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Alicent believed herself to be a doll.

Her father always reminded her how, when she was just a babe, her mother would cradle her in her arms at arm's length. Alicent had been too perfect, too fragile to be held by a simple woman. As she began to grow, her mother conserved her time by making her the perfect little lady, with lavish dresses and coif styles. She was her little living doll.

She scarcely has any fond memories left of her and those she does have her father, Otto Hightower, made them even worse to bear to remember.

Nevertheless, his attempts at fatherly love fell short. He was a cold, distant man, more concerned with the political games at court than the wellbeing of his own daughter and the rest of his brood. Alicent grew up craving a connection, a sense of belonging, but no one could ever really understand her, not like her mother did.

As time went on, Alicent grew accustomed to her role as her father's perfect little lady. She spent her hours learning to play the bells and the harp, as well as practising her needlepoint. She was also taught the fine art of etiquette, from sitting at the proper angle to conversing with the nobles to even smiling and laughing perfectly.

She was his little doll, a doll different from what her mother regarded her as. A pretty thing to be dressed up and ordered around like she was a symbol rather than a person. An adorned symbol that held one purpose to honour her family and their teachings.

And like a good daughter, she did as she was taught. 

It worked out in the end, she got her King and her crown and the supporters of the Realm and even the little Princess Rhaenyra. When she was first appointed as a maid for the late King Jaehaerys the girl took a fond liking to her, like one would a sister.  

She instructed her on the knacks of courtly politics and the art of being ladylike. Alicent saw so much of herself within Rhaenyra: both without a mother and put under the heavy gaze of men and women alike greatly when the girl was appointed heir.

Alicent reckoned she should have been more cautious of that title.

KING'S LANDING

111 AC

Alicent leaves the king's chambers late into the night, her steps heavy as she pads down the halls, her loyal guard by her side. The whole castle seems to be silenced with the blanket of sleep for all its patrons, even those who stalk the whispers through the walls. At this time Alicent should be asleep herself, held tightly against the king's chest as he stroked her hair through his slumber alas that is not at all what has happened. No, instead she had been sent back to her own chambers after a vicious disagreement between the two of them, one that could not be solved with sweet words or touches. 

Viserys has grown more stubborn than Alicent has ever seen him as of late. His face is roiling with untouched thoughts that are desperate to spill out of the seams. It seems as if the return of his brother Daemon brought the change about, when the shadow cast of their family, rumbling in his wake. She had been rather uninterested in the shift. 

Daemon was not the kindest to her and she was never one to fall for his tricks. However, there was one who was. The very reason for all this trouble in the first place.

Rhaenyra has become quite smitten with the Rogue Prince in the passing days. With each sun that rises over the Realm so does her smile, the stark redness on her cheek growing redder becoming more prominent for those who dare to question her feelings to see otherwise.

Rhaenyra is no young girl by any means. Closer to the age of sixteen then she is twelve with all of the emotions and growing feelings that come with it. It should have been obvious to see her affection for Daemon for even the faintest of eyes but all Viserys could see was his eldest daughter being stolen away from him for something grander. It makes Alicent scoff to recall the memory in full.

"What do you mean, Alicent?" Viserys had said, his face a flush shade of pink. "Rhaenyra is merely intrigued by another dragon rider being in her presence. You know how Daemon likes to boast and with all his shiny new trinkets from across the sea there is no doubt that he has her under his spell."

How her husband could be so daft was beyond her but Alicent could not afford to be put off by it longer than she needed. "Honestly, Viserys, how can you not see the signs? They are staring you right in the face and you don't even know it," She says, watching as his brows furrow at her words. "Every young girl goes through this phase, it is a natural part of aging into a young woman but it is up to her father to steer her in the right direction."

"My love," Viserys says sweetly, reaching to touch her hand. "I know how you get about these things but I must remind you, they have grown up together, they are family. Just because they get on well with each other, does not mean there is an attraction."

Alicent bristles at Viserys' attempt to brush off her concerns. "Are you truly blind, Viserys?" She snaps, her tone sharp. "Or do you willfully ignore the blatant signs before you to keep the peace?"

She continues, "You may be able to overlook the way Rhaenyra looks at him or the way her laughter rings so freely around him, but I am not so ignorant. Do you truly believe that the affection between those two is merely familial?"

A few beats of silence pass them by before the rumbling of a storm approaches. Slow at first, the steady tensing of her husband's hands followed by the raging flames that make him the man he is.

"I will hear no more of this blasphemy!" He stands to his full height, his gaze beating into Alicent with all the fury of a dragon within him. "If you are so adamant on your hatred for Daemon then so be it but don't drag Rhaenyra into that madness!"

It is quite clear to Alicent that the conversation will continue to go nowhere good and makes the decision that will save her marriage in the end. She stands up tall and leaves the room swiftly before any objections can be made. And so now the queen finds herself left to her own thoughts with nowhere to go but forward. Forward as no more than the second wife of the king.

She wonders if Aemma can see her now. If she is looking down at her from the highest point of the seven heavens and basking in the glory of being rid of the troubles life brought. Though she was never troubled, was she? Aemma was the pinnacle of what every man wanted a woman to be, kind and gentle in all the right ways with a sense of pride for her and her family and best of all — she was beautiful, so beautiful that the Maiden roiled in the heavens with jealousy.

Best of all, she thought Alicent was beautiful as well, despite all the ugly scars that marked her being inside and out. She asked her to take care of her family, her daughter. It was her last wish before seeing Alicent off.

Slipping through the doors of the nursery Alicent finds her eyes latching on to that of her sleeping children, all of them in their corner of the room with pudgy and lax faces. If it did not disturb their sleep Alicent would have placed a kiss on each of their cheeks.

Helaena twists and turns at the slightest gust of breeze while Aemond simply basks in a silence that could rival the dead. Aegon on the other hand is laid on his belly, his head shifted towards that of the wetnurse who gently strokes his back. "Is there an issue?" Alicent asks wearily, her brows pinched together in confusion. At this time, Aemond and Helaena should have already been fed and Aegon weaned off the breast the year before there should be no reason for her presence, and yet. . . 

"He wanted me to tell him a story, your grace," The nurse says, her cheeks flushing pink. "He would not get back into bed otherwise."

Alicent lets out a sigh and perches herself at the top of his bed. "What are you doing awake, sweetling?"

Aegon gazes up at her with a look of pure vexation and shrugs before slipping deeper into the sheets as he does so. It makes her lips twist into a thin line and her eyes find the woman's once more. "You are dismissed. I will take care of my son on my own."

The nurse is quick to stand, bowing her head before seeing her way out. At the sound of the door clicking shut Alicent puts a thin smile on her lips as she strokes the back of her son's head before he begins to sit up as quickly as he can manage, turning in his sheets as if trying to escape. There is a brief moment where confusion runs through her but is quickly put to rest once his feet try to touch the floor of the nursery.

"Come here, my little prince," Alicent says, lifting him up into her lap not without a struggle, however. "What do you want?" 

Aegon stops for a brief moment so he can gaze at her before looking over towards the bookshelf. "Read to me."

Alicent laughs at the audacity he has, bold in all the ways his father is and more. "Is it not too late for a story? A prince like you should get all the rest he needs to grow into a fine man," A king if I am to be so lucky.

Alas, Aegon ignores her words as if they were merely a few drops of morning rain and he was a dragon drifting through them. Alicent purses her lips together then, a thought comes to her.

