-suffering wine and chatter that, though revealing, was useless and grotesque. So Alicent was there, looking for a breath of fresh air without pressure, since his father had been merciful enough to give him time to get used to it.

Rhaenyra, noticing her, walked over to the spot and climbed the tree in a few moves to watch from above, sitting on a branch.

Alicent, looking up, regarded her with calm eyes, considering her not as an enemy or a "bad example" as his father would say, but not as a friend either. La Princess seemed so normal to she all of a sudden. It made his head ache.

Suddenly, Rhaenyra seemed older or the same age, even though he had seen her in different situations, such as when she was practising with swords or gathering her hair to accompany the king on hunting days. Now, her silver hair was a little tousled, all pushed back, as if she had run her hand through it and tossed it haphazardly, which left her face exposed. It was the best look at his face he had had since he had arrived in King's Landing.

Her brown eyes were blank, not in the hard way Rhaenyra had seen them, just a sort of dull nothingness as they looked at her. She was dressed in a light blue dress that set off her dark copper hair.

"Lady Alicent," Rhaenyra said politely, contrasting slightly with the vision, as she was still perched on the branch.

The Princess's breathing was labored from her angry strut on her way to the garden and it was clear in her tone that she had been taken by surprise to find her here.

As Alicent heard her footsteps approaching the astonishment shone in her eyes, but it disappeared as soon as she noticed where he stood, almost upon her, breathing heavily and looking as if he was about to combust.

"Princess," she said after standing up and slightly bowing his body.

Alicent studied her for a moment. She could tell the girl was angry; from the strutting gait she had when she arrived on the scene, not even noticing her until she was close enough. However, it was the labored breathing, her pursed lips, her apparent mocking indifference, and the heated blush that covered her neck that really tipped him off.

Alicent tried not to delve any deeper into Rhaenyra Targaryen's idiosyncrasies. She had (somehow) suppressed or ignored much of it from her mind until this point. Warnings to stay away from the Princess from her father only made his curiosity grow. The girl was an open book. Gods, she was so expressive. The princess can switch from a smile to showing concern in an instant, and every emotion seems genuine. Though Alicent isn't sure if she envies that trait, she certainly wishes she possessed such a quality.

That ability to be open and honest with her emotions requires a special bravery, something Alicent admires and considers a trait she could only dream of.

"Is something bothering you, Princess? Is there something I can do for you?" asked Alicent, keeping her tone soft and calm.

"Why do you think so, Lady Hightower?" replied Rhaenyra in a bored manner, mumbling her surname, as if that word chilled her mouth and she only wanted to expel it from her lips.

'Just asking' she thought.

Alicent did not have a harsh opinion of her. She was a Targaryen girl, yes, but a girl nonetheless. The kind her mother would invite into her garden and read her stories or stretch out her little dress and pretty face. The circ*mstance allowed Alicent to look at her in a way he was not allowed to in public. Rhaenyra wore a short-sleeved dress in orange, with yellow stripes, very delicate and bright.

"Is something wrong, Princess?" insisted Alicent, his tone held, as if he were asking for the first time.

Rhaenyra, confused, wasn't sure if she really cared to know or was simply diverting his attention. She felt her defences lower as she stood on the branch, and the defences she had raised slowly dissolved.

Was she angry? Rhaenyra wasn't exactly sure. She was upset, yes, that her mother, with whom she had always had great trust, had hidden herself away for days in a disoriented and sad state. Helpless at not knowing what to do, Rhaenyra let her take her time, hoping that she would turn to her as she had so often before. But then, one afternoon, she appeared as if nothing had happened, as if the previous days had not existed. This gave her the feeling that something was being kept from her. To complicate matters, her father was also somewhat distant.

Now, the amazing thing was that he found himself not even thinking much about it as he sat on the branch over Alicent Hightower, whose brother had been a nuisance but who at the same time was just one of the bunch. Hightower, his uncle Daemon, was particularly disdainful of that surname. She understood if it was Ser Otto.

"Has your stay in King's Landing been pleasant, Lady Alicent?" asked Rhaenyra, trying to change the tone of the conversation.

"That is correct," Alicent admitted easily.

"The septas have been flattering her of late. She seems to have become their favourite by comparison to the other ladies," Rhaenyra said. "That doesn't sound bad, does it?" she asked in a mocking tone, before adopting a more serious tone. "The septas' praise rarely indicates anything genuine. They are usually adept at flattery for the purpose of performing their duties."

Alicent maintained an unperturbed expression, as if he had not recognised Rhaenyra's sarcastic words.

"I understand. Court can be a complicated place, full of subtleties," Alicent commented calmly, as if willing to explore the complexities of the environment without judgment.

Rhaenyra narrowed her blue eyes, the large brown eyes still had the same clarity as before, and the sincerity in them made her recoil in her ferocity.

They were both being casual now. It felt strange, but Rhaenyra wasn't fighting it. Normally unyielding, she allowed a momentary retreat, though the intention to warn the Hightower still lingered.

"Understand that I do not know you, Lady Alicent," Rhaenyra said, watching the lady carefully.

"I understand," Alicent replied, and they both fell silent, in a kind of subtle waiting, as if waiting to see who would give in first. Was there something to give in for?

A strange agitation gripped Alicent's chest at this conversation, at this whole meeting, really. It was strange to be here with the Princess. To speak so softly and even with the defensive tension, everything felt so calm.

Framing his eyebrows, Alicent slowly shifted his gaze as he heard the wood creak, Rhaenyra seemed to hear it too. The branch threatened to give way, and in an impulsive instinct, Alicent stepped forward, taking the bundle of cloth and soft skin in his arms by what seemed to be the waist, pulling the whole package, legs included, towards himself.

Rhaenyra in distress exclaimed, startled, in her quest for stability she jabbed her elbow into his stomach. Making Alicent mentally curse and not even bear to let out a whimper. How it hurt! Precisely because of that, he put her down much more roughly than necessary, but without letting go.

"Oh, sh*t. Please forgive me," said the Princess without much conviction.

'Language' thought Alicent. She watched as the thick taffeta skirt fabric fell to cover her slender legs. Standing then in front of a protesting, gasping lump of tousled hair.

"Can you let go of me!" the princess demanded.

She almost shoved it away, causing Alicent to let go. She hid a rare embarrassment as she noticed that he was, in fact, still holding her by the waist.

"You're welcome," she said almost mockingly. Then, without further ado, she turned to walk away. No use being nice to a troublemaker, her father was right. "Be careful with the branch or it will fall on your head, my Princess" Alicent added already a few paces away massaging her waist.

Rhaenyra, flushed with embarrassment and breathless, watched Alicent's figure walk away. The sun's rays highlighted the coppery hue of his hair as he retreated, leaving the princess with a mixture of relief and strangeness at the unexpected interaction.

When Rhaenyra decided to say thank you, Alicent was stopped by the princess's soft voice. With a slight frown, Alicent sighed, turning slowly, as if compulsion was dragging her back to Rhaenyra.

The little Princess felt her embarrassment return as she approached again. She was still under the tree, a few silver hairs over her eyes, and she preferred to avoid being recognised.

Alicent stopped a step away, the Targaryen held her breath at the impact of features and forms so beautiful she had previously only seen from a distance. She could tell the Hightower would be almost her own age, and of course the difference was there, half a head, brown eyes staring at her with barely a frown and full lips, soft brows and ... So close. Then a tremor of alarm shook her. She was alone, without having allowed the guards to follow her, in the almost deserted courtyard, and there was no word from her sworn guard. With a completely unknown Hightower.

"I would prefer an honest 'Get out of my sight' to a half-hearted thank you, Princess," Alicent muttered, his tone revealing some annoyance and resignation.

Rhaenyra snorted without backing down, her watchful eyes glanced furtively around.

"And I would rather you had gone rather than pretend to mock me again," she retorted, not backing down from the lady.

"As you command, Princess," Alicent's voice rang out like an elongated whisper, warm and soft, an unexpected caress.

Alicent drew himself upright again to look at her. Rhaenyra could not guess his reaction - was she really offended? But what did it matter?

"Thank you, Lady Alicent.”

Alicent far from being annoyed by Rhaenyra's initial displeasure, she found it amusing, she takes a step and Rhaenyra doesn't back down. She stopped that thought. What was she thinking? Besides, if she didn't leave who knows who would be watching or how long it would take. Gods, if her father found out.

She picked up a red leaf Rhaenyra held in her hair but didn't throw it. Motive? None in particular, but that little leaf had caught her attention from the first moment she approached.

"A souvenir, Princess,"she added, with neither sincerity nor farce in his voice.

Alicent, with firm, quick steps, turned her back to him and walked away, gathering her skirt as she trotted back into the fortress. As she slipped into the shadows, the smile was replaced by tight lips.

The next thing she knew of Rhaenyra Targaryen was that, in his father's words, he had asked for her as his lady-in-waiting. Otto did not discuss with her how the girl noticed her, or what she did to make him do so. Alicent was given a strict lecture on how to act from that moment on. He now expects her to become a lady of the court. A daughter he can be proud of.

‘Keep quiet when you can't see the situation clearly in front of you’ is one of the many truths Alicent learned from his mother.

It was also the first time her fingertips stung, a precise sensation, just under her fingernails.

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Rhaenyra hesitates at first before addressing Alicent, but when she does, her voice is gentle and careful. She does not touch on the reasons behind why she chose Alicent as her lady-in-waiting, nor does she reveal the events of their first meeting or the true motives that brought Alicent to King's Landing. Instead, it focuses on seemingly insignificant details.

Alicent is behind her, deftly tying the soft threads of Rhaenyra's dress. His precise fingers are busy with the folded layers of fabric, finishing with a knot that secures the elegant garment. The dress, sturdy yet delicate, has a yellow hue that softens the image of the princess, as if she were portrayed in oils.

Through these moments, Alicent begins to understand the unfamiliarity that surrounds the princess. Rhaenyra rarely enjoys dressing elegantly for occasions, even when her position demands a certain pomp. She prefers bold, simple fabrics, eschewing the restraints of bodices and corsets. She is a restless child.

"I'm becoming more and more like you," Rhaenyra comments as Alicent wraps her arms in somewhat suffocating fabrics. "My mother will be pleased. She wants me to be lovely, like you. And I seem to have succeeded. It's like you're inside me now."

Alicent gathers the silver tresses into braids, repeating those words in her mind. 'It's like you're inside me now.' Suddenly, the princess turns to her, causing a lock of silver hair to fall from Alicent's hands. Rhaenyra takes his hands in hers and kisses her fingers, a gesture of charity.

When Rhaenyra looks up, she seems small and her face is unmasked, her eyes wide and puffy. Beauty gushes from Rhaenyra's eyes, and Alicent, in that instant, longs to feel beautiful too.

"I didn't mention it before, I'm sorry, sorry about your mother, Alicent."

"I know," Alicent replies, shaking her hands a little more firmly. "Thank you.”

Chapter 3: Orange

Chapter Text

108AC

Recently, Alicent has begun to assist his father by helping him dress for council meetings. While she adjusts his attire, she takes advantage of these moments to exchange news and receive his instructions. Her small hands tug gently at the garment, trying to straighten it, though she does not yet achieve perfection, and her father is silent, hoping she will learn in time.

"The queen is carrying another baby," Alicent says softly, adopting the gentle tone he has been taught in the fortress. "I overheard the maids talking about it."

"She lost one a few moons ago, it's too soon. It won't do," Otto replies scornfully, "It will die inside her."

These words, cruel and merciless, crash against Alicent's ears. She had never heard such terrible words, nor a more terrible way of saying them. Alicent had heard some indifferent, somewhat hurtful jokes, but never contempt for the people she is supposed to serve. The rejection is mixed with the fear that someone else will hear such words.

"How do you know?" asks Alicent, keeping his voice steady but hinting at a note of surprise.

He turns to her with a frown.

"Because the years have left her barren. Her womb will not allow another child to take root. It is highly unlikely, not to say impossible, to give the King the son he so longs for."

"But the King already has a daughter, Rhaenyra.

The light of his life, the silver daughter, his joy. As she accompanied Rhaenyra, she discovered for the first time how close a father and daughter could be. Noting finally how far apart they were with her own father, who offered her only the comfort of encouragement in his commands. Pride that he carried them out. Queen Aemma reminded her of her mother, she was so gentle when they met for tea some afternoons, when Rhaenyra managed to convince her to leave her room. They were warm.

"A girl," her father corrects. "Her existence will offer little comfort to the King."

She doesn't answer him, doesn't think any of the answers in her mind please him. She is silent when she cannot see the situation clearly in front of her.

Otto seems to notice the insecurity in her expression and softens his gaze. He pushes the heavy locks away from his shoulder and rests his hand there. Though he stands confident and stately, there is something unrefined about him, something not quite finished. The firmness in his hand is strong, they are ringed and rough, and they have aged. For all the fortune they behold, they always seem to aspire for more. He offers her a fatherly smile.

"Don't worry, Alicent.Daughters can have their purpose too."

Perplexed at his words, Alicent watches her hands still holding the piece of cloth over her father's shoulder. Otto follows her gaze, and the attempt at kindness on his face disappears as he notices her injured fingers. He grabs them immediately, without much caution, and Alicent must bite his tongue to keep from writhing in pain.

Otto's eyes sadden, and he asks her why she insists on destroying herself and her beauty.

"You have the gentleness of any maiden. You must preserve what youth brings you. You are little aware of yourself, child; you cannot see the rose you will become".

Alicent feels the pressure of her father's hand on hers, a mixture of firmness and concern. She can't help but reflect on his words as she looks at the worn rings adorning his fingers. Though she does not always understand her father, she knows he is a man of influence, with his own battles and aspirations.

Otto, noticing her silence, decides to change the tone of the conversation.

"Life at court can be complicated, daughter. You must learn to navigate its intrigues and preserve your own interests in the process."

Alicent nods cautiously.

○○○

Alicent is allowed to accompany Princess Rhaenyra to Dragonpit, but remains in the carriage while Rhaenyra rides her monstrous beast. Though the dragon is not as imposing as others he has seen, its mere presence makes Alicent's skin crawl. Also that it was a way to get close to her. Alicent can't help but think that his father likes to see the practicality of things and not the reality he imposes on others.

From her position, she watches as the dragon guards surround the King's daughter, shouting demands in languages Alicent does not understand. When Rhaenyra returns from her flight, she flashes a shy smile and then offers her hand, warm and brave, with traces of sweat and the terrible smell of Dragon permeating her skin.

"You're warm," Alicent finally comments, as moulds his hand over the other.

"It's Dragon's blood," Rhaenyra replies cheerfully, with a half-laugh.

Alicent doesn't know what dragon's blood is supposed to feel like. She doesn't know what it's made of. It wasn't the first or the last thing she wouldn't quite understand about the royal family. She has learned that Valyrians do not follow the common customs of men. That is why they are allowed to sit on thrones and mate with their own kin. That is why they are closer to the gods than to men and why their skin is warmer than it should be.

Rhaenyra must have been told this all her life. She is not like Alicent. She is still young and vibrant and very sure of the sanctity of her flesh. A girl who doesn't understand what it means to serve, who has never felt true devotion.

Alicent has been away from the world for too long. Whether in ancient times under the watchful eye of an ailing mother and here in Landing under the righteous gaze of her father. She silently scoffs at being clever, precocious in fact, but Rhaenyra doesn't quite know what she is or what she wants to be.

'How can I become like you?' Alicent wants to ask, but doesn't dare.

Once inside the carriage, they both sit down, holding hands naturally. She tolerates her stinky dragon smell, finally the days was begging for had come, she tolerated it, at least in these moments. As the Princess made circles with her thumb on the back of his hand and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about why you ran on your dragon as if the stranger was following you?"

"My father," Rhaenyra replies.

"Isn't he always your father?"

Alicent discovered that the perfect relationship she imagined between the princess and her parents was not exactly perfect.

Turning to look at Alicent, Rhaenyra rests her chin on his shoulder, squints, but the brown eyes remain clear and calm.

"It's different this time. He didn't just ignore me, we've drifted apart. I feel like a line has been crossed though too, I don't know why I should care so much. The one who worries me is my mother" she looks away from Alicent, to settle his temple comfortably again. Then she continued," I think our relationship might actually be collapsing."

"Hasn't it happened before? He always seems to get mad at you, but he's always loved you, there's nothing he won't let you do" Alicent smiled, glancing sideways at the small puckered nose at his side, then refocused, "You always manage to work it all out."

"Yeah, but not like this. I really think this is the end. "Rhaenyra shook her head, looking lost. "I hate it. My mother's pregnancy hasn't been easy for the last three moons, even if it seemed like it was.

That was new. Rhaenyra didn't hate anyone, not that Alicent knew of, she was stubborn and could get angry very quickly, but she wasn't someone she hated. Especially her own father. Or was she particularly affected this time to think that she did.

Alicent gave her a sidelong glance of some surprise.

"What?" asked Rhaenyra sensing the movement and then his gaze.

"Nothing, did you try to talk to them?"

"I tried," Rhaenyra replied with a sigh, "I tried to talk to both of them, but words like 'duty' and 'responsibility' have exhausted me more than I expected."

Alicent nodded.

"Will that be all? Hate your father and mourn your mother?"

Rhaenyra shrugged and closed her eyes again. Her breathing was even, her temper had almost calmed. There was a lot of calm between them, that was the only way she could describe it, calm.

"Maybe I'm just tired of trying to do something that seems impossible. After every pregnancy I don't know what to expect, I'm not talking about being an heir, I'm talking about my mother. I don't want to wake up one day and not have her. Not like this.

Alicent smiled and shook her head, almost looking frustrated.

"Or maybe you're thinking too much about doing something. You know it's not your place."

"Well?"

"Just, try to keep going every day" Alicent swallowed hard, and thought carefully about his words, turning his head towards her. "Even though your mother isn't sick, it's a difficult situation. When my mother was ill, I was very worried those first few days, until one of the ladies who cared for her spoke to me. I realised that I was anticipating something that I feared, but didn't happen, anticipating the worst, when I just had to go ahead and do what I could to build a better environment, a better one for her, without her having to worry about her foolish daughter's thoughts," Alicent said. She brought her free hand to her forehead to massage her temple, after a slight ache, which gradually passed after the tighter grip of the small hand that still transmitted much warmth to her.

"Do you think the gods allow such things for a reason? You are a great believer, surely your mother was too," Rhaenyra asks curiously.

"Yes, she was. And maybe, I don't know," Alicent replies, noticing Rhaenyra's serious look. "Just know that we're all here and you can make a difference, however small. At least keep holding your mother's hand when she wants it. I saw how you were hiding her, neither of us wants that to keep happening."

She liked the way his brown eyes stayed glued to hers, it made her feel good. Rhaenyra couldn't help the smile that came to her lips or the chuckle that bubbled up, she shook her head.

"True. Pointless though."

"Wanting something doesn't give you the right to have it, Princess."

Rhaenyra looked at him thoughtfully, before saying:

"Perhaps."

Silence returned for a moment before Rhaenyra turned the conversation back to lighter topics, for example, wanting Alicent to fly with her on her Dragon. To which Alicent tried to turn away as if she hadn't heard her. Rhaenyra would restrain her by holding her arm after a laugh and the excuse that she was joking. But she still wouldn't give up.

○○○

"Alicent," the girl laughed and covered her mouth with her hand, either out of surprise or decency.

Alicent simply smiled in response, his brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight filtering through the branches, and returned his focus to the book. Rhaenyra could not believe that her friend really thought the Prince of Dorne was in love with her. She leaned closer to Alicent and, glancing around discreetly, whispered next to his ear:

"But I heard," Rhaenyra's whisper was like a subtle caress, and the soft wind through the trees carried the childish laughter in the background. Alicent looked up from the book, her eyes reflecting the curiosity that surrounded her. "That Prince Qoren prefers male company."

For a second, the forest seemed to hold an expectant silence. A girl's laughter suddenly echoed throughout the clearing, breaking the palette of natural sounds.

"And how did you hear about that?" laughed Alicent, more incredulous than anything else.

"People say..." Rhaenyra caught Alicent's look, which seemed to say 'Really?" but in a friendlier way. "In their last marriage they had no children with Lady Arryn for quite some time."

"Well, the Maesters say that Lady Arryn was..." Alicent was silent before continuing, "she was not blessed with fertility."

Rhaenyra looked at Alicent with surprise and interest. Their eyes met in an instant.

"I would like to be infertile."

Rhaenyra's confession did not make Alicent happy. The atmosphere was charged with a quiet tension, as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

"My mother has lost many children," Rhaenyra continued, lowering her gaze.

"What happened to your mother, our queen, is a sad fact. But... my mother always said that you will never love anyone as much as you love a child."

Without waiting for a reply, Alicent closed the book and stepped back to stand.

"If I were a boy..." Rhaenyra's voice floated through the air, accompanied by the soft chirping of birds in the branches.

"Would everything be different? Yes," Alicent reached out to take her friend's hand between her own, the ground creaking slightly beneath her. "But you're a girl and that's wonderful. You're beautiful."

"Only you think so."

Alicent gently pulled her close, hugging her shoulder. After a moment of silence, Rhaenyra, resting her head on Alicent's shoulder, whispered:

"It's okay.”

Chapter 4: Orange

Chapter Text

109AC

Ella está arrodillada ante el septón real. Ante ella se alza la estatua de la Doncella, quien, según los septas, traerá la paz a las mujeres jóvenes y florecientes, si tan sólo deciden someterse.

Alicent se ha sentido incómoda por muchas razones, las noches casi siempre son solitarias, sus pensamientos más profundos se guardan en su pecho y los sueños serán inquietos. No importa lo cálido que esté el sol durante el día. Ha dejado la Ciudad Vieja sin paz y aún no la ha encontrado. Ella junta sus manos con fuerza en oración silenciosa.

Entrecierra los ojos ante la figura esculpida, la figura es delicada y los contornos de su cuerpo femenino y agrietado son suaves. Alicent quiere extender la mano y dejar que su dedo roce la suave piel humana de la estatua, para sentir un cierto frescor agradable, como la leche desnatada en un día de verano.

La Doncella está vestida con pesadas cortinas y un velo, pero hay casi algo contrario y lascivo en su apariencia: la forma de su postura, la pesadez de su mirada. Alicent se pregunta si es la falta de familiaridad o el interés lo que la atrae. Sin embargo, ella aleja esos pensamientos. Incluso ahora, sabe que hay algunas cosas que no debería encontrar hermosas. Como la muerte. Como mujeres.

Ella murmura una oración de misericordia.

"Perdóname por mis pecados. Guía mis sentidos".

Her words, however, fall by the wayside, because they really weigh nothing. She does not know how to speak sincerely to the gods. His vigilance, his absolute character, can easily tire. Alicent wishes only to please his demands, the demands of the kingdom and the demands of his father. Who after discarding Gwayne, being sent to Oldtown to serve as a knight, focused exclusively on her.

Apparently she is good at it, her adaptive ability to please whoever will listen. Even if it's not what she really wants, but who cares what she wants?

Her hands tighten even more at the thought of her father.

'Don't worry, Alicent. Daughters can have their purpose too,' he had once told her.

She knows the meaning of his words. She may not seem to pay much attention to him, but Alicent understands more than he sometimes realises. She has no choice but to do so. She exists to assimilate his ploys, disappointments, grievances and frustrations. Every time the troubles in Dorne become overwhelming, every time the king's brother torments the small council, every time the queen loses another baby, Otto Hightower speaks freely to his voiceless daughter and Alicent does well to listen.

He knows she will keep her secrets. She has no one to tell them to. Not that she can, either. So her secrets and his own are kept in his chest. There are cracks, can see them from her fingers, they expand to her arms, her stomach. They are not as smooth as those on the statue. They don't look beautiful.

Alicent lowers his head further at the Maiden. It is a natural thing. In truth, she has always existed within the movements of submission. There is always someone waiting for her performance. Someone to quietly mould her: to be sweet, cunning and quiet, obedient. Alicent fears that one day this will become a burden so heavy it could drown her.

Rhaenyra does not expect her to be sweet, cunning or quiet. She wants Alicent to travel with her on Syrax and discover the lands beyond the Smoky Sea. She wants to fly over the beaches of Essos and run her delicate finger along the rising waves. Eating cakes, of course.

"What about the beaches here?" Alicent had asked.

"The beaches here are dirty and spoiled, they smell of nothing but dirt and salt," the Princess had said. "My uncle tells me of the crystal blue waters that stretch from Lys to Naath. He says he will take me there one day”.

Alicent doesn't mind the waters of King's Landing, beaches are rare in Oldtown. However, just because she doesn't care doesn't mean she hasn't come to notice them. At some point in the days, the sea in front of the Red Keep looked as blue, as blue as his eyes. She could stand for a long time just watching the tide come and go on the beach and the waves crashing on the rocks.

Once, Alicent felt the need to tell Rhaenyra, to tell her how much she reminded him of her eyes, but with that he took away the right to watch him so foolishly, knowing she would understand why.

She does not understand Rhaenyra's longing to leave her homeland, though she wishes to do so. She wishes to feel the same warmth she produces every time he speaks to her about it. The princess wanders and toils and never feels contempt within the constraints of her home. She talks of battles and knights as if she might one day give up her own sword. She watches her uncle, the rebellious prince, with silent aversion and delights in the way her admiration for him worries the King. This worries Alicent's father even more, though she has not mentioned it to her friend.

Soon, Rhaenyra will learn that she is not exempt from duty. Alicent can teach her. She could light the way. It is what her father hopes for. What Queen Aemma also implied to her, when she suggested that there was no one in the seven kingdoms who could hold Rhaenyra back from some obligation, unless it was her. Which doesn't always work, for in stubbornness, Alicent had it all to lose.

His fingers have almost gone pale when, at last, he drops his arms to his side. A quiet sigh escapes her lips and the cool air before her enters.

The candles at the Maiden's feet remain still and quiet, the pale wax melting and drifting slowly to the cold floor in a steady stream.

As she rises from the floor, her thoughts continue to dance in her mind, a choreography of repressed longings and unyielding duties that she must learn to live with.

○○○

Under the dense shade of the garden trees, Alicent is absorbed in her book, her soft fingers exploring the parchment with quiet interest as Rhaenyra hovers before her.

"Did Elissa stay on Fair Isle for long?" asks Rhaenyra, interrupting the silence with her real curiosity.

"No, she left with Rhaena. They sailed to Lannisport to find rest elsewhere," Alicent replies, his voice carrying echoes of history. "But even the Lannisters weakened over time. When Elissa's brother denied her the gold to build a ship bound for the Sunset Sea, she turned to Rhaena. But her request was denied.

"Why?" asks Rhaenyra, her eyes fixed on the book Alicent is holding as they walk.

Alicent watches the princess's finger warily. "Perhaps Rhaena felt betrayed by Elissa's wishes. Perhaps the crown's sanctions had become too severe. Perhaps-"

"Perhaps she did not wish for her to leave," Rhaenyra interrupts, completing the idea with her own insight.

Alicent is silent, almost tense, for a moment before he registers the princess's voice: that familiar songbird cadence. His grip around the book tightens, the tips of his mouth pull upwards.

"Perhaps."

"Pero Elissa sí construyó sus barcos", revela Rhaenyra, con la mirada ahora en la página del libro. "Robó tres huevos de dragón y se los vendió al Señor del Mar de Braavos a cambio de oro".

Rhaenyra mira fijamente la página mientras Alicent la observa, sintiendo la cautela en su mirada.

"Lo hizo", afirma Rhaenyra, y Alicent asiente levemente.

"Jaehaerys estaba furioso. Exigió su captura, pero ya era demasiado tarde", añade Alicent.

"Él temía que otros pudieran obtener un control similar sobre los dragones", expone Rhaenyra, apoyándose contra el anciano con un suave suspiro. "¿Pero por qué? Sólo los Targaryens pueden domar dragones, con deseo, fuerza y canto. Está en nuestra sangre", reflexiona Rhaenyra.

'Sangre de dragón', piensa Alicent para sí misma, pero elige no verbalizarlo, solo sonríe, dejando que la princesa continúe.

"Algunos maestres dicen que nosotros mismos somos dragones, antes de nacer. Perdemos nuestras alas y escamas sólo cuando salimos del útero", comparte Rhaenyra, dejando que su mente juegue con la idea. "Dentro de unas lunas, mi madre volverá a dar a luz. Tal vez si le canto, el bebé nacerá más rápido".

"Podrías intentarlo", responde Alicent, con una suave risa escapando de sus labios.

Chapter 5: Orange

Chapter Text

110AC

Some days, Rhaenyra would take Alicent along the Rosby Road, exploring the beach together for shells while her maidens accompanied them. Other times, she would take her retinue across the river for an afternoon of falconry hunting. The Princess also liked to go boating, sailing up and down the Blackwater Rush for no particular purpose. These trips became at some point a thing of two. That is, Alicent and Rhaenyra, plus their guards, a maid to help them unpack, and being alone, they would arrange the small outdoor feast on a blanket.

Rhaenyra, at first, found these excursions less exciting, unaccustomed to the tranquility of not being restless or moving without the speed of her dragon or horses. In contrast, Alicent loved these surroundings, the peace and serenity they offered. She considered stopping in a wooded and landscaped area near King's Landing, looking for flowering meadows by the river or streams that flowed into the Blackwater Rush.

Once settled and with the guards at a distance, Alicent took a close look at his surroundings. In her eyes, there was a longing for the peace of the landscape, she missed it. In the distance, huge clouds gathered, the sun shone brightly in the sky, and the cool breeze carried with it a scent that made Alicent smile.

Alicent didn't notice, but his own smile made Rhaenyra smile in return. Though the idea had been Alicent's to try and distract her from swords, horses, dragons, and the fortress in general, Alicent would no doubt enjoy this walk more. But Rhaenyra was being so sweet to her. Which caused them both to go out of their way to please each other.

"I don't remember ever stopping at a place like this," Rhaenyra commented, taking a seat next to Alicent and taking the cup he offered her. "Remind you of Oldtown?"

"The septas would never allow me to make such a journey on my own. I was still too young before I left Antigua to participate in groups of women who often leave castles. But I have heard. It reminds me of the gardens in Oldtown. Of course, they are more beautiful," Alicent replied.

With her back straight and her hands clasped in her lap, Rhaenyra looked captivating. She wore a pale pink gown that softened her exotic features. Her hair, half pulled back in a green cloth, left small wavy locks around her face, while the rest cascaded down her neck and back.

"I don't think they compare to this sight," Rhaenyra said, looking away from Alicent and sipping a cup of fruit juice, feeling embarrassed for voicing her thoughts.

Alicent, heedless of the compliment's destination, surveyed the surroundings with a raised eyebrow and shook his head as he laughed.

"How can you say that? You haven't even been there once. Believe me, this doesn't compare..."

"I'm sure it does," Rhaenyra stated confidently, still not turning to her.

"You're talking nonsense, Rhaenyra," Alicent replied, leaning his hand behind her for support as he laughed.

"You call your Princess a liar? I can't keep anything from you, can I?", Rhaenyra joked, matching his smile, relaxing a little.

"No, my Princess," Alicent affirmed, smiling at her. "And it's not easy to keep things from me."

Was it the way she said "Princess" or the way she looked at her that stopped Rhaenyra's heart. Did she have any idea how beautiful she was? No, she probably didn't. Alicent's intense gaze made her wonder why he was looking at her that way.

"Sometimes you might surprise yourself, Lady Alicent," Rhaenyra murmured, looking away from her face.

Alicent sat back up to take a drink. It wasn't easy for Rhaenyra to hide anything, she was always honest with her emotions and thoughts, she was an open book at all times. Alicent was sure of it.

○

In the flowery meadow that reached above their waists, Rhaenyra followed Alicent as she cut flowers at random, forming a circle of colours and fragrances in his hands. The soft murmur of the Blackwater Rush added a harmonious accompaniment to her words, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the murmur of flowers caressed by the breeze.

"I imagine what it would be like if Rhaenys were on that throne," Rhaenyra confessed, her reflective tone echoing in the quiet surroundings. "The people are not ready to accept a woman on the throne. A new order would be necessary, but even that is complicated."

Alicent nodded sympathetically, her delicate fingers caressing the petals. She had no easy answer to Rhaenyra's concerns, she also doubted the Princess did. Both shared the weight of uncertainty. They moved in a silence that spoke beyond words, broken only by the soft rustle of the grass beneath their feet.

Rhaenyra let out a sigh, her gaze lost in the blue sky dotted with white clouds.

"To imagine myself as queen without a brother is something I never considered."

Alicent took a few steps pondering her words. She turned to look at her, her brown eyes reflecting the seriousness of the moment. Before she could say anything, noticed that Rhaenyra had disappeared from his sight. Unease washed over her, but seeing the guards in the distance, she continued to walk and look around carefully.

Her threat to leave echoed in the air when, suddenly, something pulled Alicent to the side. A scream escaped his lips, but was drowned out by Rhaenyra's infectious laughter. She pulled away from the girl to stand and calm the guards, assuring them that all was well. Before she could compose herself, however, she was pulled back down, the laughter filling the meadow like a happy tune.

The swift movement caused Alicent to lose her balance and fall face first. She landed with both hands on one side of the princess, feeling the softness of the meadow beneath her toes. But a few seconds later, her back was resting against the meadow.

After a brief struggle to free herself from Rhaenyra's embrace, she finally surrendered. The surrender did not last long; a proud, mocking smile appeared before his eyes. Alicent narrowed his eyes, taking advantage of the height difference, raised half his body and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. Taking advantage of her distraction, Alicent propelled her to the side. It was her turn to continue the laughter when she noticed that Rhaenyra, now beneath her, had yet to compose herself.

The amusem*nt persisted as the two engaged in laughter and play, momentarily forgetting the worries of the throne and the uncertainty of the future.

○○○

The songs were in vain. Rhaenyra's mother gave birth to a sickly baby who died before she drew her first breath. Queen Aemma, also a dragon, became over the years a brood mare, with a womb that has felt little relief during the years she has been married to her husband. Every child she carries escapes under the shadow of the Stranger.

Alicent does not need to see her father to hear the words in her mind. She has learned to be indifferent in her insensitivity. But there is a sweetness in his cruelty, when he expresses himself correctly. 'Sweet', she thinks, 'sweet as winter apples'.

Rhaenyra does not openly mourn the loss of the foetus, but Alicent can feel it on her, like a second layer of skin. She is quiet and reticent, not daring to look her parents in the eye for a few days.

"I had wished it was a boy, and that he would live, so that my father would leave my mother alone," she says, when the two are alone in the princess's chambers and Alicent brushes her hair. "My father is determined. The small council presses him even harder. They fear Daemon will become king if my father does not sire an heir."

She tilts her head back and Alicent runs a gentle hand through silver hair, combed by the maids every morning, though always a little tousled. She tries not to stroke it.

