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Lucerys had always been a slender boy. He had neither inherited the build of his true father nor anything resembling his lord father’s size. That is not to say that he was weak, her son’s lost eye was proof enough of that. His limbs were small but wiry, with definition more befitting a dragon rider than a royal omega. But all of that definition was gone now. It had been almost two years since his dragon had perished and the months of captivity and the time he had spent bed-bound had softened what muscles he once had.
He remained small with thin shoulders and cheeks round with baby fat, all of which made the round stomach protruding from him all the more ghastly.
He had been staring into the fire when she entered, his hands clenched around the arms of the plush armchair he was sitting in. He seemed surprised to see her, his eyes wide as he stared at her in the doorway. No doubt she had been the last person he might have expected to walk through his door.
Alicent had not expected to be here herself. She had spent the past few months too enveloped in her grief to care about the whereabouts of their prisoner. That had changed when rumors started reaching her ears about her son Aemond’s frequent visits to a certain omega. The thought that Lucerys might be pregnant because of said visits had not even appeared in her nightmares.
“Lady Alicent,” she winced at the roughness of his voice. She had heard prisoners who sounded better than him though she supposed that was exactly what he was. He was as much a prisoner now even with the war practically at a close. “Pardon my appearance, I did not know you were coming.”
Rhaneyra had certainly driven manners into her sons, she couldn’t think of many who would still hold onto their courtesies in such a situation. Though she supposed he was at one point in line to become a lord.
Lucerys went to push himself off of the armchair but Alicent blurted out before he could, “Please stay seated. Someone in your… condition should not be standing.”
Relieved, he gave her a weak smile and lowered himself back onto the chair. Gesturing her towards the chair opposite him, he invited her to sit. From a closer distance it was impossible to miss his exhaustion or the dark circles the color of fresh ink that were painted underneath his single dull brown eye and the empty socket that lay on the other side of his face. Shivers wracked down her spine. She had known Aemond had taken his eye for she had seen it when they had forced the boy down with his brother to watch as Sunfyre devoured his mother but it was different seeing it up close.
It was a clean wound, much cleaner than the one he had inflicted upon her son. Though she supposed a fully grown man should have better control of a blade than a child. While his missing eye had aged Aemond several years, Lucerys’ only made him look younger, like more of a victim. His remaining eye was the same plain brown it had always been, but any life that had once been there had drained out long ago. She forced herself to look away from his face.
Smatterings of bruises peaked over the collar of the dark green dress he had been put in and wrapped around his neck in the shapes of fingerprints. His hands trembled where they lay clasped on the swell of his stomach. He was far along in his pregnancy and his stomach strained against the tight fabric of the dress.
When could this have happened? She had almost forgotten about the Velaryon boy these past few months, too consumed by the war to think about what had been done with him after her children had returned to King’s Landing. They had discovered he was alive too late into the war for him to still have worth as a hostage and his value had only dropped the more of his family members had died. He was unimportant, more relevant when they thought him to be dead than he was alive. After everything that had happened, she had no time to think about the well-being of bastard omegas.
He was too far along in the pregnancy for this to have happened after Aemond’s return to King’s Landing. It must have happened on Dragonstone. Had her son torn the eye from his nephew’s face and then impregnated him? Or perhaps the rape had come first, to break the boy’s spirit before he took back what he believed he was owed. She had no doubt that whatever happened had been brutal and cruel.
“What has my son done?” She couldn't smother the horror in her voice.
Lucerys looked uncomfortable at her outburst, his bare feet twisting together against the rushes. Did he even own shoes? She had been told that he never left the room Aemond had placed him in. Her maids had whispered to her that only Aemond was allowed free access in and out of this room. Even the servants had to be escorted by guards. Her son feared Lucerys’ escape, the servants whispered, he feared that any bit of freedom and his prisoner would run.
Where Aemond had gotten this idea, she could not be sure. The boy had never been a strong fighter and he had been even weaker when Aemond had stumbled upon him in that fishing village near Dragonstone. Bed bound by a badly broken leg and hip, and consumed by the loss of his dragon, Lucerys had been no threat. It's no wonder the villagers had not believed his fervent claims of being a dragon rider. The Targaryens were supposed to be more god than man, and the small broken boy with brown curls they found washed ashore could not have been anything but human.
Maybe he had grown bold once his injuries had fully healed but somehow Alicent doubted that was true.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Lucerys sounded dead. He stared at the fire with his single eye like the flames would reveal the answer to him, “Your son asked for me as a war prize and Aegon was more than happy to oblige him. He is simply making use of his property as he best sees fit.”
Atrocities happen in war all the time, she was not ignorant of that. Men, women, and children were raped and murdered all the time. But it was different when it was happening in her own home, when it was being done by her own son.