"You know what happens to little boys who don't stay in their beds?" Aegon turns to look at her, his brows tightly knit together as he ponders the question. It makes it all the easier for Alicent to slip her arms across his belly and coil it into a tight hold, her lips close to his ear. "The spirits from down under come to get them, snatch their little toes and ankles to drag them down under," A thick fog of silence suffocates him with tension before she descends upon the crest of his neck. "to eat them whole."

Her son lets out a shriek, fighting off the hold she has on him as much as his small body can muster before he collapses under the weight of her. His face is a flush red colour when he turns and his nightgown is all tussled up, Alicent fixes the bottom to cover his legs once more just as he lifts one up.

"Don't let them take them," Aegon whines. The prospect of losing his toes too much to bear for his little mind.

The queen cannot help but laugh. "You will be fine," She comforts him. "You hear that? The bells will protect you from what lurks in the darkness. Seven chimes, seven times in a night of the moon. As long as the bells toll the Gods will keep you protected, free of the blight of the darkened hour."  

Alicent pulls her son closer, the darkness encroaching as the moon casts long shadows through the trees, but the bells ringing from the village still ring in the air like a soothing lullaby that slowly quells him into gentle sleep and calms her mind until the only thing that her sights are set on is Aegon.

Her son. The greatest gift the Gods could have ever given her. A son meant to be king.

93 AC

"I don't desire any more daughters," Mother would tell her when she was heavy with Gwayne. Clad in a gown with the embroidery of cranes on the skirts, the same sigil of her house, a symbol of freedom. "I have you and that is enough for me."

Harrold, Bryndon and Leyton were the eldest of her siblings. All boys. All hot-blooded and heavy in every way the Gods could make.

Harrold was the eldest. He had the most vigour to him, like father he always had to be somewhere, to do something or else he would crumble away into nothing. When he was born, Mother said he almost slipped from the arms of the nursemaids trying to flee to whatever

Bryndon was much laxer, his breaths slower and his gaze curious. Father was quite sure he would make a good maester or perhaps a scholar for the Faith if he applied himself. 

And then there was Leyton. ‘A terror’ she had heard, Mother laboured with him for two days before his head decided to pop out and even then his voice echoed throughout the halls of the castle for moons on end. That is why when Alicent was born she hailed the Gods for their mercy.

When Gwayne is born there is no noise to be heard, no smile to be seen and no cry to break the vow of silence hanging over them. Her youngest brother was two weeks early and brought the help of a Maester to guide her Mother through the worst part of it; the rip of her body, the blood seeping into the sheets. It was disgusting to think about now and even more bleak than it was before.

Mother has not spoken a single word since that day, not one that Alicent has ever heard. From the brief glances she has captured it is hard to think the woman could muster even a whimper from between her lips.

It was strange. . . The silence. Mother was usually the life of the family, just the mere image of her smile could light up the room and make everyone stop in their wake. Alicent was one of those people and now she cannot even walk past her apartments without feeling a tight clench in her belly, ready to roll over at any moment. 

She looks over the edge of the bassinet and down at the babe in it. His hair is sparse though it is easy to make out the strands of red protruding from his scalp, laying rest on his soft skin, pale as the moonlight shining through the window. 'He looks like Mother,' Alicent thinks to herself. She was always the one praised for her resemblance and yet now here comes another. Alicent feels no jealousy, however, not towards Gwayne. Such a feeling can not even be mustered from her core no matter how much she believes it should be so.

She reaches a finger out to graze the edge of his cheek, watching as his eyes flutter open and his mouth attempts to catch it. Alicent cannot help but giggle, there is nothing more strange than his movements. Like a wild animal attempting to fit in.

She wants to pick him up. To hold him tightly in her arms but before Alicent can even soak in the notion the sound of the doors of the nursery brushing against the stone floors makes it impossible to follow through.

"Alicent you should not be in here," Whipping around at the sound of her Father's voice Alicent is quick to clasp her fingers together, standing tall in his presence so he may not scold her too harshly.

"I just wanted to see the babe," He must be rather lonely in here with no one. But Alicent dares not to say that part aloud, the fear of how her Father will react dripping into her bones and rendering them incapacitated.

Father merely hums, however. His frown creases the lines on his face as he speaks. "He has the servants to watch over him," He says. "You should be getting ready for bed. You are a growing girl after all and Your studies require at least a bit of knowledge to get by in this world."

"But—"

"Do you wish to be an ill-prepared lady?"

Alicent shakes her head. Though sadness seeps through her bones and dread in her heart there is no room to be anything other than obedient. 

"Gwayne will be fine," Father says with finality. "He has the wetnurses to look after him," He takes her arm before she can even argue against it, and sends her back to her chambers to be dotted on by her Septa.

Day by day things seem to go back to normal. In little ways at the very least. Mother slowly starts to come out of her room for short amounts of time, sometimes to sit with her circle of ladies other times to travel the lengths of the garden while Alicent and her brothers clung to her side. She spoke little then but it was enough to keep them sated — at least for a while.

Leyton would tell her that the new babe was most likely the cause of her ailment. 'He must be sick and got her sick as well,' But Gwayne does not look ill not to her at the very least and Mother has not taken to bed recently. On the high summer morning, three moons after Gwayne's birth Mother takes her arm and leads her towards the babes nursery.  The warmth emanating from her is ever-present.

"He's sweet, isn't he?" Alicent asks, looking over the cot as well as she can standing on the tips of her toes. "The maesters say he's quite wild for a babe." 

Mother smiles but says nothing. Instead, her hands reach out to take Gwayne into her arms, rocking him in a steady motion as she finds herself in the rocking chair. Her eyes fall on Gwayne once a hymn starts to come for their mother's lips, the little one's arms flailing about softly as he lets out a soft mewl. Alicent laughs softly coming to sit by their side, picking up a few dolls to occupy her time with.

Suddenly, all goes quiet for a while, the sweet sound of Mother's lullaby the only thing to fill the room. It lasts for what feels like hours, Alicent coming close to sleep half the time only jerking awake once her head hits the carpet laid out on the floor of the nursery. 

"Mother? What are you doing?" Alicent walks closer to the woman, her sight becoming clearer as she does so. In her mother's arms rests, Gwayne, his tiny body held under the weight of her hand and the blanket over him. Except, she does not simply cover him with it, instead she holds the thick cloth over his face, pressing it down with every ounce of strength she can muster making her veins pop out.

Alicent doesn't understand it at first or at least she cannot bring herself to understand. Mother was always sweet and gentle, always kissing her and Bryndon's cheeks and helping Harrold with his archery, she even indulged in Leyton's horrid games at times. Never has she done something so cruel. . . 

The sound of Gwayne's gurgling draws Alicent back to reality, her hands tightly clenched together, drawing blood from their cuticles.

"Stop it!" She dares to shout but she receives no response.

The guards burst into the nursery before she even gets another word out. Whether it was from the sound of her cries or the sudden gurgling of her brother she does not know. However, what Alicent does know is that Mother was quickly closed off in her rooms, never to be permitted out without somebody by her side.

Alicent has few memories after the incident she can recall and even less she wants to remember. . .  Her brothers continued their bouts of mischief and merry-making. Father took the mantle of his brother's right-hand man, digging deeper into his studies while she was left on her lonesome. Always the odd one out, meant to play the role of a perfect quiet doll while Gwayne was by her side for the majority of his youth.

Soon, five years passed by and she had been left in the dark about mostly everything and what they could not keep from her managed to haunt her to her very core.

98 AC

"And the knight struck the witch with his mighty sword. . ." Alicent reads the last page of the book with a murmur, her head tilting off just a bit as she lies in bed. She stays awake, however, to finish it for Gwayne.