"Maybe next time it will be different," Alicent says. "She's done it before, when she had you."

"But I was born a girl."

"Still, it's a gift," Alicent says, voice vibrating in an attempt to please. Rhaenyra averts her gaze and leans even closer to her friend's touch.

"If I had children, I would prefer sons," she confesses. "The realm favours them."

'Did her mother want to have only sons as well?' Alicent wonders, but she doesn't know the answer. She only knows that his father wanted a daughter. A daughter without a voice who could bear his complaints.

Alicent watches his fingers as they run through the princess's hair. The blood has begun to drain from her cubicles once more. She puts a finger between her lips and tastes the copper on her tongue. Rhaenyra doesn't notice. She rarely does.

○

Her face feels soft against the woollen pillow. The princess lies beside her, calm and still, like the statue of the Maiden herself. Rhaenyra's hair smells of rosemary, and Alicent decides for herself that the scent is better than anything she has ever known. She could breathe it in forever.

That night, she would lie on her side in their shared bed, watching Rhaenyra's intelligent face soften as she slept, her eyes dancing behind closed lids and an ache so immense it hurt to breathe

Chapter 6: Orange

Chapter Text

111AC

They are seated before a great banquet. The high lords of the realm have gathered in King's Landing to celebrate the sixth year of King Viserys I's reign, and soon their loud voices echo through the crowded halls of the Red Keep.

Alicent holds the delicate cutlery between his slender fingers, tilting it downwards. The food is not pleasant and she just pecks haphazardly at the plate, like a dwindling bird.

Rhaenyra remains at his side, still, restless and full of unfinished refinement. She shifts her wool-wrapped feet under the table, her eyes roving over the approaching figures. The men of the kingdom have come to pay their respects to the King before the next tournament.

The words are loud and proud and offer nothing that has not been said before. And yet the King and his Queen smile at them, showing humble gratitude for the knights' unceasing loyalty. Alicent looks across to his father, seated on the other side. His heavy eyes hold the weary indifference they so often show, denoting the smile forged on his lips. When their gazes meet, no words are exchanged, but still an attempt at a smile appears on her lips. She should appear pleased to those around her. She should be dull and sweet like the almost-woman she almost is.

Rhaenyra need not try. She offers gentlemen amused glances and curious smiles. To them, she is a rare flower, a maiden about to bloom, whom people watch with need and confusion as the girl of yesterday begins to be replaced by another. A girl of growing stature and freckled thighs. Most mistake her kindness for interest. They do not understand the freedom of her body, nor the dragon's blood beneath.

Rhaenyra raises the cup of dornish red wine, her lips meeting the rim of the goblet in a graceful gesture. The gloom of the royal chambers envelops them, and the crimson liquid snakes down Alicent's throat, who accepts her friend's offer with a mixture of reluctance and acquiescence. A warm, lingering taste floods her palate, as the fizz of the wine twists her stomach, woven into an uneasy dance.

Rhaenyra, giggling, extends a napkin towards Alicent, gently wiping the vestiges of the drink from his face. An intimate gesture that slips between complicity, as light laughter merges with the rustle of fabrics.

Now it is Rhaenyra's turn, and a blush adorns her face in a tinge of nervousness.

"Father says it takes time to appreciate the taste. But he never allows me enough to get used to it."

"I don't think I'll ever get used to the taste," Alicent says, frowning slightly with amusem*nt.

"You don't need to," her friend laughs. "Men only drink wine to feel brave and strong."

Alicent silently clenches his fist around his napkin, a gesture of unease. She feels neither brave nor strong, just dizzy and wary. Nevertheless, her hand reaches for the cup, accepting the offer from Rhaenyra, who hands it over charmingly.

"I should have brought more, but I was afraid you'd notice," Rhaenyra mentions with lightness and immobility in her voice. Alicent reaches over and hands her back the cloth scarf, now warm from contact with her skin.

Rhaenyra is very dear to her, she thinks. Her serious face and intelligent eyes. Alicent imagines her friend smaller than she is now, with silver hair that had not yet been braided. With muddy fingernails and thin limbs, cut by the grass as she ran through the gardens. She wished she had known her then, that Rhaenyra had been with her in Oldtown, had picked lilies with her behind the stone wall. Alicent can almost imagine her there, floating just at the edge of her memory. And to herself she thinks that Rhaenyra must be the girl she has always been. That she is the girl Alicent wants to be. The girl no one will ever be able to hold on to.

"Will you help me get ready for bed?" asks Rhaenyra, and Alicent nods, setting the cup down on the nearest table.

Embarrassment dawns on Alicent as he faces the princess's unfamiliar nudity. She can probably admit later that there is a sense of indulgence that seems to shame her senses. But at the moment it is only a tumultuous sense of necessary discomfort; a state in which you cannot look away without also acknowledging your own agitation. That is, declaring it and coming into conflict with the quiet innocence of the one who is causing this perversity in you.

So Alicent feels compelled to linger, to rest her gaze on the rounded shoulders, on the bristling skin, on the narrow hips and smooth stomach, on the short legs and bruised knees, on the carved ankles and sleek feet; and to act as if she is nothing, when in fact she is everything, present, in the poorly lit room, on the uneven stained ceramic floor.

His heart is fluttering and his veins are swollen. She helps Rhaenyra place the linen clothes over her naked body and is careful not to touch her unnecessarily.

"Could you stay tonight and read me a book," Rhaenyra murmurs, and the soft voice fills Alicent with a haunting sweetness.

Inwardly, Alicent wished she were someone else, somewhere else, far away from the King's Keep and that her father was any man but the one she was always supposed to listen to; Alicent abhorred it all, but looked away.

But here was something curious. The more she tried to stop thinking of Rhaenyra, the more she said to herself, 'She is only a child, if one day you go away you will mean nothing,' the more she tried to banish Rhaenyra, the more she said to herself, 'She is only a child, if one day you go away you will mean nothing.the more she tried to banish her image, the more she clung to it.

○

Alicent spent much of the day in the princess's company, aware of the destiny they were heading towards as they grew up, delicately avoiding physical contact or holding her gaze for too long. During the nights they shared, she preferred to lie on her back with the blanket covering her ears to avoid hearing Rhaenyra's sighs. However, in the hours in between, when she was with her parents, on her dragon or in the council, she felt Rhaenyra's presence through the walls of the fortress. They say that some blind thieves are able to sense gold.

Something came between them, a mysterious thread that drew her to Rhaenyra, without fully understanding its source. Like those loves in storybooks with beautiful ladies and brave knights.

A change came over her, a mixture of nervousness and fear. She feared that looking too much at Rhaenyra might give away those feelings, worrying about the possible revelation to her father, the King or the Queen. She imagined that rumours might spread throughout Antigua and the Seven Kingdoms, worrying especially about the reactions of her brother and his family.

But she had done nothing. It was just that she thought so much of Rhaenyra, that she felt for her. Even the princess's garments seemed to have come to life; her riding gloves and shoes retained their scent, her breath permeated every fibre.

Her rooms seemed changed. Alicent began to wander through it and to browse through all the things the Princess had taken and touched. Her books. Her comb, with posed hair pinned to it.Her mirror. Everything had her breath on it. It was amazing to Alicent to think that had breathed differently all his life before he had her around.

She remembered the day when together they meticulously rearranged the furniture in the room, creating a space for a dance. Her mind flashed back to the moment when she deftly filed Rhaenyra's pointed tooth. Though at the time it seemed like an intimate and natural touch, over time, the episode became an enigma in her memory, unable to conceive that inserting a finger into the princess's mouth could be considered an ordinary action.

○○○

Her footsteps echo softly on the stone floor. They grow quieter as time passes. Solitude envelops her, and for a moment, she feels a slight relief. Her gaze settles on the statue of the Maiden, whose presence seems to endure for eternity, emanating serenity. Although she doubts the efficacy of prayerful words, she feels an irrational need to express herself fully. She contemplates the option of seeking out her father, bowing before him in search of determination and freeing herself from wayward thoughts. The idea of confessing these dark desires materializes in her mind.

Stopping by the statue, Alicent approaches with determination. Inhales the smoke from the candles, at the foot of the Maiden, and his hand reaches out in silent defiance. Touching the cold marble, she experiences a shiver that makes the hairs on his arms stand on end. She observes the gentle face of the deity, devoid of worldly desires, and an uneasiness grows within her. The Maiden should offer comfort, but Alicent feels an inner ache.

Alicent thought she had let go of any desire in this way. Thought she had learned to find this kind of contact unbearable. Witnessing or wanting, the weight is the same. Childhood taught her to resent her own desires, considering them unnecessary and burdensome, like two hands around her throat that squeeze every time she breathes. Despite this, she moves closer, unable to help himself. Reaching out, she presses his lips hard against the statue's marble mouth. The cool skin, surprisingly similar to human flesh, gives it life.

She withdraws his hand with a cry, wiping his mouth. The realisation of what she has done and the exhilaration of her own shame overwhelm her, like beer hastily filling a leaden glass. She feels illuminated in a fiery red, accompanied by an atrocious suffering. The suffering of temptation, that strange sensation when her body no longer belongs to her.

With lips still cold from the deceitful kiss, Alicent quickly leaves the sept.

Chapter 7: Orange

Chapter Text

112AC

"Alicent."

His voice, this time, was not muddy at all, but clear and soft, and so wretched as to unveil her completely. As turned his eyes towards her, she could not see her. Thecandle-holder, which she always kept by the bedside, must have fallen against her screen, or been consumed. The curtains weredown, as always. Rhaenyra's bed was dark as a box. She exhaled air into the darkness. Her breath came to her face.

"Ser Lorent's squire. I saw him watching you," Rhaenyra whispered one night.

Alicent straightened his head again. Breath blew this time in his ear. Too loud, it seemed to Alicent, in the silence. Again she shook his head. She said:"It was nothing."

"That's not true." Rhaenyra leans her head back against the pillow and looks at her friend with half-open eyes. A shaft of moonlight spills in a streak across Alicent's mouth. "Has a man kissed you before?"

She said it in a small voice. These words made her a little uncomfortable. Alicent turned again and scanned the darkness, trying to make out his face.

"Did you?" the princess repeated once more.

"No."

"Do you want to?"

Alicent looks at her, or tries to, feeling quite disarmed, though not threatened. Like people who blush easily, but are not ashamed of it. She knows she must not repress the feeling and finally gives in to it. If she doesn't, she will die.

Alicent did not respond. She just lay there, motionless as before. But her heart was beating faster; she noticed its lurches. Heard her gasp for air. She held it in. Rhaenyra changes her position and lies on her back.

"I don't think I care," she says when realises Alicent doesn't respond and a chuckle overtakes her lips. "It wouldn't even have to be pretty. You close your eyes, don't you? You could imagine someone else."

"And who would you imagine?"

It's a trick question, though Alicent doesn't intend for it to come out that way.

Rhaenyra offers a coy smile and averts her gaze.

"I don't know."

Alicent knows it's a lie. She's seen the way the princess looks at her uncle.

"I don't, I haven't weighed him "Alicent finally replied to her question, also turning on his back. The lie made his abdomen hollow.

Silence fell once more, but was broken by a soft, almost dreamy tone from Rhaenyra as Alicent began to gently blink himself to sleep.

"I wish you would tell me..."

'The truth,' Alicent thought she was going to say; and her heart raced again. His hands did not itch, but began to sweat. Maybe it was the closeness, the darkness, or the night that seemed more unreal and silent than ever.

She knows. Rhaenyra has guessed it' And Alicent almostthought, 'Thank the gods'.

But it wasn't that. Not at all. Rhaenyra inhaled again, and again she sensed that she was preparing to ask something horrible. Alicent should have knownwhat it was, for had been anxious to ask it for days. At last, the words escaped her.

"What do you think it feels like?"

Alicent blushed at the sound. Perhaps Rhaenyra did too. It was too dark to tell. Alicent opened his lips slightly but breath could barely escape, less would the words.

"They say there is something," Rhaenyra continued.

"But you don't know what? "Alicent managed to say.

"How should I know?" she exclaimed almost helplessly, sitting up from the pillow.

After a moment Alicent noticed her recovering, falling backwards again.

"You'll know, when it happens," Alicent offered.

"Or maybe I never will, maybe it will never happen when I get kissed. That would be really disappointing."

Alicent felt the word, "kiss." She blushed again.

Rhaenyra brought her hands to her face: she saw at last, through the darkness, the whiteness of his fingers, heard the brush of his fingers across her lips.The sound was more perceptible than it should have been. The bed seemed closer and blacker than ever. If only the candle had not been extinguished the candle. She wished, perhaps the only time she ever did, that some septa, that someone, anyone would appear. But the silence persisted, only Rhaenyra's breathing could be heard. Only the darkness and her pale hands.darkness and her pale hands. The world might have shrunk or dismembered.

Another thought struck Alicent at once, as she said this, imagined her instantly in her uncle's arms. She saw them standing, as you sometimes see, at night, knights and maidens, in corridors, lanes, or against wallscorridors, paths, or against walls. Averts his eyes. Now she tried to do so, but couldn't, because there was nowhere to put it but the darkness. If it was he who appeared she would leap to break his face with her bare hands, she wouldn't mind dying on the way as long as she got her way.

"You shouldn't worry so much about that. It should be easy, like dancing," Alicent finally said.

It's just two moves, bringing her face close to his and connecting lips, Alicent thought. The point was to dare.

"Dancing is not easy," Rhaenyra said sadly, "we've practiced right here a few times.

"Gods, Rhaenyra. Look," she had fired her up. Had wound her up, like a ship at the dock. She sat up from the pillow. "Where is your face?"

"My face?" she answered, in a tone full of surprise: "Here".

Alicent found his face, his nose with the tip of his nose, and kissed it.

She knew how it was done, that is, had seen it and tried.... . Kissing Rhaenyra, however, was not like kissing smooth, cold stone. It was like kissing darkness. As if the darkness had life, form, taste, burned. At first did not move his mouth. Then she moved it against hers. When the Princess took a breath, she opened. Like opening a jar of jam, so her capricious, demanding tongue opened. She felt her swallow saliva. Felt...

She had done it just to show, to put an end to this talk that tortured her in so many ways. But with his mouth on hers she felt everything she had read about in books welling up in her. She felt dizzy. She became redder than ever. It was like a liqueur. There were bubbles in her stomach and they burst until they numbed her toes. It made her drunk. She walked away. When herbreath reached her mouth again, she felt cold. His mouth was wet, like hers she supposed. Alicent said, in a whisper:

"Did you feel it?" The words sounded strange, as if the kiss had produced an effect on his tongue.

Rhaenyra did not answer. She did not move. She breathed,but she was so still that suddenly Alicent thought had exceeded all sorts of limits, she did, but a part of her trusted that Rhaenyra would not expel her. Would?

Alicent shifted a little. Then she spoke.

"I felt it," she said. Her voice sounded as strange as his. "It's a curious, incomplete thing. I never-"

Alicent dropped his heavy body against the bed, his head sinking into the pillow.

"I suppose it will be completed on your wedding night..."

"How?"

"Gods, Rhaenyra," Alicent said helplessly turning to turn her back to the princess. The kiss had exhausted her, but she believed that even with the outpouring of feelings she could fall asleep at any moment.

The last thing she heard was Rhaenyra's chuckle behind her, the bed creaked, she felt her move to stand a few inches behind her, her forehead pressed against her back and she rubbed herself slowly there. Seeking some kind of comfort in its warmth.

Alicent's breathing was already quiet, breath escaping softly from her lips when in the shelter of the darkness, a soft whisper was spoken, like a promise, a vow…

○

The next day neither mentions anything, nor the day after, nor the day after that. They don't remember it in words, but Alicent does it every day in her mind, and tries to do it in moments of solitude.

It took several days before they could finally share a space together in which they dared to look each other in the eye. The complicity of silence turns into a mutual understanding: they have crossed a line, but they feel no remorse. Youth envelops them, more nervous than ashamed.

Alicent returns to her narrow bed in the Tower of the Hand, where the sheets look like sheets of puff pastry. She tosses and turns and sighs through the night, feeling the thread that binds them together pull tightly, reaching into her heart. A hundred times she thinks of approaching Rhaenyra's bed, but the fear of her own desires stops her. She knew she could not lie beside her without longing to hold her. He could not have felt her breath from her mouth without wanting to. And he would not have been able to kiss her without wanting to save himself.

Alicent imagines childish follies, dreams cannot realise, as sits on her bed, feeling soft and delicate.

One day, she will bring his hands to the warm face of the princess and reveal his heart to her.

But not today.

○○○

He holds her by the neck and forces her to look up at the ceiling, where paintings of the seven are visible. The strength of his grip makes her beg for forgiveness, not only for her life, but also for her own.

Only later does Alicent understand why her father longs for forgiveness.

Her knees feel the cold of the floor, but she doesn't care. She stands still, facing her father and the dagger resting in his belt. She stares at the blade with a tormented desire, as if the steel might bring her some relief, a release, a form of freedom. Yet fear paralyses her.

Otto holds her chin, bringing their faces closer. Though his touch is stern, something has changed between the two of them. She feels shrunken and fragile, so that when he picks her up in his arms to set her on her feet, is as small as a doll and feels nothing.

"You mustn't cry, Alicent. Keep your head up and you will see the bright future I have in store for you. Don't cry."

However, she feels tears welling up in her eyes uncontrollably. Otto brings his palm to his cheek and strokes the cold skin beneath.

"Soon you will understand the value of sacrifice. The value of duty. Femininity begins with pain. And what a woman you will be!"

'These things you don't tell a child,' she thinks. But Alicent is no longer a child. Not since she saw the bloodstain on her cotton bed in the morning.

Chapter 8: Orange

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra lies with her head in Alicent's lap. Her body is heavy, innocent still, and her skin as soft as certain fruits, almost ungraspable, almost illusory, too much. And yet something about the princess seems made for her, and that thought makes her chest burn, as does her face, as if she were too close to the fire.

"A golden dragon for your thoughts."

Alicent looks at the thin, curious face in her lap.

"What are you thinking?" asks Rhaenyra.

"Nothing. Only my father," she murmurs.

Rhaenyra turns her head and rests her chin against Alicent's thigh.

"What about him?"

"He seems determined that I'm already a grown woman," she begins, somewhat hesitantly. "He has... expectations."

The princess tilts her head.

"He wants to find you a husband?"

Alicent averts her gaze, almost embarrassed. But the truth is, it covers the evidence of rejection in her eyes at that word, the grimace on her lips. Alicent remains silent, and that is an answer in itself.

The truth is that she doesn't want to talk about who her father wants to join her. She doesn't want to talk about joining anyone, even the thought of the person she wants terrifies her.

In one swift movement, Rhaenyra rises and sits against Alicent's shoulder. One hand on his shoulder to allow her to rest her head, and the other takes her hand, not to carry it, not to be comforted; only to hold it, for it is Alicent's.

"Then we will escape on the back of my dragon before it happens," Rhaenyra declares serenely. "We'll go to Pentos, Lys, or even Asshai."

"Asshai?"

"Or even further."

Rhaenyra holds Alicent's hand firmly, as if trying to anchor her to the fantasy she drew before them, far from the expectations of the world. The defiant gleam in the princess's eyes reveals a determination that spread a spark in Alicent's heart.

"Asshai, a place of mystery and shadows," Rhaenyra murmurs, as if thinking of that future full of adventure and freedom. "We will be masters of our destiny. We will fly on my dragon and eat only cakes every day."

Alicent feels a mix of emotions in her chest, a combination of dread and excitement at the prospect of escaping into the unknown with Rhaenyra. But even in the midst of that fantasy, the reality of their lives re-emerges.

"What about your mother? What will she say about all that?" asks Alicent, his voice slightly shaky.

Rhaenyra looks down for a moment, and a shadow crosses her eyes.

"My mother, always looking out for my best interests."

Alicent nods, feeling the weight of those words. For a moment she wants to scoff, to laugh hysterically, to mock her for always talking nonsense, how could she be better to everything she has? There is not the slightest comparison. She has nothing but bruised fingers and cracks everywhere. Reality and dreams collide in her mind as they contemplate this imaginary future together.

"Asshai, then," Alicent says, a playful smile dancing on her lips. Her eyes went glassy at some point.

Rhaenyra squeezes Alicent's hand even tighter. The contact doesn't frighten her, though she hoped it would. It's just a hand. A delicate thing, whose bulges and folds Alicent knows well.

"The maesters say my mother may soon become pregnant. A son would please her, that way I think she will also be pleased to let me go."

"Don't you want a sister?"

"I already have a sister," the princess finally says, a sweet smile forming sweetly on her lips.

Alicent looks her in the eye.

'Could I be your brother instead?’ wants to whisper. Instead, she smiles back.

"Me too," she says, her voice quiet as trails a gentle finger along Rhaenyra's arm.

How dear her friend feels in her arms, delicate, given to her whim, to her commands, to her care. There is a warmth to her skin that is not simply dragon warmth.

In that fantasy where Alicent was her brother, she could have gone further. Could have brought his lips to her neck and...

She hears Rhaenyra's laughter, the song of her joy, until the princess becomes aware of the blood running down Alicent's cuticles.

... and, where she is his brother.

○○○

"A woman must separate herself from her husband, her father and her son," Otto tells her one night. Alicent questions whether he ponders his words or simply utters them to claim what he wants. She longs for insensitivity to his manipulative nature and longs for someone to put an end to his ambitions, if only to free herself from his demands.

Despite this, Alicent finds solace in her imperious nature, experiencing a thrill in becoming the object she moulds to her desires. His father's approval provides a momentary respite from the growing pain in his chest. Though majestic and proud, Otto inspires admiration.

Alicent knows should be devoted, like her mother. Longed to be more like her, who spoke in soft words and lit candles on her daughter's bedside table. Before she longed for her mother's love, now she longs for her father's. Though he lacks his late wife's gentleness, Alicent works hard to please his father.

Has almost lost touch with Gwayne now that he is fully dedicated to the task of being a great gentleman. And everyone around her appreciates having siblings, parents and relatives to embrace. Surely it was the festive season that made her feel so nostalgic.

She is but a little woman wearing her mother's dresses. She is ready to please her father and Rhaenyra. Soon, Otto will send her to please another. And soon Rhaenyra will please someone else.

○○○

"They say the gods can grant the wish of a prayer. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I try, even if it seems silly," Alicent says, feeling Rhaenyra take his arm to wrap it in a better grip as they walk down one of the corridors of the fortress. Another would have laughed at her, and her father would have....

"What do you wish?" Rhaenyra asks curiously.

Alicent might speak of the burning needle that accidentally pierced her skin while she was embroidering, or her dying mother stroking her hair, if only to protect her from mockery. If were to mention his truest wish?

"Peace," she says instead, and it is both truth and a lie.

Chapter 9: Red

Chapter Text

113AC

Alicent finally gave in to one of the princess's great whims. Rhaenyra coaxed Alicent out of the carriage at Dragonpit with persistent and kind words. It was supposed to be a quick visit, Alicent did not wait for her advance, perhaps that is why gave up so soon.

The daylight revealed every detail of Syrax, whose scales glittered like jewels even when she was quite far away.

"Come on, Alicent. I assure you there is no reason to fear," Rhaenyra said, leading her by the hand towards the imposing dragon.

Alicent nodded very unconvinced, feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness as they approached Syrax. The resting dragon watched them with piercing eyes. Rhaenyra spoke to her in a calm tone, wanting to establish a bond between the dragoness and her friend.

"Syrax, my loyal companion, this is Alicent. I have told you much about her. You will not harm her," Rhaenyra expressed in Valyrian, extending her hand in a reassuring gesture.

Syrax, responding to his rider's voice, lowered his head in acknowledgement. Though he maintained a certain reserve, he allowed them to approach.

Rhaenyra, ever unflappable, draws Alicent forward, interlacing their fingers, when a few paces away, she stands behind her.

"Are you sure Syrax won't want to eat me for lunch?" asks Alicent, her gaze sidelong. Syrax has grown so large that Alicent is sure she could swallow her whole in one bite.

"Yes, noble ladies are not on your menu," Rhaenyra says, eyes still forward. Remarkably expectant of what she had managed to make happen. Or is about to happen. Syrax snorts somewhere and Alicent's eyes widen like saucers. That sounded as close to reproachful as Alicent could imagine hearing from a dragon and she's sure she feels golden eyes on her. But she was too close to confirm it, and Rhaenyra's heaving chest pressed against her back as she tried to pull back.

"She agrees, it's nothing," Rhaenyra whispered, her voice carrying a mixture of pride and affection. "Come, feel the magnificence of touching a dragon. I promise it's a unique experience," Rhaenyra encouraged, gently guiding Alicent's hand towards Syrax's scales.

The pressure of Rhaenyra's fingers intertwined with Alicent's acted like an anchor, nullifying any vestige of fear. Under the touch, the scales revealed their unique texture. Much warmer than she had expected. Alicent allowed herself a moment to appreciate the wonder of the creature before her.

Syrax, in tune with the calm that emanated from Rhaenyra, accepted Alicent's presence with a majestic air. Her eyes narrowed as she sensed her rider's feelings more deeply. If not for Rhaenyra's warning, would have liked to roar.

"It's like touching history itself, don't you think?" commented Rhaenyra, sharing the awe of that moment. "Dragons are much more than beasts; they are living legends."

Alicent nodded, feeling grateful to have taken this step. Beneath her palm was an amalgam of strength and softness, warmth... it felt like her. Alicent looked away from the joined hands to meet Rhaenyra's closed eyes. The princess had rested her chin on Alicent's shoulder, revealing a small smile playing on her lips. The scene was almost ethereal in the sunlight, as if the entire world had stopped to make way for that instant. Flashes of Syrax's scaly reflections danced in the air.

It was the most beautiful thing had ever seen.

○○○

115AC

My father wants the best for me, mother, that's exactly what you told me, I know, and I keep reminding myself of it. He thinks can make me happy again by putting me on the pedestal of the Seven Kingdoms, and I must do it for you too, for your memory. But no matter how many days and nights pass, even if those days and nights are at Rhaenyra's side, with whom I never felt alone, my heart will always long for that room in the west wing, so close to yours, my brother's incoherent murmurs in my sleep, and your warm hands running through my hair. A crown will not bring this back. Despite your wealth, I just... I miss you so much. I would do anything...'.

"I knew I would find you here."

Alicent flinches and his eyes widen sharply. His mouth formed a small silent 'o' and his big eyes filled with surprise. She hadn't expected anyone to be included in her silent prayer, in her intimate dialogue with the person dearest to her. The evening service had long since ended and there was no one else in the cold twilight of the Septon, she was in no hurry to return to her room.

She knew that soon the king would call for her again; that tomorrow she would need to learn again to look Rhaenyra in the eye without the shame eating her up inside; that later her father would return to ask her if she was well. And the one thing she, probably too selfish but still craved like air, before every conversation with King Viserys, were rare moments of wonderful silence, moments spent, Alicent thought, with her mother, may the Seven rest her shining soul.

Her father put her there, dressed in the dress befitting her sixteen years, flaunting herself to please an old and weak man who did not desire her. The gods were cruel indeed, she thought, or did her father pray harder than anyone else? She doubted it, she had not seen him pray in all those years she had been by his side.

Aemma was not meant to offer the king a son. Viserys was not meant to offer the realm an heir. Otto Hightower was not meant to offer Princess Rhaenyra a sister. Instead, the Queen bled to death by giving the King a sick child and, as a result, Otto Hightower usurped the destiny of the deceased, and put his daughter there.

'Be her comfort, her sense of security,' her father had told her as he prepared her. 'The King will not seek your insinuations. Only your sympathy'.

But Alicent feels no sympathy. She is turned off, feels nothing. She is locked inside herself and her true voice cannot come out. She pinches the skin on her face and sticks the sewing needle into her palm to regain vitality. It never works.

'Be patient, be repentant,' her warm voice said, kissing her knuckles. 'It's an innocent act, daughter.'

Her mother would never have turned her into a whor*.

Alicent's fingernails scratch her cuticles, brushing crimson.

Mother would never have...

It was a series of identical days in succession, like the longest nightmare, exhausting in its cyclical nature. A ray of hope invariably stood alone in the statue of the Mother of all things, looking with peace and love on all who asked for her help; so Alicent always saw her, so taught by the "Seven-pointed Star" and her mother's soft voice.

Although silence was always the answer to all unspoken questions and requests, it never bothered Alicent. Not like in her Excellency's chambers, where at first she wanted very much to fall to the floor and hit her head.

After a few meetings, she had already managed to think of other things or to immerse herself completely in reading, sitting opposite the king, who was often more interested in his favourite building figures than in conversation, but stubbornly sent for Lady Alicent almost every night, as if her presence would calm him, but he was ashamed of this. That's what she thought. Would she have asked, if things had been different, to remain silent?

She recovered herself now. Lips, despite the hesitation, usually stretched into a smile at the sight of Rhaenyra. Alicent tried for both their sakes, though he understood perfectly well that neither she nor her friend had reason to be in a good mood. She was unlikely to express gratitude for these efforts, but there was nothing else she could do. Her hands were clasped together and she adjusted to her situation.

"Oh, Rhaenyra," was all Alicent said after a while.

If her palms weren't pressed together, some would definitely have reached out towards her own face, towards her lips, seeking relief from her teeth but Alicent forced herself to get rid of that bad habit: it was unbecoming of a lady.

"Did something happen?" asked Alicent.

"No, nothing," Rhaenyra denied with a gesture, moving closer. Finally, she knelt very close, looked at the statue and the candles on the altar for a couple of moments, and then, as if to better herself, winked at Alicent, playfully touching his shoulder. "I just wanted to see you. Do I really need a reason?". And in another voice more serious and almost as colourless as before, he asked, "Am I intruding?"

A sense of guilt hung like a stone in her heart.

"Of course not," Alicent replied, putting as much tenderness as possible into these words, and his smile warmed noticeably. She spread her hands apart and covered Rhaenyra's fingers with her palm, which still rested on her half-naked shoulder, causing goosebumps to rise on her skin.

"I'm just worried about you. You're probably cold," her fingers tightened slightly and rubbed your skin.

"Not now," Alicent said." You're close... ", but for a moment he was speechless and she added nothing.

The girls, without saying a word, simultaneously looked at the stone statue of the Mother and involuntarily straightened up. Alicent gazed with silent reverence and humility into the statue's carved stone eyes, and then, when he lowered his gaze, caught the reflection of a faceted crystal: they always decorated every altar.

It became so quiet that only her and Rhaenyra's breathing and the occasional breath of wind could be heard. Alicent took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar smell of incense and wax that calmed her. Perhaps that was why she decided to speak again, insinuatingly, slowly, as if afraid to disturb the atmosphere of sanctity again.

"They say that the Mother hears all our suffering. Especially the cries of children. When a child cries and longs for so much, she, invisible, condescends to him in the hour of the wolf and, stopping at the head of the bed, sits down in her holy garments. She slowly caresses his head, combs his hair and waters it with her own tears. Then she washes his mind, ridding it of gloomy thoughts and, weaving together the necessary threads of fate, like strands, takes his grief to herself. The mother wants to comfort everyone, but sometimes the pain that became hers at the very moment she enters the house becomes so great that she cannot move from her place: her heart is so big, it is compressed with so much strength and pain. Then he sends the Maiden in search of stardust to bathe human souls with it, and the Maiden, fulfilling the order, gives the people a subtle light: hope.”

Silence reigned for a while. Rhaenyra could be heard sighing shakily nearby, perhaps holding back tears; but she, her brave Rhaenyra, stubbornly, as always, refused them. Alicent closed his eyelids and in the darkness could see the gleam of lights: the candles were near. She thought of his father, who had once told this legend, and how much had changed since then, but not in his communication: the same riddles remained, all half clues. He searched within himself for the words Alicent needed so often... and never found them. Only now did he realise this.

"I do not forget hope," Rhaenyra said softly, interrupting his thoughts. Alicent opened her eyes and turned to her friend. "God knows, it only inspires me to hope that my father doesn't find him a replacement."

The silver hair flowing over the princess's shoulders and back brushed lightly against Alicent as Rhaenyra stood up.

"And our conversations, of course."

"I'm sorry," Alicent said. I'm sorry your mother died. I'm sorry I did this to you. She repeated. "I'm so sorry, Rhaenyra."

"Thank you."

Just a whisper and a smile, and how immensely they meant to those who knew the princess well. Rhaenyra embraced her, her hands gently caressing the back of her soul.

Alicent mentally prayed that the king would not choose her, that their evenings would remain meaningless conversations, that he would not take this away from her. Her youth... . And that Rhaenyra would understand her, even if it was a terribly selfish, desperate thought, like the desire to see her father proud of her, and another, rising from the darkest part of her soul, to be a queen. She wanted to give hope, like the Virgin, and comfort, like the Mother.

But for whom?

○○○

"May I wear one of yours, mother?"

The girl carefully smoothes the folds of the green silk before pulling the dress up against her chest.

"I'm afraid they'll be too big for you now, sweet," the young woman, mid-veite, takes her daughter's hands and smiles warmly, bending down to reach her height. "The years will fly by, you will blossom and knights from all the Seven Kingdoms will fight for the right to buy you dresses."

The girl laughs, taking the words as a joke, but her cheeks flush.

Then she dreams of castles and knights in silver armour. Then she dreams.

Chapter 10: Red

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra rests with Alicent's gentle caresses through her hair, beneath the Weirwood tree. Alicent leans down and kisses her furrowed brow, wishing her peace. The princess has little peace, however. She has always been like that. She is vivacious and restless and does not wish to become the woman she should be. She offers her uncle shy glances in the hope that he can take her away from the torturous court. From the obligations of duty. In return, he offers her exotic gifts and jewels and tells her of his travels across the Narrow Sea.

The princess moves beneath her and opens her eyes.

"My father allowed me to appoint a guard".

Alicent's caress stops and his hand falls to his side.

"Who?"

"Ser Criston," his sly voice replies, but there seems to be a rise in his tone. "Daemon will be furious."

"Why do you say that?"

Rhaenyra looks away carefully and fiddles with a leaf in her hands, tearing it into small pieces.

"I don't know."

The sun hits her face through the branches above them, illuminating her soft features. She crosses her legs and leans her weight even more. She looks up. Small, perfect and beautiful.

"If I were to marry someone, like my father wants, I'd probably marry a gentleman."

Just words. A slight remark.

Alicent doesn't answer her at first. Instead, resumes his earlier task and continues to stroke the soft silver tresses.

"It would be honourable and brave. You could join me at Syrax. If he dared."

"Where would you find such a gentleman?"

"I don't know yet," the princess continues, the weariness in her appearance replaced by delight. "Or perhaps I should become a knight myself."

A smile returns to Alicent's lips. "I'd like to see that."

