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After the return of the royal entourage to the capital, the king went to see Grandmaester Orwyle almost immediately. The journey had taken a heavy toll on Viserys’s health, the stress of the previous evening demanding of him to take rest, otherwise his sickness would worsen. After his indifference toward Aemond’s maiming, Alicent was equally indifferent to whatever plagued her husband at that moment.
“Do not leave his side,” her father cautioned her, “Remember your station, Daughter. You are the queen, Viserys’s caring wife, even after what happened on Driftmark.”
He didn’t need to tell her, it was the role she had played for the better part of ten years while he had toiled around in Oldtown thanks to his own ambition.
They attended to the king until he fell into an uneasy sleep.
"Do I have permission to see my son now, Father?" Alicent asked sharply.
Ser Otto gave her a cold look, then nodded. He had not been there while the state of Viserys's body had further deteriorated while he had barely changed far for his hair thinning, getting a bit gaunter, and the wrinkles on his face. He had not been both wife and caretaker. Alicent didn't hate Viserys for being ill, if there was something he couldn't be blamed for, it was his health, but in this moment she couldn't help but feel as if it was some sort of divine justice imposed by the Father Above for his lacking love toward their children.
She made the walk through the castle on her own after having freed Ser Criston from his duties for the time being. She didn't wish to see him for more than necessary, at least not until Aemond was abed, but she almost felt sorry for him when she had dismissed him. She could have sworn something in his face shifted and he had lowered his head as he whispered an obedient "Yes, Your Grace" and went his way. But what scared her even more was that she had enjoyed herself at seeing Criston's disappointment and knowing that such a thing would not happen in the future unless he wanted to risk falling into disgrace with her.
Aemond was already well asleep by the time she entered his chambers. The flesh underneath the stitches was still red as a cooked crayfish and she brushed a stray strand of hair away from his forehead and gently kissed him before going her way. He would need rest, a lot of it until he was able to… do what exactly? Beginning his training anew? Or was he confined to being a scholar? There was nothing wrong with reading scriptures instead of swinging a sword, but she knew Aemond loved sword-fighting just as much as he enjoyed studying. And he loved that damned creature, had even insisted on riding it to King's Landing instead of resting on the ship. If Alicent had disliked dragons before and been uncomfortable in their presence, she now loathed them. She would never understand the bond her children had with these beasts, how Aegon and Helaena could spend hours with them without ever getting bored even when they didn't fly them.
She was tired by the time she reached her chambers but was surprised to see someone already waiting for her in front of the door.
"Lord Strong," she greeted the new Lord of Harrenhal and head of his house, rather hesitantly, "we had not settled for a joint dinner tonight."
They hadn't since that fateful day, as a matter of fact, when Larys had told her without a spark of regret about the murder of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin. It had frightened Alicent and she even considered exiling him from Viserys's court despite his usefulness and ten long years of loyalty, servitude, and eventually a surprisingly close friendship.
She hadn't done it, because with Larys out of her sight and by rejecting him, she could unleash his cold wrath upon her and her children – there even was a chance he might turn to Rhaenyra just to spite her, and just the thought of Larys displaying such eager loyalty as he had done for Alicent upset her, and she immediately abandoned the notion.
“Oh, that I am well aware of, Your Grace, forgive me if my spontaneity is a hindrance to you.” Lord Larys always cowed in front of her although he was of high stature, and back then Alicent had thought it was because of his posture to not affect the side with his foot even more, but gradually she had recognised it was all part of the game Lord Larys played: appear harmless, quiet, and small, do your best to not draw all eyes on you, and they will never see you as anything but a poor unfortunate cripple. At court, the public persona of the Hand’s youngest son had been that of a quiet, mild-mannered, perhaps craven, scholar who was lucky to be Lord Lyonel’s son. Had he been born to a lesser family or even a peasant, he would've counted himself lucky to be hidden away but still alive. That Larys was Lord Confessor was known only to the members of the Small Council.
