Chapter Text
The next morning, bright sun blasting through her window drove away the quiet comfort she’d found in the night. Alicent had to place her hands over her face to regain a little sheltering dark and focus on her noisy breaths to overwhelm her frantic thoughts.
She had told Prince Daemon her father wanted her to seduce his father or his brother. Even aside from the embarrassment of that and she wanted to crawl under the bed and hide just thinking about it, but what if the Prince told –
Horror howled around her. If he told his father – and really he had a right to tell his father, almost a duty to tell his father – then Prince Baelon would be justified in accusing them of attempting to subvert the Iron Throne. Because that was exactly what her father was trying to do.
Their punishment would be – Alicent panted into her hands; the breath choking in her lungs, the roaring in her ears unable to drown out thoughts of blood and screaming.
Even if the King merely exiled them from King’s Landing, they would be sent back to Oldtown in disgrace. And Father’s brother, Lord Hightower, would –, and father would –
The crash of her door flying open shocked her into one final hiccupy gulp and she looked up.
Lady Primrose Celtigar stood in the doorway smirking at her, eyes sparking with a malicious joy. Alicent suddenly realized there was another terrible path before her. Not as horrific, no guards in hooded robes coming for her family, no Black cells; and she should be thankful for that she knew, she should be on her knees in the Sept praying for that.
Because Prince Daemon might not have thought her confession anything special. She was sure that near every lady at Court would happily slip into Prince Baelon’s cold and empty bed. So maybe Prince Daemon hadn’t bothered to tell his father, but he might have told a friend or two. Might have laughed over it with a friend or two, those uppity Hightowers thinking they could fly so high.
Lady Primrose was two years older than Alicent. She had taken a definite pleasure in no longer being the youngest and most junior lady-in-waiting after Alicent’s arrival at Court, and in making sure Alicent understood how very much she was now the youngest and most junior lady-in-waiting. But Primrose wasn’t the sort of vicious who’d be enjoying herself if Alicent and her family were bound for destruction.
Unfortunately she was the sort of vicious that would revel in Alicent being the joke of the Court. And that was so much better than the alternative, Alicent should be grateful, knew she should be grateful. Yet the thought of the Prince sniggering at her with his friends made her want to shrivel up like parchment in a fire turning to ash.
“Get up, get up, get up,” demanded Primrose, bouncing her way over to Alicent and shaking her shoulder.
“What?” Alicent asked numbly. Her body fell into compliance with Primrose’s orders, automatically pulling her under-dress on over her shift, grabbing the stockings thrown towards her, then the over-dress. Primrose didn’t wait for her to adjust her hair, just threw a headscarf over it, then grabbed Alicent’s cloak, and Alicent’s arm, and dragged her out the room. She barely had time to shove her feet into her shoes.
“Come on. Stop being so slow.”
Alicent adjusted her headscarf so she could at least see where she was being dragged.
“What’s going on?” It couldn’t be anything to do with her, thank all the gods. Primrose was acting like she was a co-conspirator, not the source of gossip itself. If she wasn’t still recovering from her panicked awakening, she might be interested.
“You are such a country mouse,” groaned Primrose. Which Alicent resented, she came from Oldtown the largest city in all the Seven Kingdoms, Primrose came from tiny Claw Isle, which was probably smaller than Oldtown itself and that was all her father’s lands. Alicent might be the daughter of a second son, but she came from the wealthiest, noblest house in the South, she was not some provincial nobody.
“It’s too early to be out and about,” she said. Ladies rarely emerged from their room before third bell and generally stayed even longer if they had servants to bring them breakfast. As junior ladies-in-waiting she and Primrose did not have servants to bring them their breakfast, they needed to fetch their own from the dining hall. Which was why Alicent ate apples from a bowl on her dresser for breakfast. So she didn’t have to be out and about early. Like she was right now.
“Why are we even doing this?” she grumbled.