The young boy lies by her side, his head right under the crest of her chin as he listens intently to each word she says. Gwayne likes nothing more than to hear about knights and warriors, to know of their battles and triumphs against the dark forces that seep out from behind the shadows. Alicent thinks he will be a fine Knight who will garner many tales of his victories, that is just who he is. For a moment she ponders the future for a brief moment in time until she is forced to come back down to reality.

"Ali," Gwayne calls out to her, too young to say her name properly, his pale eyes meeting her own hazel ones. They are filled with an emotion that only comes on nights like these when the skies are full of dark clouds and the harsh wind blows to disrupt their peace. "What is it, Gwayne?" Alicent asks, knowing before he even says what his troubles are.

"I want to see, mama. When can I see her?"

Alicent cringes as her teeth crack together, the tightness in her jaw not letting up for even a second to grant her peace. "In the morning, Gwayne. You know she wouldn't want to be bothered," She watches as his face morphs into a foul scowl and his eyes water with unsheathed anger. "It's always in the morning. I want to see her now!"

"Well you can't," Alicent seethes. "So stop asking," She hates the way her words rumble through her head, the beating of each proclamation making the pain more unbearable by the second.

Gwayne throws himself back on the bed, his unruly auburn curls splayed out underneath him as he turns red in the face. "You're jealous!" He proclaims, trying to make her angry. It doesn't work, well, at least not the way he most likely wanted it to. For Alicent can say she is rather jealous. The more time goes on the more she believes that her mother is becoming ill just as Leyton said and she did not want him to be right. Soon she would forget about them entirely and it was all his fault!

Her cheeks puff up as her entire face turns hot. "I am not! If you want to act that way you can go back to your own bed and you won't be able to see Mother at all!"

That seems to break through to him and his eyes beat into hers once more before turning around, his back facing towards Alicent. The steam melts down into nothingness and the tightness in her bones becomes liquid.

Coming closer to her brother she tries to garner his attention. Though despite all she does, even shifting at the edge of the sheets he still does not move.

"I'm sorry," She dares to say, finding her place next to him as she lays down. "I’m sorry, Gwayne. Can you forgive me?”

100 AC

"Pay attention to your prayers," Says Septa Imogen, the edge of her needlepoint being wrapped around the next loop of her embroidery wheel. Her tone leaves no room for argument and with a sigh, Alicent looks back at the embroidery wheel in her hands, the sight of Oldtown slipping from her grasp. These days she can barely find focus on her studies it seems, her thoughts heavy and her mind struggling to hold on to the weight of it. If only Alicent could slip into the cracks of her head and see what was going on in there.

The only thing she truly wishes for is to be with her mother and yet she is restricted from that for her family believes it to be too dangerous to have her or any of her brothers in the same room as her without setting off some sort of episode that takes weeks to heal from. Alicent doesn’t truly understand it, can’t they give her mother medicine and make her better once more? Her grandfather had grown ill in his old age and the maesters down in Red Lake managed to subdue most of the ailments haunting him.

It makes no sense and it makes her head hurt to think about it. Maybe if she prayed to the Gods for an answer they would spare some knowledge or at the very least give her a sign. Until then, however, there is no room for imperfection. She must be the ideal daughter for her father — would not want the other lords to believe his blood might be tainted by the same illness that claims his wife.

Alicent sits back a bit straighter and looks towards Lady Perlinda Beesbury who tries hard to loop her needle through the edge of the stitching holding her doll together. “May I be of service to you?” She asks, wasting no time when the girl nods her head, golden curls straying from its bun. “I’m not very good at it, no matter how many times Mother teaches me the proper technique it never looks right.”

“Your stitching is all loose at the top,” Alicent hums, unravelling the length of the thread. “As soon as you get near the eyes you lose all the tension. see?”

“You are so good, lady Alicent,” Her cousin calls out, making her cheeks burn red. “Truly, it is as if you were given the hands of a seamstress at birth.”

Alicent grins at the compliment but tries not to seem too arrogant about the pride in her belly. Lady Perlinda's comment gives her a brief moment of pride, though it's quickly followed by humility. "You're all too kind," She says with a soft chuckle. "I assure you, I'm far from a gifted seamstress. My mother has taught me patiently though I get most of my skills from her."

The Beesbury girl's golden curls bounce with giggles as the other girls begin to join in. "Soon your stitching is as perfect as they come!" Some of the girls chime in. "Aye, lady Alicent, you are a Hightower as well. Soon, a handsome lord will scoop you up and put your skills to the best of use."

A pause, then Alicent continues with a bit of mischief to her tone. “I have some doubts about your claim but if you are so adamant I might just have to accept it.”

Soon Septa Imogen stands, guiding the girls to the stables for a few riding lessons. Alicent falls behind at some point, the sound of her father’s voice coming through the cracked chambers of the maester calling her towards it. 

She can hear her father’s voice through the thick of the wooden doors clearly now. “Why can't she just become with child again? That will help her, give her womb something to alleviate her ailments.”

Another child? Are he and Mother planning to have another with the way she is? Alicent presses her ear closer in, trying her best not to send the door tilting open and exposing herself. 

There is some rustling around as if there are more than two people in the room before speaking starts again. “The way I see it, it would be best for your wife to come with you to King’s Landing,” The maester says. “Have some fresh air — who knows, maybe seeing you as Hand will rejuvenate her spirit.”

“Good day, Alicent,” Lord Robert Redwyne leans down to meet her eyes. Alicent nearly stumbles over her gown to stand only managing to right herself by Robert’s hand holding on to her arm. The young lord was taller when she last saw him, at the Great Council just a few moons before — their families had taken quite a liking to each other. Then he had been no closer to reaching her neck and now he towers over her and then some, his ginger hair reaching his shoulder and bringing attention to his forest green eyes. ‘Save it to a Redwyne to be as lanky as trees,’ Alicent thinks to herself before pulling her arm out of his grasp.

“Do not do that,” She scolds with a low hush, frowning as she notices the smirk that dawns on Robert’s face. His finger presses against the door as if to show Alicent that the conversation had not stopped because of the noise. “I could have gotten caught thanks to you.”

“And what exactly would you be caught doing my lady,” Robert asks and Alicent curses her loose mouth. Still, trying to maintain an air of superiority in the midst of her embarrassment, she crosses her arms over her chest and sticks her bottom lip out in a pout. “It is none of your concern what I do, my lord. You are in my domain after all.”

“Your uncle’s domain,” He corrects. “And as heir to House Redwyne, I say I have a higher power over you.”

Alicent scoffs, turning on the heel of her foot towards the steps leading down the tower holding the castle apartments. “Use that excuse when you become an actual lord,” She tells him without a spare glance in his direction. It is not the end of their discussion though as Robert follows close to her trail, his heavy boot echoing through the stairwell. “Oh, so now you have disrespected me, I will see that my father has you whipped for this. . . Unless.”

Alicent stops in her steps as he comes close to her until their noses are touching. It should be a shock to her but this has come to be so many times before that it is strange for it not to happen. The faint smell of lemons takes hold of her nose before a pair of lips touch hers. Still, quite a queer feeling Alicent clenches her fingers together, there is no way she will lose this game to Robert. It lasts for three quick breaths before she pushes him away.

“I have no worry for your father for my own has found a station far grander than his,” Alicent tells him, her body still trembling as she watches a smile adorn his face and his brow quirk in curiosity. “The king has called upon his presence, I think the notion of his grandson becoming king is electing such decisions.”

“Truly?”

Alicent nods her head. “But don’t tell anyone,” She presses a thin finger against his lips. “I don’t think I was supposed to say.”