"It's true!" Rhaenyra looks up at her with a lazy smile. Loose strands of silver hair get caught in the breeze, dancing and flattening against the bridge of her nose. "Just because I lack a co*ck doesn't mean I lack ability. I could be a warrior. Like Nymeria. And she was a woman."

But to be a woman is to be a body, Alicent thinks softly, a placeholder. No more than wife to a husband, daughter to a father, mother to a son.

She doesn't say that, yet she enjoys her nonsensical imaginings. Alicent suppresses her dreams so that Rhaenyra can pursue hers freely.

"I don't know what I will become," Alicent says, and it's true enough.

"I know what you will be," her friend declares, her clear, pale aura glowing. "You will be my lovely Alicent. A lady and beauty of the court. You will live in Oldtown and, when I am queen, I will visit you every day on the back of my dragon. Or perhaps you could live with me, in the Red Keep. As my advisor. As my sister."

Alicent knows it's just a joke. And yet a shiver runs through her. Almost with fear, the way it surges through her.

Once upon a time there was a princess. Rhaena. She spent her time among companions while she stayed at Dragonstone. There was another. Visenya. She led her sister to marry, while her brother was at war.

Alicent is like Rhaenyra's sister. Something she now loathed as much as the idea of her marrying.

○○○

The candles in the Tower of the Hand flickered dangerously, causing the shadows on the walls to dance intricate dances. The oppressive atmosphere of these chambers matched the mood of the owner.

"It has been almost half a year, Alicent," Otto Hightower continued his monologue, hints of impatience in his voice. "You and I know that the king cannot be left without a new wife. The crown will not accept a woman on the throne. We must show him that-"

"He is in mourning," she says with softness and a firm stance. Trying to hide the irritation that had invaded her since the beginning of this conversation.

Night had just fallen over King's Landing, bringing with it the coolness of the sea breeze. Despite this, she felt stuffy and uncomfortable. Sweat covered her body as if she had a fever. She did not want to be here. Even less did she want to be in the king's chambers. She wanted to hide in her room and not come out of it for as long as possible.

"It's hard for him," Alicent said emphatically, as if explaining things that were already obvious. "If Rhaenyra gets angry and flees on her dragon, then the King flees to the world of Old Valyria."

"We are not talking about Rhaenyra now. It is the realm that needs a strong ruler. We need an heir." Wanting to reinforce the importance of his words, Otto stepped closer to his daughter. Alicent nervously noticed the largest strand of grey in her hair. Their gazes met.

"Perhaps she would find true solace in the eyes of the Seven?"

"Don't be stupid," Otto casually dismissed this proposal. "A Targaryen will never find himself or his way into the Septon." The Hand placed his hands on his daughter's shoulders, squeezing them. "He needs love, Alicent."

"What do I know about this? I just... "

Otto tried to smile at her.

"Ask her how loved. Ask about Queen Aemma. And remember his words. Remember them."

Lady Alicent was at a loss at her father's pressure. She shook her head.

"Why open other people's wounds, father?"

The man gave her an unreadable look.

"Sometimes it's worth suffering to make it easier later."

Alicent Hightower could not say King Viserys was a bad person. He remembered how happy he and the late queen were to be in each other's company. They loved receptions and lavish celebrations. They adored their daughter. The Delight of the Realm, Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone, and for some time now, Heiress to the Seven Kingdoms.

In the darkness of her chambers, on some sleepless nights, the daughter of the Hand of the King could admit she was jealous of Rhaenyra. It is a bright feeling, like a ghost. Alicent never received so much love from her father, and her poor mother died so many years ago that she left in her daughter's memory only the image of a pious, quiet woman.

Alicent tried to equal her mother. But try as she might, it was never enough for her father. The feeling of inferiority did not only develop in her. She watched her brother Gwayne give his all in the tournament. Until one day Prince Damon crossed his path and humiliated him in front of hundreds of lords. She remembered her father's eyes, filled to the brim with disappointment. She would never want to see that look.

As Rhaenyra poured out her grief with Syrax, flying the length and breadth of Blackwater Bay, her father drowned his sorrow in the stories of years past. Alicent was firmly convinced that the king simply needed time and peace. But her father insisted that the King must receive visitors with constant enthusiasm.

○

Lady Alicent has long since lost count of how many times she visited the king in his chambers. Today, however, she was counting the seconds until the king asked her to leave, citing the lateness of the hour. Alicent felt another bead of sweat running down his back from the congestion in the chambers.

She furtively wiped her forehead of the accumulated moisture. His fingers habitually searched the wounds around his fingernails. The pause after the king's next story was so long that the lady felt the need to ask a question.

"Do you have a favourite love story, Your Grace?" She tried to give sincere interest to her question, slowly tearing off another piece of her own skin.

Viserys looked up from the sketches on the table and regarded her with a silent question.

"We always talk about courage," Alicent cleared his throat. "About the heroes of Old Valyria and the exploits of Aegon the Conqueror. About his courage and insight. About dragons and their greatness. But what about what everyone knows? And what about love?"

The king chuckled and set the papers aside.

"I fear, Lady Alicent, that I know few stories of love. Though I understand your heart's desire to know how the brave knight conquered the beauty of the high tower."

Viserys laughed lightly. Alicent returned the smile, slightly forced. The king did not seem to notice at all, pleased with his joke.

Alicent paused.

"Then tell your story, Your Grace. How your heart came to know love."

King Viserys was a little taken aback by these words. After a long look at his interlocutor, he covered his face with his hands and leaned his elbows on the oak table. The man remained silent for so long that Alicent mentally imagined his father's indignation. How he would disgrace him. How he would send her back to the old town and forget she existed. A part of her seemed willing to endure the shame.

Finally, the king sighed deeply and removed his hands from his face. His look was sad, but decisive.

"Aemma and I were lucky," he said quietly. "Though we never had the chance to choose. Fate decreed otherwise."

Alicent noted with sadness how difficult it was for him to pronounce the late Queen's name.

"I had just been informed of the engagement and our parents quickly arranged a reception in our honour. To introduce us. I was just a child then." The man smiled heavily. Alicent nodded, encouraging him to continue. "I was so stupid back then," Viserys chuckled a little at his memories. "I tried to impress her. All the lords vowed to be heroes of battles. So that their bravery in the field would be glorified in legends and songs. Then I shouted to the whole hall that I would defeat the giant and bring his head to my bride."

The King laughed hoarsely, stared straight ahead with a blank stare for a while.

"But she was not interested," Viserys continued with a smile. "She left the room right in the middle of my fantasy of conquering the khalasars."

Alicent blinked in surprise, interested. She wondered if Rhaenyra knew about this.

"I found her later in the garden. She stood and looked up at the night sky. I approached and she turned to me. It seemed to me that she certainly knew I would be there." Viserys' eyes glittered in the candlelight. "She asked me what I really wanted. She was very young, but she immediately saw right through me.”

"What did you want, Your Excellency? "asked Alicent cautiously, in a rare burst of her own confidence.

The king looked at her quickly.

"I never wanted to be a warrior. I said I want to create, not destroy. That one day I wanted to see the greatness of ancient Valyria," the man's voice grew hoarse. "Then that we would build Valyria together and he smiled at me. The most beautiful smile in the world. Standing under the rays of the full moon.... And I understood. "The king's eyes watered, but he continued. "That was love.”

○

When the king released her, Alicent could not find the strength to return to her chambers. Quickly and quietly, like a prisoner hungry for freedom, she ran out of the castle and found herself in Godswood. The true coolness of the night enveloped her from head to toe, she allowed herself to catch her breath. Running her hands over her face, patted her cheeks and made her way towards the old man.

She was not alone there, however. She found Rhaenyra, gazing up at the night sky. Hearing footsteps stop, the princess finally noticed her.

"I knew I'd find you here," Rhaenyra says, standing up and walked towards her with enthusiastic mischief. "I wanted to see you and here you are."

Once she recovered from her surprise, Alicent didn't give an answer right away.

"You wanted to see me in the evening?"

"Mostly during the day, but now it will do as well," Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes teasingly. Then, as if by chance, she decided to ask, "Why aren't you in your quarters?"

Alicent Hightower was no longer surprised at the simplicity with which lies about her current soirees spilled from her own lips.

"I couldn't get back to sleep."

The flesh of his thumb tore again. A little blood spurted from it. The princess cast an incredulous look at his face, but said nothing. In fact, Alicent didn't really sleep well, so the appearance of his face sometimes left much to be desired. He looked around and realised that they were completely alone.

"Why is the princess alone?" Alicent decided to quickly change the subject, adding a mischievous note to his tone. "Where is Ser Criston?"

Lady Alicent thought as the princess's cheeks turned red from feeling embarrassed. The unpleasant feeling again made itself felt somewhere in her stomach. If Alicent could name this feeling, she refused.

"Oh," Rhaenyra finally had an answer, smiling boldly. "Ser Criston is too exhausted and is resting."

Blue eyes looked intently at Alicent, waiting for every possible answer.

"What do you mean?"

Alicent was afraid of what the answer might be. Her lips pressed into a thin line and her hands fiddled with the hem of her dress. The princess suddenly giggled and reached out to take Alicent's palm. Her skin was dry and rough from the dragon's reins. Alicent loved them.

"Nothing that is terrible in the light of the Seven," Rhaenyra folded her hands prayerfully in prayer, to which Alicent snorted, suddenly annoyed at the loss of contact. Looking like a cat that had eaten too much sour cream, the princess began to walk around her friend.

"I wanted to escape today on a night flight with Syrax, but I knew no one would let me leave the castle unaccompanied. That's why," she smiled, "I had Ser Criston running around the Red Keep all day looking for me. You should see him now - I didn't know people could sleep standing up!"

The girls laughed synchronously. Alicent allowed herself to feel sorry for the knight.

"You are cruel to him, Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra's eyes suddenly glowed in the silence of the night in Godswood. Dragonfire, no less.

"You want me to feel sorry for him?" Rhaenyra stopped right in front of Alicent's face, arching an eyebrow in questioning. It was stupid to answer, they both knew the answer. Rhaenyra always toyed with her and Alicent was becoming more and more willing to accept the rules.

"Eyes closed."

Alicent almost whispered it, but Rhaenyra quickly did as she was told. Feeling unusually brave, she wanted to ask the princess a question. An answer that really interested her.

"How do you envision your future husband, my Princess?"

Rhaenyra laughed merrily and opened one eye jokingly. Then she closed it as she asked:

"Do you think he will be like Ser Criston?"

" Just answer the question," Alicent tried to keep his voice from shaking as Rhaenyra clearly enjoyed this "new game".

"Hmm," she pretended to think, "will be taller than me.”

Alicent smiled and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, of course, it's obvious."

"And you will call me, 'my princess'."

Rhaenyra's smile became charmingly cheeky, though her eyes remained closed. Alicent sometimes thought Rhaenyra didn't need to look at her; if Alicent learned to read it, Rhaenyra largely did as well.

It was a book that Septa Marlowe gives them. One that Rhaenyra already knew. Alicent saved Nymeria's story, which Rhaenyra tore out of the book for her. She liked to think it was more than just a memory. It reminded her of the first time they got close, it was in the same place.

Rhaenyra was now openly teasing Alicent, hoping she would be embarrassed and change the subject. Unfortunately for both of them, adrenaline was pumping through Alicent's blood. There was something cold pressing down on her the last few days. The terrible feeling of change. Something neither of them could resist.

Alicent walked slowly around the princess, who still kept her eyes closed, watching her chest heaving with slightly rapid breathing. Stopping at her side, his voice trembling with emotion, he whispered in her ear:

"What else?"

Rhaenyra flinched as he brushed her ear with his nose. Alicent didn't move far away, he continued to breathe, bathing Rhaenyra's neck and ear with his warm exhalations. With a slight huskiness in her voice, the princess replied:

"A little older than me. Well read. Which will protect me from my own... impulsiveness" Alicent could feel Rhaenyra smile at those words. "Will always be by my side. Will know how to make me laugh. How to comfort me."

Rhaenyra suddenly turned, finding herself almost close, face to face. She studied her with open interest. Alicent felt warm again, but that warmth was no longer new, it was pleasant to her. She looked down to where the necklace rested around Rhaenyra's neck. A gift from her Uncle. Unwilling to stare for long at this obvious gesture from the Rogue Prince, she met Rhaenyra's gaze.

The gods were cruel to Alicent Hightower, for the girl before her was truly magical. Her mischievous gaze and her slight smile. Her hair that shone with the grace of the full moon. She was perfect.

'And then I understood. That is love.'

The heiress to the kingdom gently licked her lips and asked softly:

"How do you see your future husband, Lady Alicent?"

The girls were breathing heavily. Perhaps the Godswood tree will hide them from the Seven? Wasn't it witness to so many things? Shouldn't it know by now? Alicent stopped thinking about it when brought Rhaenyra's face close to his and kissed her on the lips. She smelled of bath incense and a hint of dragon. Rhaenyra kissed him back almost immediately. Alicent lost himself in those seconds, with each one he only wanted more. Rhaenyra squeezed his shoulders, pulling her closer.

When Rhaenyra pulled away from her, surprise and pleasure were visible in her gaze. Alicent, trembling and impatient, reached for a second kiss when they were interrupted by the clatter of armour and the shout of Ser Criston, searching for Rhaenyra.

Chapter 11: Red

Chapter Text

They are alone in Alicent's chambers. Rhaenyra enters naturally, as if the room were her own; she is sitting on the bed, resting her chin on the palm of her hand. Alicent prepares for sleep and covers her slender body with the woollen nightdress. The mattress where Rhaenyra had been sitting moments before is warm. She sits down beside her and watches her in silence.

"If he was going to be so angry at my simple doubts why let me carry such a burden?"

"The King believes in you," Alicent says. "Always has. It's the others you should be worried about."

"The council?"

"Yes."

Her words didn't elicit a response to continue the talk. Instead, Rhaenyra does something that startles her. She lifts her hand to Alicent's shoulder, resting her thumb against the fold of her dress and then sliding under it, touching bare skin.

Alicent stifles a shiver. It's not the first time they've been this close. It's not the first time she's touched her skin, but it seems she'll never get her heart used to his unplanned movements, his innocent words leading to something more ... like those times he drove her crazy and ended up kissing her for the first time.

"I don't care what they think. I know who I am, and so will they in time," Rhaenyra says confidently.

Alicent might laugh, but she's so close, it's already a big deal to breathe, she replies, "You don't know."

"I do," Rhaenyra replies with a strange smile. "I've seen it before."

"I don't understand."

Rhaenyra shakes her head. "When I lost my mother, I thought I'd lost everything. But you were always there. You were my greatest comfort. You understand me. You always do. If they saw me the way you did, they wouldn't undermine me."

"But I'm your friend," Alicent tries.

'And I love you' she thinks 'Gods, how much I love you.'

Rhaenyra nods, almost absently. Her thumb runs along the side of Alicent's neck. Her hand is calloused, like the King's, but Rhaenyra's touch neither shames her nor provokes rejection.

"Then never betray me. Promise me that."

Alicent feels her nails dig into the flesh of his palm. But despite the pain, he loosens his fist and places his hand on top of Rhaenyra's hand.

'If you only knew.

"I promise," Alicent declares, overwhelmed with assurance. She feels outrageous, tyrannical and full of longing. She would never hurt her, not without also hurting herself in the attempt. Her pain would be his pain. She was fine with that.

Alicent stares into the princess's heavy eyes. Her gaze was always charged with something haunting, almost indescribable. The deep blue pool is not warmed by the firelight. It comes from somewhere else. From the fire of the deep. And there is a deep hole inside Alicent's ribcage that can only be filled by Rhaenyra's gaze, her scarlet cheeks and kiss-stained fingers.

Alicent longs to go further. Had been the princess's brother, a Targaryen, she could have revealed her ruin without ever fearing the wrath of nakedness. She could have touched her as only brothers of House Targaryen could. Without shame. Without resentment. The gods do not judge. They do not punish.

Rhaenyra is warm and sweet and kind. She is her father's daughter. She is a dragon child. She is-

'Hers,' crosses Alicent's mind, and immediately flees from the weight and cruelty of it: this terrible need for reclamation that only grows with the days. Rhaenyra is not hers. Rhaenyra herself is not even his. Despite her defiance, she belongs to something far more colossal and abominable than any of them. Only the realm can use her eyes, use her tongue, use her skin. Alicent is just an empty hand and her knuckles dry in the winter sun.

Alicent feels a rejected agony inside her. Fear. Rhaenyra is not...

"I...," she begins, but it is in vain.

Rhaenyra's lips meet Alicent's, and the candles flicker, casting dancing shadows that will soon be extinguished, plunging the room into a dreadful darkness.

Alicent, stoic, looks as if she is playing a role, while the princess, too, seems immersed in a performance. An overwhelming longing grips her, it is something incomplete that paralyses her. The honey in Rhaenyra's palm reaches Alicent's cheeks, and the sweetness, forbidden and feared even by the gods, finally slips into her through the corners of her lips. Unmoving, Alicent prays for the ultimate fate to fall upon her; if not to end her torment, at least to end Rhaenyra's.

Their mouths meet in a sweet, soft kiss, like the play of little girls, tasting only the tips of their tongues. Rhaenyra pulls away, but not enough to escape the sensation of his breath, waiting for the judgement she does not perceive, not realising that she herself is the judgement. Alicent is silent, his face flushed.

"I'm sorry," Rhaenyra manages to whisper, her voice weak. "I shouldn't..."

Alicent is sure that she will hate her, that she will drive her out of her life. One day, there will be no more days to worry about guilt, shame or regret. Only an eternity of suffering and indifference. Alicent longs to steal a moment from the gods, that earthly instant to imagine that the young woman he loves is his.

This time it is Alicent who moves forward. She touches her face, starting at the point where her lips meet, running along the moist, soft corners, her jaw, her cheeks and her forehead. Has touched her before when dressing her, but never like this.

Kneeling on her thighs, she tries to press her body into his. Alicent feels Rhaenyra's heaving stomach against his chest. The princess's golden hair falls over her face, but Alicent does not see her, only feels her, and the taste of her, which evokes dreams, with a slightly sour hint of lemon and sugar.

Alicent parts her lips, trying to breathe, to swallow, to free herself, but each attempt only draws Rhaenyra further into her mouth. Their tongues meet, and in that moment she feels a shudder or a tremble, perhaps both. She wraps one arm around Rhaenyra's waist and the other around her back. Discovers something raw, the irritation of a wound or a nerve. Any vestige of regret disappears as Rhaenyra senses his startle and pulls away, slowly, as if their mouths are attached and as they part, they seem to tear.

Rhaenyra looks disoriented, breathing harder than she has ever seen her. Alicent pulls her close again, this time laying her on her side and hovering over her. She feels the rapid beating of a heart and assumes it is hers. But it is his. She's breathing fast and has begun to tremble, slightly.

With his body covering Rhaenyra's, his hands explore along her neck, her chest, her abdomen and her waist. It is as if the darkness solidifies and grows rapidly between his fingers. The fluttering hand descends a little, plunging into the depths.

Rhaenyra senses the excitement and awe it arouses in Alicent, a palpable descent, like sand slipping from a glass bottle. When Alicent lifts her nightdress and slips his hand between her legs, both are still. Alicent's fingers, now wet, glide gently, drawing and drawing Rhaenyra out of the darkness and out of her natural forms.

If she thought she desired her before, she now experiences a desire so intense that she fears it will never be satiated, growing until it threatens to drive her mad or kill her. However, Alicent's hand moves slowly, whispering her name in a way never heard before, causing Rhaenyra to stop clenching her jaw and let out her breath in an unfamiliar way.

When her flesh finally gives way and Alicent is inside, a scream is silenced by a kiss. Without hesitation, Alicent moves closer and places his hips around Rhaenyra's thighs, squeezing with determination. Yet Alicent's hips are sharp, her soft hand following a beat, a rhythm, a pulse. She climaxes, taking Rhaenyra with her, overflowing and crumbling in Alicent's hand.

Alicent thought fully of her, and as tears wet his face, Rhaenyra wipes them away with kisses.

"My love," she says, her voice breaking. "My love."

There's no telling how long they lie like that, Alicent's face against Rhaenyra's neck. Slowly, Alicent withdraws his hand. The feathers of the mattress give way under her weight, and the bed is high and warm. Alicent pulls the blanket aside to lie down beside her. Though the room is still dark, they are still breathing fast, hearts pounding. Alicent doesn't see Rhaenyra, but after a moment, she finds his hand and squeezes it tightly, bringing it to her mouth and kissing his fingers.

"Don't do that," Alicent whispers.

But Rhaenyra brings her finger to her mouth, tasting the warm trace of sulphur and salt.

'It's like you're inside me now,' her friend had said as Alicent puts her dress on. It was the last thing she remembered before falling into a deep sleep.

○

When Alicent wakes up, Rhaenyra is already gone. It was easy to say in the dark, easy to do. But the next morning, waking up and seeing the streaks of grey light between the curtains, she remembers what she did and thinks: it would be good to die now.

She purses her lips, feels the dryness, and as she lifts her hand to touch them, she pulls it away; she smells her. The scent shakes her insides, the memory of the shiver that enveloped them when they embraced at night.

Taking, the girls called it. 'Has he taken you...? They'll tell you it comes on you like a sneeze, but a sneeze has nothing to do with it, nothing at all.... . Touched his tongue to the tip of one finger. It tasted sharp, like vinegar, like blood.

The next encounter comes soon, without prior preparation, and the blue eyes remain fixed on hers, as if waiting for something.

Alicent watches the pulse of blood in her throat. If she had drawn her in at that moment, Rhaenyra would have kissed her. If she had said "I love you", she would have repeated it, and everything would have changed. She might have found a way, even if she didn't know what, to free herself from her fate. But she did not.

Both were summoned before the King. Who reveals his intentions to betroth Alicent in front of the small council. The lingering scent of sin clings to Alicent's lips as the gazes in the room converge on her. She is unable to meet Rhaenyra's gaze, having never experienced such acute pain or longed for death with such desperation.

Although Alicent dares not look at her in the meeting, she asks permission to leave shortly after Rhaenyra leaves without a word. Otto looks particularly annoyed, but the King allows it.

Driven by the urgency to stop Rhaenyra before she departs on her dragon, Alicent runs through the corridors of the fortress, her desperation marking her every step. The echo of his strides echoes through the corridors, mingling with the rushing beat of his heart. He climbs into the first carriage he sees.

Catching up with Rhaenyra before she enters the Dragonpit, Alicent calls out to her in a trembling voice. The princess continues to adjust her riding gloves, seeming indifferent to his presence.

The guards discreetly withdraw, recognising the tension in the air. The princess finally half-stops.

"How long have you kept this from me?" asks Rhaenyra, her voice furious, cutting like a sharp blade. Alicent feels the weight of that intense gaze and, not daring to approach, explains how her father sent her to comfort the King after the Queen's loss.

It was the first time Alicent understood that words have form and weight. Rhaenyra's accusation, full of viciousness, pierces deeply.

"whor*, you seduced him!."

Though Alicent insists they only spoke, about their histories, their mothers, about her, never about marriage. The King had asked her to keep it a secret.

The Targaryen turns fully around, pointing towards the fortress, she says:

"They were seeing each other in their chambers!"

"My father sent me to comfort him," Alicent says, weeping, opens her arms in defeat. She knows one of her hands is tearing itself to shreds when she opens her arms and something warm slips into her wrist.

"And what do you think would happen?" says Rhaenyra pointing towards the fortress.

Alicent repeats the mantra that has been said over and over again.

"It was at my father's command."

Rhaenyra harshly rebukes his actions and steps back, warning him to leave before her dragon hurts her.

However, nothing of the sort happens. Rhaenyra mounts her dragon and, upon exiting the pit, immediately takes flight. The dragon looks disturbed, roaring in a terrifying manner.

Alicent mutters a heartfelt "I'm sorry", almost as a plea, as watches it fly away.

Chapter 12: Blue

Chapter Text

Your bare feet meet an icy surface that sends a stinging sensation. His sleeping shoes were left behind in his hasty escape. For a second she doubts whether should go back, but the thought of being in her room, where everything reminds her of the nightmare she has just lived, makes her nauseous. Gesturing helplessly, she tries to straighten her unruly curls, but defeat overcomes her efforts. Her hands fall uselessly along her body as she kneels awkwardly. The lace of her nightdress tangles with the hem.

Alicent prostrates himself, adopting a servile posture before the altar. The candles flicker, seeming fearful of a sudden threat. The flickering lights, like witnesses to her guilt, seem to silently accuse her. The sacred atmosphere of the Septon is violated by her presence and her turbulent emotions.

She whispers mute apologies to the stony faces of the Seven, an anguished look reflecting her fervent regret. The gloom of the sacred place hangs over her, and Alicent faces the silent condemnation of the gods for her betrayal. Guilt rests heavily on Alicent's stooped shoulders obsequiously bowed, pressing her further against the intricate floor. She has betrayed her, has betrayed them all.

Shame consumes her, and as if suffocating in her own filth, she seeks to redeem herself, though she feels unworthy to pray aloud like the devout septs and matrons.

Alicent, the sinner, is afraid to ask for forgiveness directly, as if her sins are too dark to be uttered aloud. She weeps silently, in sincere repentance, hiding her burning face between convulsive palms.

The candles burn with a soft blue glow, and the moonlight highlights the whiteness of the marble. The coloured stained glass windows filter it, reminding of Rhaenyra's silver hair in the morning sun.

Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.

She is everywhere, even among the gods. Alicent feels she will be dragged to the seven hells, condemned to eternal torment. Between duty and love, neither choice is good. She hates Otto Hightower, she hates her father, but how much she wants to be like him.

In the deepest corner of her being, Alicent is aware that Rhaenyra will not follow her, for the princess is above petty restrictions, even the laws of the Faith. Rhaenyra's blood carries a desired curse, blessed by the special patronage of the Seven, ancient and magical. Her destiny seems predestined, ascending to the heavens after her death, wrapped in luxury and eternal pleasure.

Alicent imagines Rhaenyra in golden palaces, surrounded by exquisite art and enjoying the finest delicacies and wines. She sees her majestic and indomitable, an honoured guest in the eternal celebration of life. But the duality of this vision torments Alicent, as she also imagines herself writhing in agony over the fire, covered in purulent wounds like a criminal.

Alicent's sacred duty is to be a dutiful and modest wife and give her husband worthy heirs to carry on their families and proudly bear the inherited name, but she is not even capable of doing so. Can she love her husband and give him heirs, or will her trembling heart yearn only for the Targaryen princess? Can she look at another without longing for Rhaenyra's exotic beauty? Can she share the marriage bed without being tormented by shameful dreams?

Time slips away in the sept as Alicent, immersed in her torment, watches the night disappear and gives way to the multi-coloured flashes of dawn that slowly spread across the remaining sky. Despite her anguish, Alicent's tears fail to move the Seven, who remain unmoved by her suffering, perhaps letting redemption slip beyond their grasp.

○○○

She lies alone in the dark. The bed is a welcome refuge, a final rest. Now that her husband has left her, Alicent cradles her big belly. Whatever lies beneath her pale skin feels unfamiliar.

Can she be blamed for wanting a different body, one without this foetus growing inside her, to embrace? Though without it, she too is disembodied. Without him, what does she have?

Alicent rolls to the side and closes her eyes tightly. Earlier that night she had listened to her husband's talk. He told her that he was lonely, terribly lonely, that he had begun to swallow his heart.

He didn't mention the cause of his confusion or how she could help him. Then, Alicent tells him that she too is lonely. Didn't say why.

They were both empty, not very different. Somehow they knew that neither would fill the other.

Alicent didn't want to, didn't want to forget everything that belonged to her, even though she was gone and all he wanted to do was push her away; those memories were his. It was the one thing his father couldn't take away from her because it was second nature, she realised belatedly.

She understood Viserys in part. Strange as it was to think that he could desire her by treasuring someone in his heart, she doubted he ever would again.

She fear has no love for the fetus that had already begun to show signs of life and warmth, dragon warmth. And fears, fears the future, what his father is slowly giving a glimpse of, but she still hopes, still prays for peace.

One night, in the gloom of his room, Alicent dares to raise his fears with the only man she trusts, his father.

"What if I don't survive?" she asks in a trembling voice, and Otto's intense gaze overwhelms her. His presence fills the room with a mixture of authority and paternal concern.

"How can you say such things?" he replies, with a tone of disbelief.

Alicent averts her gaze, her eyes searching for solace in some dark corner of the room. The shadows seem to dance to the rhythm of his anguished thoughts.

Perhaps the King is cursed. Perhaps the gods do not wish him to beget an heir. Perhaps they think he asks too much. His new bride could not satisfy his desires. She will not offer him silver children in her womb.

The thought makes his skin crawl, and the silence between father and daughter grows heavy with the gravity of the situation.

"You are young," Otto says in an attempt to comfort her, though his own expression does not reflect it. "You mustn't worry."

Alicent, however, cannot help but worry. Fear looms over her like a lingering shadow, threatening to swallow her whole. No ordinary woman was made to bear such a child and live. Even the old queen was split in two trying.

"I know, father.”

○○○

It is late at night when she walks along the castle ramparts. Alicent's soft slippers scuff against the marble floor, and her figure glides silently forward. Sometimes she waits here, lingering on the stairs, waiting for the chance to see her; Lady Rhaenyra, the princess who carries her candle to bed.

Alicent's eyes unfocused for a brief moment and it was almost as if he could see her in front of her. That she was there...

The sun slowly dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in warm, golden hues. Rhaenyra returned to her chamber after the ceremony in which she was named heir, her royal gown shimmering in the evening light. Alicent followed shortly after, finding her on the balcony, standing with her back to the room.

The Crown Princess seemed immersed in thought, the evening breeze playing with the golden locks of her hair. Alicent paused in the doorway to watch her. She allowed herself a moment to silently appreciate her before daring to speak.

"You are, so beautiful," Alicent said softly, feeling a lump in his throat, which he forced back into his stomach.

People say it all the time, all kinds of compliments, but not her, she could only speak the truth. Her reason was torn, she feared, for that day she felt the gravity of the new distance that had intervened.

Rhaenyra swayed slightly, as if contemplating the distant horizon. Though she had heard Alicent's words, she did not turn to look at her. The silence between them seemed to outweigh the words that remained unspoken.

Consequently, Alicent let his longing gaze dance over her firmness.

Rhaenyra turned fully towards her, leaning her back against the railing.

"That's because you look at me through the eyes of affection," Rhaenyra murmured, a soft smile lighting up her face.

Alicent nodded, unable to look away from her friend's deep eyes. Her love did not make her beautiful. What she felt for her sometimes made her want to open her chest in agony, it was utterly consuming.

"No," she said in a quiet voice, feeling the heat of a blush rising in her cheeks. "No, it's because I have 'much' affection for you."

Rhaenyra looked down for a moment, seeming overwhelmed by Alicent's words. When she looked up again, there was a glint of emotion in her eyes.

"Has your affection for me blinded you?" replied Rhaenyra, her voice soft as the whisper of the wind through the leaves of the trees.

There was something in his tone that resonated deep within her. How could such simple thoughts please someone who had lived her whole life surrounded by opulence and wealth? How did it make her happy to remove the lemon-candied pastries? Or the idea of hiding in the garden beneath her favourite tree reading a book or listening to the bard? Although every time she had accompanied her there, it was because they were forced to hide something. And to avoid something; the stares of her parents, the murmur of the servants, the pursuit of the guards, the responsibilities of the kingdom. Now she was above them all, one step below the King, and still she continued to look at her as if she represented peace and tranquillity to her.

Yes, she really is beautiful. Had Rhaenyra blinded her? Alicent could not know, for believed she would never stop loving her enough to see if she was beautiful without loving her.

Alicent chuckled as slowly denied.

"That's not what I meant."

Rhaenyra smiled tenderly at Alicent's laughter, feeling a warm tingle run through her body. Despite the words laced with complex emotions, there was something comforting in the shared complicity. They stood in silence for a moment, holding each other's intense gaze.

At that moment, the sun dipped completely below the horizon, enveloping them in the soft light of dusk.

"Though, perhaps that's true."

Finally, Alicent took a step closer to Rhaenyra, feeling the need to be even closer to her. Without a word, she reached out and took her friend's hand, intertwining their fingers.

There were no more words to say. It was wonderful.

Alicent feels the desire to join her in that room, but has not yet found the courage. Not since then instead, she just listens. The only thing she seems to have been created to do.

One night, as she lingers in the shadows, she overhears the argument between the king and his daughter, barely two weeks after Viserys announced their betrothal.

"I have never gone against you. I accepted your duty as king: that you must marry another," Rhaenyra's mocking voice echoes beyond the walls of the Keep. "I even tolerated it. But this..."

Viserys does not reply, remaining cautious and weak in front of his daughter, as he usually does.

"Why couldn't you leave her alone? She was my only friend."

There was a momentary delight in witnessing the princess's pain. For it was not only she who was gnawing and yearning. And yet Alicent's joy was soon replaced by torment. The torment of finality.

Soon, Rhaenyra will run to her uncle and he will turn her complaints into animosity. He will mould her into his perfect dragon bride.

Alicent pretends not to notice the longing looks, the brush of fingers against the back of his neck, the way his eyes darken with desire every time the Princess enters a room.

If she allows himself to think about it too much, the ache in his chest will be overtaken by something monstrous, a crawling breathing monster, and whispers, how much more will she have to hear? Just to hear.

Chapter 13: Blue

Chapter Text

The princess is conspicuously absent from the table during the dinners. Viserys says nothing, but Alicent notices the furrow on his brow. For a moment, she thinks he will bring up the subject, but he does not. Instead, she begins to speak of her brother and his sudden advances on the Stone Steps.

"It is a show of pride. Lord Corlys does not understand Daemon's true intentions," he declares, shaking his head.

After Rhaenyra's confrontation, the rebel prince's apparent bravado seems to have faded. He no longer cares about dragon eggs or mundane distractions. His intentions lie elsewhere.

Alicent had never seen his father so enraged as the night he returned from Dragonstone.

'He had no right,' his low voice had rung in his ears. 'Daemon was a hopeless case;they could have killed Rhaenyra.'

Alicent knows that Daemon would never do that harm to Rhaenyra, just as she would never do it to him. He can't say they have the same motivations. But Alicent doesn't tell his father that. Otto doesn't care about her words. She is only there to listen.

"Perhaps I should tell her," Viserys begins halfway through his meal.

Alicent offers him a kind look.

"It's probably best to leave it at that, husband."

He glares at her before turning his attention back to his plate. Alicent's eyes slowly drift to the empty chair and his stomach knots.

These days, can only watch Rhaenyra when dhe thinks no one notices. As she once looked at herself. Her old self, that's not her true self, but it was the only one she knew. Lady Alicent Hightower - does truth come with existence, with reality, or is it simply a matter of thought?