“Don’t huff at me,” said Primrose. “Everybody’s talking about it. If you weren’t such a slug-a-bed, you’d already know.”
Alicent had been having difficulty sleeping since her father had brought her to the capital, and difficulty rousing herself. In a way, she was glad for what she overheard last night, at least she finally knew where the creeping sense of dread came from, why the long corridors of the Keep felt like a trap closing around her.
“Well?” she demanded after Primrose said nothing further. With Primrose there was never any difficulty in keeping up with the latest gossip. The other girl enjoyed gloating over her knowledge, but could never keep a secret for long, always too eager to pass on the choicest morsels. And that remained true now.
“It’s all over the Keep,” she exploded finally, “probably all over the City by now. Prince Daemon brought a whore back to the Holdfast last night!”
“Urk,” said Alicent. That was not at all what she had been expecting. The Prince had admitted he was sneaking around, but she hadn’t seen any sign of a woman. What had –
“One of the serving maids was up late, and she saw him carrying the woman in his arms. Only wearing a shift and pressed up against his chest with her hands all over him – ”
Oh.
Oh no.
“– And the Prince carried her right up the stairs to the bedchambers. Where we sleep! Where his family sleeps!” Primrose shrieked with scandalized glee.
“Where else would he take her,” said Alicent, too blank to say anything more constructive.
Primrose outright shouted with laughter, “You act like such a prim little mouse and then you go any say something like that.”
“Well if she was a whore, I imagine a bed would come in handy,” Alicent said crossly. The situation was too much for her to handle so she was going to focus on petty irritations because she could deal with those.
“Dear gods, you’re positively outrageous. His own good-sister might have met her in the corridor! And what of his niece!”
Alicent did not want to hear any more about the insult everyone assumed Prince Daemon had delivered to his family by bringing a whore into their home. This was a disaster.
“Where are we going anyway?” she asked because Primrose had not stopped tugging her along. She didn’t want to go anywhere; she’d rather return to her room and have the quiet to think out what to do for the best.
“Prince Daemon gets up early every day and goes out to the Dragonpit to go flying.”
“I know that,” Alicent snapped, she was not that unaware of the goings on in the Red Keep.
“So he was gone before everybody started talking. But he usually comes back just before third bell, which is any time now, and goes to the training grounds. Where his father is currently waiting for him. And if you would just hurry up, we’ll be there to see.”
Alicent’s feet picked up speed with her making a conscious decision.
“I’m surprised you bothered to drag me along,” she said, because she couldn’t let things go without at least a token protest.
“Don’t be stupid. I can’t go to the training grounds on my own.”
“Of course not. How foolish of me.”
“Exactly.”
Thankfully Primrose’s desire for gossip wasn’t so strong that she dragged Alicent right into the yard. She allowed them to stop just out of sight of the training ground to straighten their clothes and hair and generally look less like they’d hurried every step of the way and were in fact just casually passing by.
Alicent was now in agreement with the sneaking around to watch plan because she could not leave the Prince to face his accusers on his own, even if she had no idea how to help him without making things impossibly worse. So she took Primrose’s arm easily in hers,
“Let’s stroll that way. We’ll pass my brother Bernard and can stop to watch and talk for a few moments.”
“Oh yes, you have a brother here. So useful.”
Alicent had been by the training ground several times to watch her brothers spar, well to watch Brydon spar and Bernard, when he made the effort to show up, stand around with a sword and lecture on proper technique anyone who didn’t find an excuse to leave fast enough. Even Alicent’d had the Dayne triple riposte explained to her when no one else was handy.
Today it was far more crowded than she had previously observed. There were plenty of servants who’d found some reason to be there, and what seemed like all the young men at Court.
Bernard was standing with a clutch of friends, judging by their dress they were there to watch and not to fight. Brydon was training with other young squires hopeful of knighthoods. They were running drills now and not actually exchanging blows. Which was as well because they were all distracted, sneaking looks at Prince Baelon Targaryen who was standing off to one side with two Whitecloaks stationed behind him.