A beat of silence does not even get the luxury of lasting a second before Robert dares to laugh, his face turning red as he does so. Alicent hits his shoulder but before she can say anything her attention is brought away.

The sound of screaming can be heard coming from the highest point of the castle, her aunt's voice strained with the sound of shock that cannot be ignored. Alicent turns around a faint line of frown becoming prominent.

That was the final straw or perhaps one of them before Father decided to take the offer the king gave him, leaving behind the sights of the Reach to be indoctrinated in the revelry of court.

101 AC

The air is thick in King’s Landing, filled with the scent of a certain odor masked with perfumes and oils that burn Alicent’s nose. She finds herself having to fix the scrunched tilt of her nose more often than not to save face.

She must present herself as a proper lady after all, Father has worked hard to secure his position as the king’s hand and to have it be ruined by some noble taking offence to her demeanor weighs heavily on her shoulders. For the most part, Alicent stays in the background, scoping the scenery out with Gwayne by her side, the now seven-year-old interested in the schedules and training habits of the castle guards. And though it is dreadfully boring, Alicent finds that she can oversee most of everything here without even lifting a finger.

Each day she finds her way down to the training yard where men discuss the happenings of recent events, from small tales heard from passerbyers to scandals worthy of ruining even the lowest of vassals' reputations. They care not for the young girl eyeing them with a letter in hand as they do so for many ladies find themselves seated, all clad in gowns of neutral colours and simple embroidery with their skirts split down the middle. They tilt their heads, showing off the soft headdresses of intricate designs and the most costly of gems. She rarely ever speaks to them, not as if she wants to. They stare at Alicent from the corner of their eyes, huddled together as if she were some sort of foreigner here to take their place. 

Court seems to be a viper’s nest of people struggling to get to the top and casting away all who do not fit into that perfect portrait. They must be intimidated by her. Father managed to become Hand of the King above all others even though he is a second son without a castle to his name.  

Alicent ponders on the matter for a long while as she sits on an unoccupied bench, well as long as she can before her thoughts are disturbed.

"You are very pretty. . ." Says a girl from the Westerlands by the sound of her accent. It is probably the first time a lady has ever dared to walk up to Alicent and by all means it is strange. 

Alicent purses her lips together, the words on the tip of her tongue and yet so far from her reach. She wants to say something, anything but before she can find the strength the moment is snuffed away in an instant, when another woman pulls her back towards the group. 

There is no point in trying to pretend to be cordial, not when they do not want to speak to her. Alicent climbs atop a hill one day, book in hand and lays on the hard roots of the highest tree. It is quiet here and for a moment it feels as if she belongs.

The wind is quite strong on this day, not that Alicent minds. She hates the heat, the blistering feeling on her skin that only lives to drive her mad. She wonders how the Targaryens deal with such a thing and she recalls what the whispers say about them.

She hears it all the time. 'They are closer to Gods than men.' Such a strange little quip Alicent cannot help but laugh. They may possess the power to rain down fire, leaving nothing but ash in their wake, but when their wings are clipped they are no longer immune to the frailties that plague the mortal heart. They too, know fear and anger, love and hate. Perhaps they are not as untouchable as many believe.

The deities split themselves into seven different faces to serve their followers justly. The Father is made to protect his children as well as to guide them to the path of righteousness. The Mother is made to give them life. The Warrior is made to protect them and the Smith mends them when broken. Though none are as pure as the Maid or as wise as the Crown. The Stranger, however, may stray far from your path until the day comes to join him. . . 

"Good day, Lady Alicent," Lifting her head from the stump of the tree, Alicent gazes up at who interrupted her solitude, almost fumbling about herself once the sight settles in.

Aemma Arryn is a frail thing, maybe even frailer than her mother was said to be and yet she stands with the grace of a woman far above her age. It makes her face appear sharper than it is, lending an air of wisdom and poise even as she smiles at her, the glint of her purple eyes shimmering grander than the waters of Maidenpool. Her shaded silver hair, a colour that seems blonde under the light of the sun, is bound up in two braided buns at each side of her face decorated with a finely rounded hood.

"Princess," Alicent greets.

"I missed you today during our Luncheon," Aemma says. "I thought we could get to know each other more."

Alicent gives a nod in acknowledgement, thinking up an excuse that would not make her seem disinterested in a woman of her station. It would be wrong of her to do so."My apologies for my absence. I did not wish to intrude with matters of the court I know nothing about, especially compared to your Ladies."  

Aemma steps closer, her dainty hands clasped in front of her. "Nonsense, I find my other Ladies a bit boring at times," She says with a smile. "They always talk about the same things. They fear breaching away from the topics of proper ladies as if I would punish them if so.”

"Oh, really?" Alicent responds with a raised eyebrow, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "And what do we have to talk about, Your Highness? Politics and history? I do not think I am any less uninteresting than the others."

The Princess laughs softly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I suppose so," She shrugs at her own admission. "I just find that I always look forward to our conversations. You have a sharp intellect, and you are not afraid to speak your mind."

The girl preens at the praise. "You are very kind, Princess."

"I try to be."

Looking back at the tome in her hands Alicent prays silently for the churning in her belly to cease. A humid silence passes between them until a presence at her side quells her thoughts to cease.

Aemma makes herself comfortable next to Alicent, resting her head on her shoulder. "I still do not truly understand. Do you not wish to read with others," The Princess bites her lip. "It is a bit sad to be on your lonesome, no?"

"I am used to it,"  She says. "I have no sisters and my brothers prefer the company of Knights and Squires, not girls. I do spend some time with my youngest brother, however, he likes the solitude as much as I do. It is not too bad."

"I see. I must admit, I  cannot say I am used to being on my own too much. My husband, Viserys, enjoys the companionship that the Red Keep brings us and my daughter is not a reserved girl. .  ." She says, her voice quiet and steady. "Perhaps I may find solitude with you," Alicent has to turn her head so as not to embarrass herself at the declaration. 

"Would it be acceptable for me to do so? I have no exceptional name to me."

The Princess laughs at her sullen frown. "Neither am I," She says. "I do not believe I need to be. I could die today as no more than a faint memory and I would still be happy. Not everyone is destined to be remembered in history books and legendary tales. Some people are fine with their purpose and contentment lying in the small moments, the details, and the threads that they weave into the fabric of existence," A sigh escapes her lips. "Just as the shadows hold the weight of their own existence, we too find our worth in the quiet, the unnoticed, the intimate."

The pair threads their fingers together, letting the sound around them fill the silence in which words cannot. 

Soon, they make their way back to the castle making conversation about simple matters that should matter little to anyone else. Alicent enjoys it for what it is, however, finds her happiness coming to an end in an instant.

Mother sits by the serpent steps leading to the garden, petting the soft fur of their old cat Magpie. She hums a lowborn song that she is not even sure the woman remembers the words of, she does not remember much of anything these days now that her hysteria grows worse.

"Alicat!"

Walking towards her she tries to come off tranquil in the midst of her uneasiness. "Mayhap you might get some rest," Alicent reaches out to touch her mother's hand but as if she has just been burned the woman turns away, slumping into herself.

"Please, mama," She pleads. "You must get some rest. You need to recover."

The woman lost in her own world, ignores Alicent and lets out a low moan, her eyes darting back and forth between Magpie and some unseen phantom.

She is ashamed of her Mother in these moments. She hates the fact that anyone could come in a look at the seams tearing away at her life. It is even worse knowing that it is a Princess who watches now.