"It is not," Alicent said after a moment and entered her chambers. She held the open door for Larys to follow her. As she crossed the room while she took off her cloak, Larys looked around as if he hadn't been in these very rooms more times than she could count in the last decade.
"I will be frank, but I'd rather take some rest now and not eat."
"If you wish it so," Larys conceded and nodded his head. He was so uncharacteristically subservient ever since the fire of Harrenhal. Perhaps he was scared that this demonstration of his power had frightened Alicent, and wanted to make it up to her in some way. The offer to bring her the eye of Rhaenyra's son had been just another way, as well as to show once more that he valued her over his family. Lucerys 'Velaryon' was his nephew but it was clear he didn't see the boy nor Jacerys or Joffrey as anything resembling family.
"Perhaps a glass of wine, though? It could put you at rest, Your Grace."
Alicent tilted her head. A bit of wine did sound tempting, and the tone in which Larys spoke indicated that he knew of something that could interest her.
"I'll tell Talya to get some Arbor Red." It was their preferred variant to share, although Larys had an odd fancy for Qartheen wine as well.
"Thank you, my queen," he said as he made his way toward the chair and almost dramatically took a seat, "I've heard that the king is feeling unwell?"
Alicent rolled her eyes. "Just as the sea is salty, it is a given that Viserys is on the verge of death without ever crossing the threshold."
Larys's lips twitched. "At least the young prince is recovering fine enough. As you know, my offer still stands, although there might be some difficulty with the execution of it."
Alicent scoffed. "Staging an accident during his training sessions should be possible for you – but again, no, I see no need for Lucerys to be blinded," she added quickly when remembering just how enthusiastic Larys had been at taking action to bring her father back to the capital.
Larys nodded but said nothing otherwise. When Alicent left briefly to ask Talya to fetch some wine, she found Larys watching her intently. She never knew what to think when she found herself underneath his gaze. He might not have the Targaryens' violet eyes that by their rare colour had a strange effect on people but something about his blue-grey eyes made her skin crawl in ways she never knew to be bad or good. He had eyes that seemed all–seeing, knowing every single secret, as small as it may be, in the castle. Alicent had few secrets she didn't tell Larys about, partially because she didn't wish for him to have something in his hand that could be used against her, like he had insinuated that, should Alicent speak to Viserys about the true cause of the late Strongs' death, a similar or even worse fate would await her. And yet, she doubted that it would happen, ever. For that, Larys's personal loyalty and devotion to her were too strong.
At the beginning, Alicent had bathed in his attention like the cormorants would in the sun that fell upon the Blackwater Bay. For the first time in her life, she felt as if when she spoke, someone actually listened and took her seriously – something that the Targaryens she was around failed to do. Arrogance was simply in their nature, both Viserys and Rhaenyra as well as the Princess Rhaenys were stellar examples of that. Even during their friendship, Alicent would sometimes feel that Rhaenyra's barbed remarks were jests of a rather cutting nature.
With Larys, she couldn't help but feel as if she was being courted with the frequency of how much time they spent together. Once upon a time, Larys's eyes had been trustworthy to her, the eyes of a friend who would always lend her his ear whenever she had to air her grievances, and occasionally also shared what frustrated him. Once upon a time, she would sometimes get lost in them when seeking refuge from the world around her, but she forced herself to see Larys as a friend and nothing but a friend. She had known for a long time that his feelings toward her weren't entirely chaste. Alicent had seen many a man look at her to know when she was being desired, and yet Lord Larys not once crossed the boundary – yet. At the end of the day it was always a matter of time until someone decided to voice their feelings.
Even though she had entertained juvenile fantasies during her younger years as queen, how Larys acted like a gallant knight from the songs despite being incapable of ever being a true knight and how comfortable she felt around him, Alicent was very aware of both of their standing. The most beautiful woman in the Known World and the twisted crippled son of the husband's first adviser – it was like some mummer had come up with it. And even then, she was married. It wasn't suitable for any woman to think indecently about men, and much less if she was wed to another.