Prince Baelon usually had an easy smile but now he wore instead a sterm, set expression. Alicent’d had some thoughts of going to him and attempting to explain things, or at least tell him as much of the truth as seemed advantageous but seeing his implacable face she decided that would not help at all. Prince Baelon seemed in no mood to accept her apologies, and indeed there was no reason he should, Alicent was nothing to him. He should be more lenient towards his son, Prince Baelon was said to hold him dear for his late wife’s sake. Alicent would hope.
Bernard was too busy with his friends to give Alicent his immediate attention but that suited them well. She and Primrose stood together while Primrose ran through the names, houses, prospects and relative attractiveness of each of her brothers’ friends. And her brothers.
Alicent was not a Targaryen, she did not want to think about the attractiveness or otherwise of her brothers.
Lady Primrose did assure her she’d have neither of her brothers for a husband because she was determined upon a first-born son, preferably of one of the major houses. Her aunts had married into wealthy Reacher Houses, and Primrose meant to match that achievement, even if Aunt Prunella’s husband was such an unpleasant individual that her Aunt now lived permanently at Court. It was still far superior to be the married Lady Peake of Starpike, Dustonbury, and Whitegrove than mere Lady Prunella of Claw Isle.
Uncertain if she should be offended on her brothers’ behalf or not, she doubted either would wish to marry Primrose, Alicent merely commented that it was a shame her Cousin Ormond was so young otherwise she would most certainly introduce them.
“So unhelpful of him,” muttered Primrose.
Alicent had to stifle the absurd urge to apologize for her family’s lack of regard as to Lady Primrose’s marriage prospects.
Then she caught a flash of silver hair. Turning her head, she saw Prince Daemon was approaching the training yard. He looked windblown and happy. Alicent chewed aggressively at her fingernails, aggrieved about the mess he was walking into.
He smiled when he caught sight of his father and his steps quickened. That was when one of the pages spotted him and nudged another and the knowledge he was there spread across the yard like wine from an overflowing glass. Alicent wanted to shout at them all to go away. She could see Prince Daemon startle as everyone turned to look at him. A whip flick of tension snapped through his thin frame and then he settled back in a slouch, extravagantly relaxed.
“Hey, busy day today.” He grinned wide and fake. “Father, have you come to observe?”
“That remains to be decided,” said Prince Baelon. “For the moment I am here to talk about your conduct.”
“What am I supposed to have to have done this time?” he sighed.
Prince Baelon explained, at length. His son had been disrespectful, licentious, and wayward in bringing a shammed woman into the house of his fathers and dishonored them all.
Bowing his head, Prince Daemon stared at the floor and remained silent. His face shook a little and he bit his lip. About halfway through the lecture, Alicent was alarmed to realize Daemon was actually fighting down laughter. It did make her feel better.
Then Prince Baelon finished with a thunderous, “if your mother was alive, what would she say.”
Daemon rocked back on his heels, hand coming up to his face as if he’d been struck.
Alicent pressed her clenched fist to her chest because that one hurt.
Her mother had always been so quiet and so kind and so safe. What would her mother say if she knew how Alicent acted last night. What would her mother say if she knew what Alicent thought of her father’s plans.
But then Mama did have secrets from Father. She and Alicent would sit together at the desk in Mama’s dressing chamber, because a woman didn’t need a solar, and they’d talk about how to run a household with care and patience, how to be generous in small things regardless of strictures on not letting anyone take advantage, and how to keep a little stash of money that a husband needn’t know about. And how Alicent wasn’t to tell her father about their little talks.
Alicent had always thought that was because these were women’s matters that Father wasn’t concerned with, but now she was realizing it was about hiding things from Father, that Father wasn’t to be trusted, not completely. It was like waking from a strange dream, or maybe falling into a strange dream where everything seemed familiar but nothing made sense.