She drinks of the image of the princess in small gulps. But she doesn't allow herself to get drunk on it.

○○○

Alicent doesn't dare look at the crying baby when it finally arrives. She wraps a blanket over her bare, wet shoulder as the wet nurses take him away, and lets her gaze fall to the window. His whole body aches, the warmth in his stomach replaced by a deep burning.

For a moment, Alicent thinks hears Syrax roaring in the sky above King's Landing.

She wants to tell her that it's not too late to leave for Pentos, Lys, or even Asshai. That hopefully everything will return to the way it was before she became queen and was forced to give birth to a silver baby named after a conqueror. But this wish no longer makes sense. Did it ever make sense?

The room fills with the echo of the newborn's cry, and the murmur of the wet nurses fades as they withdraw. Alicent, staring into the dark night that unfolds beyond the window, feels the tears threaten to emerge, and they do.

○○○

116AC

She is eighteen years old and lies beneath a decaying man to create from his womb another dragonseed child. Despite having already offered her husband a son, Viserys seems adamant on having another. He grunts and gasps, as his heavy body sways back and forth.

Alicent closes his eyes. She knows a man like him will ineptly accept her pain and shyness as a maiden's pleasure. She will not correct him. She will submit timidly, almost tenderly.

She falls asleep quickly after spilling himself inside her, and soon enough, Alicent rises from the bed, wrapping a white woollen dressing gown around his sweat-stained flesh.

Alicent shuffles vaguely through the corridors of the Fortress, crossing his arms over his chest. She is surprised when he meets someone else's eyes.

"Rhaenyra," whispers her voice soft, almost enchanted. Her name tastes sweet, not sugary, like pure water. She hasn't said it for a long time.

The princess looks like a ghost in the candlelight. Perhaps she is.

"Your grace."

She does not smile. Perhaps she will never smile at him again. Alicent's fingers fiddle together behind her back.

"It's quite late."

"Yes, it is."

There is almost something lascivious about their encounter, something naked. Alicent feels inside her a simple sense of intrigue, but for once, she doesn't shy away from it. She is only in her underwear, and there is an inclination of something more behind her insensitive and confused manner. Alicent can almost sense the possibility of neutrality and honesty. Real honesty. Gods how much she longs for his sincerity, for it has all been false, even the not smiling at her, she'd rather he looked down on her.

The heat returns to her skin and she almost forgets her earlier encounter with the King. She is tempted to move closer but does not.

"I hope you served my father well," Rhaenyra says and her words seem to pierce something.

Something that looks like fear passes through Alicent's eyes. Rhaenyra continued on her way, but she stood in place watching the end of the dark hallway.

The words this time instead of making Alicent feel sad, lonely and slightly angry, they ignite an explosion of fury within her chest. She serves. She just wants to get rid of that chest-crushing discomfort. For once.

She doesn't go back to the king, she returns on her own to her room and demands a bath, the sponge rubbed raw.

○

As she expected, her father is enraged by her nocturnal tantrum. But Alicent doesn't desist in her own fury either. Something has changed, something small. She realises, Otto Hightower can no longer hurt her, at least not physically, he can no longer force her to kneel in front of the seven until her legs feel numb, his talks are also short, his chattering then becomes rapid, it is abrupt, without the serenity he used to have. Alicent clasps his hands together and listens with his head down.

It was him, and not her husband now indifferent to her son, nor her restless son indifferent to her care, that Alicent blamed for the trap of this destiny, of her present in which she was trapped. Too late she suspected that behind his professional authority and his worldly fascination, the man she called father was a weakling without redemption: a poor second son emboldened by the social weight of the family name.

Alicent takes refuge in the newborn son. She had felt him emerge from her body with the relief of being freed from something that was not hers, and she had been horrified to realise that she did not feel the slightest affection for that dragon of a belly that the wet nurse had shown her in the flesh, dirty with fat and blood. But in the solitude of her life she learned to know him, they got to know each other, and she discovered to her great astonishment that children do not love each other for the sake of being children, but for the closeness of nurture.

She ended up not putting up with anything or anyone other than himself in the fortress of his misfortune. And she did it because she had to, because there was no one else. She wondered if he would ever love her as much as she loved her own mother, wished he had known her. Her mother would have told her what to do when their impatience clashed and Alicent left.

Once, Rhaenyra had laid in his lap and Alicent had combed her hair with bleeding fingers. She hadn't minded the caress. But the silver baby cries.

She was depressed by the loneliness of her meals, the gardens, the dullness of time in the huge chambers. She felt herself going mad on nights stretched out by some visit from Viserys or when she had to face her own desires.

"Aegon is growing stronger. He will make a fine prince," his father declares, sitting in his armchair.

Alicent looks over his shoulder. She is dressed in green, some were her mother's dresses, others she had made herself.

"You've shown them you've done your duty," the man says in a confident tone. "But they'll expect you to do it again."

Alicent will. It is expected of her. She will promise, she will grieve, she will work until it leaves her empty and barren.

She let them do this to her. What more can she not allow? She sees herself in the mirror. Alicent looks at the frail creature, watching herself as she imagines she once watched her sick mother.

Vindictive thoughts will do her no good. So she leaves them alone. For the sake of the kingdom, for the sake of the king, for the sake of duty.

Chapter 14: Blue

Chapter Text

Alicent, among the shadows and lights dancing in Godswood, finds Rhaenyra wandering. The princess's soft arms are crossed behind her back, a gesture that seems to hide more than it reveals. The temptation to withdraw from this memory-laden place seizes Alicent, but an unseen force keeps her there, facing a past that weighs on every corner.

Reminiscences flow like a temporal river in Alicent's mind. Memories of days shared, of fingers intertwined in the courtyard, of arms brushing in the court and of embraces shared in the warm chambers. Yet these moments now seem to belong to a distant life, an existence that has faded in time.

The princess, a figure who barely looks her in the eye, approaches Alicent. The dialogue between the two becomes a game of cautious words, where each response is a carefully calculated step on shaky ground. Rhaenyra's question, "Did he say something to you?" echoes in the clearing.

"Who?" asks Alicent with some confusion and caution.

That must be how a hunter must have felt when faced with a wild animal, not knowing what might happen at any moment, most likely to be torn to pieces. And it's funny to use the term "hunter" when you practically arrive at the situation without looking for it.

Rhaenyra seems tempted to scoff.

"The king."

There is a momentary silence and Alicent can only stare at her. The princess turns to her side and rests her eyes on Weirwood.

"I overheard the small council discussing my engagement. Has he said anything to you?

"No," Alicent replies, and it is quite true.

The King does not discuss politics with her. Instead, she hears him lament, complain, or can only watch as he writhes in guilt and longing. Alicent does well to listen; as the days go by she only learns to be insensitive to his heavy sins. She had enough of his own.

Thoughts reappear like a lost symphony. 'The voiceless daughter becomes the voiceless bride'.

"Can marry any man you want, if you insist."

There is an attempt at reassurance in her voice, but she fears that months of loneliness have turned her into a false creature. She has grown accustomed to wearing the Manx guise with Viserys. A terrible habit of adaptation. Perhaps that's not what Rhaenyra wants to hear. And after repeating the words she had spoken in her mind, Alicent is sure it is not.

Rhaenyra must sense this. The doubt in her eyes grows.

"Perhaps it would be easier if the man of my dreams were a woman," she says.

It sounds strange. It sounds like her. Clear, honest and bright. Alicent almost mistakes his words for words of endearment.... But the tenderness inside her soon turns bitter, once she recognises the expression on the princess's face. It is not affection, but contempt. A relentless display of contempt.

Alicent does not immediately respond to Rhaenyra's words, but her gaze drifts to the ancient Godswood. With the tranquillity of nature as his witness, she asks her:

"Did you expect to find me here?"

The princess's laughter echoes in the clearing, and Alicent, though he cannot decipher the true feelings behind that laughter, remains unperturbed.

The princess, defiantly, questions:

"Why would I do that, Your Grace?"

"You haven't answered" Alicent insists at the lack of response.

"What do you think?"

Fatigue suddenly grips Alicent, he feels his hands heavy as lead and his chest tight. She's felt it forever, but this is the first time she's felt it in front of Rhaenyra.

Lady Alicent could have approached her, comforted her with warm, caring words, promised that everything would be all right, fantasised where it would be right to run away to, stroked her hair, been an invitation for her to do as she wished. But she is no longer Lady Alicent. Now, she's married, with a young son, probably another on the way. Rhaenyra will soon experience that too.

Who is she, who is Rhaenyra, who is this young woman? For the first time Alicent thinks that maybe she can live on memories. It was already useless to wish for meaningless things. Child's play is dangerous for two women.

Casting one last glance at the imposing Godswood, Alicent whispers:

"Wanting something doesn't give you the right to have it," either an answer to Rhaenyra or an internal reflection. Then she decides to leave, unwilling to witness the look she gives at that moment.

Alicent cannot give Rhaenyra the answer she seeks without succumbing to his own desires. Just as she did not know that could not lie beside her without wanting to hold her. She could not have felt her breath without wanting to kiss her. And she could not have kissed her without wanting to save himself. But she didn't... no one did anything. None of them did.

○○○

At night, Alicent lies alone in her bed, the heavy curtains enveloping her, pulling her frail body even closer to the mattress. Without fully understanding why, her hand suddenly caresses the inside of her thigh. Mind dipping into memories of cold nights after Viserys leaves the room, she sighs faintly with contempt. She remembers herself, immobile, feeling the nasty seed running down her leg and longing to wipe it away.

In those moments, Alicent is transported through the imagination. The older man fades away, replaced by the image of a younger maiden, whose hands do not pin her to the bed, she will want him to reciprocate.

The thought of Princess Rhaenyra seems to calm her a little. If she closes her eyes long enough, she may even find acceptance in her husband's lazy caresses. It is a practice she has learned over time, an escape of sorts.

The first time Viserys shared her bed, Alicent felt a cry of anguish catch in her throat, wanting to call for her mother. But she bit his tongue to keep the words from escaping, swallowing the blood in silence.

Her mother, protective and understanding, would never have allowed her daughter to suffer so much.

Alicent's whole body seems to grow cold, a sensation she has grown accustomed to. Her fingers are like ice, she is frozen, she does not allow herself to be hurt, with the pain inside, it is more than enough. A broken thought pops up:

"Mother would never..." The phrase hangs in the air, echoing with emptiness.

○○○

Alicent rarely finds within herself the desire to enter the Septon. The Septas would tell her, "You are tired, your majesty," and insist that the seven have not forsaken her.

Alicent does not recognise this devotion; however, she does not blame the gods. It occurs to her that she must have offended them long before they offended her. Rotten children, someone said, do not please the saints. Alicent feels that she has been defiled, or perhaps she became impure the very moment she saw Princess Rhaenyra.

Regardless, Alicent clasps her hands together and, with her knees cold against the bare floor, she murmurs, "Forgive me".

Chapter 15: Blue

Chapter Text

Alicent is forced to show herself off to her husband's noisy guests. They greet her and flatter her, but she can't help but notice the intricate inspections her eyes receive. She watches as those eyes dress and undress her passive body.

There is nothing lewd in those gazes, nothing unpleasant, but she feels like an object exposed to candlelight, a beautiful corpse on silent display.

The women of the court approach, praising the queen's fecundity, taking young Aegon in their arms and caressing Alicent's warm belly as it begins to take shape. She smiles and nods, doing well to entertain his majestic presence.

She stands before a burning pyre, leaning against her restless husband. In his muddled state of mind, Viserys seems only capable of speaking of blood and prophecy. Tears gather on her face and run down her cheeks like melted wax. Alicent takes his hand and offers him what little comfort has left inside. But the King only wearies, mourns and laments his own losses.

"What if I was wrong?" he whispers trailingly.

Alicent remains silent, allowing his eyes to rest on his swollen stomach and the baby beneath. She draws closer. She can never feel mercy for him again, not when everything seems to indicate that she will face this pregnancy alone again.

Fury appears again with her head down, turns away from the pyre, away from Viserys.

Otto Hightower calls his son the future of the realm, while Alicent huddles and sits uncomfortably in her heavy seat. Alicent avoids his deepening gaze, allowing his attention to focus on the fireplace in the very corner of the room.

"Why don't you like him? Why don't you want to see his son as king? You would rob him of his destiny," his father comments.

Alicent ignores his words. It is not her purpose to be pleased. She has a secret chamber inside her chest where the need for permission beats like a second heart. Her father knows. He put her there.

"Rhaenyra has been appointed by the King, she will make a good queen," she says, his voice a mere whisper. If Rhaenyra were not destined? What would be the point of it all?

Her father seems to want to laugh in her face. He does. Alicent knows he likes to watch her lively impatience, likes that she can't run.

○○○

Not that the nightmares were frequent since the betrayal; they always were, unless his body was so tired as not to dream. They were to a greater or lesser extent, to a greater or lesser severity.

Sometimes, during the day, the queen could feel that her hands were unexpectedly heavy, they would be pinned wherever she held them. Her hands would go numb as her own paranoia began to kick in, about what might come and what she should simply do if necessary. At that point, she would stop and think, and when the questions began to overtake her, that was the moment when she would calm down and ignore the unquenchable threat that sooner or later she would be killed. This put constant pressure on her and created a kind of unpleasant feeling.

The nightmares could be strange moments; her father beheaded, or her mother burned beside him, her children. They could also be deceptive things; running somewhere while being chased, screams, reflections of flames, the metallic sound of guns clashing, surrounded by a viscous, sticky aura of doom.

But from all the running she could also find herself in the middle of a clearing, a meadow she recognised with ease. Standing still on the spot, she dared not move, fearing that in doing so the ground beneath her feet would swallow her up. She did not move even when she heard laughter, the whisper of her name and movement from behind her.

She woke exhausted, without the startle she was used to. She just opened her eyes. Likewise, she felt like she was gutted.

Pushing aside the sheets and awkwardly, sinking heavily into the mattresses, she crawled to the edge of the bed, sitting up, put her feet on the stone floor covered by the carpet.

She looks down at her belly. If she survives this daughter, for she will, she will say to him, "When the men come for you, jump into the well in the garden." And if I were to ask her why she doesn't do the same, it is because the child doesn't know, what no one knows, is that she is already drowning, only in a different way. And her father insists on condemning her brother. He is determined to condemn them all.

When she wakes up, her body is drenched in cold sweat. Her husband lies beside her, breathing heavily and, from time to time, reaching out to her. Alicent does not comply with her affections. Instead, she crawls to the edge of the bed and holds her breath for as long as she can. She remains perfectly still until her lungs burn and her inner chest swells.

When she finally allows the shuddering inhalation to overtake her lips, she does so with a groan. She crosses her arms around her upper body and closes her eyes tightly. Viserys places a strong hand on her back, pulls her close, and exhales warmly against her neck.

Alicent hates her silent submission, just as she hates the maids who do not protect her, her father for giving her to a dying husband, her mother for leaving her alone in this world, and herself for allowing it all to happen. She also hates Rhaenyra, but in her own way.

In her hatred, she will bear children born of dragon seed, whom she could mould, work and mourn.

Viserys does not understand his wife, and she does not expect him to. They share only one thing in common: a heart eaten by grubs.

○○○

She is born of his nightmares. A daughter. One Alicent cannot force himself to despise and resent. She was created by promises and coercion, and yet she is only a child. A Targaryen.

Viserys gazes intently at the baby the wet nurse holds in her arms. She is a child of his blood.

But the hope that he loves her as much as he loves Rhaenyra fades after a few moons. When the child wakes up frightened again and again, only she is there, and she does not like to be touched. She looked so fragile, but she is strong, her cry is loud.

Once completely helpless, she approaches her cradle, her little face is red and some tears dry on her cheek, her eyes are restless, much more so than Aegon's. Alicent slowly brings his hand to her face, she is exhausted, and she understands her. She cannot cry. She is fire. She was not born to it.

Alicent allows herself to smile in a way she hasn't in a long time, for the first time the girl allows her to touch. Perhaps it was her own emotion, her swelling heart that made her whisper to her.

"Your mother's here, they won't come, I won't let them come, I don't want you to jump..."

For a moment, a rare moment, her daughter meets her eyes. Causing Alicent to subtly release her breath.

The girl falls asleep soon after.

Chapter 16: Blue

Chapter Text

"She's no fool," Viserys declares, hovering on the edge of his bed. "Though sometimes she likes to play the part."

"She's just not used to it. That's all," Alicent replies, standing still as the maids drape the dark red cloth over her body.

Despite her situation, Viserys does not look at her. Before, it was she who shied away from uncomfortable glances. Now, it seems, the revelation of her young flesh gives him some distaste. Rightly or wrongly. She cannot be sure. A part of her enjoys her discomfort.

For many years she has been in constant fear. But it's hard to be afraid of a man who looks away when you dress.

"I'm not sure Rhaenyra sees it that way. She rejected her options. She gave up her remaining months on tour," Viserys lets out a deep sigh, lowering his head in an attempt to divulge. "And now, Daemon has returned, after his years of playing on the Stone Steps..."

Alicent was not present when the rebel prince entered the throne room. But soon the news spread like wildfire throughout the keep. Daemon bowed to his brother and handed over his crown of conquest, like a warrior of ancient Valyria. But it was a sham crown, and Daemon's obedience was not that of an honest man.

"The Princess is loyal to you, husband. You will guide her senses.

But they both know that Rhaenyra's interest lies elsewhere. She rejoices and abides, and the song of her joy does not falter, even as the years pass. But the joy of her freedom is not without cost or falsehood. In its own way that too is a sham. Without her youthful flower, what else could she cling to? Rhaenyra would pretend forever, if she could, but her uncle won't let her. That man is the greatest of all the whor*s in Westeros.

Alicent dismisses the maids and walks to the liquor table to pour a glass of wine. As the sweetness passes down her throat, she loathes it.

○○○

The two finally meet again in the garden. Despite her earlier hostile nature, something inside the princess has softened. Something had changed in her since she had returned from the forest, completely bloodied.

Alicent watches her, drinking it in small sips, enjoying her newfound growth.

Rhaenyra's youthful silhouette has grown into the body of a woman. The warm, almost blinding glow fades in the piercing daylight. She is dangerously beautiful.

"These men and boys do not flatter me. They only want my name and my Valyrian blood for their offspring."

Alicent sits beside her, moves closer to her, but not close enough to make her question the closeness.

"We must not confuse appreciation with flattery, one is sincere and the other is not," Alicent replies.

She does not flatter Viserys, and she doubts that he does. The appreciation she has for him stems from duty and responsibility. But they share blood in their children. His. Though most of the time they are Alicent's alone.

If Rhaenyra didn't fawn over her she wouldn't care either. For the seed, the flesh and blood of both would be evident in another little being. A little one with her blue eyes, maybe her curls. That would be so...

"I think it's quite romantic," Alicent said with a small smile in his eyes, which just for a moment was due to the lips of the princess.

Behind his smile, his thoughts whirl like a pole-axe, back and forth, peeling back the layers.

When their fingers touch, it is only remembrance and courtesy. His fingers are cold, and Rhaenyra's warmth hurts. Alicent tries not to dwell on that feeling of reminiscence.

"You are lucky, Alicent. You are the Queen," Rhaenyra had told.

As if there was something blessed about being called that, as if it evoked freedom and relief. As if that was everything. But it's only a small title. It's less than copper, less than nothing for what she desired deep in her gut.

Alicent thought the words sounded suspiciously like those of his father. As he turns away from Rhaenyra, she leaves an echo of rustling leaves and the soft crunch of the earth beneath his footsteps. In the space she leaves, the rebel prince, Daemon, emerges with a magnetic presence that eclipses the sun faintly filtered through the branches.

Daemon approaches Rhaenyra with feline grace, his burning gaze and insinuating remarks gliding through the air. Rhaenyra, oblivious to the threat hidden behind Daemon's charming appearance, accepts his flattery with a smile. Daemon's aberrant nature is camouflaged beneath his superficial charm, and Rhaenyra, blinded by flattery, does not glimpse the looming shadow.

Alicent, retreating into the shadows, watches the scene with a mixture of disdain and resentment. The fury she harbours towards Daemon is an internal fire that burns only for her, unquenched by her father's words or the constant murmur of her surroundings. It is a personal passion, a visceral response to the threat the rebel prince poses to her and Rhaenyra's life.

He wants to, he will think it is his right, and he will, he can do it, can claim it.

Alicent hates him.

○○○

The echo of knocking on the door echoes through the room, interrupting the tense calm that follows Viserys' attempt to seek solace in the night before. Alicent, enveloped in the gloom of the room, stands still, aware of the other's presence. The soft light filtering through the curtains barely illuminates the scene, leaving shadows dancing on the fabrics.

The thick dressing gown slides over Alicent's shoulders, its touch warm and familiar, a veil that barely manages to conceal the nudity that lies beneath. Under the closed screen, she shivers, a shiver transcending the temperature of the room.

Otto Hightower's face reflects a marked sternness, his features hardened by the gravity of the moment. Despite the heavy tone of his words, the daughter, with the unique sensitivity that only she possesses, perceives the delight hidden in her father's gaze.

"I fear it is about the Princess, my King...", echoes Otto's voice, and Alicent, in the charged silence, already sensed the truth before her father could utter it aloud.

○○○

Rhaenyra calls her sister, holding Alicent's cold fingers tightly between her own. In another moment Alicent might have fainted, or even blushed furiously, like a lovesick fool at the pleading in Rhaenyra's gaze. But Alicent bites the inside of her cheek until the taste of copper blooms crimson inside her mouth. There is no room for romantic torture.

Rhaenyra watches her intently, her face flushed with the remnants of feverish arousal. Her hands clench tighter.

"what really happened ?"

Alicent pleads for honesty. Not only for the princess's sake, but also for his own because to be on her side would mean being against the king's hand. However, no words of consideration could heal the open springs in his chest.

"I regret leaving the fortress, I should not have followed him, it was dangerous and stupid of me."

It is a fragile attempt. His warm skin disperses. And the warmth is not the warmth of a maiden. Alicent doesn't dare ask her, hopes she will but ...

"What else happened on that outing?"

"Nothing else, I swear."

Rhaenyra forces a smile to her lips. All is bare and silent, her attempts still silent, almost breathless. She is an unknown creature. And yet Alicent can hear something in the princess's body, it's vestiges of her in her body.

'My love, my love...'

As if they were both still children. Because lying is an intimate experience, it has a provocative relief. Alicent knows this.

"You should talk to the King."

"Is that what you want?"

Alicent tries to swallow her growing resentment.

"It's what you should..."

'All I want is you'.

"... It's your duty to your f*cking kingdom."

'All I wanted was you'.

Alicent, between rage and half-hearted love, pulls away with a sharp jerk, freeing his hands from Rhaenyra's. Only when she walks and feels a fresh line cut down the middle of her face does she realise is crying.

Chapter 17: Blue

Chapter Text

117AC

Ser Criston Cole sits across from her with his head down and his gaze dark, and Alicent is afraid of what he might know and say to her. Which is better: a sweet lie or a bitter truth?

Alicent still holds her quick, restless touch of Rhaenyra in his memory, feels it on his body like a mark. His loyalty to Rhaenyra hangs in the balance. Her father's alarming parting words sound like a warning in her head and become another nightmare in the night.

"You lie ," Alicent had blurted out to Otto Hightower, leaning with both hands on the desk the former Hand of the King had just cleared a moment ago.

"When have I ever lied to you, my daughter? Part of you knows. She has known. She will, unlike the King, the Princess cares for nothing but satisfying her own need, her whims. She doesn't care about the common people. Your children, whether they want the throne or not, will be a nuisance to her and her people. She will get rid of them. Can you trust her to be the only thing standing between a sword, you and her children? You won't like it. You will be alone, you are alone. But you still have time. Aegon can be a great king with the right training. And it's all here," Otto stepped closer to her to point to his head with a calculated smile. "You will see. Time will prove me right once more."

Then she watches him drive away in a carriage with the rain in the background, as if it were a damned premonition. It was the first time she had opposed him, and she had lost him."

Ser Criston's words can change everything... or nothing at all.

"It happened, Your Grace," admits the distraught knight, "the sin that is done. I did."

Alicent freezes. The anger in her flares like the fire in the tower of the old town. Alicent wants to tear the skin around her fingernails until there is blood, until there is flesh, bone, until there is a searing pain that makes her ignore everything else. She wants to rip this man's head off, take his breath and Rhaenyra's faces on it. But the queen merely smiles from the corners of her lips, politely, delicately, kindly.

"That's how it is.”

○○○

Adorned in a floor-length green gown, Alicent strides majestically to her place beside the king. The façade of politeness, the murmuring nobility, Viserys's dissatisfied face: these are no longer her concerns. Fury, resentment, jealousy and resignation wrap like a noose around her neck. But she trusts the perfectly placed mask before she leaves her chambers.

Rhaenyra, from her position as a bride, watches her. The snow-white dress and elaborate hairstyle enhance her figure as expected. Alicent, seeing the princess, inappropriately reminisces about his naive dreams and unfulfilled desires, locked away now.

They say that duty kills love, but betrayal and lies destroy what remains. When Alicent stops by the king's side, she finds in the blue eyes neither the usual anger nor the shadow of hidden desire, only a calm, indifferent sky. She has always known that Rhaenyra was not his, and never will be. She belongs to something much bigger. Then it doesn't hurt, then it's easy to say:

"Congratulations, stepdaughter," words devoid of ostentatious sincerity.

Rhaenyra smiles falsely at the corners of her lips in response, and Alicent turns to take a seat.

Throughout the evening, Alicent watches the guests, Rhaenyra greet her betrothed. Alicent sees her as the old Valyria resurrected, as Prince Daemon probably once dreamed. Then she understands that it is no longer just will and might that grants right. Is it chance? Fate? Time.

The princess sits not next to her uncle, but next to another, a young Velaryon who does not seek the princess, despite his endless joy. As a result, Daemon now talks (and drinks, always drinks) at the expense of everyone, not just his brother.

"The gift of nobles," mother once said, "to make others pay."

Daemon seems unable to understand why the gods are unhappy with his ambitions. Despite Alicent's previous understanding of his character, she is not surprised that he does not understand. He never does. He is too busy with his own thoughts, his own pleasures. The rebellious prince has no appetite for morality or duty; he only wants to break things, to break young girls.

When her uncle Hobert compliments her and offers pleasant compliments, Alicent smiles indulgently. A smile she can't keep for long.

The music becomes overbearing, and Alicent can't bear to look at the dancing couple in front of her. She can pretend it's a punishment, yet it sings in her chest like the sweetest of releases anyway.

For the rest of the party she takes it upon herself to think and do whatever makes her look flawless. She does what she does best: pretend she's having a good time, pretend she's comfortable, pretend she's not in love with her. Pretend didn't die that night. Pretend.

Chapter 18: Green -120 AC

Chapter Text

120AC

The child in his arms is quiet, she does little else but sleep and cry, and yet she has become beautiful and gentle. Alicent brushes her hair carefully, listens also to the little girl's quiet, strange words and manner. She can get used to hearing more than moans, demands and complaints.

Her father and Viserys are also joined by their son Aegon. Aegon seems bored by Otto's demands, is ignored by most and only wants to be with his little dragon. As for his mother, he loves her as much as he fears her, Alicent has noticed. She has shown some of her fury in her eyes at the boy every time he makes a mistake. Aegon does not know her scream, the reproach, or any punishment akin to what Otto Hightower put her through, but the boy senses the fury in her. He is wary of taking risks. Alicent hopes that over the years he will not give up that instinct of his.

Helaena's silver straw tresses feel soft between Alicent's fingers, and rests his hand there, feeling a sense of recognition, even if she doesn't want to accept it. The white tips brush against the skin of his palm.

"The same tone," she thinks softly. "Always the same tone."

And yet Helaena is utterly unlike her half-sister. No Targaryen looks alike, in fact. If they all did, what chaos it would be.

Her grandfather wants her to be betrothed to her brother. The little girl hasn't even stood up unaided, doesn't fully know her mother's love nor her father's indifference, nor the love of youth. Alicent pulls Helaena to his breast, pondering what fate his daughter may have. She cannot write her destiny, just as her mother could not write hers, or the queen she was not, the hundreds and thousands of women....

But Rhaenyra is different. She does not exist because of or in spite of duty. The concept is foreign to her, it does not suit her longings. Instead, she simmers among the pleasures of life, savouring the acts of tolerance her father imposes on her in her foolish states of ignorance. She laughs, smiles and encloses Ser Harwin in her lovely little heart, seducing him with the security only a dragon woman could possess. Her disobedience brought shame and bastardy.

Every time Alicent responds to one of Otto's letters, the initially firm words that the Princess would make a great queen are nonexistent. If she saw the mockery on Otto Hightower's face before, Alicent does not know what she might find now.

She is dangerous, reckless. And Alicent hates herself for fearing the danger she puts herself in.

○○○

Years have passed since her father was expelled from the capital, but his shadow is on her, in her. She is terrified to discover how alike they are even though she once wished she were. She hates that mocking smile in the mirror, she hates the indifference, but she had longed for the coldness and the resolve, the insensitivity.

Alicent has learned to overcome herself, to prevail in spite of herself. She recognises herself, somewhat quietly, as the mist. She has the knowledge of him, the ancient knowledge.

"As long as you carry it in your head they can't take it away," her father used to say. Not like weapons, or titles, or clothes. His loves, his affections, his weakness, his anger, were lodged in it.

Alicent washes Viserys's back, as sores and blisters paint his pale skin. She wipes away the ichor. The dragon's blood drains from him. Alicent wonders if he was ever there in the first place.

"Lord Corlys speaks fondly of his grandchildren," her husband whispers, and Alicent cannot bear to look at him.

The maesters tell her that life is running out for her. Though it could be years before the disease prevails.

"I should do it," Alicent tells him.

Corlys should do it; for the king, for the kingdom, for the son. He accepts Rhaenyra's children out of duty. He doesn't know that duty goes both ways.

Viserys does not understand this. Despite his reluctance, he is still reckless. He forgave Rhaenyra for her brazen betrayal. Repudiated tradition and custom. He is blinded and determined to protect his own blood. Viserys seems to forget his other sons.

What can he answer his father in his constant letters as he plots Aegon's fate and Helaena's? What can she do when confronting Rhaenyra will provoke a conflict of no return? How can she look Aegon in the eye one day and demand that he kill her sister? She doubts he even has a chance. What can she do when it all comes down to her having to face her? It was she who wore green, it is she who stands by the children, it is she who is in charge of planning the marriage between the siblings. Not the King. Not Otto Hightower.

Yet for all that she is, for all that she knows, for all that she has learned, she resists having to bow her head when Rhaenyra ascends. It is not even certain that the princess can protect her own sons when the conflict, unseen, that has existed from the first moment Aegon was born erupts.

The lords, the first sons, await the child, a child who cries because his wooden dragon lost its footing.

○○○

His encounters with the princess had been weak events over the years since they had drifted apart, nor did it help that no sooner had Prince Laenor married him than they left King's Landing. Alicent thought that given the chance, she would also flee the ghosts lurking around every corner.

Rhaenyra offers her attempts to be kind, but Alicent pays no heed to her attempts. She will not allow herself to fall into the gravity of the stare. She has also been distracted; as she dines, she thinks of her children; as she listens to Viserys, she thinks of her father; as she dresses, she thinks of her daughter's strange pastime with insects. She has been living moments that she then allows herself to remember more carefully. Or perhaps, it's just her way of avoiding her real worry. She has disobeyed her father, she has lied. In fear, it is comforting to watch him fiddle with a thread miles away.

Alicent can't recognise the woman in front of her either. She only knew the silver-haired maiden who lay on her lap and offered sympathetic kisses in the dark. Though her eyes remain the same, the slight maturity of her face betrays her appearance. And if she were to be fair, Alicent would also not recognise the servant she knew herself to be, who prostrated herself before Otto Hightower so passively.

"Motherhood suits him well, his Grace," she says. A half-measure.

Alicent doesn't know what to offer her.

"You too, Princess."

Rhaenyra's motherhood was born of pleasure. Alicent's was born of penance and duty. Yet the princess does not know this. She thinks the two are the same. She thinks she can unite them. Alicent bites the inside of her face hard.

Rhaenyra never had to submit to an ornery father, never had to seduce a man she didn't want, never had to bite back the agony that crawled across her skin, never had to lie beneath a rotten man and bear dragon children, she never had to….

"Perhaps Jace and Aemond will get along. Friendship might offer comfort to princes. As it once did for me," Viserys said.

Alicent does not wish his son to go near these children. Least of all Aemond.

She was ready for him, knew what to expect, knew how to deal with a restless, unruly boy and his child counterpart in every way. Then she found sweetness, Aemond was a smart-eyed baby, he had his freckles just like his sister, and his lips the wet nurse told her. Alicent couldn't tell, he wasn't much different from his siblings, but he was the quietest, the most dependent. She loved him from the first instant.

It is said that bastards share a perverse nature, and the dragon's blood is already full of sin. She does not want such shame to befall her children.

Yet Alicent does not utter a word. She thinks of all the horrible things she says only mentally, but never aloud. Unless is her confidant.

She shares a subtle look with Viserys, she can see the pleading behind his smile. He knows her true thoughts, and yet he insists. He insists on making decisions for sons he barely knows, and it angers her more. Which makes her look away without offering him an answer.

Chapter 19: Green

Chapter Text

123AC

In the small council, the heaviness of the atmosphere mingles with the monotonous murmur of Dorn's maritime themes and Essos imports. Alicent, aged twenty-five, leans back in her seat, watching her husband as he speaks. The atmosphere is as dull as it is predictable, and she questions her presence there.

Alicent doesn't really need to be there. She is neither needed nor expected to speak her mind. Queen Aemma never bothered to bother with the company of troublesome loyal lords and council members. And yet Otto Hightower had deemed it necessary. Of all the things he had demanded of her, this was perhaps the least terrible.

"You will be the leader of your family. A voice of reason," he told her in his letter. "Be my ears, be my eyes."

Otto's letter rested in her hands, its inked figures seeming to dance before her eyes. She contemplates hiding the parchment in the layers of her mattress or throwing it in the fireplace, never to read it again. Despite his resistance, that same night, with quiet coercion, she enters Viserys's room.

"Very well," the King had told him. Even he knew it would be of little consequence.

○○○

The maid meticulously ties the threads that bind the layers of Alicent's dark green dress together. She used to do this task herself, until her splintered fingers stained the white lace lining, forcing her to delegate the task to others. It's not unusual, really. In any case, tying one's own dress only befits a young lady, a daughter of the Hand, a companion of the princess, but never a Queen.

Alicent stands motionless, staring out the window at the thin layer of sky fading in the daylight. A distant dragon's cry seems to echo across King's Landing, but he cannot make out the creature. She wonders if Rhaenyra flies on the east winds with Syrax.