Sensing her agitated demeanor, Aemma takes her leave with a sweet smile. "Let us join together in the library later."

Alicent dares to smile.

"I would like that."

103 AC

Aemma is nice, Alicent comes to find. Nicer than she expected a princess to ever be towards a lady of a second son. Each morning since that fateful day the two spend their time walking the length of the garden after breaking their fast before going back inside to join the sewing circle with her and her ladies while their children roam the room with their toys and books.

Rhaenyra is the most regarded among them, the first child to be born from Prince Viserys and Aemma after years of difficulties and the youngest Targaryen to be born in their house for some time. It is hard not to see why she is dotted upon, especially as she is quite a beautiful girl — silver and golden hair like her father with purple eyes like her mother, the slight tilt of her nose solidifying the Arryn blood in her veins. She comes up to Alicent more often than not, whether to try to strike up a conversation or simply stare; she indulges the girl either way. 

"Watch Syrax as I go to the privy," Princess Rhaenyra proclaims, handing Alicent a toy dragon with a stark furrow to her brows. At first, she does not know what to do, the gazes of the circle beating down on her back as if attempting to goad a mistake she may make in this interaction. Alicent merely tilts her head and puts on a kind smile. "Thank you, princess, I will take care of your mount as well as I can."

The girl giggles before running off towards her Septa, being led out with a slight wave to see herself off with.

"You were very good with her, my lady," Lady Cressida Chyttering says, there is no malice in her voice to be heard so Alicent accepts it as fact watching as Aemma smiles at the blush upon her cheeks. "Yes, Rhaenyra does not take to my ladies well. Most of the time I have to goad her to even speak to them."

Another lady from House Grafton speaks up at the sudden surge of compliments being spewed out."I bet you will make a good mother when the time comes," It is nothing special but Alicent finds her belly curling in on itself at the proclamation. Not out of disgust or even offence but something more. . . fearful. She hates to think of the moment she will give birth to a child of her own, hold them in her arms and yet feel nothing for them. The way Mother thinks of Gwayne. How she thinks of Alicent now. 

With a grim tightening of her lips at the thought Alicent tried her hardest to at least look a bit lively. "I would need to find a husband first."

"You will have no problem on that front," Another Lady giggles. "A lady of your looks and charm could find a husband with the flick of the wind, I know it."

Lady Cressida gasps before leaning into her side. "You know, I have a brother who might be to your liking. Tall, brown-haired and a knight," She lists the last statement with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "I can introduce you to him if you're interested."

"I am not so sure," Alicent mutters. She hopes that they will back off at the sight of her unwillingness.

"What is wrong? Do you want a lord instead?" Even though Cressida is kinder than most of the women here she cannot shake off the annoyance wafting off of her.

Lady Grafton chuckles then, her lips curled into a smirk. "I bet her eyes are solely on Robert Redwyne," She practically boasts, the sing-song tone in her voice open for all ears who dare to gasp. It makes Alicent's heart stutter in her chest and her hands sweaty. "What? Anyone with eyes can see how close you two are to each other, it is almost cute if not frustrating to have to witness."

Alicent tries to detract her words as fast as she can. "Robert and I– we aren't like that!" They will never be like that. She'd be forced to live a life filled with irritation if they ever were to settle down together, that she is sure of. "He's a friend and nothing more, practically a brother I grew up with."

The herd of women seems to take her words with a grain of salt, their minds made up for the most part. However, the words of the princess do stop them from saying anything else about the matter. "I see that we leave Lady Alicent to her own findings,” She says. "Her father is quite the willful man so I’m certain he has full reign in what his daughter ends up choosing.”

When the sun begins to set the group of ladies begin to see themselves out, Alicent is quick to follow behind before a hand grabs onto her own. Aemma's eyes are soft and her smile is wide. "My lady, would you mind if I asked you a favor?"

Alicent is quick to agree, ready for whatever the princess may have in store for her. What she does not expect is for Aemma to ask Alicent to visit the king with her. 

His Grace barely moves from his place in bed at the sight of their presence, his body much too frail to do anything more than give a faint smile on his wrinkled and sunken face. It reminds Alicent of her own grandfather though the king's beard rivals that of his, seeming to reach his waist and his silver hair has become a stark white.

"Aemma," He mumbles, raspy breaths cutting him off every few seconds. "How kind of you to visit. . . I wondered where you were. . ." 

The princess sits down near his side then, letting her hand rest upon his chest and gently strokes it. "I have been busy," She explains. "But I'm here now and I brought a guest with me to keep you company," Alicent stands a bit straighter at the sight of the princess waving her over, quick to come by her side. "This is Alicent, I'm sure you have seen her before, her father is the Hand after all.”

His grace’s gaze is glossed over and she wonders if he can even see before his hand reaches out to touch her arm. "Saera, you've come back to me. . ." He says, his voice cracking as if he were ready to cry. “I have waited. . . For so long. . .”

Aemma meets Alicent’s eyes with something close to a fluster. Alicent merely shakes her head at the sight, lacing their fingers together as she draws her attention to the king. “I have nowhere else to be.”

Alicent comes to visit time and time again after the fact. Each visit draws longer until she is sitting at the head of the king's bed with Aemma by her side, reading tales of the beginning of the Realm to the faint ears of the king for however long he will listen. The routine lasts for two or three moons at the very least before they reach the end of the route.

"I think he will pass soon," Aemma says one night when they leave his chambers. Sadness seeps through her voice and her eyes stay perched on the ground below. 

It was obvious to see the end coming, the king's age slowly eating away at his senses, his movement until just a body lay there. Alicent looks off into the distance, the sound of the bells chiming as it reaches the hour of the eel. The sound reverberates throughout her body and strikes her veins with a chill. “Then it is his time.”

The bells of the city ring as the king's body is paraded through the streets. The Knights of the Kingsgaurd hold him high on his podium of flowers, Dragon's Breath and lilies that glow in the light of the morning sun. The royal party follows close behind Prince Viserys at the front of the line with his daughter high in his arms and the men of the council close behind. 

Alicent can make out the sullen look in his eyes when he dares to address the crowd, trying to appear as a strong man to follow in the footsteps of his Grandsire. She can commend him for his valiant efforts. If it were Alicent leading the next step into the future following the body of her own mother or father she would not be able to do it, the pain would be too much to bear. Even thinking of it now makes her chest ache and her breathing heavy.

She sticks near Aemma's side, however, holding her arm close to her own. There is no denying the sadness that seeps from her pores nor the stray tears that descend her pink cheeks, blowing away with the next gust of the breeze ever the beautiful woman among the shrouds of melancholy. While Alicent finds herself in a simple gown of black with a high bun on her head hidden underneath a dark veil Aemma is dressed in contrast, in a long, flowing gown of midnight silk, cinched at the waist with a jewelled belt of rubies and pearls. The plunging neckline hugs her figure and the loose sleeves draped elegantly on her slender arms as her long black veil hides her silver hair cascading down her back in loose waves from view.

The look of a princess who will be regarded as the most beautiful thing in the Realm.  It makes sense in a way. . . Aemma will be Queen soon enough. Alicent forgets that small detail as best she can but it is steadily growing closer and soon an integral part of her existence.

They find themselves situated near the city Sept, a rather plain thing from the outside, with high stained glass windows and white marble engravings. The low grass around them casts a perfect sight of King Jaehaerys’ body wrapped tightly and perfectly aligned.

The embellishments set in place for the king make for a grandeur event, not a soul misses the chance to see him off as they each view the body, placing flowers among the rest of them.