She looked again for her bright prince. Daemon had settled himself. His feet were planted squarely on the ground and his chin tilted up as he grinned defiantly at his father.
“Muna would say, Seven hells Tresy, what took you so long, I was beginning to worry you were a eunuch.”
Prince Baelon’s head dropped and his eyes closed for a moment. When he looked up his scowl had cracked into open amusement. He shook his head, reached out and placed one hand on his son’s shoulder, “She would have said exactly that.”
“Or even worse, boring,” added Daemon
Prince Baelon snorted and yanked him forward into a hug, “You impossible boy.”
“What did I do?” he demanded, struggling free, bright with false innocence.
“You know exactly what you did. Now go get a sword. Ser Willis and Ser Clement,” he gestured to his two Kingsguard, “will put you through your paces.”
“Gods,” Daemon let his head hang forward in despair.
“Sword, now. Or you can try it without if you prefer.”
Alicent knew a punishment match when she saw one setting itself up. She twisted anxiously in place. She understood, and was grateful, that Daemon had not spread their private business across the whole yard, but she could speak quietly to Prince Baelon, explain that Daemon had been nothing but a true knight to her and shouldn’t face censure for that.
Daemon looked across at her, caught her eye, and then gave a quick jerk of his head. She knew he was telling her to keep silent. Alicent twisted nervously and bit at her thumb nail. He winked cheerily at her, and she wanted to scream. If only she could at least be sure he was willingly taking the blame for her fault. If she could only apologize. If only she could take his hand.
“Well,” Daemon sighed loudly, stepping back from his father. “If I am to go to my doom, it will be with a lady’s favor on my arm,” he swaggered towards Alicent, purple eyes sparking and merry, “Bright lady, will you not grant me the honor of fighting on your behalf?”
“Daemon,” Prince Baelon called after him, exasperated. “Leave the girl alone. You are not actually living in a song.”
“Why would I live in a song? Much more fun to be a wicked campfire tale.”
“Daemon!”
The Prince ignored his father and offered Alicent a showy bow, “My lady?”
Alicent knew she was smiling too wide but she couldn’t help it. She nodded and beckoned him closer. Only Gwayne still thought wearing his sister’s favor an honor worth requesting but she continued to carry the large, carefully embroidered, handkerchief out of habit. She took it from her pocket and shook it out. Fortunately it was worthy of a dragon prince, Alicent had used linen in Hightower dark grey and embroidered the bright flames of Hightower’s beacon in red, orange and gold.
Reaching up, she threaded it carefully around Daemon’s upper arm. Before she secured it in place, she asked quietly,
“Are you sure? I could speak to your father, tell him I stumbled and you were helping me. I am more than willing to explain.”
“No, it’s fine, bright lady. My father is always unhappy with me for some reason or another. This one is not so bad.”
“If you’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” He shifted his arm impatiently, and Alicent knotted the favor in place. Well-practiced, she tucked her fingers inside the loop to check it was loose enough not to constrict his movement but tight enough not to slip down over his elbow. Satisfied, she kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it against the knot to bring him luck.
Then she remembered she was not in fact kitting out one of her brothers. Her face flamed so hot it must be bright red. Luckily the way she was leaning forwards her untied headscarf had draped forwards and hide her face so her action and reaction were hidden from the rest of the yard.
Warily she lifted her head to look at her Prince. Daemon shrugged one shoulder, seeming willing to disregard her forwardness. Which was what Alicent had been hoping for so she surprised herself in her instant rejection of the idea. Deliberately she pressed her finger back on the knot,
“Good luck, your brightness.”
He smiled back at her, putting his hand over hers and squeezing the tips of her fingers gently.
Behind her there was a surprised sort of hmm? sound. When Alicent dared turn, Primrose was watching her, head tilted to one side. She appeared confused but Alicent could almost see her mind groping towards the truth. Her grip tightened on Daemon’s arm. He turned his head, and there was a flash of understanding over his quick, clever face, then he was calling out,
“Kepa, are you too old to fight for a lady’s favor?”