Once, Alicent had watched her during her hours of training at Dragonpit and had joined her in her moments of calm and songs of joy. Now, their relationship is reduced to brief interactions in council. The few times weekly when the Princess chooses to be present. Rhaenyra speaks confidently, but does not meet her gaze. Tyland Lannister and Grand Maester Orwyle are the ones who capture her attention as they share tales of old, taught by Alicent when they were young and full of life. She is a lovely woman. But that matters little now.

As they adjust the sash around her waist, Alicent closes her eyes, holding her breath.

"Shall I loosen it a little, Your Excellency?" asks the maid.

"No," she replies in a stern, melodic voice.

Her words are like gold now, brief commands that reveal her request or demand. A little icy, perhaps those who call her a green snake have a point.

○

Sitting in front of the altar, her knees sunk to the floor, Alicent inhales the smoke rising from the candles. The ability to pray eludes her. She used to pray for the mercy of the gods, but now she understands that they are not merciful; they are gods, after all.

Remembering a time when she took Aegon to the Septon, a restless child who found no peace in such surroundings. He wept at the statue of the Stranger and resisted his uncomfortable grip. Alicent does not blame him, nor does she believe the gods welcome them.

Some say you can't blame the child for how he came to be, but Alicent doesn't know who to blame. So she blames the absence of the gods. She understands their immensity and absoluteness, and does not consider himself comparable. So Alicent has obeyed, continues to do so every time he opens his eyes.

She inhales the scent of incense, letting it pass to her and through her. She can feel it almost on her tongue, with its notes of smoke, rosemary.

She smells the scent once more, and if they were thirteen again, it might have been soothed by the warmth the moment generated in her. But now, the smell makes her nauseous, so she turns away from the altar and the memories. She could live with them alone, she had told herself. Now they seem more like a burden, a substitute tool.

○○○

Helaena could not sleep, dreams and nightmares tormented her. Despite the late hour, she decides to go to her mother's room. As she approaches, she sees a faint light coming from under the door, indicating that her mother is not yet asleep. Hearing a brief "Come in," Helaena enters the room.

"Helaena, honey, why aren't you asleep yet?" expresses Alicent with surprise.

"I can't sleep, can I sleep with you today?"

"Of course you can, come here," Alicent replies, smiling slightly.

As she approaches, Helaena sees her mother sitting on the bed holding a crumpled page of a book in her hands. What mother was going to read so late and why there was only one page was an unknown. Sitting on the bed next to her, Helaena decides to ask.

"Are you reading, and why is there only one page?"

"This," after a little hesitation, Alicent adds, "is something I haven't been able to get rid of for a long time," her mother replies with a rakish smile.

"How can a simple page be so important, why don't you throw it away or burn it?"

"Because I love this page very much and I loved the person who gave it to me very much," sighs Alicent.

Then she helps her to lie down under the sheets. That done, Alicent looks at the page and again sinks into that vague resignation of not being able to get rid of it. One more sign of the mirage of defiance. The reality was that he could never get rid of that page. Of his childish promise.

Alicent looks to his side and notices that Helaena is already asleep. Carefully covering her with the blanket and putting the page back in its place, he lies down next to his daughter and once again sinks into his thoughts.

'It would be glorious if she died in childbirth'.

Alicent can hear the tone of voice he set, the shape of his lips, his eyes, his gaze. Her father would have expected her to agree. Surely. Alicent admitted to herself many years ago that she would never cause Rhaenyra to come to any harm; for some reason, the thought now seems terribly absurd. But no less true.

Chapter 20: Green

Chapter Text

124AC

Aemond, barely five years old, already yearns to claim his own dragon, a desire that Alicent finds abstract and incomprehensible. The boy barely passes his waist. Alicent has tried to understand her sons' wishes, but no sense of recognition has ever occurred to her.

The brothers share little resemblance in character and even less affection for each other. Aemond spends the most time with her and best mimics her appearance, he is shrewd and clever. Sometimes it felt as if he was the older brother. Aegon resorted to rather dastardly methods to remind him that he was not.

While Aegon is loud and brutal, his brother Aemond is more aloof and quiet. Helaena, on the other hand, is a different creature, alive in her own will to understand, sometimes distant but able to draw out Alicent's best-kept thoughts. The queen treasures those moments, hoping that, upon returning to her own little world, those secrets can guide her daughter back home.

Although none of her children share Alicent's appearance, the white of her hair and the green of her eyes represent a symbol of duty and endurance. Her children's indifference to her appearance is a relief, avoiding the mistakes of her predecessors in not bringing into the world children with coppery brown hair. Even though she is queen, she feels she has nothing more valuable to offer than her possible madness and pain.

Yet they were fragile. Aemond was easy to provoke, as well as to flinch, but he was still not ashamed that she saw that side. Just as Aegon had that instinct not to anger her, Aemond knew his mother did not reproach his tears. Alicent learned to love them, to hear them, to know them. Something similar to what her father did with her. But she did not use that power. She learned other ways, adapting at every step, as she could, she can't say they were the best. But she tried.

Criticism is useless, and puts anyone on the defensive, and they will always try to justify themselves. It hurts pride and ego. It also arouses resentment. But by rewarding good behaviour you learn more and retain knowledge more effectively than by punishing bad behaviour.

She would ask his children if the helmet was uncomfortable or didn't suit them. Then, in a friendly tone, she would tell them that it was meant to protect them from injury. And then would suggest wearing it whenever they were in training. Unlike the orders, there was a greater use of helmets without resentment. This was important as Aemond always seemed eager to hit Aegon with his wooden sword.

She persuaded little Prince Aemond to stop crying, taking him to armchairs inside the hall where they would have more privacy. After sending Talya to fetch some cakes for him and she returned, the boy stopped looking at her with embarrassment and caution as his cheeks grew round and puffy.

Alicent walked to the currently wide open window. Stood doing nothing in particular, watching people come and go. When she heard Aemond move on his side, she shifted his gaze to him.

"They don't think I should play Conqueror when I can't even have a dragon yet," Aemond said without looking up, as if defeated and pained by the vision left in his mind by the words he had just spoken.

Alicent froze at those words. Images of his nightmares flooded his mind, those of his son coming to weep at his brother's taunts, screams, the sight of blood dripping down the side of Aemond's face, and the sound of a dragon roaring in the distance. The "He's mine now, mother."

He looked around, at the people outside, at the boy, all ignorant of the gravity of such words spoken. Why wouldn't they be? They hadn't seen what Alicent had seen.

"Who?" She asked still trying to steady his feelings.

"Aegon. And I've heard some of those noble children my father has gathered for training. They think themselves entitled just because Aegon is amused."

Alicent was puzzled.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, darling," she said regretfully.

Aemond nodded carelessly.

"All of them. The strong children, Aegon, Helaena, and Princess Rhaenyra have always had a dragon at their side. Father, he..."

"Prince Aemond."

Aemond looked up, meeting the seriousness and steadiness in Alicent's eyes. Which made him sit up straight in his seat.

"You have dragon's blood, son. You will have a dragon when the time is right. Princess Rhaenyra, it's different for everyone. Your siblings had the blessing of the Senses for their eggs to hatch. That makes you no less than anyone else. The king, your father, didn't claim a dragon until he was sixteen, more than twice the age you are now." She looked at Aemond with a small smile on his lips. "Do you know which dragon he claimed?"

"Balerion," Aemond said, his eyes full of excitement.

Alicent nodded, the smile spreading across his face.

"The Conqueror's dragon."

Aemond seemed to regain some confidence, his feet that didn't quite reach the floor were tethered to the edge of the chair and his shoulders were no longer slumped.

Alicent walked over to sit beside him, taking his small hand.

"You can claim your own dragon when you're older. When it is not just the angry feeling you hold now that is your only motivation. Patience Aemond."

Alicent can't keep his eyes on his sons all the time and the threats he has made to Aegon to leave him alone sometimes didn't work. Especially not since his eldest son heard Viserys say at dinner 'It's child's play'.

"Do you remember the story of Black Dread?"

Aemond nodded firmly this time furrowing his little brow.

"Right. Aegon can be a bit, too reckless at times. But to your parents, Helena and Aegon you are very important."

"And Princess Rhaenyra? We're supposed to be siblings too. I've never heard her speak of the throne, but, "Aemond seemed to chew on the words, "but father seems to be happiest when he's with her."

Alicent sighed deeply at the memory.... No, he inwardly denied, pushing that bitter feeling away to focus on something else, on neutrality. Alicent turned away from how he took everything his father said as truth, and how his anger became his anger. What she hid from Otto Hightower grew into something bigger. But he created the gulf between them.

"They are family," Alicent said almost in a whisper, looking at him kindly.

Aemond looked at her somewhat confused.

Alicent smiles at him, not letting the insecurity show in saying a few words to the boy, if she was lucky he might remember them.

"They are family but each is one, with their joys, sorrows and happiness. That is not why the king prefers the Princess over you."

"Yes?"

"Yes. Besides, those children you have heard of are surely jealous of you, my prince. I have heard that your studies are going very well."

"I have some advantages over them "Aemond sits upright and proud, lifting his small chest.

"There you have it, they're just afraid you'll conquer heaven too, and you will one day. But patience my son. Nurture what is here, "Alicent strokes his forehead. "No one will take it away from you. In the years you will understand that a good word and a sword are equally dangerous weapons, for a particular kind of combat".

Aemond chuckled with pleasure at the thought. He devoured the piece of cake in his hand with much more encouragement.

Alicent would pray to the gods later that his words would be remembered.

○

On the stone balcony overlooking the courtyard, Alicent stands. From his elevated position, she watches Ser Criston leading his son Aegon across the muddy ground. The atmosphere is permeated with the essence of play and courtesy, as the knight does not instruct him in the art of wielding a sword or holding a bow between his fingers.

Aegon, still a child, fills the courtyard with his laughter and cries, oblivious to his mother's gaze. Absorbed in his own pleasures and pastimes, the nine-year-old does not catch the attention of Alicent, who, however, does not seem to mind.

She adopts a firm stance as she manages to meet Ser Criston's gaze, who greets her with an affirmative nod. At this, Alicent barely manages to hide a smile, pursing her lips.

Remembering Ser Criston's words about his son, "He will be honourable, like his mother," spoken years ago as he watched over the young boy playing in his room, Alicent almost interpreted that courtesy as devotion. A devotion that was once meant for the King's daughter, but now seems to have found its place at Alicent's side, whether out of duty or resentment.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra continues her life and pleasures, surrounding herself with the vices of the court. The courtiers follow and admire her, becoming white petals that cover her as she greets, laughs and loves in return.

When Jace's egg hatched, she spoke of her own little beast and how, as a baby, the creature rested in her lap, warming her skin. She also shared memories of tournaments and hunts, as well as time with her late mother before the Stranger took her.

"But he has forgotten me," the Queen thinks quietly. "Or perhaps she has simply found someone else."

Alicent lies awake at night wondering which is worse.

Chapter 21: Green

Chapter Text

126-127 AC

After dinner, the three remained at the table, chatting about little things that had happened during the day. Alicent kept them abreast of the growing baby boy or girl in her womb. It had few moons but a small lump in its abdomen was evidence that there was life there.

The funny thing with this fetus was that the nightmares left her shortly after she found out about the pregnancy. It was comforting in a way that allowed her to take her head out of Viserys' and her father's wing for a visit with her children to crown lands, with natural scenery, the fresh air releasing her pent-up tension.

Alicent was at peace. One night she wept for it, thanked the gods for having mercy on her. It was better to have faith in something than nothing at all.

Having some time as Aegon began to ramble on about the cities he travelled with his dragon and how he met "little men", Alicent opened the one correspondence she had been putting off.

Aemond was the first to notice her frown, it was strange to see her so genuinely demonstrating her mood. Motivated by curiosity.

"Who is it, mother?" asked Aemond, causing the others' attention to focus on her as well.

"It's from your grandfather. Apparently, our absence in Landing has brought the king and your sister's family closer the last few days."

"How does grandfather know that, isn't he in Oldtown?" questioned Aemond, picking up on a point, which made Alicent smile.

Aegon, in his mocking tone laughed, amused, stood to fill his wine goblet and paced the room. He rolled his eyes as he swayed.

"Oh of course, who will bring the whor* and the bastards for a touching reunion."

The small smile that had appeared on Alicent's face disappeared with those words without a trace.

Helaena shrank back in her chair, Alicent could tell it was discomfort. The girl could have felt how the lively atmosphere of moments ago disappeared in the dining hall, everything became still, as in the days in the fortress. Aemond lowered his gaze and remained silent, a sign that he was thinking of something.

Alicent's attention went straight to Aegon who had also stopped his mocking chuckle. Meeting his mother's gaze directly, he couldn't help but swallow.

"Watch your language, boy," her voice was demanding, stiff and somewhat cold. "Come back here, Aegon."

That made everyone more uncomfortable, it was perhaps the first time they had heard that tone from her. Of course, Aegon had no room to refuse. She shuffled over to the table with his feet shuffling and his head down.

With the children sitting across from her, looking uncomfortable but not frightened, more confused. Alicent gave a heavy sigh before continuing.

The time had come to talk about it, the four of them had gotten close enough for the small group to consider themselves united.

"Look at me" this time, his voice lost the previous coldness, but not the seriousness. Scanning the gaze of the three children, she lifted the letter slightly in front of them. "I am required to return, I am required to return to the king's side, I am required to distance the king from Princess Rhaenyra. I am required to remind the king of who his proper heir really is" his gaze stopped on Aegon.

The boy caught on quickly, his expression distorted, he frowned, opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, turning to look at his brothers who had noticed his unease.

"But," Aegon stammered, "you promised that I would not be king."

"And you will not," Alicent affirmed as nodded.

She had told him so, in fact, not so long ago. They were vague words, it was more than he had ever said on the matter, and Aegon took them as a promise.

"But, it's something that your grandfather is not willing to let go of so easily".

She looked again at the faces of his children. Indeed, everything was there as she left it, there was no visceral hatred of Rhaenyra in her children, only reluctance and resentment for the place they could never occupy, next to an almost non-existent father. For if there was anything more painful than not having him, it was having him but still being absent. Alicent could not heal that wound, but others had to be stopped.

It was not Rhaenyra or her children with whom they should be angry. The Princess was never really involved in their lives, though there had been overtures when Aegon was a baby, but time had lengthened the distance. When the day came for them to grow up, they would be the ones to face Viserys, though Alicent doubted it, she would at least leave them that option.

Yet Alicent also shared his venom, let Criston do so when he ridiculously confronted Ser Harwin in front of his sons and failed to correct his act. A terrible mistake. It was one thing to have his silent, secret grief and rancour, it was another thing to taint with it. Alicent might agree to have some of his father's things. But not this, not the ability to poison to rot.

Wordlessly, somewhat shaken and with the awareness that she was performing a momentous act. Alicent looked down at the letter. With slow movements she tore it in two, then in three, and so on, until only small pieces remained.

"No more. As I have done with this, so must you do with that grudge I recently heard you express,"she said, paying more attention to the children's disposition, as Helaena seemed to lose herself in her own world again. "That it is not yours, none of yours. Someone imposed it on us as a duty of loyalty. But I relieve you this moment of that obligation. No more bulls, no more harm. Enough of what hatreds have done in this land. I do not want to hear such words again, here, or from anywhere else. Do you understand."

Both children took a moment to nod, looking more surprised than mortified.

"I don't listen to them."

"I understand," all three repeated in unison.

"This, it may take some time to fully understand, but you must know, we will support each other, those of us here. We need not concern ourselves with the lives of those we do not care about. The Princess will sit on the throne and her children will sit on the throne. It is the King's will. It falls to us to do that duty."

"Good," said Aemond with his serious little face.

Alicent smiled, reached for the hands of the three and pressed them encouragingly.

"I trust you, I know in time you will understand better."

Aegon blinked and shifted uneasily in his chair, "trust," trust, a word that suddenly weighed on him. Like Aemond, he nodded a little more seriously than before.

Helaena, for her part, reciprocated his handshake and smiled brightly. It was one of the few times she had been able to see it in such a way, Alicent's gaze hoped would never have to see that smile disappear forever.

Alicent was not doing her duty, as a daughter. But she was doing her duty as a mother. That was what brought her peace after so many years.

She returned to her room when the dinner meal had settled, after planning the next day with her children. Massaged the small bulge in his belly button before climbing into bed, his spirits serene.

And meanwhile, outside, the sounds of the plains lulled her to sleep, as in the clear days of childhood: the strumming of the armour of the guards taking turns, the braying of the horses, the croaking of the toads in the contour pools, the persistent symphony of the savannah crickets and that deep silence, of infinite solitude.

The next opportunity he had to talk to Criston also presented him with options. He drove his knees into the stone when she gave him the choice of leaving or getting rid of the poison, or at least keeping it away from his children.

She was somewhat relieved when the knight promised to do his duty to protect her and her children, nothing more. He was perhaps the only one who would stand before them to cover the point of a sword. In her selfishness, she was relieved.

○○○

On his way to the council chamber, she came to the Throne Room. Alicent would never fail to be impressed, a huge, elongated room with a high ceiling, supported by mighty columns. It could easily accommodate up to a thousand people. Dragon skulls hung imposingly on the walls.

At the end of the hall, up a flight of steps, was the Iron Throne, an unusual structure created from several hundred swords. According to legend, they all belonged to the enemies of the first Targaryens, and the throne itself was welded together with the aid of dragonfire. Behind the throne, on the wall, was a large window, divided by stained glass into a circle with seven multi-coloured rays.

Taking advantage of a free moment, Alicent stopped near one of the columns and thought. The Iron Throne deserved a special mention. She had already studied this seemingly rather ordinary subject perfectly, but at the same time full of a strange mystical significance. And even managed to get close to it a couple of times. Here large-scale events took place, at which the king and the family were present. Such moments seem majestic... and incredibly tedious and boring. More so when the responsibility of organising such events falls on you.

Lately Viserys had barely been able to adjust, his backside and lower back beginning to ache, leading to a couple of days of rest. It was just a sign of the passage of time. The man was getting worse. His absence served to move between the thin nets that were intended to be placed over the fortress. But that did not make it easy, as she took a step other spaces appeared ahead and her apparent attempt to have some control over something was once again inconclusive.

Alicent stared distractedly at the tips of the swords protruding everywhere. Certainly approaching required a great deal of care. But it was something she rarely had to worry about. Viserys had grown accustomed to servants and maesters, Alicent did not argue with changing her mind, no matter how much the septas insisted that "their queen" see to it. Or Daemon's derogatory comments on her visits, comments she learned to ignore and he stopped trying to harm or humiliate her.

Things were complicated in terms of his relationship with Vicerys. But small changes made them, thankfully, into something of a business deal. It was easy for Alicent that way, and it helped her husband to "make up" for his lack, he favoured her by supporting her in some "minor" decisions that eventually became fruitful. Nor were her discussions alone with Lord Barburry limited to negotiating the cost of tournaments, charities, feasts, gifts, banquets. Viserys used his ability to negotiate with him to deal with things outside his own duties.

Sometimes the face we show to the world must be one of strength, despite the chaos beneath.

The king did not yet dare to ask her explicitly in council what her position was, if she would not give it, he would not refrain from asking her in the privacy of the chambers.

On the other hand, the throne itself stimulated unusual thoughts. It was amazing what crimes people were willing to commit just to sit in this place. Once it becomes your everyday reality it loses all the "magic" in it no matter how much attribution you want to add to it. Perhaps her thoughts were still rather strange, but who could blame her?

Ser Criston coughed softly to get her attention. Alicent turned and nodded towards Lord Larys. The master of whispers walked quietly, slowly due to his limp, as he approached his shuffling feet became more audible.

As always, one of his hands was helping himself with the cane to keep his balance, and his face was marked with a kind and understanding expression. Criston stepped aside quietly to make room.

"Your Grace," he said as he stopped in front of him and bowed.

"Lord Strong" Alicent replied with a nod.

She had long ago cut off his attempt to help, now, no more familiar or known than Lord Lannister, to whom Alicent had become something of a golden goose. That easy to propose when available. But that, that was another story.

Lord Strong, by his presence, immediately broke the feeling of regard that had managed to visit her in his contemplation. She was about to turn and offer to follow him out of the Council, but his words stopped her.

"Your Grace, may I ask permission to ask you a question?"

"Of course, Lord."

He showed some wariness, but continued to express his curiosity:

"I've always wondered what kings think about the Iron Throne."

Alicent nods, listened.

"Tell me, my queen, what thoughts visit you when you are near it, or, as you are now, in front of it? Consider it, if it is no trouble."

She thought. The question made her wary; somehow, she could not believe that this was all empty chatter. To answer or not to answer? And if she does answer, who should voice her thoughts, the Alicent who still pretends to silently play along with her father, or the Alicent who has been witnessing the talks at the council with increasing attention, subtly imposing her views on her husband, educating her children, and writhing some nights in her filth?

"Looking at it, I think of the power, and the responsibility that rests on those who rule the Seven Kingdoms." Still Alicent decided to play this game, and saw Lord Strong's smile as not so false as his modesty. It seemed to be exactly what he expected. "And about royal duty."

There was silence for a moment. Alicent also decided to probe the interlocutor:

"And what thoughts visit you, Lord Strong, when you look at the throne?"

"He constantly reminds me who I serve."

Alicent nodded, shortly after which he decided to move on, resuming his walk towards the council chamber.

○○○

There was a day when, ignoring all sense and reason, Alicent allowed himself to leave the comfort of silenced memories, seen only from a distance.

She set out for Viserys' room. Coming to the summons after a discussion, or rather her own monologue.

Rhaenyra had avoided her to perfection since the "training the children" episode and Alicent did his best to fulfil her intention. Which with each moon became a routine, to now be a reality.

She told no one when she left the King's chamber, allowed her guard to follow her when she reached that side of the fortress, with the iron hermeticism with which only later upon discovery would she apologise for such carelessness.

When she arrived, as expected, she was devoid of guards, of anyone, and it was an odd chance that courage would also accompany her. She stopped in front of the heart tree, which this time did not seem to show her judging eyes but complete indifference.

Alicent recited words in her mind that were once worth something, even if they were only innocent. Words that only they knew and that was for years the symbol of their childish, disgruntled complicity. Where she loved her as much as Rhaenyra did, but did not allow herself to be the same. As when that flutter threatened to appear, she would retreat, fleeing or covering his nervousness with witty laughter. Even if all that was later transformed by the complexities of adulthood. She allowed herself after a long time to feel him again as pure as once was.

She repeated the words, his chin bathed in tears, his eyes fixed so that they could see nothing but a blur, and with an insistence so intense that even the wind in the trees swirled, causing a great fall of leaves. And then, the thundering of hooves, the shouting of the crowd in the city, which gradually fell silent, and the words ended with a ghostly hush.

The girl did not make her footsteps recognisable as she stepped on the fallen leaves, no one appeared to cover her eyes or murmured an innocent joke in her ear. Nor did anyone peek behind the tree, not even the ghosts of the guards who always came trying to find her.

The act was an incantation of relief to Alicent Hightower, for as he wiped away his tears and steadied his chest, walked down the dimly lit corridor almost dead without looking back. She was no longer conscious of his absence, for was indeed long gone, and with the steely disposition that he would never see her again.

Chapter 22: Green

Chapter Text

Alicent, holding her newborn son in her arms, watched Daeron closely, taking in every detail of his tiny face. Surprise enveloped her, and her thoughts were interwoven with mixed emotions.

There was something different about Daeron, small and vibrant. His cry echoed loudly, filling the room with life. But it was his hair that left her in shock. It was like looking at herself in the reflection of motherhood. Those locks that were her trademark now adorned her son's head.

Guilt caressed her, had she passed on more than hair to Daeron? Had she inherited the shadow of her own darkness? But glee seeped through as well; that the child did not have full Targaryen features would anger his father, who had already begun to be the splinter in his eye.

Viserys acted more surprised, but not outraged, when he peered down to see the newcomer. Recognition flashed in his eyes as he noticed the familiar hair and features. The boy as well as the others, with the exception of Rhaenyra, had his father's green eyes. Alicent heard a few words of encouragement, some that were meant to be words of affection. She had not expected any more enthusiasm than she had before. Due to his rapid exhaustion, Viserys retired soon after. She only hoped he would at least remember the boy's name in the future.

When the siblings met Daeron, reactions were mixed. Helaena, delighted, spoke to him in complicated, sweet phrases, as if they had shared secrets from the beginning. Aemond, excited, remarked on the resemblance between him and his mother, enjoying the ease with which he could make him laugh. Meanwhile, Aegon, who had already seen child after child appear, after initial curiosity, withdrew in pursuit of his own business.

Daeron's first onomastic was marked by an unusual gift that arrived from Antigua. The egg captured little Daeron's attention from the moment it was presented. A murmur of excitement filled the room as his mother cradled him in her arms, showing him the gift that awaited him.

Alicent watched curiously as Daeron, eyes full of wonder, stretched out his small hands towards the egg. The maester present hinted that the egg's matte metallic blue colour might mean that the dragon would be one too.

As the days passed, Daeron spent more and more time with his peculiar gift. He noticed that the egg grew warmer as he held it.

When Daeron's second name day arrived, the tension in the room was palpable. The egg, which had witnessed a full year of laughter and play, finally hatched. Alicent, with a knot in his stomach, saw that the maester was right: the newborn dragon had deep blue scales.

Surprise and fear mingled in Alicent's eyes as she watched. How to interpret this - was it a blessing or a curse that another part of herself was destined to love that colour?

Alicent feared Aemond's reaction, thinking that the dragon's arrival might stir jealousy in the boy's heart. To his surprise, however, Aemond showed no resentment; instead, he seemed relieved.

Alicent sensed that his son had already heard some rumours. Her relief did not imply that he necessarily believed it, but that others stopped believing it. She wasn't worried; there had been a time when doubting her children's legitimacy would have been torture. But now she knew that the gods and Viserys were witnesses to the truth, and that brought her a comfort that no malicious insinuation could disturb.

○

128AC

Daeron's second onomastic also brought a visit from his father, Otto Hightower. He was allowed to visit the landing but would return with the whole family to Antigua. After so many years Alicent expected words of comfort or a loving smile, but he knew that was not how it worked with him. Instead, he received a gesture of acknowledgement and the simple affirmation that the dragon had found a suitable home.

It was not until the next day after the sun had already set that her father had time to see her in private. Once the King had spoken to him and soon it would be his turn.

Standing in her own room, looking at nothing in particular, something to her left caught her attention. The flames of the candles created moving shadows on the walls and Alicent thought she saw a black cloak, skittering in the shadows, waiting for something...

She was snapped out of that distraction when heard the knock on the door, then saw it open. Though she knew it would not prevent the encounter, it was a surprise.

"Father, what are you doing here?" asked Alicent in confusion as she turned to face her father.

"Am I not the one who should be asking the questions, what are you doing, Alicent?"

"Waiting for the King's call" she replied with a forced smile.

"Yes, I know, "he said with a look of annoyance in his eyes. "But you know well that's not what I mean. What are you doing with your children, with the King, what are you doing other than doing nothing? Did you think you would keep everything a secret? Do you think I didn't know before?"

Alicent felt herself tense at hearing that, but tried to remain calm as she answered:

"Well, you know that. I am simply obeying the King's wish. The children, they are children, I don't think it's time to talk about their marriage yet. There is time for that. The king does not care for such small matters."

"Then also know what you must do," her father admonished firmly as he approached her.

"Must I?" asked Alicent with a raised eyebrow, not quite sure what he meant.

"Yes" Otto replied, gripping her shoulder firmly. "Daeron, he is a horseman, I can see he is keen, with the right instruction he will be as bright as his brothers if not brighter. I can see the King does not mind your failure to give him a pure Targaryen. In Antigua serving as squire to Lord Ormund Hightower-"

"No," Alicent replied with a steady gaze.

She would not send her son so far away, ever. Not when the boy knew no lack of affection, no lack of loneliness, no lack of love. It has made him smiling, even since he learned to walk he differentiates very early what is right or wrong, it is sweet, sweet as fresh spring water. He is curious to his sister's pastime, amuses himself by fooling around with Aegon as he talks and imitates dragon roars, and can fall asleep on Aemond's lap as he reads him a story. She could not live a day without hearing that loving "mother" as he stretches out his hands for her to take him in her arms. And all for what? To be prepared as a sword blade for his family. For his father.

"Daeron is the fourth child, it's far from following such high expectations of anyone. But don't worry, I'll see to it he's a great knight."

"No, father."

His father let go of his shoulders but didn't pull away.

"You and your stupid wounded pride. Don't you realise, it's the honour of our people, the honour of our house?"

Alicent tasted the hatred in his father's eyes. Then he continued, as if recounting something boring.

"I don't remember, in all these years, putting us in a place where we can come to an agreement. Nor do I remember in all these years receiving a word of encouragement from you, or even a pat on the shoulder" she sighed, remembering all the times she had longed for this man's approval and affection. And where was it leading her, how will it continue if it goes on like this...?

"Is that why? You blame me for not being a loving father," Otto replied, his voice full of mockery.

But Alicent, far from looking for pity or his apologies, simply shook his head.

"No, not anymore. I've already killed someone for you, and I'm not willing to do it again."

The man was silent, taken aback by his daughter's words.

"Kill, what ridiculous things are you saying, Alicent? Who? The only thing I've ever asked for-”

"Me," Alicent replied, in a barely audible whisper interrupting him. "With my own hands, and not for that you loved me more. It is already a miracle of the seven to have given birth to four healthy children, and to have borne it alone.... " her voice was hoarse, full of joy and sadness at the same time". Isn't that what you expected from me all along? You should be more concerned about what goes on behind closed doors with An-" but before she could continue her father jumped on her, squeezing her neck tightly.

"Shut your mouth," her Otto growled angrily, "You have no idea what you're talking about. Your uncle is a great man and deserves respect. If it wasn't for him sending that gift for your precious son, people all over the kingdom would still be talking about your supposed infidelity."

Alicent tried to free himself from his father's grip, but it was too strong. She looked up noticing the shadows growing larger and larger, she can almost see the tiny specks of stars in the shadows....

"Let me go right now!" she demanded through her teeth, not losing the firmness in her poor voice.

Something draws her into her father's belt, makes her stand up straight and take a step towards him, she almost feels bigger and though Otto ignored it the first time, she can't ignore it again when his own dagger was plunging into her neck.

"Let me go."

The words are not shouted but they echo in the room, a power fills it and stalks his father. She is at the top of the realm. Even if she has kept him controlled and silent most of the time, those traces of power, anger and pain in his soul would never come off. What was her father against this woman? He thinks he knows her, but in reality, he never did.

Her father's eyelids trembled, she could even feel the grip on her neck give way.

Suddenly, the door of the room opening caught both of their attention. It was Ser Criston, apparently in the scuffle they had inadvertently thrown some things on the table, neither heard the knock.

Alicent averted her gaze to the other, breathing hard forcing her own body to quiet down as it demanded Otto's head. She felt exhausted as her father removed his hands from her neck, while she reached down with the dagger still gripped tightly.

When Alicent looked up trying to catch her breath, the shadows shrunk, she could almost see a kind face with one eye smiling at her.

Ser Criston was frowning still concentrating his attention on Otto, one hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes darting from side to side. If Alicent had his say, she was sure, if he didn't need her approval, Criston would have her father's head on the floor by now.

"My queen?" asked Ser Criston finally with a stern look.

"Since when do guards interrupt without permission?" said Otto straightening his tunic.

Criston tuned him out, not moving an inch. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Alicent turned to him.

"I must go to the King," Alicent says, regaining his usual attitude. His voice sounds strained, she coughs a couple of times to clear his throat. She straightens up, wanting to continue. "Ser Criston, escort my father down the hall..."

Criston nods, straightening at the door. Otto, though obviously displeased, raised the dagger on the table, then retreated under the knight's watchful and menacing gaze.

Criston asked to enter again after his father had left the hall. Alicent, who had taken a seat on a couch, gave a slight sigh before replying that she was fine, if a little frustrated that she had let herself get carried away. Criston, standing a few paces away from her, nodded sympathetically.

The bruises on her neck might get worse, but Alicent didn't think it was serious enough to call a maester. His voice had not recovered but as he was accustomed to speaking softly she did not demand too much of her.

"None of this happened, Ser, understood?"

"Understood, Your Grace.”

○

How is it possible to look at someone you used to think you knew perfectly and see a complete stranger? Perhaps it is not the person who has changed, but you yourself, perhaps you have always been like this.

Would you dare to honestly assess yourself and notice how much you have changed? How much have the little lines between your eyebrows changed until they now look like a set expression, the scars on the cuticles of your fingers that have enraged the skin, her stealthy steps as she walks alone through the castle, the panic and fear skillfully hidden behind an iron mask?

The two were pinned face to face, hurling silent daggers of doom at each other with the precision of skilled assassins. Despite this, Alicent opted for stubborn silence, reminding himself again that duty demanded it. She sheltered once more under the cloak of duty and affection.

"Our purposes were never the same," she told him, perplexing him for a long time. "I see that now. Rather, I have been a piece you moved around the board. I wanted what you imposed on me to want. But now, I am beholden to the King," Alicent insists.

"To the King? Or your childhood companion?" Otto practically sneers. "You take after your mother in some ways."

Those last words were spoken with violence and anger, but Alicent didn't think there was anything wrong.

Alicent looks at him, refusing to look away.

"I've lived longer than she has now."

That discussion was not as peaceful as he would have liked. She didn't kowtow to him, and that might have enraged him more. And he could see why, the man was so close to achieving what for years he had planned, and her concern or "revelation" about not wanting bloodshed was nothing more than a hindrance. It was not yet too late for the innocent to repent, Alicent believed she had a chance to prevent more tragic things from happening.

It was too late for her, the bitterness, the pain she had lived with, was there. A man had been thrust upon her as a duty of loyalty since she was a child. Perhaps that was the true punishment of the gods.

Her children and she were perfectly fitted into her father's chessboard. But at that moment, the little stone piece, walked a few steps outside, away from her square, away from her hands, turned to see him, and refused to play.

Chapter 23: Green

Chapter Text

Days earlier.

"It is too early and too dangerous".

"The right time is passing and there is less danger than in the future. I have long heard that you are a cautious man, Lord Strong," Otto decided his time had come. "Are you really waiting for the moment when the bastard children's dragons grow up and your brother gathers the strength necessary for your father to give him his rightful place?"

Larys' eyes widened for a moment; that was all the emotion he showed. But Otto was a very observant person and he noticed. There was silence in the room. Otto did not continue his thought and threaten to blackmail him: he was too smart for that. And he understood that Larys was excellent at catching the unspoken.

"Do you have a plan, my lord? "Larys finally parted his lips. This question sounded like capitulation.

"Yes. "Otto could barely contain his smile.

"I'm listening."