The sound of Vermithor can be heard as he circles the grand structure with the dragonkeepers guiding him, the sound filling the skies with mourning. 'Can dragons feel sadness?' Alicent wonders, his cries become louder until he finds his way to his rider. The bursts of flames exhaled from his jaw and cast the body below alight.  

When the king's body is finally burned, the guests begin to find themselves entering the sept to pay their respects to the Gods. Alicent stays behind, her knees digging into the ground below, protected only by the cloth of her gown. She watches as the smoke covers the sun and leads its way up to the clouds — up to the seven heavens. 

In the midst of her thoughts, Aemma sinks herself into Alicent's lap and allows herself to cry. Hot tears stain her black skirts and the tight grip crumbles the fine fabric of it and yet Alicent cares not to complain. Instead, she strokes the princess's silver hair before bringing her lips to touch the edge of her scalp. "It was his time, Princess. I'm sure he is happier now finally with his wife and children once again."

It is not the most comforting thing to say but Aemma seems to find some vigor in her body. She sits up and wipes the tears off her cheeks as Alicent fixes the stray hairs sticking to her face. "Do you want to go inside now?" She asks, to which the older woman shakes her head. "I'll bring you back something to drink then."

Gwayne finds his way towards her as she attempts to find a servant in the centre of the crowd. The sound of his voice can be heard from far off distance, for all to hear.

Harrold is busy speaking to lord Borros Baratheon and Leyton has found some lady to impress while Bryndon hugs Alicent as she passes by, drawing a hand through Gwayne’s scalp as he does so.

"It seems you have become quite acquainted with Princess Aemma," Father says as Alicent makes her way back. 

Alicent looks over to her Mother for a brief moment. She stands silently by Father’s side, biting away at her nails. She doesn't even look over at her daughter once, nor does she acknowledge her or her son's presence. 

"She is quite fond of me and I her,” She comes to say, watching from the corner of her eyes as the man nods his head. “That is good. When Viserys become king Aemma will need an extra set of hands to manage the estate.”

Alicent wants to ask what she could possibly offer to a woman of two and twenty at the age of five and ten that she does not know for herself. However, she holds her tongue just this once. She finds her way back to the princess who does not waste any time throwing her arms around Alicent’s shoulders, jostling the cup of water in her hands.

"I don't want to be queen," Aemma sobs into her shoulder. "I have dreaded this day ever since Grandfather decided it to be so but I couldn't say. They would think I was weak, that I did not stand with my husband."

"What? Why?" That is all Alicent can ask in the midst of her shock.

The princess’s shoulders heave and shake as she tries to compose herself, but the tears still find their way down her face. "I just don't want to," She repeats, like a child, her voice breaking into a fresh wave of sobs. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid. . ."

Alicent slowly releases Aemma, taking a step back as she wipes the tears away from her face. There is not an inch of her that is not puffy and red, as if she has spent endless sleepless nights fighting this very notion inside her mind.

"Afraid of what?" She asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You are a princess, the most fine woman I know."

Aemma shakes her head, silver hair falling in her line of sight. "No. I-I know I will not live up to what everyone expects of me. Viserys is different, he has been prepared for this ever since he was a boy but I-"

Alicent bites down on her bottom lip and takes the other's hand in an effort to comfort her. "Do not fret, Princess. We will get through this together, I promise you.”

Aemma wipes her nose on the sleeve of her dress, a childish habit that anyone else would have fixed their lip at. "You cannot promise that. There is no way of knowing what the future will hold no matter how much you think about it.”

"I say you should have more faith in me, Aemma,” There is a slight tone of humour to her voice, her hands coming to cup the other’s cheek in her hold.

The woman smiles with all her teeth, coming forth to draw her into another hug. This time warmer and full of life. "Alicent," She says after a long moment. It makes Alicent's head dizzy to hear and her words come up breathy. "Yes?"

A silence follows her before a pair of lips press close to her ear. "I love you."

And for once in years those words do not feel like a lie.

104 AC

Alicent is six and ten years old and yet she feels older. Maybe a lifetime has passed without her looking or perhaps she has been too distracted to take in the sight of the world around her. Whatever the reason may be it does little to hide the fact that the older she gets the more alone she seems to be.

While Father finds himself busy at the king's side and her brother's off gallivanting around the Reach, Mother was sent back to Oldtown earlier this week on the bid of her health becoming worse. The reason they came to King's Landing in the first place is now gone and all that is left is the stark silence to fill the void. Alicent is quite miffed by the fact, even though she knows that it would have never worked out since the beginning. Her illness was not one of great note, nor was it cared for any way other than an annoyance it was clear to see how it would end and yet Alicent still finds herself upset, just two day shy of her name days and leaving her only daughter alone.

Gwayne comes early in the morning to celebrate Alicent’s nameday, however, as he always does. Her brother hands her a sleek wax carving of the beacon of Oldtown, the flame situated with a wick for her to light if she wants. Alicent smiles and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, brother."

"Alicent?" Slipping through the crack of the door is Aemma, her guard striding beside her even as the woman runs up and pulls her into a tight hug, mindful of her growing belly. "Joyous nameday to you!" She says and presses a kiss to each side of her flushed cheeks before pulling away, a tight grip on a necklace in her hands which she is quick to reveal. 

A shimmering silver chain, woven like a spider's web. Dangling from its centre is a pendant, a detailed engraving of a bird mid-flight, with wings spread out as if soaring through the air. The wings on the pendant are lined and bordered with minuscule golden jewels. Upon its head, a brilliant gemstone of sapphire, the same that lays rest against Aemma's neck.

"So we may match," Her giggles fill Alicent with such joy that she can scarcely contain the urge to pull her in for another tight embrace though before she can Gwayne breaks the scene up with a slight clearing of his throat. "If you two would be so kind, maybe we shall break our fast together — a picnic of sorts that I have planned out.

Gwayne leads the pair to the centre of the lower inner bailey, his surprise set by the servants who roam around and serve them various treats and drinks until their bellies cannot hold anymore. Though it is a rather small thing Alicent finds it the most thoughtful of gifts she has ever received.

"Ah, Lady Alicent I did not expect to see you out here on this fine day," Alicent scrunches her brows at the sight of Prince Daemon approaching them, Aemma's brother-in-law as silver-headed as she. "And why would I not? The sun is out and the wind is lax, my nameday deserves to be celebrated in full."

Prince Daemon smirks. "I suppose I found it a bit surprising since you prefer to wallow in such drab silence." Even though Alicent is six and ten and Prince Daemon is said to be just shy of turning twenty-three he acts as if he is ten years younger. It makes her eyes roll at the mere memory of how her father thought it was so grand to have Alicent be considered the prince's second choice if he were ever to be rid of Lady Rhae Royce. Alicent would rather rip her own hair out and bite her tongue before she ever even dared to shake his hand let alone wed him. 

"Why don't you join us, my prince," She says instead of turning him away. "I'm sure you are tired from all the training you have been through."

Though the Prince huffs a curse under his breath he sits anyway, huddling close to his good-sister while a servant passes a piece of pie. Long after the day's festivities are done, Alicent finds herself travelling the hall leading to the holdfast she is stopped by another. Robert Redwyne grabs hold of her hand with a sly smirk on his willowy face, the same he had as a boy only this time the sunken cheeks show the passage of time. It makes Alicent's heart skip a beat. 

"Happy nameday," He tells her then, stepping closer.

"What are you doing here!" She asks, her hand striking his shoulder and a half-hearted attempt to push him away. How she missed his presence near her, letters have done little justice than hearing his actual voice, mirth and all.