All curiosity dropped away from Primrose’s face as her violet eyes went huge with excitement. She immediately pulled out a white handkerchief embroidered with bright red crabs and looked hopefully towards Prince Baelon. Prince Baelon shot his son a dark glance, then walked over to then and smiled kindly at Primrose,
“May I carry your favor, my lady.”
“Yes please.”
Prince Baelon bowed, took the handkerchief, and wrapped it deftly around his wrist. Primrose appeared likely to collapse from breathless delight.
“Come along miscreant,” Prince Baelon said to his son. “You can’t put it off any longer.”
“Kepa, I would never,” Daemon exclaimed all sparking outrage and laughing eyes. Prince Baelon sighed and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.
Alicent giggled, “Good luck, my prince. May the gods go with you.”
“You – ack,” his words were cut off by a squawk as Prince Baelon dragged him away.
“Come along. Honestly, I swear you think you can talk your enemies to death.”
“I bet I could,” Daemon muttered.
“That was not a challenge.”
“Sure sounded like it.”
Prince Baelon stared at the sky for patience, “Gods, you are the most aggravating little wretch in the whole seven kingdoms.”
“Good to know I’m succeeding at something.”
“Sword. Now.” He glared until Daemon picked up a sword and shifted to stand ready. “Ser Willis, Ser Clement, when you’re ready.”
“Are you not joining us, Father?”
“You want to face three of us?”
“The more the merrier, that’s what I always say.”
“I don’t know what to do with you,” Prince Baelon shook his head with a smile.
Daemon hissed through his teeth, “Well apparently it’s ship me off to the Vale and make me someone else’s problem. Now are we fighting or not?”
Prince Baelon sighed and drew his own sword, “Ready?”
The four men saluted each other and the fight began. Alicent watched carefully. Gwayne, too little to join in with their older brothers, had spent years sitting beside her in the yard narrating blow by blow accounts of their brothers’ training bouts so she understood much of what she was seeing.
Obviously it wasn’t a real match and had never been intended as one. Nobody could truly fight one against three for any length of time without using disabling blows to even the odds. Instead the two Kingsguard knights were co-operating with each other to keep Daemon darting frantically between them to parry their blows while barely moving themselves and smacking him with the flat of their swords when he didn’t move fast enough to avoid them. Rather than simply accepting his punishment of being worked into exhaustion, Daemon kept trying to push through their guard and hit out at his father and force Prince Baelon to make the effort of combating his strikes.
It made him tire quicker though, and Alicent grew steadily more angry at the way they were so ruthlessly working him over. She wanted to cheer for him, but that was difficult. She couldn’t possibly use his first name, even if he had accepted her favor, and his title and lordsname applied equally to his father and she certainly wasn’t going to cheer for him.
Then one great blow from Ser Clement was too heavy for straining muscles to hold against and it sent Daemon reeling, forcing him to drop heavily down on one knee. He stayed there kneeling in the dirt, head bowed, lungs heaving for breath.
The two knights paused, but Prince Baelon motioned for them to continue, to beat him down further until he was bruised and crumpled on the dusty ground.
Alicent rose up on her toes, waving her arms and jumping as if she were a frantic six year old at their first tournament, and cheered loudly, “Caraxes! Caraxes!”
The whole yard went silent as everyone, even the knights fighting Daemon, stopped to stare at her. Alicent had never felt so conspicuous in her life. She remembered the way everyone had turned to look at the Prince when he walked into the yard and felt a sharp stab of empathy. No wonder he was so careful to act as if nothing bothered him.
Daemon was looking at her too, his eyes wide and surprised. He wasn’t moving either, just waiting, as if he expected her to somehow take it back.
Alicent stretched her arms out as high as she could, “Caraxes! Get up, get up! Caraxes!”
And then Daemon was rolling up onto his feet and raising his sword again.