"I'm sure if anything happens to Alicent, it will be a blow to the alliance the King intends, it's the only way."

"The Queen has become very careful. She has certainly not revealed her position," Larys pointed out.

"She has done so long ago. I know my daughter. I recognise her guts, but her stupidity will destroy us all. I've come up with a way," Otto replied with a smile. After waiting for his interlocutor to nod, he continued. "Many years ago, the late King Jaehaerys, in one of his ramblings, told me that the whole of Castle Rouge is full of secret passages and through them any room can be accessed. Including the king's chambers."

"I assume she told the queen about this?" asked Varys.

"Of course not! And I don't think you haven't heard about it."

"I hope you will be wise enough not to spread this knowledge."

"Only those who should know about it know about it," Otto said sternly. "I don't need a secret from you about how to get into this room or that room. I only know that it is possible. I need from you a person who will bring the poison into Alicent-'s room."

"Murdering relatives is..."

"It has existed for a purpose. I gave up on my son when she showed some quality or other. She failed. But she has left good tools that with the right institution will bear fruit. It is not only I who am attentive to her actions."

"That is very, very dangerous."

"Pick the right person and then get rid of him. No one knows anything about the passages; you'll be above suspicion. Something as simple as waiting until such time as there is no one left in the quarters. Your man will sneak in and add poison to the jug of wine."

"What to do if the jug of wine is not in the queen's chambers?"

"Your man will carry such a jug and simply put it on the table."

"You are a treacherous person. What if it is not she who is poisoned, but her servant, or someone else?"

"Let the children be distracted that day."

"Poison is needed."

"Naturally." Otto allowed himself a smile and pulled a small vial of liquid from his pocket. "Your eyes are not the only ones in the fortress. I have followed my daughter's footsteps closely. Our last talk was her last chance."

"What is this?"

" 'Shadow of the night'. My servant stole it from Grand Maester Orwyle's supplies."

"Has he managed to do this yet?"

"Yes. Let the old man be nervous when all is revealed. And your man, after committing the deed, must lose this bottle in the maester's chambers. It will be fun when it is discovered."

Now that the initial delight had subsided somewhat, Otto no longer liked that his interlocutor would so readily resign his post and agree to murder. This seemed suspicious and the former hand felt uneasy.

"It is unlikely that a bottle of poison will ever affect their brains."

"Let them search. You and I will help them very carefully to create a guilt. The teacher certainly doesn't answer to her, he answers to the King. Children of themselves are not attached to their father."

"Are you not afraid?"

"Of whom?"

"Princess Rhaenyra is clever and perceptive. The queen that was not, Prince Daemon though a violent one, is not much inferior to them. While Queen Alicent's status may matter little to them, the fate of the princes may not. And who would be interested in charting them.”

"They won't know the truth," Otto replied confidently. "It is no accident that I have been pressing all these days about Daeron. I really care very little about him. I'm just a grandfather concerned about his grandson's future. One of these days they will have to leave for the birth of Princess Rhaenyra. Which will surely be no different than the previous ones. Logically, I cannot bear to poison Alicent now. I will leave soon, conditions after her journey will be optimal."

"You have protected yourself well. But you forget that they will ask questions of the master of whispers. And I will have to give them something."

"You can give them what they want to hear," Otto replied and went on to describe his plan.

Otto talked about how Daemon could be framed, and with it all those he protects, how suspicions could be transferred to the queen's maids. Who does not know that they are actually under the command of the rogue prince. Alicent's death is not an end, it is a means. And Otto knew very well how to create loopholes, how subtle and well-crafted words provide a delicious poison. He could do it slowly or violently.

Larys listened very carefully. Looking into his eyes and observing the soft, pale hands resting quietly on the table, Hightower remained on guard. His interlocutor's appearance did not deceive him. One of the ex-hand's many talents was that he could see what others simply did not notice. And now he clearly understood that behind the polite manners, the calm speech, the friendly smile and the imposing body was one of the most dangerous people he had ever met.

With a sixth sense, Larys understood how cunning, ambitious and even deadly the man sitting in front of him was. And he still couldn't quite grasp his train of thought and figure out who exactly he reminded him of.

○○○

The ship carrying Alicent and Viserys docked at Dragonstone just as Rhaenyra went into labour, ahead of the arrival of the "family". The child was born without complications, a blessing that calmed the fears that had plagued Viserys during the voyage.

The next day, Viserys, accompanied by Alicent, made their way to Rhaenyra and Laenor's chambers to meet the newborn.

In front of the cradle, Alicent cast a meaningful glance at Viserys, who was beaming with joy. He, too, was aware of that look.

"Do you remember the story of my mare?"

Alicent looked away from him to the cot, afraid to let out an exasperated snort.

"The black mare?" she finally asked. Alicent leaned lightly against the cradle and turned his gaze back to him with a wry tone. "How likely is it that the mare will escape and the same thing will happen every time?"asked, mumbling a few words between his teeth.

Viserys, without losing his smile, replied, "Nature is a thing of mysterious works."

Alicent was speechless, with a blank expression, restraining himself from just rolling his eyes this time. Laenor and Rhaenyra watched in confusion, but whatever the story was about it was clear that it had upset the queen. Uncomfortable, Alicent stepped away and asked Laenor for a glass of wine.

Alicent had taken a close look at the repeating familiar features. She saw what she needed to see. Those same features that reminded her of the ones before. Though his countenance wore a seemingly modest smile, inside, Alicent was in a storm of emotions.

His father's recent fight, where she had sided with Rhaenyra, echoed in his mind. Yet there she was, in his 'stepdaughter's' chambers, bringing another unruly child into the world. Discomfort built up in her, like a shadow she could not shake off.

The thought of giving birth to another illegitimate child in the midst of political complexities and family tensions bothered her to no end. She couldn't help but wonder if her role in this intricate web of rivalries and loyalties made any sense.

Not to mention those who would not support a woman's assumption of the throne, many believing that with dragons, lords do not matter, forgetting Jacaerys who only a few decades ago called the council to decide his heir. The children might have Rhaenyra's blood, they might be recognised by Laenor, but in the Seven Kingdoms the blood children of marriage are favoured, unless you are of another religion, but what do you give in return to please them?

The lords had many bastards, all of them, Lord Lannister has a favourite even, public knowledge. Yet who is he and who is the heiress? These men love the hypocrisy... One son after another. The common people can ignore it, not so the heir sons of the lords, or their mothers and wives.

The temptation to send the whole thing to the seven hells overcame her, but she restrained herself for the sake of her children. The weight of neutrality and her role in this game weighed her down. And as Viserys held the newest member of the family, Alicent wondered how much more she would have to sacrifice for the sake of loyalty, and now survival.

Survival, yes. It was several days before the bruise on his neck was no longer visible. Now, whenever she was uncomfortable, she touched her neck, as if the hand could still choke her and break it with a little more will. She was doing so when Viserys approached with the child to carry it.

Alicent took another long look at the newborn, she handed him over to a wet nurse before the feeling of loathing came over her. It was not against the child, who would not even open his eyes, but against the situation itself. And to have Rhaenyra so close again was too much....

The melancholy, youthful state he left her in at every encounter sickened her. It shamed her. Shame to the core, the kind that becomes part of your flesh. After all these years, Rhaenyra could still play her. Alicent had resigned herself to the fact that with her the looks weren't just looks, but inspections from one side and the other. She has changed, she has grown. Rhaenyra looks gentler, warmer and more affectionate. Instead, she herself looks like freshly sanded wood. Or at least she prepared herself to look that way. Inside she was no different from those forgotten statues in ancient temples.

Surely Rhaenyra knows what she thinks because of her situation, surely. What does it matter? said Alicent to himself.

The King, of course, will avoid the subject. He flatters and caters to his daughter's graces, offering soft smiles and words of praise.

"He will be a fearsome knight," the king proclaims with a hint of pride in his voice, as if in uttering those words he intends to seal the newborn's fate.

Rhaenyra, however, is grateful for his affection. Despite her adult ways, her face bears the imprint of the child that still resides within her, the child who remains the King's most beloved daughter. The delight of the realm. The only one who is.

Alicent can only look and nod. It was another day of outward smiles and inward shouts.

He had better be fearsome, she muses. His older brother will need to surround himself with men like that.

Chapter 24: Green

Chapter Text

In DragonStone's chambers, the faint light of day illuminates the scene as Alicent watches Daeron, amused by wooden figures, oblivious to the complexities unfolding around him. Young Helaena, on the other hand, was immersed in her own world of riddles and rhymes, intent on continuing to create drawings of insects in her picture book. The atmosphere is permeated by Daeron's babbling and the soft buzzing of the insects his sister had collected over the three days.

Alicent, sitting in the corner of the room, watches with curiosity and puzzlement the animated expressions of her daughter, who seems intent on sharing her thoughts through intricate riddles.

"In the dance of shadows, intertwined arms unravel and rise like blades of steel. A cut in the fabric of time, the mark designated for one will be snatched away by another. But if the eye bleeds and the stars fall, the truth will be revealed in the eternal dance".

Yet the queen has learned to accept the impenetrability of his words. As Daeron plays with the wooden figures, Helaena approaches her mother, wary and observant. It is not the first time she has done so; the last few days she has been particularly prone to this tendency. She notices his gaze fixed on her arms and the analytical inspection of her gestures. Alicent, though indifferent to the subtleties of their peculiar communication, seeks to provide adequate space for the young woman to pursue her own activities. There is no discomfort in his heart, only a serene acceptance of the connection with his daughter, each in her own world sharing the same space.

The calm atmosphere persists until a guard bursts in to tell Alicent that the children have become embroiled in a fight, triggered by an unusual situation: a pig and Aegon's witticisms about putting fake wings on it. The tension grows when the Velaryon children take Aemond so that he can finally ride a "dragon", but his reaction is one of uncontrollable rage. He hits everyone in his path with whatever is at hand, venting his annoyance. Aemond, frustrated and enraged, chases Aegon with a piece of wood until he tires himself out, then retreats to his chambers without coming out again.

Alicent, worried as she finishes hearing the whole story, sends Criston to watch and handle the situation carefully, making sure Aemond does not do anything foolish.

Meanwhile, she decides to confront Viserys in his chambers about the incident, requesting that he speak to Aegon and stop his reckless banter.

Alicent recalls the nightmares, the boy with half his face bruised, announcing that he had a dragon in position, roaring in the distance.

However, when she shares his request, Viserys insists that it is mere child's play. When he begins to want to reminisce anecdotes of his own youth with Daemon, she feels the beast in her gut, can feel it scraping her ribs, her fingertips. How much more will she hear? Another time she would have sought Viserys out more compassionately, more patiently. But these were certainly not days that would allow Alicent to resort to such a role. All his patience was left in the Princess's chambers on the second day.

Alicent, enraged, slams her clean palm on the table stopping Viserys' monologue. Standing, leaning on the table and glaring at him, she says:

"It is not! It is not when your son suffers, Viserys. Show him the way, Aegon will soon be a man. Is that so hard...?"

'That you act like his father?' Alicent clenches his jaw, not letting his anger spread any further.

Unable to bear Viserys' surprised look any longer, she heads for the exit. Opening the door, Alicent finds what appears to be Rhaenyra, also waiting to speak with the king. In his state, Alicent barely recognises the blurred figure with silver hair and blue eyes. Helplessness and anger are consciously expressed, but perhaps resentment, with a sense of abandonment hanging from a tear that threatens to escape from the corner of his eye.

She ignores Viserys' call behind her and withdraws to address the situation on Aemond's side.

Once Aemond allows him to enter his room. Alicent stands in front of him, patient, until the boy looks up and loses his embarrassment. It doesn't take her long. Aemond tries to act strong, appearing indifferent to what has happened and contemptuous of his brother and the Velaryon children, calling them uneducated savages and lawless Dothrakis. Alicent does not force him to confess his true feelings, knowing that he will share his pain when he is ready.

But this time he stays encapsulated for longer, finally, to Alicent's reassurance, Helaena arrives in the room and proposes to stay with her brother. Alicent is not surprised, knowing how close they are. As she leaves the room, she assigns Criston again to keep a close eye on the children, even though he seems to want to debate her order, Alicent tells her that he is the only one he trusts to look after them and hoped he would not have any more nagging until they leave the island.

On the way to his quarters, one of the nursery nurses catches up with Alicent at a trot, informing her that Daeron has been crying since she left. Arriving with him, Alicent finds the child crying inconsolably.

Alicent holds him, wiping away his tears, stroking his little back and whispering words of comfort. After some teasing, she manages to get a small laugh out of him, momentarily forgetting the previous discomfort as well.

Daeron's dragon, big enough to be in a cage, doesn't understand why he can't enter the rooms without causing havoc and scaring the wet nurses. He was the only dragon of his children who was in disembarkation. The boy, sensing the remoteness with him, clings to Alicent for comfort.

As she embraces the calmed child, the wet nurse announces Rhaenyra's presence at the door. Alicent, though somewhat surprised to see her there, merely raises an eyebrow and greets her by calling her "Princess".

Rhaenyra takes a moment to speak, after Alicent calls out to her a second time, she blinks a couple of times, straightens up and presses her palms together on her abdomen. Rhaenyra reciprocates his greeting, and without much ceremony, she earnestly apologises for what happened to her children and promises that it will not happen again. And she had even sent them to apologise to Aemond.

As much as Alicent might have wished to be angry, Rhaenyra's look and sincere apology leaves her at a loss for words, she nods without expressing much. Or perhaps the anger lay elsewhere. I couldn't blame her for what her children do when hers was the main one involved.

In turn, Daeron cranes his neck to watch the visitor curiously. Rhaenyra approaches to greet him with a friendly smile. The last time she had seen him was shortly after his birth. The boy had grown and was beginning to have more and more of his mother's features in his youth; round, boyish face, tender pink cheeks, freckles on his nose, darker copper hair, and large green eyes.

"He is beautiful," the princess whispers, in a tone Alicent has not heard in a long time, forcing her to look away momentarily.

"I would allow you to carry him, Princess, but the boy is somewhat sensitive these days, being away from his dragon," Alicent explained, turning his gaze back to her. It seemed fitting, after Rhaenyra's apologies, to attempt an excuse for small talk.

Rhaenyra understands, having experienced something similar with her own children.

"They grow up so fast. They're like spring buds, but with flames and a good dose of stubbornness," she says with a smile.

"Yes, especially when insists on mistaking the wet nurses for goats..."

Alicent smiles, then purses his lips as he recalls the chaos of that day. Although it didn't happen again, because of the girls' fright, she had to reorganise a whole new group for Daeron.

She doesn't even notice the small giggle that escapes her lips, finding one in front of her as well. That's when she realises, it was the first time in over ten years that they've shared a sincere smile and words that weren't painfully calculated.

And that is when Rhaenyra's hand rises in the air, but she does not approach, hesitates and pulls back, takes a step back, tidies her dress, and subtly looks around.

Alicent follows her gaze to the side, finding the wet nurse somewhat surprised by the interaction, the woman looked away quickly when she was discovered. She was about to dismiss Rhaenyra but found herself at a loss for words again.

Was she missing something? She didn't understand, the scrutiny and curiosity in his eyes. That way he had of looking at her. Alicent narrowed his eyes slightly.

'Yes, anything else?'

She had even tried not to look uncomfortable when Rhaenyra complimented her as well, but it was so unexpected. Alicent opened her lips slightly to let her voice come on its own, to no avail. Rhaenyra seemed to see right through her. She hadn't missed his small smile when she apologised again. Or the way she had said "my queen", as if that made everything alright. But, oh, did she love the way he'd said it? Of course she did.

When the Princess left, Alicent let out an exasperated snort. Intriguing woman. Then she turned to cradle Daeron.

It wasn't long before news reached her that the King had summoned Aegon. Alicent did not ask about the details, but his son returns to dinner embarrassed, head down and somewhat wary. However, Alicent did not miss some of his smiles when he was distracted at the table.

Chapter 25: Green

Chapter Text

Back in King's Landing, amidst the grandeur of the royal chambers, Alicent, of course, did not let the pending convention go as Viserys would have wished. She plunged into serious conversation with him. And of course, Viserys continued to ignore the matter. Was she the only one who realised the danger? Not that she was worried about these children she barely knew, she was worried about the consequences of her own being drawn into a conflict that was none of their business.

It was the growing resemblance between the children and Harwin Strong. Not only that, they would eventually leave the safety of the island to return to Landing, where they would have eyes on every corner. A dragon could not spread its wings to protect all mortal ground.

Her unease grew as she considered Daemon, a decade absent from the capital, now with a possible male offspring, only complicated the situation. She made no secret of her dislike for the man, a mutual feeling that had carried over from her youth. Whether or not her beloved first son would bow to Rhaenyra's children added layers of conflict to the already complex family dynamic.

Viserys, distant and aloof, did nothing to foster affection within the family, with Alicent and his sons practically a group apart in that intricate scenario.

Alicent left without a clear answer from Viserys, she paced the corridors until finally the tension left her, whether from exhaustion or annoyance. It seemed to come down to praying that the boy would be a strong and just ruler, that Rhaenyra's reign would be so good that those lords, after a bad harvest, drought, taxes, or a stub of her immaculate toe, would have no room to bring rebellion or worse, try to drag their children or offspring into it.

She knew these gentlemen, over the years, she knew most of them, she has chatted or heard of them all. Her view of the world until then was very small, then how horrified she was to discover that most of them were not much different from her father or her uncle.

The king had no friends, his court is full of sycophants. Friendship does not exist. Only loyalty. A rather fragile word these days.

○

His conversation with Viserys quickly attracted some flies and, consequences. Taking the opportunity to strike the iron hard while it was hot, these consequences sat on a chair in the next room as he returned to his chambers. Being announced earlier by one of his maids to receive audience.

Indeed if Alicent had not been paying so much attention to polite vocabulary, she would have shouted out mercilessly: "Ah, what a timely man".

Larys sat in a chair leaning against his cane, fingers interlocked on the handle. He smiled faintly and watched her next actions with interest, she stood in the doorway.

Criston, seeing the unexpected guest, followed close behind.

"Wait behind the door, Ser Criston."

Criston, cast a scrutinizing glance at the place, finally walking out the door not taking his eyes off Larys, who paid him no attention at any point.

Alicent walked towards the liquor table, turning his back to Larys, but following her actions in the reflection in the window. Pretending to simply pour herself a glass of wine. Still silent, she turned around and sat down in the chair across from the uninvited guest.

"Lord Strong. I did not expect to see you so late. What brings you here?"

"My queen, first of all I apologise for the intrusion, but this is the best way to go unnoticed. Our objective brought me to you."

"Objective? And what objective might you and I have?"

"A strong kingdom. Both you and I strive for it. You see, I have been paying attention to your side. It is impossible not to notice when you seem to be the only one to notice, or not feign, the existence of my family's transgression ."

Alicent nodded, opening his eyes slightly. Understanding where the conversation was going. She Folded her hand to allow him to continue.

"I suppose you are wondering why the King does not act in such a circ*mstance. My father, you cannot give impartial council to the King."

Alicent relaxed in his chair. Then she took his sip of his wine, calculating what to say.

"Being who you are, I am surprised you are not unaware of the fact, Lord. Considering that if the king decides to act, your family will be in for a severe setback."

"I serve the king, and nothing but the king, my queen. However, I must admit that I agree with your caution."

"Oh?"

"Don't be surprised, as master of whispers I am privy to much of what goes on in the kingdom, and in the fortress. I must say bravo, you described future events very accurately. This is exactly where it's all going, you can believe me."

"So..."

"I seek only your friendship, your grace. I, like you, benefit from a strong kingdom. And a wise King."

Alicent watched him for a moment in silence. Friendship? Her? Sensible king? Did he think she was twelve? Flowery words, words that at another time, a few years ago, would have made her feel flattered to be considered, and that somehow a council member might value her position was enough to keep her firm in her conviction. But now...

Larys shook her head gently, putting on a gentle smile, she said:

"It is now that the king needs his father's word. Otto Hightower would not hesitate to tell the king the truth."

Alicent shifted in his chair, either to settle himself, or to hide his discomfort that the talk had led to his father. Of course, he would have tried to pull strings on the king's side, and his own. Having him there would make many matters easier for him, and greatly complicate others. Alicent is not privy to the relationship between Larys and her father, but already being a silent family arrangement, Alicent could not pretend that their relationship was practically on a subsoil. She had to agree.

"Certainly, however -"

"However, he would not be partial to you, your grace."

"No. In fact, partial enough."

"It's always good to have people on our side around."

Alicent nodded somewhat distractedly.

After Larys left, Alicent leaned his back against the chair and exhaled. The game was becoming increasingly dangerous. Now members of the council intended to ally themselves with her? Ally themselves with what? Her father's cause was no longer her cause, there was nothing but peace to offer on her side. While she understood the concern Larys Strong might have, she was in no position to accept their "friendship". It was not lost on Alicent that these were nothing more than plans, surely to protect himself from the potential conflict of his family. It was not the only thing he let slip before his eyes. Now it seemed no accident that he was present shortly after the conversation with Viserys.

In the morning, Talya reveals to the queen, over breakfast, that Ser Harwin was quietly dismissed and that her father accompanied him to his family seat at Harenhall. Alicent takes it with surprise, ignoring all the questions that were swirling around in his mind.

○○○

A couple of days passed, and if her previous talk with Larys Strong hadn't left her in a complicated position, the next one came to change everything forever. And not for the better.

The sun of King's Landing sets in the east while the flames of Harrenhall cease in the north. Larys, soft-spoken but laden with malice, explains the details of his stratagem, as the blood on the circumference seems to stain his irises. His attempt at a smile becomes unsettling, creating deep cracks in his face that reflect the dark nature of his intentions.

He does not notice her discomfort, or perhaps he does and savours the feeling of authority over her. He freely fixes his restless gaze on hers.

Alicent tries not to allow her the satisfaction of realising her inner turmoil and his need for her recognition. Instead, she avoids his intrusive glances and unseemly comments. She settles into the chair and does not receive the glass of wine, but he does not waste it and raises it to his lips.

Princess Rhaenyra had once said that men only drank wine to make them feel brave and strong, but Alicent didn't think they did. At least not with her. In truth, it only made the stomach more bitter, filling it with bubbles that covered perhaps fear or weakness.

A few years ago, when Viserys still tried to bed Alicent from time to time, she drank dornish red until her face flushed and her head grew numb with the longings of life. All desires died once her husband settled on top of her.

"Harrenhall is said to be a cursed place," Larys says, leaning on her wooden staff. "That it judges all who pass beneath its gates."

She shakes her head, brings her hand to her neck instinctively and stands, as if seeking relief from the movement

"You passed judgement" Alicent turns to face him.

"The Queen makes a wish, what servant of the realm would not strive to fulfil it? It is a good time to have someone on her side again, your grace."

A heaviness settles in his chest once more, but Larys only smiles, knowingly and mischievously. He does not advise, he commands. Can she walk out of here and convince Viserys that he is not responsible for what happened? How hidden is Larys Strong's hand throughout the realm? Who is with him? And who can stand on his side to defend his word? Even if the king pardons her and it only spreads as a rumour, Rhaenyra, she....

'Morality is only the attitude we take towards people we personally dislike,' her father had said.

Larys, undeterred, watches Alicent's every gesture as if he were enjoying a game in which only he knew the rules. She straightens her posture and removes her hand from his neck. She makes a terrible effort to seek some comfort in her fingernails. The queen's cautious mask turns into a bold gesture as she sizes up the man who tries to hide his smile.

"I have asked nothing of you, sir. Someone? At this point I suspect you should be no less forthright. I haven't seen my father more than once in ten years, we've barely exchanged letters. Whatever concerns you, both of you, I will not be drawn into it."

"My queen?"

"You understand that hiding it makes me an accomplice. And to drag my father down is to drag my family down. Lord Strong, you will also understand that in this world, at this moment, you are the last person I have to thank for anything?" adds Alicent, weighing every word, between his teeth.

"Yes, your grace, I believed-"

"You shouldn't believe what your queen thinks, Lord, let alone act on it," she interrupts. The room seems to shrink into silence as the two engage in a game of wills.

Larys' response is barely a whisper: "Reality can be as malleable as perception, my queen. Do not underestimate the power of collaboration".

Alicent, showing no weakness, holds her gaze.

"You may stand down."

Larys, bowing slightly, picks up her staff and stands, as if the confrontation had been just one step in her intricate dance of influence.

Chapter 26: Green

Chapter Text

The dim light of her chambers illuminates Alicent as she faces the dark reality of what happened in her son's room the night before. The trembling little maiden had been brought shortly before dawn, accompanied by the lairs before Alicent. After giving her testimony, she follows Talya, who guides her down the corridor, relieving her of any guilt and responsibility.

Alicent dons only a dressing gown, leaving her quarters shortly after to go to her eldest son's. She finds him sleeping among the sleeping chambers of his eldest son. She finds him sleeping among the disheveled sheets. His head had already been bandaged and there was no trace of pain on his face.

With a mixture of chagrin and resignation, she clears the covers and forces him to his feet. Aegon, staggering and dazed, barely manages to cover himself at her command, while his mother watches with a coldness that cuts deeper than cold steel.

"What happened last night, Aegon?"

Aegon, still confused, holds his brow and shakes his head and mumbles empty words about his revelry with the young Lords, end of tournament, alcohol. And of course, he doesn't say it but Alicent knows what women, whor*s.

The queen mother, without hesitation, approaches and grabs his jaw, forcing him to face her. He repeats his lack of recollection.

With a gesture of refusal, she releases him and scans the room. Focusing on the bed just abandoned by her son, she closes her eyes as if to block out a sickening image that came to her mind.She throws a sheet in front of Aegon with revulsion, the object seeking to give him away incontestably.

"A maid, a child, nearly broke your head. All for defending herself from your-" Alicent chews on the bitter words, "defending herself from losing her virtue." Alicent regards Aegon coolly, the trace of disappointment marring his countenance. "You stain our family's honour with your shameful actions," she mutters in an icy voice.

Aegon, stunned and his conscience clouded, can scarcely comprehend the magnitude of her actions. Is she not just a maid? Her head was covered with bandages and it hurt like hell with the word face. He denies once more in the face of the mute accusation, with no words to defend himself. It is the first time Aegon has faced true anger in his mother's eyes. One he had been wary of all his life.

Aegon's eyes, now teary, search for answers that his confused mind cannot fully provide. In the disillusionment-laden silence, he feels the weight of his own shame looming over him.

Alicent steps closer and leans towards him to take his shoulders, a young man who was already practically his height.

"And I will not tolerate you bringing dishonour to your lineage, to your brothers and sister. You were given the freedom not to bear the burden of the realm, to meet with these Lords at your pleasure and pleasure, and what is the result? What?"

"No - it will not happen again Mother."

"Of course not! You're not a boy anymore, Aegon, you're practically a man. And any man who neglects his conscience is an animal. A dangerous animal. You will never return to this fortress drunk again, nor ride your dragon in such a condition lest you cause yourself a foolish death. Is that clear to you?"

"Yes mother."

"Look at me."

"Yes, mother," Aegon blinks at her, trying to hold her gaze.

Alicent was trying to suck as much air as possible into his lungs, hold it, relaxing his nerves, so as not to lash out hard at him.

Why couldn't Aemond have been her firstborn? He would have listened to her, and perhaps even contributed ideas to lead them to a path without conflict, he would notice the danger of her every action, her very existence and how to avoid it. She would not deal with the dangers around every corner alone. But now she had an almost-man who only knew how to ride his dragon and travel the kingdom tasting delights, in every way. A freedom she dare not even dream of.

Alicent Grips his shoulders tightly to steady him.

"Everything I have done has been from a place of love. My duty would have been to listen to your grandfather and raise you to be a potential crown prince should the King, your father, so wish. This freedom you hold does not belong to you, it will not belong to you forever. I did not choose my destiny, nor did your father, and neither will you, no person under the gods does. If I do not punish you, the world will punish you even worse. The world does not love you. Harsh words seem to be the only thing that works with you, and when I do I am trying to save you. When the world threatens you, it will be trying to kill you.”

○○○

Aegon wandered the halls of the imposing fortress, feeling the piercing stares of his strange sister and the cold attention of his mother, whose displeasure with him seemed to hang in the air. Even the servants, with their insidious mutterings, contributed to his growing discomfort.

Passing Aemond on his way out of the library, Aegon, in a gesture of defiance, bumped his shoulder against him and snapped, "Do you ignore me too, little one?"

Aemond, without losing his seriousness, replied, "Mother is angry with you."

"She is always angry with me..." muttered Aegon disdainfully.

"No, not always. She has been tolerant of you, but now you have not only angered her, you have disappointed her. And that, brother, you will not be able to ignore by starting a fight with me."

"Oh, is that all?" Aegon tried to deflect the gravity of the situation.

"Yes, I'll withdraw, I wouldn't want your stupidity to rub off on me. Ah, if you want my advice, apologize to her, for whatever it is you've done, but make it right. Mother knows when you're lying. Otherwise, don't even try."

It took Aegon a couple of days to finally summon the courage to face his mother and offer his apology, but shame and discomfort resonated in every fibre of his being. Rather than regret for the blurred act itself, his regret emanated from the distance that stood between him and the queen. He did not want this strain on their relationship.

Yet neither her pleas for forgiveness, her acceptance of his transgression and dishonour, nor his mother's repeated gentle instructions, nor even her evident concern for the uncertain direction of his future, succeeded in filling the void that had settled in him.

As he left the chambers, feeling resigned and pained, Aegon accepted that things would probably never be the same again. Though he was still his son, he had lost the innocent connection they shared. There would be no more warnings; he was now fully responsible for his actions.

His newfound freedom of action, however, inspired a paralysing fear.

○

Aemond followed Alicent to his quarters, a book under his arm. Upon arrival, he excitedly shared what he had gleaned from the reading.

"Mother, listen to this. Maester Aelrick claims that dragons can predict storms," Aemond said, showing his enthusiasm.

Alicent smiled, evoking memories, she lifted one of her hands to tidy her son's hair.

"I remember a story about Queen Alysanne Targaryen, who flew her dragon Silverwing along the Wall. It is said that Silverwing wailed all night long, and the next day, a great avalanche broke out in the Enchanted Forest."

"That's great. I'll ask Helaena if her dragon ever warned her about the storms."

As they spoke, Aemond noticed a jug on the table and, feeling thirsty, he approached. However, Alicent stopped him carefully.

"This jug has been here most of the day. We should get something fresher," Alicent suggested, sending Talya off in search of something for the boy to drink.

While they waited, Aemond continued to share his findings and thoughts, a habit he developed after his lessons with his tutor.

After a while, Talya returned with a pitcher of cool drink. Aemond obliged and set about taking a sip. Once he had quenched his thirst he took his leave, now interested in sharing this knowledge with Helaena.

Once the boy left, Alicent's smile grew smaller, she continued to pay attention to the pitcher, she asked Talya, "When did you leave this pitcher here? I don't remember ordering it."

Talya shook her head, she explained somewhat confused that she hadn't taken care of that task. Alicent, wary, decided to investigate further.

"Continue with your duties, Talya," she said, and once the maid left, she ordered her shield to enter. "Ser Criston, find the guard in the hallway and find out who has been here."

After the brief investigation, Criston returned with a negative response from the guard.

"Your grace, no one has approached your chambers," the knight reported, adding to the queen's concern.

Alicent looked around for a moment, there was a strange feeling that something was missing. After a quick deliberation, he covered the jug, then reached over to hand it to the knight.

"Take it with you. We're going to find Grand Maester Orwyle.”

Chapter 27: Green

Chapter Text

The grand master had his own workspace in the fortress as the King's ailment required him to prepare various medicines, was also known to be a connoisseur of poisons and antidotes.

Upon entering, Alicent was met with an atmosphere permeated with the smell of herbs and concoctions. There were shelves filled with vials, mostly empty, and books lined the walls. The dim light filtering through the windows revealed worktables covered in herbal ingredients and medical equipment.

Grand Maester Orwyle sits at his desk, surrounded by scrolls and open books, some with a thin layer of dust.

Alicent, who had left Criston outside and closed the door behind her, approaches the Grand Maester with a jar in her hand, seeking answers to his discomfort.

The man stands up when he notices her, then bows respectfully in greeting. When Alicent raises his query about the contents of the jug, the grand maester's eyes twinkle with interest, ready to apply his knowledge.

"Wine," the maester comments after sniffing the contents. "Dornish?"

"Mn, and best not consumed," Alicent warns, aware of the potential dangers.

"Right. Your grace, I'm just asking for some patience and to wait a moment, shall I?"

"All right," Alicent replied, bringing his hands behind his back.

Soon after Orwyle returns with an adult grey cat and proceeds to separate some wine into a copper dish. She watches silently as the cat drinks the liquid.

For a while nothing happened; the grand master and even Alicent stretched to make some patient movements. Alicent walked behind him, looking around again, then moved to stand beside him.

"Is all well, grand maester?"

"No particular change noted," Orwyle replied as he handled the cat to assess its condition.

Orwyle was about to speak again when he notices the cat yawning, stretching its body in his arms, and bringing its claws to its face in a show of laziness.

"What's wrong?" questioned Alicent, puzzled as she noticed the expression of the man beside her.

"It's, strange," mutters Orwyle. Suddenly, the cat falls into a deep sleep, startling them both.

"Did he fall asleep?" asks Alicent.

"Yes...", confirms the grand master, placing the cat on the table. He tried to move the animal a couple of times, shook it a little, but the body remained inert. The man brought a hand to his forehead to rub it, muttered, "These effects, they could be from 'Night Shadow'."

"And that is?"

"A poison, it causes any living thing to sleep painlessly and silently. There is an antidote, but it must be taken in the first moments, as soon as drowsiness is felt, as you can see..."

At the first moment of hearing the word "poison", Alicent freezes, horror reflected in his big brown eyes. Alicent is quickly aware that this poison was meant for her, and in her quarters, the chance of getting the antidote in time is practically nil. Alicent's mind fills with terrifying thoughts, considering the consequences if one of her children had ...

With her heart racing, she moved even closer to the cat, placing her hand on the animal's chest. There was no heartbeat. Though the body was still warm, the life had faded from his eyes. Now the relief of having realised the danger was mixed with the terror of the direct threat it posed.

Alicent, struggling to maintain his composure, turned to Maester Orwyle.

"Where could such a poison come from?" she asks, his voice barely a strained whisper.

"This, this type of poison we usually manufacture to create its antidote, due to the fact that it leaves no traces like other poisons. You see, it even looks like a merciful death."

"We manufacture? Do you have it here?"

The maester nodded as if a bird pecked at crumbs. Alicent followed close behind as the man moved to a shelf. His nervousness after coming and going was very evident.

"Not there?" Alicent stopped him, staring at him.