Robert laughs loud and true. "I thought I would spare to give you a visit on this most joyous occasion but I see I only get attacked for whatever I do."

She throws her arms around him, catching him off guard and making them stumble back a bit before he grasps onto her middle. "You fool! You sent a letter to me just yesterday!"

"Surprise," He says to which Alicent smiles. "I missed you and I missed my brothers as well, tell me how they are doing?"

Robert lets out a hum. "Much of the same," He says. "Harrold has found himself stricken with some lady from the Riverlands while Leyton and his wife settle down in Oldtown for the time being."

"They did not want to come with you?" Alicent is not so surprised but still it does not cease to burn a bit when Robert shakes his head. "I come bearing gifts from them, however."

He pulls a satchel forth heavy with trinkets that supposedly she is not meant to open until she is back in the safety of her chambers. It is a strange request but she relents, turning back to the man in question, his lively eyes gazing down on her. "Say, Alicent," Robert says, placing his hands behind his back. "Time is passing by us so fast, I can barely recall the moment everything began to feel so distant."

"I suppose, though I find that the present is filled with all that I need."

Robert hums. "Soon enough it will be our children who will take the Realm for themselves, while we rot away into a mess of wrinkles and crackly bones."

Alicent laughs, tickled by the seriousness of his words. "That is a bit of a bleak way of thinking, is it not?" She says. "I am sure that we will age quite finely if we remain true to ourselves."

"Do you not ever wonder," He comes closer until they are practically touching skin. "When will you settle down? Father has been pestering me about it ever since I turned eighteen, says I have to focus on finding a worthy Lady Redwyne."

She looks down at their hands. "He has always been quite the ambitious man, it is no wonder he and Father get along so well."

"Yes, it truly is," Before she can say anything else Robert turns to face her, only this time for something different. Alicent thinks back to their youth. The times they had found themselves hidden in the shadows of the castle playing at kissing to best each other. Robert would always find a way to turn the tides in his favour with an eager grin and thick, sallow fingers holding her arm. The taste of apple tarts still lingers on his tongue.

They haven't indulged in such a game in years. 

But this is not a game.

When Robert backs away Alicent finds her lips touching the tenderness of her lips. It stings. "Whatever Lady finds you will be lucky indeed."

A jest. They never could be serious in the presence of one another, always laughing. It is the only thing Alicent can do to be rid of the pit in her stomach attempting to swallow her whole. Robert seldom smiles and his eyes are dark and heavy and yet still laughs. Their game. "I'm sure she will be as kind and lovely as you are."

105 AC

It is late in the evening when Alicent receives the letter from her uncle. The maids had just fixed her hair and laced her nightgown for bed while the princess dried off from her bath. It was meant to be a peaceful night, ready for the next turn of the moon that solidified the ninth moon of Aemma’s pregnancy. Alicent had even found it in her heart to write to Leyton and his wife, the both of them visiting her family in the Reach to settle down for the birth of her first child and yet. . . 

It tears her insides apart until they are nothing more than mush curling in on itself. They remain that way as Alicent makes her way back over to Aemma’s side, her body quick to sink into the bed next to her. 

She hears her brother pray for a boy to be born from their brood, a boy meant to take the seat of Appleton after his mother passes. The same way Mother had prayed for Gwayne in the past with a voice of heavenly silk that she will not hear again.

"My mother is dead," Alicent tells Aemma, her head resting against the woman's shoulder as they lie together in bed. It slips from her tongue without a second thought, it doesn’t even feel real until her friend turns her head to the side, far too heavy with child to dare to sit up and tired more often than not to truly show the pang of shock that comes to her. “Truly? How did she. . .”

They say she fell down the stairs of the tower, her neck snapped as soon as she hit the cold stone and the rest of her body followed after. She tells Aemma this without the slightest bit of trepidation as if all of her emotions had been stripped bare.

“Oh, Ali, I’m sorry,” Her free arm circles around her neck, pulling each other impossibly closer to one another. Alicent “I don’t think I will go,” She says life is absent from her words. “To see her there— I don’t have the strength to do it.”

Aemma furrows her brows. "My mother died in the birthing bed,” She says simply. “I never had the chance to meet her and for that I always find myself drowning in remorse. . . Don’t live with regret in your heart, Alicent, it isn't worth it.” 

Alicent bites her bottom lip until she can feel the gush of blood seep from its opening. “I am meant to leave two days from now to travel to her funeral,” Her voice is no more than a whisper as she takes in the sight of sad purple eyes. “I will miss you for what it’s worth and I promise to come back before the babe is born,” She tries to smile. “I would not dare to leave you on your lonesome.”

“I do not mind waiting, neither of us does,” She looks down as she caresses her belly. Aemma hopes this one will be a boy, she told her so when she first fell with child, an heir to the throne. Alas, Alicent does not understand the obsession she has with it so she merely smiles placing her hand atop the other’s.

"When we reunite again, it will be because the Gods' willed it to be so," With that Aemma let go of her hand, slipping back into the soft sheets of her bed, putting the weight of her swollen belly. For a moment, Alicent itches to hold her hand once more, to be close to Aemma and be rid of the thought haunting her mind and rendering her bones stiff as stone.

Maybe in another life, she would have been more willing.

On the day of her Mother's funeral, Alicent spares no tears. She is not able to muster such weakness not even for a moment. Instead, her gaze is heavy, hanging over the crowd as she stands at the far back. She watches as her family circles the body to pay their respects, Father is among them, his stern face heavy in the gaze of mourning. Alicent pities him, for her she mad merely lost a mother but for him it was a wife. A woman who stood by his side through everything. 

Ormund comes to ask Alicent to pay her own respects but she refuses.

For Alicent her mother has been dead since the moment Gwayne was born, the moment where her flower finally wilted and left the remains of a ghost in her wake. The woman lying on her deathbed now is not her mother, this is not the woman who loved her and her brothers, the lady's father chose to stand by his side. Though she is dressed in the finest gown of green with motifs of house Crane swallowed by yellow flames and jewels on each finger of her now bony hands there was nothing of Margaery Hightower left to the world. Her face is as still as stone dressed in a pale glow surrounded by hair of copper, no longer bearing a gentle smile to even the saddest of days and her body is stiff a grand jest to the many nights she had held Alicent in her arms when the storm scared her at night, the same ones that held all her children when they were bore from her body, this is the Strangers gift to them. 

If Gwayne were here she would have held onto his hands until they turned red for salvation and sunken her head into his warm embrace. But he is not here, his presence hidden away in his apartments until the body is gone, and so Alicent is left to hold herself. The brunt of her fingers turning red from gripping them so tight.

By her side comes lady Cressida Chyrelling, her blonde plaits spilling over her gown of grey and black. She offers a solemn smile before drawing Alicent into a long hug. “I hope you feel well,” She says, attempting to convey some happiness to her heavy heart. It works little though and Alicent merely shifts her gaze back to the crowd.

At the edge of the crowd stands Robert, clad in his mourning attire he moves his ginger hair away from his face before waving over to Alicent. Though the relationship between them has grown as still as winter there is still an admiration she holds for him. 

As she turns she dares to notice the look on Cressida’s face, the slight tremor in her eyes with each glance Robert spares in their direction makes annoyance flutter in her being. ‘Robert is mine,’ Alicent wants to shout, clawing at the other girl's innocent face and marking her bare for the word to see, however, she does not. ‘Robert was mine’ She thinks sullenly. ‘And then I lost him,’ The tendrils of envy slowly unclench around her bones all at once.

"You should go to him," Alicent tells her, making her blue eyes go wide. "Truly? What about you—" She shakes her head before the girl can even finish her sentence. "I think he would be fond of you."