When he was young, Aemond would run to her rooms whenever someone had upset him. He would throw himself at her legs, his fingers trembling where they gripped the fabric in white-knuckled fists. Alicent would always lean down and sweep him into her arms, her hand rubbing at the back of his silver hair. “There, there my sweetling,” she would say and she rocked him in her arms, “all will be okay now.”
Her sweetling had died a long time ago, replaced by a man with a cold hard eye and hands that never strayed far from the hilt of the sword at his waist. She had thought her grief for her sweet little boy had died a long time ago but Lucerys and the pain her son had littered across his skin had re-ignited it.
“How far along are you?”
He leaned back into his chair to think for a moment, “Seven moons I believe. I cannot be entirely sure. It has been a long time since I’ve seen a maester and that was well before the babe.”
Alicent swallowed down her disgust, “I will send up my own maester on the morrow. He helped me through all of my births and I trust him implicitly.”
Lucerys looked surprised, “You are kind my lady but Aemond has forbidden me from-”
“My son does not know what it is like to carry a child,” she interrupted, “it was cruel to not allow you this. He should know as well as anyone that the birthing bed is as dangerous as any battlefield.”
“Cruel,” Lucerys repeated to himself. He broke off into a burst of bitter laughter as a sharp grin sliced across his face, “I fear cruelty is exactly the point my lady. Your son still seeks recompense for the eye I stole from him and has decided that my own eye and the life of my dragon were not suitable enough of a prize for him. It is my dignity that he lusts after now and he will not be satiated until I am suitably miserable.”
Her breakfast was thick inside her stomach. She had hated Lucerys the moment that Rhaneyra presented him to Viserys with his brown curls and brown eyes. She had hated him for his position above her sons in the line of succession despite his obvious bastardry and inferior secondary gender. And then he had carved the eye from her son’s face and she was filled with more hatred than she had ever thought possible.
Alicent wanted to feel happy in his suffering, to feel joy that her son had finally gotten the revenge she had dreamed about for over a decade. Instead, she felt she was about to be sick.
A better woman would apologize on behalf of her son, would beg the bastard for forgiveness for the crimes inflicted upon him, but she had left behind goodness a long time ago. There were no words she could say to comfort him that would not ring false. The line of graves that lay between them stretched too wide for that.
If Lucerys was upset by her silence, he did not show it. He continued to stare into the fire, his hands twisting together as he absentmindedly picked at the beds of his nails. Alicent had to force herself to look away from the familiar pattern of blood that dripped from his hands or else she really would be ill.
The room he had been put into was small and if it had contained anything more than a bed, a few chairs, and an empty bookcase then it would have felt cramped. Someone had nailed thick wooden planks across the room’s lone window. Only a sliver of light was able to snake its way through the opening. They had learned from their previous mistakes it seemed, there would be no more opportunities for Targaryens to leap from windows.
“The baby, has he said if he will claim it?” She was almost afraid to know the answer. Like it or not, it had never been the boy’s Targaryen ancestry that had been in question. He was as much the blood of the dragon as her own children, and the child would have a stronger claim than most if legitimized.
Lucerys shrugged, “Sometimes he tells me I will keep it and that he will sell us both to some brothel to live out our days. Other times he speaks about raising it as if someone else had birthed it, about teaching it to despise me. When he is feeling especially cruel he tells me he will do what my grandfather should have done the moment I was born with this brown hair, that he’ll twist its neck and place the broken body in my arms.”
His voice never wavered, never once broke under the weight of what he was saying. How many times had Aemond told him this for it to be so benign? How many horrors had her son whispered in his nephew’s ears for him to repeat them with so little emotion?
She could not take this. She could not sit in this windowless room anymore, could not continue to talk to this dead-eyed boy. She wanted to leave, she wanted to run away and never look back upon this gods forsaken place. She wanted to hug her remaining children tight and never let go, wanted to join her dead ones where they rested peacefully in their graves. Alicent wanted to be anywhere but here.
The worst part was that Alicent still hated Lucerys. What kind of person could look at such a pitiful sight and still hold so much detestation in their heart? Would the gods scorn her for choosing her own blood over decency, for staying by Aemond's side even as he committed such evil acts? Would the Mother condemn her for her decision to choose him? Would she be disappointed in a woman who could not even open up her heart for one broken little boy, who could not look past her hatred to take him into her care?
Alicent had four children once and now she has two. She had chosen her children once, and may the gods forgive her for choosing them once more.
“I will speak to Aemond,” the words did not sound real coming out of her mouth, muffled as if someone had stuffed her mouth with wool.
Lucerys nodded politely but it was evident he did not believe her. There were no traces of hope in his lone eye. She did not understand why she suddenly needed him to believe her so badly.
“I will,” she insisted, the desperation embarrassingly clear in her voice, “You should know what is to be done with you. I can ensure that much at least.”
“You are most kind my lady, thank you.”