"No, no, Your grace, I could have sworn, when I took inventory, it was here. I swear it."

Alicent stepped back towards the table again, now with the animal fully stiffened.

"Your Grace, if it is not inappropriate to ask, where did you find this jug?"

"In my chambers.”

The next thing Alicent heard were the chains around the neck of Orwyle, who had fallen to his knees. His submission provoked an intense hatred in Alicent that forced her to grit her teeth. Her blood pounded in her ear not from fear, but from the desire to see the man responsible before her at that moment. Like a drum that demanded she leave. She walked towards the grand master and stopped right in front of him, watching him from above as she listened to his stammering as he tried to explain that he knew nothing of what had happened. Orwyle seemed to grow much older all of a sudden, as if he might faint and die at that very moment.

Although Alicent did not believe in Orwyle's involvement, he was the first and foremost culprit. It all seemed like an ordinary setup: poison, a very effective one, in his room. It remained to find evidence in the old man's chambers, and it would be a case of where one falls, two fall. Did this man know too much, or was he a nuisance?

"My queen, I swear, I swear I know nothing..."

"Ser Criston!"

The knight entered at once, finding such a scene. He acted quickly when Alicent asked him to hold the old man. Stepping behind him, Criston took his arms and forced Orwyle to raise his head towards her.

"Then, Grand Maester Orwyle, you will tell me all you know. Help me to keep your head close to his neck."

○

It was an amazing fact that, dig deep enough, and Alicent would discover terrible things happening right under everyone's noses. Like how many lords were requesting antidotes and poisons from the grand master in private, that he give them to them and one of those lords in particular caught Alicent's attention.

She sent a guard to escort Orwyle and, as she assumed, the vial of poison was there. The grand master, upon seeing it, reacted with shock and horror. Orwyle had been framed. He tried to seek out the queen again to take countermeasures, but she did not see fit to act. Whoever was behind it wanted to play with her. As long as Orwyle did not open his mouth about their meeting and was careful not to die, he would continue to act as if nothing had happened. However, the amount of materials he was providing had to run out, and the jars would be hidden.

As an excuse, his dedication to the king's delicate health would be argued. Though he should not give them, for the maester serves the King not these ungrateful men, the idea was not to cause so much noise.

Alicent did not reveal what happened the first day, nor the second, nor the third, until he found no point in doing so, giving more will to his desire. There would be no fair trial for the perpetrator, if he was found. She wanted to root out the damn threat. Did she trust herself to do it? For one thing, given the limitations of trust in her surroundings and the need to act with discretion, she might feel that trusting others might expose her to greater risks. The gods were kind to her, if she was allowed to recognise the threat, she had the will to go for more.

One day, in the royal chambers, after Orwyle had attended to the king, they took a few steps away to discuss and rule out possibilities. Now Alicent had to acknowledge his precarious reality. She didn't really have the people to mobilise and investigate the matter. Her maids, and even Criston, would not really understand what would need to be done. As for the king, isn't she the perfect case? Her own men were unable to warn her of the danger.

One of the names Orwyle gave her was precisely that of Larys Strong, and a chilling thought occurred to her - what would Larys need that poison for? Orwyle couldn't give her an answer. Alicent would forever remember the maester's face when he suggested that perhaps the king's advancing illness had not been a matter of nature, but planned. This made the man more favourable to him. Not only was he being framed against the queen, he was also possibly responsible for aggravating the king's illness.

Chapter 28: Green

Chapter Text

Alicent waited patiently for his brother, Gwayne, to arrive in King's Landing. Each passing day became an endurance test of her resolve. Alicent immersed herself in her daily responsibilities, maintaining a semblance of normality while the threads of intrigue continued to weave around her.

The letters during those many years, and mainly the early ones, were not many. Gwayne shared with her some of his experiences as a gentleman, became more enthusiastic as the children grew older and showed their interest in him, allowing him to express his longing to be reunited with his sister and to see his nephews and nieces. The words of his children, intertwined with his own, were a balm that mitigated the loneliness that accompanied him in the life he had chosen as a child.

Finally, the appointed day arrived, and Gwayne crossed the threshold of King's Landing. Alicent greeted him in his chambers. He was now, perhaps, his only trusted choice.

"Your Grace, Ser Gwayne Hightower," the guard announced as he entered.

Without turning to the door, she let him pass. If she had to be honest, there were not many memories of her brother in her mind after all this time. They were stranger than they had been when she had come to Landing at the age of nine. But there was enough to try to seek his help.

Several instances in childhood, when Gwayne showed wit, as well as a certain way of thinking, seemed to Otto's eyes only amusing episodes because it was not what he wanted to hear. But Alicent saw in it something more: a manifestation of promising qualities in the person she needed.

Still, he didn't excel where he could polish that wit, because like all second sons' sons, he needed money and above all, a name; the jousting and swordplay competitions had come easier. He had a temper, but almost always bowed to Otto's requests, as did Alicent. A promising generation thrown away.

She couldn't say they were inseparable siblings, but there was a silent acknowledgement the two had for each other if anything happened.

They were almost similar in appearance, Alicent not as tall, and had finer features, Gwayne grew his hair to his shoulders. On his left cheek was a thin scar from his many bouts of combat, which was hidden by the lower end of a beard. He was dressed like most knights: cloak, doublet, breeches, boots and a sword with a dagger at his belt. Now he and Alicent were standing in front of the window.

Alicent liked the view, with the cozy whisper of the waves, the sad cries of the seagulls and the peace of watching from above, it gave the illusion that everything was under control. A strong storm was coming from the east. There, on the horizon, everything was blue-black, with frequent flashes of lightning. The wind had freshened and it smelled of seaweed and salt.

About five paces away, Gwayne stopped. He fiddled with the dagger in his belt, but frowned, not really hiding his curiosity.

"You seemed kind of pissed off the last time I saw you," Alicent says, finally turning to him.

"Tks, I'm not a messenger crow. And I'll be gone in a few days, it's pretty much the same thing."

"I need your help, Gwayne" she began without prelude, for she thought knew this man somewhat.

"Oh, of course," he said with an amused smile.

Alicent couldn't help but shoot her a direct glare for that "passive aggression".

"All right, sorry, carry on," Gwayne held up his hands to defend himself. "To the best of my ability, my queen."

"They tried to poison me, Gwayne."

"What are you..."

Alicent felt refreshed, more relieved than any time she'd ever been, when she recognised his look of surprise and confusion, almost unsettled in place.

"Listen," Alicent held up her hand to stop him, then stepped closer to him. "I'm fine. Gwayne, if I'm telling you this it's because you're the only person I can trust right now. It's happened under the King's nose, I don't trust his people."

"Father didn't tell me. He's been upset with you, he hasn't sent me crows..."

"He doesn't know anything, we've, we've had some differences. I prefer to keep him out of it."

"That's fine. Fine, I understand, what will you do?”

"I need you to find some people to serve me. And do it without our father knowing. You have been longer in The Reach than I, you know those who are loyal to our family, respecting the King's authority, of course," she said the last words meaningfully, staring at him, hoping Gwayne would understand: 'No more conflict between Targaryens, no more listening to Otto Hightower.

She does not doubt that Gwayne would be more or less aware of his father's and uncle's interest in Aegon's accession to the throne. Then Alicent continues.

"Not too many, two qualified guards and two maids will do. I don't want to draw attention to myself. Though the fact that I'm still standing should have already alerted them, whether they think I won't do anything is another matter."

Gwayne frowned the more he listened to her speak. His amused smile disappeared without a trace, he was now completely serious. Closing the gap, he took two more steps, lowered his voice to speak to her:

"You suspect your people? I know they were not all sent by our father. He doesn't have that much influence here."

"I have no people Gwayne, perhaps Criston but he is not entirely mine, he serves the King. As for my maidens, I don't know. It's an awkwardness I'd like to cover. They need not necessarily belong to the family."

Gwayne understood immediately what was required of him, and he let his guard down a little, relaxing his tense muscles.

"I trust you like no one else right now, I know you will choose the right ones," Alicent stressed.

"I'm overwhelmed by your confidence, sister," laughed Gwayne involuntarily.

Alicent ignored her modesty and continued.

"I need them as soon as possible."

"Ah, this is a very ambitious task and a great responsibility."

The wind tousled Alicent's curly hair covering part of his face, smoothed the lock behind his ear.

"I wouldn't ask you if I didn't know you had the ability to do it."

"All right," Gwayne said thoughtfully, and from his serene look, from his bright eyes, it was clear that the task ahead of him had already got him thinking, and he was beginning to consider options.

Wanting to test the waters, Alicent said:

"As for your retribution, I have nothing but gold dragons but if you request..."

"Stop" he said holding up a hand to stop her. "I expect no retribution, Alicent, this is the first time you have asked me for a favour, perhaps I am falling just as you have planned. I will do it without condition".

Gwayne looked down with a slight sigh. One thing he never dared to reveal was the guilt he had long felt at allowing the wedding of the King and his sister to take place without interference, when he clearly knew the girl's heart was not in it. For the past few years, on every quick visit, he had watched and lamented as that bright young girl had grown more and more lost, as her father had hoped. And yet, he stood by and did nothing. Two foolish, cowardly brothers, only they could understand each other, and now that Alicent was asking for his help so openly, who was he to refuse? Besides, she, the children and her father were his only direct family, and he didn't necessarily have the best of relations with the latter.

Alicent allowed herself to look at him with some surprise, she had expected to at least pay him a few hundred dragons.

"Thank you, Gwayne" she thanked sincerely, and he shook it off as no big deal.

"I see that you, my Lady, have been thinking about all this for more than a day."

"Twelve."

They both shared complicit smiles.

"I've had time," Alicent nodded. "I need people, Gwyne. Competent and above all loyal. Children grow up and the pressure everywhere grows. This is more important than anything else. It is not child's play, and they must be trained properly when I am not watching over them, Aegon mainly."

"Those who avoid confrontation, and I understand that. It's not easy being here, I'm just an envoy, your brother, and yet they watch me like I'm a bloody thief wherever I go. But you understand that to devote yourself to such a concern sometimes forces you to take.... "Gwayne pursed his lips and hesitated, "delicate decisions.

"I won't let go of whoever's behind it. You must have seen the worst of this world, there's blood, tears and suffering everywhere. Every man will tear with tooth and hand whatever it takes, just to get a fatter piece. And almost everyone is ready to take any chance, and often no such chance, to kill, cheat and hurt. Are you willing to help me with this?"

"I am willing" he nodded without hesitation, slightly smiling, he said, "Though it will bring me no joy to move under our father's nose.”

They were silent. The rising wind whirled a small whirlpool in the room. Somehow suddenly, it grew darker and cooler. The storm was getting closer and closer. The thunder had changed from a distant growl to a powerful, confident roar.

"However, I will need some money to mobilise people, and some to convince if necessary."

"There is money. Tonight I will give you a thousand gold dragons. And don't hesitate to seek me out if you need more, I know that silencing some mouths costs more than talking them down."

Gwayne held her gaze and then turned it back to the window behind her. Alicent would give a lot to know what kind of thoughts were wandering through her head at the moment. Did she understand the scale and responsibility of the company? Of course she wouldn't understand it, she could understand it only as the whim of a distraught mother, only she knew how important the next few moons would be to the future of this family, of the kingdom.

"Does anyone else know about this?"

"No one, no one knows I involve you. Maester Orwyl listens to me, but not of his own free will. This, just you and me. Remember, no conversations with the lords, be they grandfathers, uncles, cousins, or any of our kin, if you want to spare yourself the scrutiny of our father" Alicent was silent for a minute, formulating his thought as carefully as possible. "Don't misunderstand me. I don't scare you. But you know we're not the only ones pretending to hide from ears in the fortress, one is next the King."

"All right. But what if they try to influence them in some way by being sent away?"

"We'll send them all away again, and for a long time. For example, out to sea."

"What if they blackmail them?"

"Something happens?"

"Like everyone else, I've had bad things to do."

"Gwayne, everything that happened before today is absolutely indifferent to me. If anyone dares to seek Viserys for it, who is the only one who could judge your actions, I will prevent it."

Alicent did not know what her brother was hiding, but she hoped he had not committed terrible crimes.

"All right, I understand, my lady. Here are just a couple more points: where can we discuss important matters with you?"

"Stay on paper for now, but if you need to do anything or leave, do so immediately. Just warn me. We'll talk here, in my room or in the garden, just give me a signal that we need to talk. Make it a discreet gesture, just try not to overdo it. I know some eyes are on me."

"Got it," he said tidying his coat." May I go?"

"Of course, Ser, go ahead. And remember, I'm counting on you a lot."

The knight turned away, only the cloak flying as he headed for the door. Watching his back walk away, a lot of thoughts swirled in her head.She just hoped she wasn't wrong. But in this kind of game it's inevitable to take risks.

Of course, she's taking a risk by entrusting such a responsible task to him. Well, what to do about the staff shortage. She will have what she has to have and she will not be capricious.

At first, she will not entrust anything serious to anyone Gwayne can find. If they betray or turn out to be incompetent, well, she'll just lose money. After a while, having checked their actions, it will be the turn of more important tasks. For a tree to grow, a seed must be planted. To build a building, you must dig a foundation pit. And to organise a service, you must find a person and start doing at least something. The main thing is not to become critical.

In his opinion, Gwayne had already managed to gain a significant advantage: he did not ask anything about personal remuneration, nor his motives, he was completely coerced at will.

She turned to face the approaching storm and took a deep breath. The fresh sea air excited and stimulated the imagination. Then it began to rain: the first, rare, large drops fell on the city.

"Your Grace," Ser Criston's voice interrupted her reverie, "The Princes are waiting for you in the dining hall. As you requested".

And under the sound of the drops, accompanied by the wind, they headed out of the room.

Chapter 29: Green

Chapter Text

Alicent watches Viserys from across the table as he ponders heavy decisions. The King has put it off as long as he can, and she is aware that she can no longer support that decision. So she stands by his side this time and waits.

The decision on who his new hand will be has kept the Lords distracted or busy for a while, giving Alicent some leeway as well while she awaits Gwayne's choice for those he will place in his service.

Alicent maintains a serene expression as he finishes his lunch, but inwardly she recognises the inconsistencies in the king's orders over the years. Viserys has been too lenient with some and too harsh with others. He has repeatedly forgiven Rhaenyra's faults, even when others do not receive the same treatment. And the same goes for his brother, Daemon. And this, just to recall a few instances.

His guilt has hurt more than his love. It's not that Alicent doesn't know that feeling, it's something he can't let go of, there was a dictator within his being. It is a warped echo of some pain that won't let go of his hand. A rusty nail in the middle of reason. But if there is anything greater than guilt in her, it is duty. And if there is anything as great as guilt in Viserys, it is love. A strange love. And that's something she doesn't quite understand.

When Viserys mentions Rhaenyra's name as a possible candidate, Alicent can't help but feel some misgivings. She would have considered the choice more carefully if Rhaenyra had any weight among the men of the council. But lack of involvement has contributed to this problem. And it's not exactly Rhaenyra's fault. Alicent still remembers the Princess's complaints against her father for not giving her a voice on the small council.

On the other hand, she recognises Rhaenyra's shortcomings in her dealings with those not of her family or directly related to the king. Her haughty and unpatient attitude does not help her to win allies outside her inner circle.

Alicent may also recognise his own desires in his refusal to accept Rhaenyra as a candidate for Hand. There is a nail in the middle of her reason, she has a purpose; to find that rat hiding in the red fortress who intends to kill her. And it's not something she can do if she has to constantly deal with those lords' complaints about the Princess's ways.

Viserys was faced with the possibility of choosing a capable Hand who could lead the way for Rhaenyra, just as Jaehaerys I had Otto, who helped the transition from one reign to the next go smoothly. She needs someone of power, loyal, but also able to mark her inconsistencies.

When the name of his father, Otto Hightower, is mentioned, Alicent can't help but be tempted to laugh in his face. But if she thinks rationally, why wouldn't Viserys? Hasn't she already recognised what indulgences the King may have?

Otto has been an experienced steward who ruled during the last days of King Jaehaerys. But Viserys got rid of him specifically because Rhaenyra asked him to as a condition of marriage and, well, other reasons that end up involving the Princess just as much.

After Lyonel Strong's terrible death, Alicent can't blame the King if he wants someone he's familiar with by his side. Besides, Viserys, unaware of the conversations with his father, may think that Otto has learned his lesson. The King can see some of his lust for power, but almost every noble in this land has it, so it's a "pick your own poison" kind of thing. But Viserys can't see how quick the Hightower is to take advantage of whatever misfortunes befell the Targaryens, even if he wasn't the cause of the misfortunes himself.

So it's another name out of the question. Alicent can't give her a strong excuse for the denial without revealing more than he must. It seems those were the names, or the only ones, considered by Viserys, as the man goes into contemplation again for some time.

"My King, what do you think of Lord Corlys Velaryon as a possible Hand?" asks Alicent in a calm voice.

Viserys looks up, surprised at the suggestion. "Corlys Velaryon... is an interesting choice. That's an interesting choice. Why do you bring it up?”

Alicent knows she must be careful how she approaches the subject of Corlys Velaryon, an extremely ambitious man whose loyalties may vary according to his interests. Yet what man in Westeros with any power is not? She also recognises Corlys' power and influence over the Westeros navy and merchant fleet, as well as his possible sympathies towards Rhaenyra due to their marital ties. It is a great benefit when the princess ascends to the throne.

Subtly, Alicent begins to make his case to Viserys, pointing out the advantages of having someone like Corlys Valaryon as Hand of the King. She mentions his control over the navy and the merchant fleet, as well as his loyalty to the crown, she does not say, but points to his loyalty to Rhaenyra.

When Viserys again enters into reflection on the possibility of choice, Alicent takes the opportunity to give him an observation that he knows will resonate with him.

"Lord Corlys speaks fondly of his grandchildren."

It is a subtle gesture, but one that suggests the possibility of a future with the Velaryon children in positions of power. As Viserys nods in response to his words, Alicent senses a change in the atmosphere. It is the first time, albeit indirectly, that she is acknowledging the importance of the Velaryon children to the future of the crown.

After a moment of silence, Viserys smiles slightly. He stands and approaches her, his wrinkled hands taking Alicent's in a gesture of gratitude. He doesn't need to say it, she can see it in that look; she thinks the war is over with that simple gesture of his. She's tempted to tell him that if only his word was enough to stop the great war. But she is only just learning.

Lord Corlys Valaryon is sworn in as Hand of the King a few days later. About the same time Gwayne sends a raven. And the price to pay is bigger, much bigger than just five thousand gold coins when it's all over.

○○○

Gwayne wandered the streets of King's Landing in search of those he could trust to serve Alicent's cause. His footsteps led him to a tavern, an old friend from his youth named Heddle, who now wandered as a knight-errant in search of purpose. After some frank talk and a few gold coins, Heddle agreed to join Alicent's service.

Gwayne also set his sights on the Tyrell family domain. After writing the detailed letter, offering opportunities for advancement and stability in exchange for loyalty, Gwayne carefully sealed it and delivered it to the grand master of the keep to be sent to Highgarden. He was confident that the message would reach its intended recipient and that the Tyrell vassal. Though it was not specified whose service he would be in, the extent of his trustworthiness and the importance of his silence was implied. He hoped to have a face-to-face conversation before engaging her fully.

For his third man, he decided to seek him out at one of the places where he usually trained between tournaments, a parade ground near the outer wall of the fortress. Gwayne approached the place, observing the warriors practising and looking among them for Wydman. After a while of searching, he finally found him, wielding a sword with skill and determination. Gwayne approached him and waited for him to finish his training session before approaching him. When Wydman stopped to take a break, Gwayne approached. His life had been marked by family tragedies, after his father's blacksmithing business was lost due to some of his father's debts, followed by his suicide. With the promise of a chance for him and his sister, Wydman agreed to join Alicent's entourage. He would eventually appoint the girl as Helaena's maid.

Finally, Gwayne embarked on an even more dangerous mission: to find a Faceless Man who could infiltrate the fortress as a maid. After several days of clandestine search and negotiation, Gwayne found Thalora, a skilled infiltrator who accepted the task of discovering who was trying to poison Alicent, paying particular attention to the servants of the fortress and, in particular, those who served Larys Strong. However, due to the urgency of the situation and the impossibility of waiting long, Thalora had to contact the guild and await instructions. But once again, time was pressing and no assignment from the House of Black and White could be expected.

In the meantime, Criston worked quietly to place the knights in strategic positions within the fortress. Rotating them first in the East and West Barracks to avoid arousing suspicion. After a few days, he placed them in the Red Fortress Barracks. There, the knight surnamed Florent would be in charge of the children's training while Cole would be more attentive to the queen's safety. As for Wydman and Heddle, they would be stationed at key points in the fortress to report any suspicious activity to Criston.

The faceless man, Thalora, kept in direct contact with Alicent, responding only to her orders and working in the shadows to protect her from any threats.

Chapter 30: Green

Chapter Text

Darkness enveloped the corridors of the fortress as the faceless man slipped silently into the shadows, camouflaged in his role as maid. With subtle steps and fluid movements, they crept towards the queen's chambers. Upon arrival, announced her presence with a soft knock on the door before entering.

Alicent, seated in front of the fireplace, turned to face the faceless man with a tense but expectant expression. Without waiting to be questioned, Thalora quickly reported:

"My queen, I have followed Larys Strong, but lost sight of him in his own chambers," her serene tone barely concealing a slight tension.

Alicent frowned, pondering the situation as she watched the flames dance in the fireplace.

"The first poisoning attempt occurred when no one was in the room. The guards didn't see anyone cross the corridor either," Alicent muttered to herself, thoughtfully.

Thalora nodded solemnly.

"There are passageways in the fortress," concluded quickly. "We faceless men know such secrets, there are in places you would not believe, my queen. If you allow me to inspect those passages, I will consider our debt settled."

Alicent looked around warily, aware of the gravity of the situation. However, she knew she had little choice. I might find something other than poison in my food any day now, she thought to herself.

"All right," Alicent finally agreed, resigned. "You may proceed."

A shadow of worry crossed Alicent's face as she pondered the possible implications of the existence of secret passages in the fortress.

"However, should any of your people be hired to harm my family and their offspring or Princess Rhaenyra's family, the payment will be so great as to be impossible to meet," Alicent proposed, bringing his gaze to bore into that of the maid's figure. A firmness that seemed no greater than her firstborn.

Thalora bowed to Alicent, accepting his agreement earnestly. Whatever surprise might have was efficiently concealed. After all, the feud between the Queen and the Princess is said to be inevitable, and it is, to the death.

Alicent indicated to the Thalora that he could search his chambers the next day during the council meeting, warning of the need for caution with Larys' men. With that tense but necessary conversation concluded, Thalora withdrew from Alicent's chambers, leaving her alone with her thoughts and concerns.

The moral resistance and discomfort she had initially experienced in dealing with a faceless man had gradually faded over time. Perhaps that night, that feeling disappeared completely, for as the door closed, her anxiety was transformed into anticipation.

If the secret passages were discovered, she would finally have the culprit, the person who had been lurking and plotting in the shadows. In some dark corner of her mind, Alicent felt a slight exhilaration at the idea. For, deep down, she had always suspected that he might be the one responsible, the rusty nail. The one responsible for almost seeing his son poisoned to death or him having to see her ... . The one responsible for his guilt towards Rhaenyra and the King, for not being able to reveal the truth behind the Strong's death. And now, she was about to find out.

○○○

With great skill and efficiency, Thalora embarked on the task of identifying the entrance to the secret passageway the next day. With her ability to observe every detail and her knack for finding hidden patterns, soon discovered a slight irregularity in the wall of the queen's chambers. A small crack barely noticeable to the naked eye, but to Thalora's trained eye, it revealed the presence of a hidden door.

Cautiously, Thalora investigated further, following the trail of the crack until found a cleverly camouflaged mechanism that allowed her to open the entrance to the passageway. With a precise movement, managed to activate the mechanism, the door did not open, but it allowed her to reveal a gap, leading to a narrow dark corridor that led deep into the depths of the fortress.

Fearless, Thalora advanced down the passageway, torch in one hand and knife in the other, prepared for any eventuality. As moved deeper into the darkness, the passageway grew ever wider, and soon he found himself navigating a labyrinth of interconnected tunnels. Despite his experience and skill, Thalora was challenged by the complexity, the traps, and at one point, even found himself lost in the tangle of dark corridors.

Them had to give up long after nightfall, having to climb out of a dog-hole outside the fortress.

With this crucial information in his possession, Thalora returned to report to Alicent the next day, ready to carry out the next phase of his mission: to identify two key points of interest; a passageway leading directly to Larys Strong's room, and another leading to the area occupied by the royal Septon, which would serve as an entrance for the guards to enter or exit the passageway undetected.

○○○

Alicent watched carefully as Larys Strong entered the lot, her condescending, subservient smile barely concealing her true intentions. Obligingly, she greeted him and invited him to take a seat across from her at the table set with some appetizers.

Alicent signalled to her maid, who appeared with a decanter of wine. Larys kept her expression serene. Gracefully, the queen took the decanter of wine, pouring a goblet, and approached Larys with a courteous gesture.

Larys accepted the glass with a smile, but did not drink it. Her eyes followed Alicent's every move with a piercing gaze. She was undeterred, however. She poured a glass for herself, returned to her position at the table, and, imitating Larys, did not drink, but kept her composure.

"What can you tell me about the hidden passages in the Keep created by Maegor?" asked Alicent casually, looking for some sign of nervousness in Larys' expression.

"Rumours, My Queen," Larys replied calmly, but her eyes betrayed some trepidation.

"So, Lord Strong, you know nothing about the fact that such passages can lead to several chambers?" continued Alicent. "And even mine? The king's, probably?"

Larys shook his head, aware that with such an answer he was digging a deep hole.

"What kind of Master of Whispers are you, Lord, if you know nothing about the castle and these passages?" asked Alicent, with a mixture of surprise and disdain in his tone.

The Master of Whispers shook his head again.

Alicent nodded slowly, holding Larys' gaze but at the same time, as if he could see right through him. Larys occasionally averted his gaze to his wine goblet.

"His word has not been proven," Alicent said, taking the wine glass and fiddling with it before pointing at Larys. "But your incompetence has already been proven, Lord."

There were other questions that went nowhere. Larys behaved confidently and firmly most of the time, but admitted nothing and kept repeating the same thing: I know nothing.

"Reality can be as malleable as perception, Lord Strong. Do not underestimate the power of collaboration," Alicent said with a small grimace that pretended to be a smile, before raising the wine glass to his lips.

Alicent expected a reaction from Larys to the revelation that she knew of the existence of the passages, and at best, a confession. But what the man said next was unexpected.

The atmosphere in the room became tense as Larys picked up the wine glass and took a sip, then settled back in his seat with a more relaxed expression.

"My Queen," Larys began with a subtle but meaningful smile, "I have something that might interest you."

Alicent arched an eyebrow, intrigued by the curiosity creeping into her voice.

"And what might be so interesting?"

"A spy ring in the Red Keep," Larys revealed, capturing Alicent's full attention. "A network that Otto Hightower knows about and that he has left in place because, from time to time, it has proved beneficial to him."

The revelation was so unexpected that Alicent could not hide his surprise. She tried to compose herself quickly, but Larys had already picked up on it.

"That's not all," Larys continued, plunging Alicent further into intrigue. "The leader of this network calls herself the White Worm, and is known to be Prince Daemon's former mistress: Mysaria."

Alicent looked down, her eyes traveled from place to place on the table, as if trying to find familiarity in that name and connect several dots.

"But there is more, my queen," Larys added, keeping his gaze fixed on the queen. "One of your grace's ladies-in-waiting is one such spy, Talya, and there are more like her. To stop this espionage, you need to eliminate the queen bee."

The words left Alicent speechless, motionless. When she could bring her mind back to earth, shifted in her chair, took a moment to process all the information.

"I just need your order."

"I need time to think about it," she finally replied after a few deep breaths, keeping her expression unperturbed again.

Larys rose from her seat with a polite bow, but her mind was already working through the repercussions of her revelations. If it wasn't Mysaria who had informed the queen about the passages, who had? He had to find the traitor before it was too late.

With a parting gesture, Larys retreated away from this little problem, unaware that Alicent had already plotted his fate along with that of several of his servants a few days ago.

Though Alicent could not put it into words, she knew that she had not only resolved to put him to death, but that she was determined that his death would mean more than mere punishment; that she regarded him as a product of that black world she feared and was anxious to keep under control.

○○○

After Larys withdrew, leaving the room in a cold silence, Thalora entered shortly after, creeping closer to Alicent. Her presence was like a whisper in the darkness, barely audible.

"My queen," Thalora said in a quiet but firm tone a few paces away from her.

"I would appreciate your counsel," Alicent began, his gaze searching Thalora's as she stood. "Did you notice anything else during your search for clues to find Lord Strong's guilt?"

Thalora nodded solemnly.

"Yes, there were other movements," them replied quietly. "However, as they posed no imminent danger, I gave them no thought at the time."

Alicent nodded, understanding the situation. Then, with a mixture of disbelief and bitterness, she revealed the information Larys had shared with her about the network of spies in the Red Keep, led by someone known as the white worm.

Thalora listened intently, her face impassive.

"I confirm the existence of the woman who calls herself the White Worm and her network of spies," finally said.

Alicent took a moment, closing her eyes, her figure turned the other way, feeling truly betrayed this time. The revelation that Talya, the lady-in-waiting who had been with her for years, having seen and sustained most of her children from birth, had betrayed her in favour of men like Otto Hightower and Daemon Targaryen, brought her to a moment of desolation and fury. To know that one of the few people she trusted most had been plotting behind her back was a devastating blow. Because, no betrayal without trust, she didn't trust Larys, but as for Talya ...

"Is it just a spy ring?" asked Alicent, his voice trembling with the intensity of his emotions.

Thalora seemed to understand his hesitation.

"It is a spy ring, but the white worm, being an underworld person, might know individuals capable of more dangerous tasks, such as mercenaries," them explained cautiously. "What has happened to you, my queen, the methods of poisoning indicate that there is someone else at play, someone with deeper knowledge and darker resources."

Alicent straightened, after an exhausted sigh she let some of her fury go. Thalora stood patiently waiting for him to pull himself together.

"So, there's a change of plans," Alicent declared with determination. "First, we will deal with the murder of the servants in a less covert manner. Then, I will deal with the white worm."

Thalora nodded silently.

○○○

In the quiet gardens of the Red Keep, Alicent was gathered with Tyland Lannister, followed at some distance by his guards, Cole and Wydman. The tone of their conversation contrasted markedly with the serenity of the landscape.

"I appreciate your willingness to meet with me, Lord Tyland," Alicent said calmly as she led the way half a step forward. "I hope this meeting will be productive for both of us."

Tyland nodded courteously, his eyes watching the queen warily.

"Of course, your grace. I am at your disposal."

Alicent took a moment to choose his words carefully before continuing. "I know you maintain communication with my father, Lord Otto Hightower," she began, his voice soft but firm. "And I am also aware of his wishes to see Aegon crowned king."

Tyland's lips tightened slightly, but he maintained his composure.

"My loyalty has always been to the realm and its rightful heir," he replied cautiously.

Alicent nodded, but his gaze was piercing.

"However, my father's wishes are nothing more than dreams and gibberish. And they are not dreams I am willing to support. I will do everything in my power to ensure that the King's will is done," her words were filled with cold, calculated determination. "I know you desire peace and prosperity, Lord Tyland,"his tone softening slightly. "And during the years of my husband's reign, your family has prospered. Your position on the Council is a testament to your loyalty to the realm."

Tyland nodded, recognising the truth in the queen's words.

"I am grateful for your words, your grace," he said sincerely.

"However," Alicent said, his voice taking on a more sombre tone, "there will come a time when loyalties must be clear. And that time is near, Lord Tyland."

Tyland was silent for a moment, contemplating the implications of his words.

"I appreciate the work you have done on the Council, Lord. But in the end, this will be your choice. And when the time comes, you will be alone, facing ten huge dragons. That is the reality.

The conversation came to an end, and the two parted with a meaningful look. As he walked back inside the fortress, Alicent knew that the seeds of doubt had been planted in Tyland's mind. Now, only time would reveal whether they would blossom into betrayal or loyalty. She was confident that as long as her father stayed away, unable to return to the king's side, Lannister could not rely on words alone to support him.

Chapter 31: GREEN

Chapter Text

Queen Alicent stayed in the King's chambers late into the night. During the day, she had reviewed correspondence with him. It was an ordinary day, like any other day when they went through the correspondence, with minor chatter about relatives or lords sending their greetings, good greetings or Alicent commenting that he would be sending a gift. There would be letters that could then be discussed in the council or with a member. Besides, weddings in the Seven Kingdoms were almost a daily occurrence, and this day was no exception.

After completing her usual duties, Alicent retired to her chambers and left them shortly thereafter, covered in a purple cloak that was almost black. She intended to address the Royal Septon. No one would find it strange for the queen to wander the fortress at such an hour, sometimes taking a stroll. She attracted no one's attention as she made her way there.

Once at the Royal Sept, Criston remained near the entrance, while other guards strategically scattered around; one emerged from the stables, another from near the maiden's vault, and they entered the royal septon one after the other.

Heedless of the movement of his guards, Alicent lit candles at the altars of the Warrior and the Stranger, and prayed for what was about to happen that night. For a moment, she waited for the candles to extinguish, for something to happen before damning her soul, but nothing happened.

A subtle movement of sliding stone drew his attention to the Mother's altar. Almost against the wall, a ladder wide enough for two people came into view. Ser Heddle stood to one side holding a candle, while Wydman, beside him, carried another unlit candle and wielded a dagger.

Alicent looked to Criston, who nodded in response. Without a word, Alicent covered her hair again with the hood of her cloak, and let herself be led by Heddle, followed closely by Wydman. She was not yet agitated when they reached a cleared area, no larger than eight square metres, in the shape of an oval.

Heddle handed the lit candle to Alicent, while the other guard lit the unlit candle. After instructing him to wait there, Wydman went into one of the passages, while Heddle, taking his dagger, waited on the other side, standing at attention for any sound in the passage.

○

The Master of Whispers lit a candle, changed his clothes, altered his appearance and took the wallets with the money before opening the door leading to the passageway. He was holding a candle in his hand when he heard a soft click, followed by a sudden thrust in his solar plexus that filled him with terror. Pain seized his consciousness as he was thrown back into the room. The candle fell to the floor, but surprisingly did not go out; instead, it began to emit black smoke.

Larys shook his head in shock and tried to get up, clinging to the table. Another click echoed through the room, which in time he realised was a sword grazing the armour before another blow nearly pierced his chest.

He slumped onto his back and watched in disbelief as a silhouette approached him. How had this happened? How had they caught him and how had they discovered the room? The man removed his hood, revealing an individual he had occasionally seen alongside Ser Criston and Queen Alicent.