But Larys's own revelation had changed the course of their relationship, even if in his eyes it was the greatest token of love he could have offered. He killed, slew his own kin, cursed himself into the deepest of the Seven Hells, all for her. Whenever Alicent came close to acknowledging that in some sick bizarre way, it was in fact romantic, she had to distract herself, do anything that required her focus lest her thoughts dwelt for too long on the Lord Confessor.
"Has the treasury already taken precautions for the winter?” He asked all of the sudden.
Alicent furrowed her brow at the odd question. “Of course, summer is nearing its end. Why do you ask?”
Larys shrugged.
“It just crossed my mind. In case there is a conflict between the two heirs for the throne, it would be smart to keep the Smallfolk on one’s side.” Larys watched the rings on his left hand, the one that didn’t hold his stick. “The king and his kin see themselves as gods among men and thus above having to account for the well-being of the people. House Hightower surely is more humble than to believe this.”
Alicent sat down opposite him. She wanted to tell him that Aegon was not heir, not yet, Viserys barely even looked at the boy. Larys knew that, just like he knew everything, but he played the part nevertheless.
“Of course,” Alicent said once more. “Not for nothing one of the titles of the king is ‘protector of the realm’.”
There was a knock on the door, and Talya entered. As she poured Alicent and Larys their wine, the Lord Confessor fidgeted with his crutch as if he was nervous about him being in the handmaid’s presence. Alicent had long ago looked through his performance though; again, it was all about appearing nervous and insignificant.
She noticed Talya watching him from the corner of her eye but didn’t think of reprimanding her. Instead, she thanked her for her service and bid her good night.
Alicent took a sip from her wine, it tasted sweet and strong. She stared into the glass as she asked: “You were curiously absent on the night after Laena Velaryon’s funeral.”
She said it as a question, although she knew that Larys didn’t need to be present to be fully aware of events.
Larys didn’t answer right away. “Is it that curious when one decides to sleep at night?”
Alicent’s eyes narrowed as she frowned.
“I beg your pardon,” Larys said quickly, but there was still the hint of a smile on his lips at his own jest. “Still, I have heard whispers… of a reunion long overdue.”
Alicent leaned forward. “What sort of whispers?”
Larys drank from his cup. “Excellent, as always.”
“What sort of whispers, Lord Strong?” Alicent stressed, even though she already knew the answer. It had been so blatant, both from Rhaenyra and Daemon that Alicent was furious at seemingly being the only one to take note of it.
Larys pretended she hadn't spoken. “Shall we make a toast?” He raised his glass. “Good drink like this ought to not go to waste.”
Alicent wanted to sigh. “I am not in the mood for your attempts to humour me, Larys.”
“I would not jest about this, Your Grace. Please, the toast.”
With weary bones, Alicent heaved herself out of her chair. Fine, then they would do this.
“What is the grand occasion?” She asked, her patience wearing thin with each word. She was tired and fed-up with the world.
Larys raised his glass and Alicent repeated the gesture. “To the Crown Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen,” he began, his deep voice had a celebratory tone, “And her soon-to-be Royal Consort, Prince Daemon, also of House Targaryen. Long may they reign.”
Larys drank but he didn’t take his eyes off her. There was an entertained twinkle in them as he watched her face fall and slowly lower the glass.
She felt angry, frightened, and disgusted all at the same time.
How did he know, how could he possibly know?
Alicent wanted to bridge the distance between them, grab him by his shoulders, shake him, scream. In fury, in desperation, in grief – for what or who, she didn’t know but she felt as if suddenly a pit had opened within her.
Did she want to know? No. She had never felt the need to know and that hadn’t changed now. The answer would probably unsettle her so she actively chose to be ignorant. That was how it was and had always been. They would just need to play their roles again: Alicent’s of the queen who would never use any nefarious means to gain information, who kept her weapon carefully hidden; and Larys as the Stranger that crept by at night, unseen, unwanted, and yet indispensable.