How old was Lucerys now, four and ten? Five and ten? He sounded tired beyond his years. At five and ten she had been tasked to care for a dying king and had spent her days wiping the sweat from his brow and helping the feeble man change out of his spoiled clothes. She had long resented her father for putting her there, for depriving her of her childhood in his quest for power. Lucerys must hate them even more than she ever hated her father. They had stolen from him more than just his childhood.
Alicent pushed off of her chair, “I will return tomorrow with a maester. Is there anything I can bring for you in the meantime? If it is in my power I will do my best to bring it.”
Bewildered, Lucerys shook his head, “There is nothing my lady.”
She had expected as much, yet she was still disappointed. She did not care for him yet part of her yearned for his trust. It was a foolish thought, why would he trust her when she could not even condemn her own son for the suffering he had inflicted upon him? Pushing such nonsense aside, Alicent was halfway to the door when a quiet voice rang out through the room.
“Wait!” she turned towards where Lucerys was still sitting. For the first time today, real emotions were splashed across his face.
“Aegon,” he stammered nervously like she might cut the words from his throat, “my brother Aegon. Is he well? No one has informed me of his condition and it would soothe my heart to know how he fares.”
Alicent’s heart twisted. Aegon the Younger was on all accounts a quiet young boy. Smart and polite with the signature Targeryan silver hair that had been denied to his brothers. There was no reason for her to have any grief with him save for the matter with Jaehaera. Aegon had announced the engagement between Jaehaera and the boy some weeks past much to Alicent’s dismay. She had tried her best to convince Aegon to hold off on the match. He still had Aemond to act as his heir, there was no need to marry off his remaining child so quickly but Aegon could not be budged.
Jaehaera was too young, only eight and already she had experienced so much heartbreak. Forced to watch as her twin brother was slaughtered in front of her, forced to know that her younger brother was torn apart, that her mother was dead, and her father was crippled. She deserved more than a life as a pawn in this bloody quest for power. But that was not young Aegon’s fault nor was it the fault of his brother. She was sure the last thing either of them wanted was for Aegon to marry with the line that had destroyed all of their family.
So she made herself say the words, “Your brother is well Lucerys. His Grace is seeing to his education and has recently announced a betrothal between him and his daughter, Jaehaera. There is no need for you to worry for him.”
Lucerys collapsed into his chair. She had not realized the extent of the tension that had wrought throughout his frame until it was gone. He closed his eye and a relieved, genuine smile graced his lips.
“Thank you,” he breathed out, practically giddy at the news of his brother’s safety.
She wondered how long he had gone without any news of his brother, how many nights he fell asleep praying for his safety. She had done the same some time ago, locked in a cell under the Red Keep, waiting for the day someone would come to rub her children’s deaths in her face.
Tears pricked at the edges of her eyes but she turned and left before they could fall. She could not understand why she was this close to tears. Everything was supposed to be fine now. They had won. Aegon was king just like they had always wanted him to be. But winning him his throne had cost them everything.
Daeron, Jaehaerys, Maelor, her father, and her dear Helaena, all were dead and gone. Thousands were dead across the land. The dragons were all but destroyed. A northern host still marched towards them and across the city, fires burned and children starved. All for her son to sit on this evil piece of twisted iron, all for her other son to wrap his fingers around the neck of the boy he had forced a child into.
What was it all for? Did the grievous price they paid truly only buy them more suffering?
As she walked towards the wing where Aemond’s rooms lay, she wondered if Rhaenyra would have made the same choices if she knew that all this was to happen. She had been so adamant that only she could inherit the throne, that Viserys had passed along some secret left behind by Aegon the Conqueror.
But what good was a throne when everyone you sought to protect was dead? Rhaneyra had learned that lesson quickly enough, by the time she had finally sat on the blasted thing most of her kin had been killed. Not for the first time, anger rose inside her at the thought of her former stepdaughter. Rhaneyra should have stepped aside, should have allowed Aegon to rule as tradition dictated.
Now she was dead and most of her line was gone as well.
They were never friends. At first, too many years had laid between them and then her marriage to Viserys had silenced any real chance of friendship. But she had cared for Rhaenyra once, before the battles for Viserys’ favor and the girl’s constant flaunting of her disrespect for the laws of decency that bound all of them. Before their sons had been pitted against each other and before the violence that had broken out between their family. Before all that, she had cared for the little girl with silver hair who ran through the Red Keep causing mischief and charming anyone she came across.
Alicent wondered what that little girl would think about the horrors she had allowed to happen to her sons, of the decimation of her family under Alicent’s guidance.
She would change things. She would go to Aemond and plead for him to show mercy on Lucerys. She would bring up young Aegon to see his brother and lighten the boy’s spirit for Jaehaera’s sake if no one else. She would urge the council to reach out to Cregan Stark and see if perhaps the man could be satisfied by the safe return of Lucerys in exchange for his army to march back north where he could never reach them again.
Their family had seen enough bloodshed, it was time for them to move forward.