"You are playing too much, Sire," Wydman said as he leaned towards him. His bony, predatory face remained impassive. "It is time to pay the bills. My lady awaits."

Larys tried to call out to the guard at the door, but received only ominous silence in response, unaware that the two guards and their servant were already dead. Her call only served to alert the shadow behind the door that all was going according to plan. Shortly thereafter this shadow moved quickly to leave the tower.

Unsuspecting of what lurked in the darkness, he continued to call out, increasing his anxiety, until the guard dropped him by placing a stocking in his mouth and then killing him.

Wydman looked around, picked up the candle from the floor and put it away. He quickly tidied up the chair and table, carried Larys and dragged him into the forgotten passages.

The next time Larys shifted position, he was thrown to the floor again. After being untied, he was forced to stand up. It was then that Larys realised that he was before someone else. The queen. She stood there, watching him with indifference.

Confused, Larys asked:

"My queen, what, what is it?"

"Can't you guess, Lord Strong?" said Alicent in a flat voice.

Then she offered him two choices: let the men holding him break every bone in his body, or talk.

Larys resisted, denied and looked confused for a while, but finally, in the face of impending pain, he dared to plead.

"Please, my queen! Mercy! I was only following orders! Please..."

The Master of Whispers, a stupid, stubborn goat, realizing that he would probably be killed on the spot, knelt down and began to beg, to pray.

"I should have done this before, Lord. If you had prayed for the gods to put a sensible thought into your stubborn head, everything would be different now."

The blood of many people, the blood of his servants, stained the dust-splattered reddish cobblestones. Soon, so would hers.

From this day on, the queen would hold out hope that no one would dare to "joke" with the authorities.

"It was her father... Otto Hightower! He ordered her poisoned..." Larys confessed.

She thought of the carnage, could no longer resort to indifference, grief slowly seized her heart and she felt a lump in her throat. There was nothing to boast about here; on the contrary, she had committed a terrible act and she could not deny it.

"I know," she forced her voice not to break. Alicent had learned, his emotions tempered as well as his use of weapons, his voice inrreparably level. "You almost killed one of my sons in one of your attempts, Lord."

Did she ever think she would be capable of something like this? And would she agree to participate in all this, knowing what she would have to do? Questions, just questions... How good and easy it was to live knowing all the answers and foreseeing your fate!

"My queen..." Larys seemed to expel all the air from her chest with those words.

"Release him," Alicent ordered, wearily, taking two steps back, as if she herself had broken the necks or poisoned all those people that night.

The guards obeyed. Larys tried to compose himself, but when he looked up at Alicent, she saw some gratitude and relief on his face. However, his expression quickly changed as his head was pulled back, the exposed neck draped with a dagger. A clean cut. Larys squirmed for a moment before he stopped moving.

"Valar morghulis."

"Valar dohaeris.”

Alicent's thoughts flowed slowly, accompanied by the clatter of her footsteps and the words of prayer. This time, she only left the passageway accompanied by Heddle. Wydman would stay behind to help carry the body out of the fortress, making sure it would never be found, while the head of the former Master of Whispers would be sent to Oldtown.

Once out of the passageway, the incense-laden air hit his face, but his mind was still immersed in darkness. The task was done, but the implications of her actions weighed on her like a burden.

Heddle moved towards the exit, receiving Ser Criston's order to withdraw shortly thereafter. Alicent paused before the gods, not daring to look up. As she stared at the floor, she recognised that it was there, right there, that many years ago she had fallen to her knees, pleaded, wept until dawn. She had felt unworthy to stand before the seven, like mud and dung. Then, she was young, was a child frightened by her desires. Which now seem somewhat innocent to her.

Gods know this is not what she wanted to become. She thought she could retain much of the past, of what she knew how to be. But Westeros is a cruel world, and kindness here is often perceived as weakness.

A breeze ruffled some candles and cast strange, sinister shadows on the faces of the statues around her. Everything smelled of incense and blood. Looking up she chose to remain silent. Alicent pursed her lips and looked at the Father, the figure of the god, the bearded man carrying a scale. The one prayed to for justice.

As she closed his eyes, the tears fell, and only the distant figure, also of a man, also of a father was drawn. The most reliable, intelligent and insightful person. Everyone knew how to depend on his advice, wit, political connections and insight. He knew how to predict and surprise, and had hundreds of different details and plans in mind. He knew how to neutralise or respond to any threat. And now he is gone... He exists, but at the same time he doesn't, everything she once knew about him is gone.

In that moment, more than ever, Alicent felt an unbearable burden of power on her shoulders. It literally threw her to the ground, falling to her knees, her hands supporting her weight. The problems, present and future, seemed to become a hundred times stronger.

Criston moved, but dared not approach without the queen's command, finally only choosing to turn away and give her privacy.

'The individual who is aware of his guilt experiences suffering in acknowledging his sin. This suffering constitutes his punishment, as does being in prison.'

It took Alicent longer than he would have liked to pull himself together. As she stood up, her eyes bloodshot but not watery, she adjusted her cloak, hiding the evidence of the night, and strode steadily towards the royal septon's exit.

○

The night air turned cool as Alicent crossed the drawbridge into Maegor's bastion. To one side, Ser Criston walked silently, ready to receive the queen's directions for the next day's events. Barely audible whispers escaped Alicent's lips as she meticulously planned every detail.

However, in the midst of her words, a shiver ran down her spine as she felt footsteps behind her. She casually turned her head, time seeming to stand still as a shadow lunged at her with a dagger in hand. Her instinct led her to raise her right arm to protect herself.

Before Criston could reach the assassin, the dagger cut deep into her arm. Alicent fell to her knees, pursing her lips to stifle the scream of pain. As she covered the wound with her other hand, she closed her eyes, and among the many emotions she experienced the physical pain was somewhat comforting, for in addition to the pain of knowing her father had tried to kill her, of the betrayal, there was emptiness, no regret for what she had done.

When Alicent finally turned, she saw Ser Criston stop struggling with the assassin, who now lay convulsing on the ground. Foam was pouring from his mouth, revealing that he had been poisoned.

"Ser Criston," Alicent called.

Criston, disoriented for a moment, turned to her, kneeling beside her. Blood was now dripping from his hand in abundance, and the knight's eyes reflected helplessness and concern.

"Your Grace, are you alright?" asked Criston, it was the only thing going through his mind, reacting a little slowly.

"I am wounded, but it is nothing serious," she replied in a halting voice. "They have an assassin in the fortress, have the guards search." With her gaze fixed on him, she repeated the order with determination. "We have the assassin."

Criston nodded in understanding and raised his head, shouting a couple of times to call the guards. When they arrived or peeked out, Criston announced that the queen had been attacked and was wounded, ordering a further search of the fortress and a call to the grand master.

The scene became chaotic as some guards scattered, shouting that there was an assassin, and others drew their swords to surround them.

Confused and wounded, Alicent was helped to her feet by Criston. After walking a distance she was placed in a chair as they tried to get her attention. She felt a rope being tied above her elbow to stop the blood loss, she guessed.

Alicent could not tell how long it had been before she heard the concerned voice of the maester beside her, kneeling beside her. The rustle of cloth and the bitter taste of wood in her mouth were barely a blur.

"All right, your grace, we'll have to stitch her up," Orwyle murmured, treating Alicent's wound.

An intense burning came over her, followed by excruciating physical pain with each stitch.

In the midst of the agony, she felt a hand take hers and squeeze tightly. Something about that presence felt familiar, though the pain prevented her from thinking clearly. A flash of platinum hair passed in front of her narrowed eyes, but the scent that enveloped her unnerved her and it was impossible to resort to fantasy....

Alicent squeezed her eyes tightly shut, holding back the tears that were beginning to escape. She would not cry for the pain in her arm, nor for the stitches tearing at her skin. Her grief came from a much deeper place, from the irreparable loss she had suffered that night.

She thought of her children, of their laughter, their smiles and their voices, she remembered Godswood, the sea and the blue eyes.... It was the last thing that crossed her mind before she succumbed to fainting, submerged in the darkness that surrounded her.

Chapter 32: Green

Chapter Text

Laenor was wandering the corridors of the fortress at Dragonstone when Maester Gerardys intercepted him, his countenance troubled.

"Prince Laenor, a raven has arrived from King's Landing," the maester announced in a deep voice. "Something terrible has happened. Twelve have been found dead, including guards, servants and maids. In addition, the queen has been attacked and wounded."

Laenor frowned in concern.

"And the King?" he asked quickly.

"The King is out of danger," the maester replied.

"Wait here," Laenor ordered before turning and hurrying towards Rhaenyra's room. He knew she must be informed immediately.

He lit a candle in the room as Rhaenyra barely managed to open her eyes, drowsy. As she sat up in bed, Laenor informed her of the tragedy in King's Landing. The clarity of the news shocked Rhaenyra, who immediately got out of bed, looking for something to wear and a dressing gown.

Laenor watched her in bewilderment as she hurried out of the room. He tried to catch up with her in the corridor, repeating that the King was safe, but Rhaenyra did not stop, practically trotting past the guards.

Before disappearing down one of the corridors, Rhaenyra turned to Laenor and told her to watch the children. Laenor sighed in resignation and decided to go back to look for the maester.

He eventually found Gerardys and ordered him to send a raven to King's Landing to report that Princess Rhaenyra was on her way.

Shortly after the order was given, they heard the roar of a dragon rising in flight. Laenor looked out of the window and saw that it was completely dark outside.

"If she doesn't get here first," Laenor muttered to himself.

○

King Viserys sat in the hallway outside the queen's chambers, with a few members of the council nearby: Lord Velaryon, Lannister, Wylde and the Lord Commander. As they passed around reports of what had happened in the keep and of new discoveries, Viserys stood at attention, watching the door to Alicent's room.

The last he had heard was Grand Maester Orwyle's report of the queen's fever and his responsibility to monitor her health and search for poison.

His concentration broke when he was told of the twelve dead in the keep. This revelation made Viserys realise the gravity of the situation.

"Twelve dead!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat, some rushing forward in fear that he would fall. "This is more serious than I imagined. I order that all those who guarded Maegor's stronghold and its environs be questioned. At any hint of suspicion, they are to be mercilessly executed."

His words echoed down the hall, charged with anger and determination. The council members nodded silently, Wylde and Cole the first to walk away.

○

It was not yet dawn, nor had the raven sent from Dragonstone arrived when Rhaenyra landed on her dragon in King's Landing. Heading straight for her father as the royal guard, who had seen Syrax's flight, hurried to surround her.

Arriving in the hallway of the queen's chambers, she was met with a desolate scene: everyone was clearly stressed, upset and impatient, evidencing the weight of the situation. The guards in the corners, however, stood firm and alert, as if on constant guard, as in their earlier days when nervousness made them fearful of any mistake.

"Rhaenyra," Viserys said as he saw her arrive, in a somewhat surprised whisper.

She approached her father and took his hand. As he tried to stand, Rhaenyra stopped him, placing her hands on the king's shoulders, expressing her relief at seeing him well.

"My King, I am glad to see you well. A raven came to DragonStone not long ago."

Viserys nodded, grateful, he squeezed Rhaenyra's hand on his shoulder, feeling renewed encouragement at having her by his side.

Following Rhaenyra's gaze to the door of Alicent's room, Viserys informed her that they were awaiting word from Grand Maester Orwyle. Who after a long wait, finally emerged from the room accompanied by two other Maesters and maidens, the sepas, who were beginning to clear the room, taking bloody sheets, clothes and bucket with them.

Orwyle, rubbing his forehead, relieving the tension between his brows, informed them that the queen was well and that the fever had begun to break. However, the wound in her arm was deep and made with Valyrian steel. Though she had not lost her arm, mobility would be checked once she awoke, as the nerves might be damaged.

Noticing Criston almost in the background after a quick glance around, Orwyle felt the need to do something for him, considering what he knew had happened that night. He continued with a tone of sincere relief, commenting that fortunately, the assassin had been stopped in time to prevent the tragedy of the queen losing her arm.

Viserys, however, expressed fury at the idea that not only that, the queen would have died if the attacker had not been stopped in time. He looked around, questioning how an assassin managed to infiltrate the best guarded place in the keep with a weapon as lethal as Valyrian steel. He looked past her to the Hand ordering the dagger to be checked for its provenance.

Rhaenyra gritted her teeth, equally annoyed, but restrained herself from taking rash action. She tried to comfort her father, placing a hand on his shoulder as she gathered as much patience as she could.

Viserys asked Orwyle when they could be admitted to see the queen. The grand maester explained that the incense to relax her and ensure a good night's rest had recently been lit, and that they could enter once it had worn off.

However, Orwyle omitted some vitality problems affecting the queen, such as stress, poor diet and lack of sleep, as well as loss of blood. He decided not to inform the King of these problems, as he felt, after getting to know Queen Alicent during those last weeks, that the truth of her condition should not be revealed to anyone but herself.

○

Rhaenyra feared that the message was a warning of death, and it hurt. It hurt too much to think it, to suppose it. Though it was brief, a butterfly's flutter. So she tried hard to push those thoughts from her mind as she moved forward, concentrating on anything other than ...

She did not consider herself a patient woman by nature, but she was willing to make the necessary effort when the situation called for it. Though she wished fervently to get everyone out of that room; or to flee from that place that now evoked Alicent's breath more than her own mother's; to lift every foundation in the Seven Kingdoms to find a culprit other than the wretch they had hung outside. To take her father from her hand. She had to be patient not to do it.

Rhaenyra walked to the other side, looked at the free hand, withered and pale on the bed, and felt a shiver as she imagined how cold it might be. Still, with her hair scattered on the pillow, the queen's face was serene. How many years had it been since she had seen her sleep so peacefully? Or since she had seen her sleep? It seemed a transgressive act to her now, but the times she awoke at Lady Alicent's side were countless. In fact, the last time was that morning when she believed everything had changed ...

When believed that everything had changed. If she believed in dragon's blood before, since that moment she had awakened a fire, a life that boiled inside. Rhaenyra still felt it when she awoke, stirring in the darkness, on her thigh. The next day, there was a moment when she lost herself in watching his every feature. Rhaenyra wished Alicent would wake up, meet her gaze, and say those words again. She would say it, they could do it, run away from Landing, Alicent could help her, she was smart, run away to some free city and make her own money.... . She calculated and planned while she slept with her face over my hand. Her heart beats as hard as her first flights, flooding her like colours or light, that vision of the life they could lead together. She can't fall asleep then, at the first light of morning she leaves her room.

Everything had changed. The first moment they see each other again, when Alicent seems to blush, sees her blush growing and feels again the pressure of her mouth against his, the pull of her ardent and imperfect kisses, the push of her hand.

Everything changed, he had told himself. Nothing changed at all. Everything got worse... knew it, even before her father announced it, she nodded. She waits, but Alicent doesn't look at her; she thinks he'll never look at her frankly again.

She was a child then, too young, a dreamer without equal. So much time has passed that it seems like another life. But standing there, at her bedside more than fifteen years later, the wish that she would open her eyes, meet his gaze, and tell her, how terrible it was to wake up and think she would no longer be there, in the place her memory decided to leave her, in the young woman she once knew under a tree, and loved in a mad, ridiculously childish, but sincere way. For Alicent Hightower existed, indeed, contrary to what she had set out to believe. And she could not conceive of a life without her.

Rhaenyra was in the queen's chamber, but her mind wandered far from the conversation between her father and the grand maester. The weariness in Viserys's eyes and dejected posture were evident. Rhaenyra snapped back to reality as the grand maester helped her father to his feet. With quick strides, she moved to his side to offer her support and help him out of the room, just as she had done when he had entered. But the grand maester assured him that he would accompany him to check on the King's health, which implied privacy. Rhaenyra got the message and nodded silently.

Once alone in the room, with only a pair of servants and septa surrounding her, she felt momentarily lost. But the need for honesty compelled her to act.

She dismissed those present with an almost polite but exhausted gesture, noting how some watched her cautiously. Without much patience, she used her authority to demand it.

After watching the door close, she approached Alicent's bed and took his hand decisively, surprised by the sudden impulse. The princess understood that those feelings were coming from a place she couldn't tell. But they were there, being emotions complicated to express.

Youth had protected her from thinking too much about the future. It had protected her so much that the abrupt end had torn it all apart. There was something peaceful and pure that she always associated with her age. She longed for the closeness, the touch, the warmth. The deep breaths after every little moment. It was something that happened but that his mind had trouble reproducing and describing the feeling, even if he tried to look for it. She had never felt those sensations again.

Years later, whenever she had required the closeness involved something carnal, the heat of passion, the urgency, even invoking something forbidden, had its satisfaction, to her luck. There were traces of that quiet stillness after that; snuggling into each other's warm bodies, sharing some things without the pressure of urgency. It was different, no doubt, but she would confess that in the quiet of the evenings or her own relaxation, she would have given much to just feel once more the touch, the embrace of someone who might have less strength than her, but still make her feel able to do anything, ride a dragon through the world, with just the warm hand giving her reassurance, sweet and somewhat illusory, not thinking for a moment that she would have to pull away because it was meant to be. it was meant to be.

She found herself leaning down, brushed the damp hair away from Alicent's forehead. From her lips came not good wishes for his recovery, relief for his well-being, reassurance that all would be well as she would have wished, but a greeting. A simple "Hello" accompanying her comforting sigh. Touching her skin, dhe experienced a sense of familiarity and belonging.

Leaning even closer, she whispered, "Please wake up.

It was as sincere a request as he had rarely made. Her eyes moved to the bandaged arm on the other side. He had begged his mother for a cut, his father faded year after year for a cut, and now …

○

Rhaenyra left Alicent's room not long after the King. As she reached the end, she was surprised to find Laenor, who was still wearing the same clothes she had worn the night before when she had left Dragonstone.

He said nothing, but joined her, walking beside her in silence. Once they were far enough away from the room, Laenor spoke quietly, expressing that he hoped she was a little calmer, having heard that the Queen was well.

Rhaenyra did not respond, feeling somewhat uncomfortable with Laenor's insinuating tone. Instead, she questioned:

"Why are you here? I asked you to look after the children."

Laenor explained that her mother, Princess Rhaenys, had also received a message and had flown to Dragonstone instead of Landing to see the situation there. She even mentioned that Rhaenys had seen Rhaenyra flying, but at a higher altitude.

She nodded, accepting the explanation, but Laenor did not let her off so easily.

"Since when did you become so concerned about the Queen?" he asked.

Stopping short, Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, seemingly confused by the question or daring Laenor to elaborate. She repeated, "She is the Queen," as if that was a truism that needed no discussion.

Laenor watched her silently, trying to discern something in her expression, but Rhaenyra was too tired to pretend or feel anything else. She left him there, continuing down the corridor without looking back.

○○○

Aemond had been feeling grumpy and upset since they were told in the morning about what had happened in the fortress, what had happened to his mother while they slept. Once they were told she was stable, they all carried on as if nothing had happened, but it was hard for him to ignore the worry that was creeping up on him.

Aegon left on his dragon as soon as he had the chance, escaping the tension in the keep. Aemond was not bothered by that tension, instead, he felt more worried and even sad.

"Why did they want to hurt my mother?" he wondered silently. To him, she was an exemplary queen, the best there could be. He had grown up under her care and could not conceive who would want to harm her. Ignoring any political considerations due to his age, the feelings and admiration he felt for her weighed more heavily on his mind.

As he walked through the corridors of the fortress, his mind was filled with confused thoughts and tumultuous emotions. He felt helpless in the face of the situation and did not know how to deal with his own feelings. His mother always insisted that the best thing to do was to express them. He needed to get it off his chest, but he didn't know where to turn. He looked around, searching for an outlet for his anguish, but found himself alone. He took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions.

At breakfast, Aemond watched his sister Helaena, who seemed to be the least worried of all. She tried to convey to Aemond that all would be well, that his mother, though injured, was fine. However, for Aemond, there was still something that was ignored, something that did not fit into the whole situation.

His little brother Daeron, on the other hand, was the only one who cried to see his mother. It was understandable, Aemond thought. Daeron was just a child, which, at the same time, made it easy for him to forget the situation soon after as he played with Helaena or her toys for a while.

Aemond felt even worse when they were allowed to see his mother. She was pale, terribly pale. The Grand Maester tried to calm them down, saying it was normal for the situation. But for Aemond, it was not normal at all. He would never want it to be normal to see her like this. It was unfair for her to be suffering like that.

Aemond was uneasy throughout his class with the Maester. There was no one to talk to about his worries: the King was hardly among his options, his uncle Gwayne was far away, and Ser Criston was busy investigating what had happened at the fortress. He longed to hear that it wasn't wrong to feel this way, with a terrible pit in his stomach. He loved his mother, longed to see her smile, to have her tidy her hair as she used to. He didn't want to accept the idea that she would have to live with the mark of a murderer for the rest of her days.

After his class, he left the library followed by his guard. With the book on his arm, he made his way to his mother's chambers. Upon entering, he was met with a surprise: Princess Rhaenyra was there, sitting near the window, her cheek resting on one hand as she looked down at the bed.

Rhaenyra was the first to greet him, and Aemond politely returned the greeting. He wanted to ask her what she was doing there, or even ask her to leave, as that was the time he usually spent with his mother. However, he knew that would be rude, something completely foreign to what the queen taught him, as annoying as he felt.

He looked down and pressed the book against his side. As much as he wanted to be alone, he did not want to leave. He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose, not noticing the wistful smile he had elicited from Princess Rhaenyra. It was only when he looked up that he noticed it, which was odd, as it was the first time she had ever smiled at him like that, or even smiled at him. In fact, he had spoken more to Rhaenyra's children than to her.

Rhaenyra seemed to understand why he was there, and told him that she would only stay a moment longer. In short, he was not to worry about her presence. Aemond nodded and moved towards the bed. He set the book down beside his mother's uninjured arm, took off his boots, and carefully sat down with his legs bent. He arranged the book there for comfort and gently took his mother's hand.

He noticed that she was not as pale as she had been in the morning, which made him smile more cheerfully. He began to recount what he had learned that day. Maybe she heard him, maybe she didn't. He couldn't be sure. His mother always spoke to Helaena when she seemed lost in her own world, and even if she didn't get a response, she always seemed hopeful.

"Maester Aelrick has allowed a debate on dragon origins to take place today," Aemond began. "The Valyrians claimed that dragons originated in the 14 Flames, the volcanoes of the Valyrian peninsula. But there were dragons in Westeros, once, long before the Targaryens came, as our own legends and stories tell us. If dragons first emerged from the Fourteen Flames, they must have spread across much of the known world before they were tamed. And indeed there is evidence of this, as dragon bones have been found as far north as Ib, and even in the jungles of Sothoryos. But the Valyrians dominated and subjugated them as no one else could.

Septon Barth, however, has a very different theory. He speculated that Valyrian blood mages used wyverns to create dragons. Although it was alleged that the blood wizards had experimented mightily with their unnatural arts. This claim is considered far-fetched by most Maester, even Maester Aelrick."

Aemond paused his narrative for a moment and glanced to the side, where the light barely illuminated his mother's profile, calm and serene. He yawned, covering his lips, and then turned his attention back to the book, searching for a particular page. As he spoke, he noticed that Princess Rhaenyra was almost leaning back in her chair, eyes closed, perhaps deep in her own thoughts.

"Do you remember, mother? The most terrible of all are the wyverns, those tyrants of the southern skies, with their great leathery wings, cruel beaks and insatiable hunger. Close relatives of dragons, wyverns cannot spit fire, but they surpass their cousins in ferocity and are rivals to them in all other respects except size. It could be that fire wyverns provide the breath and size of fire, and wyverns provide the body shape and wings. In terms of morphology and extraordinary breath, it is quite possible that the Valyrian dragons were created from a magically assisted crossbreeding of wyverns with fire wyrms. This would also fit in with the Valyrian stories that dragons arose from the 14 Flames. There is the phrase "Dragons are fire made flesh". Which could simply be a poetic way of expressing that dragons are creatures of intense heat, a way of saying that they are fire incarnate.

The point is that, although I normally think Septon Barth is right about everything, there are records of dragons thousands of years before Valyria. The Five Forts east of Yi Ti are made of black stone fused together as a Valyrian dragonfire construct, as is the base of Hightower, and again they were built millennia before the sheep-herding tribe that became the Valyrians supposedly found dragons nesting in the Fourteen Flames. There are also records in Asshai that claim an ancient people first tamed dragons in the Shadow and brought their skills and dragons to Valyria. Only three types of legendary dragons are known in the history of Westeros: the ice dragons, the Urrax dragon and the Nakka sea dragon. Both sea dragons and ice dragons are different species of dragons to the Valyrians. If there were ever different types of dragons, then it is still possible that the Valyrian dragons are different..."

"So, could it be that Sept Barth is partly right?" concluded Aemond, turning to his mother. "Or perhaps the ancient dragons of Asshai travelled the world before becoming extinct, and the Valyrians then recreated different dragons through a breeding project?"

In the last stretch of his narrative, Aemond began to get excited about his ideas, letting his voice fill with excitement as he shared his theories. However, realising that he would get no response, his shoulders slumped and his enthusiasm slowly faded.

He remained like that, staring at the margins of the book's pages. Suddenly, he turned back at the sound of movement, meeting Princess Rhaenyra, who had risen to her feet. She announced her departure, and Aemond dismissed her with a nod, watching her as she left the room.

With a sigh, he put aside his book and took Alicent's hand in both hands. His eyes glazed over with restrained tears as he gazed at her, unable to contain the sadness that filled him. In a barely audible whisper, he expressed his deepest wish: "I wish you would wake up, mother”.

Chapter 33: Green

Chapter Text

Everything became a dark haze, even behind her closed eyelids. There it was again, the twinge of pain in her arm, the lingering smell of blood in her nose, the low murmur that seemed to envelop her. Alicent turned his head just enough so that he could look to the side, recognising the familiarity of his room: the canopied bed, the window, the soft daylight filtering through the curtains.

Now the pieces began to fit together in his mind: the royal septon, what had happened in the passageways, Larys Strong's body falling dead to the floor. She hoped he was ready to face his trial in hell. The memory of the assassin in Maegor's bastion, the cutting.... That seemed to be it.

The servants noticed her movement, some approached in haste, while others tried directly towards the door. Alicent wasted no time in pleasantries, she asked firmly to be helped to her feet immediately, her parched, scratchy throat crying out for a drink of water.

Gently, the maids helped her into her white gown with gold detailing and tucked up her loose hair to avoid tangles. Another offered her a glass of water, which she gratefully accepted. She looked at the bandage on her arm, noting how carefully she had been helped to avoid any unnecessary contact. The stinging sensation indicated that the healing was well underway.

Sitting up in bed helped free her from the heaviness that threatened to sink her deeper into the mattress. Struggling, she managed to sit up a little, as if an invisible weight was keeping her down, rather than the constant pressure on her chest. Was someone on top of her all this time?

Although the maids insisted that she remain in bed, Alicent asked them to help her walk to a chair near the table. Despite the listlessness and tiredness, the pain in her arm and her sluggishness, there was nothing to indicate that anything was wrong with her appearance.

Her hair fell over her shoulders, her expression was bored and indifferent, though her eyebrows were laden with some weariness. She breathed a sigh of relief when she finally sat steady in the chair, resting her healthy arm on the armrest, she settled the other against her abdomen, giving her a sense of reassurance in its protection.

After clearing his throat, he asked how long he had been in bed. Receiving confirmation that it had been almost two days, she was surprised. Now he understood why his bones were so stiff.

The door to Alicent's room opened in a moment, and three familiar figures entered the room. The Grand Maester, the King and, to his surprise, Princess Rhaenyra were there. Viserys was the first to speak, greeting her with a warm "My Queen" and expressing his relief and good humour at seeing her awake again.

"My King," Alicent replied, then thanked him gratefully.

She was not surprised that he did not approach immediately, as Grand Master Orwyle was the first to do so. As the Grand Master approached, Alicent greeted the Princess, who also expressed apparent concern and relief to see her awake.

Rhaenyra remained a step behind her father, who had already taken his seat. Alicent's attention did not remain on them for long, as the Grand Master was at his side, laying all the medical equipment on the table. Alicent greeted him, his soft, somewhat husky voice barely audible in the room.

"Your Grace, may I?" the Grand Master asked, pointing to his bandaged arm.

Alicent noticed the wariness in his eyes and allowed himself a small smile.

"Please. Have mercy. I haven't had a bath in two days."

Orwyle let out a small laugh, then relaxed at her humour and explained as he removed the bandage from her arm, "A Valyrian weapon, my queen. Hence the heavy blood loss and the wound taking a while to close. It was 14 stitches, I regret to say there will be a scar."

Alicent nodded, looking at the ugly scar that stretched the length of his forearm. 'Well, if that's the price the gods demand for what I did, I'll give it to them,' she thought with resignation.

"Mn. It's already a miracle I didn't lose my arm. I don't remember much of what happened..."

"You were attacked," the King finally interjected, looking away from his wound. Alicent noticed the guilt in his posture, but she didn't understand why he should feel guilty to begin with. He had nothing to do with the matter, although, that was already a great excuse to feel guilty.

"That I remember very well. The rest, it was all a bit confusing," Alicent replied, looking up at him.

Viserys began to recount what happened that night: the twelve dead among servants and guards in the keep, the assassin who attacked it took his own life with poison, though his weapon was Valyrian, not known in Westeros. Some guards were dismissed, but no accomplice could be found. In addition, the Master of Whispers, Larys Strong, had vanished without a trace.

A small sudden movement from the Grand Master made Alicent grimace. He quickly apologised, and Alicent nodded towards Viserys, hiding his true feelings under a surprised and worried look.

They waited in silence for the Grand Maester to finish checking and disinfecting the wound. When he finished, the man commented that the healing was going perfectly, which caused Viserys to breathe a sigh of relief and Rhaenyra to relax the tension in her shoulders.

Alicent didn't notice, she was too absorbed in what she had to deal with soon. Was it a new enemy? Another sent by her father? A mercenary hired by Larys or the White Worm? By then, Orwyle had already finished bandaging her.

○○○

"What do you think we should do with her, Ser Wydman?" asked Alicent, turning to the man who stood near the doorway, watching the woman kneeling in the middle of the room intently.

"Cut out her tongue and throw it to the dogs, Your Grace," Wydman replied without hesitation.

Alicent grimaced mockingly, adhering to the "plan" and the gentleman's idea that people like that only learned by threats and extortion.

"That would be too quick. Where would the fun be? We should twist some limb first. But which one?" muttered Alicent, walking slowly around the woman, keeping his injured arm against his abdomen, a habit acquired over the last couple of days.

There was a different taste in the fear Talya had as she watched them. Alicent watched him curiously; her eyes were lost and unfocused, as if waiting for something, and only regained focus when she saw Wydman put away the dagger he'd been playing with.

What do you do when there seems to be no way out? Alicent reflected. When you're in total darkness and the cold shrinks your bones. When there's barely enough air to delay the inevitable for a few minutes, and the thoughts in your head beat so erratically that you're drowning in the chaos of your own madness.

What did she do during those days? She upset a lot of people. And she realised, fatally, that everything she did might not matter, plunging into nothingness itself. Picking up a few pieces of what she thought was her now.

Talya didn't speak, her lips remained pressed into a line. She was smart enough not to look at Alicent in a flippant or threatening manner. She seemed willing to take any punishment. Alicent didn't need Talya to say anything to know that what Larys Strong had said had been true. Nor was he what she had expected, someone completely submissive.

At another time she might have appreciated it, but she was being stupid. Her loyalty had never been with her, she realised. How easily do helpless people follow you when you seem to be their only alternative? Hadn't she? Alicent saw something of Ser Criston in this woman.

"I have always found it curious, that my father, after so many years, has been able to follow every step... But you," Alicent said quietly, stopping in front of the woman. "What shall I do with you, Talya? "

However, Alicent could not call himself innocent in that scenario. She was no better than him.

His heart pounded in his chest, like a fluttering bird in a cage. The soul howled silently, like a wounded animal howls. The air was filled with a sense of foreboding. Is this really going to be solved by killing everyone? What is she so worried about? How far will his paranoia go?

Alicent contemplated the woman kneeling before her, mulling over the options. On the one hand, she could punish her severely, she could offer her to Viserys to punish the "white worm", but on the other hand....

Alicent looked at the woman kneeling before her, mulling over the options. On the one hand, she could punish her severely, offer her to Viserys to punish the "white worm," but on the other hand....

"No excuses? People in your position tend to beg, if not for life, at least for forgiveness," Alicent said, his tone firm but also containing a hint of genuine curiosity.

Alicent approached Talya and helped her to her feet with a hand.

"I'll give you a chance to redeem yourself, Talya" Alicent forced her to meet his gaze, he felt a tremor beneath his hand as she squeezed her elbow. "You will leave here. You will tell her she has one night to recall her own or I will retaliate, towards her and those behind her. There will be no place she can hide from me if she gets in my way."

Alicent released her, pulled his hand away slowly as if she had released something rotten, but which she had no trouble touching. It was nothing.

Talya froze, feeling the weight of Alicent's words, but at the same time struggling to fully comprehend what was happening. Her mind ran in circles, trying to find a way out.

Alicent frowned, noticing Talya's lack of reaction. Her expression became annoyed, her eyes flashing with frustration as she watched the woman in front of her.

After a moment of tense silence, Alicent let out a sneer, this time without a mask. His tone was sarcastic but full of truth as she said, "You think I don't know where that worm is hiding? That he hasn't served my father all these years? How many more?"

Talya remained silent, not daring to utter a single word.

Alicent continued his speech, his words cutting like sharp daggers. "If I'd wanted to, you wouldn't be here. You'd be one more of the twelve, and they'd all be charred in that sleazy brothel in Flea Bottom."

A shiver ran down Talya's back as Alicent spoke, sensing the threat implicit in his words. She swallowed nervously, unable to look away from the queen's piercing eyes.

"Tell her, 'Valar Morghulis'. She will understand," Alicent added with a tone of authority.

Wydman watched Talya as she left the room, a look of confusion crossing his face, but he showed no sign of annoyance or reproach. Turning to Alicent, who stood silently watching the door close, Wydman decided to address the question weighing on his mind.

"Should I follow you, my queen?" asked Wydman, his tone revealing a hint of doubt. Trusting the likes of Talya could prove to be a risky choice.

Alicent was unfazed by his words. Instead, she looked him square in the eye and replied with unrelenting seriousness: "There are only two options. And a reluctance to kill is not a weakness."

The knight bowed to her in respect and compliance with her command.

Alicent dismissed him with a wave of her hand, but before Wydman withdrew completely, she reminded him firmly: "Remain alert to general movement. We can't afford to let our guard down either".

Wydman nodded silently before leaving the room, leaving Alicent to his thoughts.