It rains for a week after the funeral and Alicent is forced to stay in the city longer than she had hoped. Each day her patience grew thinner, thoughts of Aemma clinging to her mind like a vice. 

On the last day of the storm, a letter is brought to her from King’s Landing. 

A stray tear falls from her eyes, then another. It stains her cheeks in a flood of heat that cannot be sated no matter how much she tries to hold them back. 

That night Alicent dreams of open fields and clear skies, Aemma is there with her racing to the top of the hill where the weirwood tree sits before disappearing in the luminous glow of the sun.

"Can I braid your hair next, Alicent?" Rhaenyra turns her head back as well as she can see Alicent's face, uncaring of the braid that comes undone as she does so. The two of them had taken to sitting in the castle sept, overseeing the lords and ladies who pass by with their prayers and confessions to Septon Eustace and daily affirmations to the Gods. It is not the most interesting thing to spend their time doing but she finds Rhaenyra is more active when there is something for them to do together.

"Patience, Princess," Alicent says with a smile. "Do you not want to look nice for your mother?"

She does not mention the fact that Aemma is truly gone with her words. It still feels wrong to say, to bring to life the notion of the queen never coming back, almost as if Alicent is wiping her existence away if not choosing to forget her entirely. So instead she plays into the game she has made up in her head, whether for her own sanity or to save Rhaenyra the heartache she does not know.

Lost in her thoughts Alicent barely notices the figure that marches up to them, their heavy footsteps clambering down on the peaceful silence before her eyes adjust. "Your Grace?!"

Viserys' gaze darts over to her and he is quick to back away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," He says, his hands outstretched in a form of comfort. "I was looking for Rhaenyra and–"

"I'm right here, Father," The young princess proclaims, her cheeks puffed up in annoyance. "You should know better than to barge into a sept like that! You scared Alicent!"

Truly, Rhaenyra has her father wrapped tightly around her little finger, no matter what she does the king is quick to sate her anger merely to see a smile dawn on her face once more. "Yes, I'm sorry my darling. But I wanted to take you horse riding with me," His Grace then turns back to Alicent. "I hope you can forgive me."

Alicent is quick to shake her head. "It is fine," She reassures him. "Though I would not want Rhaenyra to go just yet, we were about to find our way over to the statues of the Gods."

Rhaenyra clings closer to her side, her brows creasing tightly together as the king reluctantly looks off to the side. It is obvious that he does not want to be here and even more so that the notion of being in the presence of his wife’s burial is even grander. However, before he can she gasps, turning to look at Alicent with a large grin. "Father should join us!"

The declaration shocks both Alicent and Rhaenyra's father, they dare to gaze at each other for a few seconds before darting away as if they had been burned. To be in the presence of the king in such an intimate way makes her belly roil in all honesty and still, she cannot shake off the feeling before her mind drifts on some unsavoury thoughts.  

Alicent puts on a grand smile through it all. "If it is fine with you."

With that, the three of them find their way over to the statues of the Seven, Rhaenyra just a few steps ahead of them.

"Are you well, Your Grace?" Alicent asks, silently cursing herself as the king turns to her for being so brazen. He is sure to condemn her for being so nosey or perhaps walk out entirely, he is a king, not just some lord. However, even so, he answers the question without hesitation. 

"It's only been a couple of moons since my wife passed, and already they are trying to find me another wife to stand by my side," the king says, twisting the rings on his fingers. "I know those men and I trust them with my life but I cannot bear to hear them speak about this matter."

Alicent hums. Her father has spoken extensively about his wishes for the king to find himself another bride, for the sake of the Realm and the future of House Targaryen. His frustrations grow more and more by the day and his perception of the king dwindles with it. 

She puts on a comforting smile. "You cannot be blind to the matters of lords and kings, Your Grace."

"And what is it if they speak of your wife as if she were an object to replace with the flip of a coin?" He spits out. “I have done everything I can for the Realm, everything. 

Alicent furrows her brows, the mention of how far everything has gone turning her belly into a tight knot.

"I loved Aemma, probably as much as you did,” She declares. “I know she would want you to be happy, for Rhaenyra to be happy."

“It is no better than Corlys keeps pushing his daughter onto me — have her come to me with pretty dresses and high tales, each day it’s something new with him,” Viserys lowers his head. "She didn't want this," His voice cracks a bit before he can even continue. "She spurned all things of death from her heart."

Alicent has no more words to comfort him and her mind starts to turn against her by the second. She presses her knees onto the cold, hard stone of the steps, turning to the king for a brief moment. "Kneel with us."

"I find this is a way to be with my mother. Here in the quiet of the Sept, I feel close to her," Her cheeks turn red once she notices how silent the room is. "I know it sounds foolish."

"I don't think it's foolish. I don't."

"Good. Because I thought you might try," Viserys stares at her for a moment as if afraid to bear his true feelings out for all to see. Alicent clasps her hands tight together before kneeling her head down. "If not for me, then, perhaps for them."

The rustling of clothing can be deciphered from her ears and the heavy warmth of a body next to hers makes itself known before a breathy whisper from the king is brought about. "What should I say?" He asks.

"Whatever you wish. It's only for you and the gods to know."

It takes a moment for the sound of his proclamation to come to life, each word heavier than the last. "I wish I had a clear answer on what to do next."

Alicent cannot help but let a laugh slip from her lips. "If we were to know everything the Gods would have nothing to do in their spare time." She tells him. "They bask in our search for knowledge. When we wish to talk with them, they know that we must make the effort."

"You know, I have never taken the time to speak to you before,” He says. “I had been too busy to pay attention to the ladies in Aemma’s circle. But. . .I figure it would be a good time to get acquainted with you. If the opportunity ever allows it. . ." 

The king stumbles over his words so much that one would think he was stripped of the right to speak. Alicent does no more than smile. "We can be of company to each other.”

When hazel eyes open once more they are met with glimmers of purple sapphires. "I would like that."

Alicent does not know the exact moment when the relationship between Viserys and her had changed. When the day came when their affection for one another started to make her heart skip a beat with each thought of when they would be reunited again. 

It makes Alicent's stomach flip over itself to think about.

At first, it was simple things. Escorting her to the sept and back with Rhaenyra on their heels, sharing lunch before he went off to his council meetings and bidding each other good night once the sun had set over the castle. It was a routine, something to get by the day without letting their minds succumb to their own self-loathing. Alicent did not expect it to change for anything and then it does.

Sitting on the plush divan situated in the king's solar, Alicent reads over a passage from some book about the end days of the last ruler of Dragonstone before the conquest. Her voice is rather hoarse this day, the high winds gusting through her room at night finally getting to her. However, Viserys does not comment on it, his smile never faltering as she reads each sentence, his compliments never stopping even as he overlooks his model of Old Valyria. “As lovely as always, my lady."

Alicent turns hot, her cheeks as pink as the gown she wears, hidden only by the veil that sticks to the curls of her hair. If she were a bit bolder she would compliment him as well, tell him that his smile is the most charming thing about him apart from her but she holds herself back.

Alicent still finds her thoughts straying back to Aemma at times like these. Would it dishonor her memory if she were to find comfort in Viserys in the way she had before she passed? Is she watching her from the seven heavens now, cursing every move she makes? It seeps into the crevices of Alicent's mind until she is forced to face reality once again. This time it is by the sound of the door being shoved open and little feet pittering against the stone floors.

"Father!" Rhaenyra calls out to the king, running up to him with outstretched arms and a sweet smile. "Do you like my new gown?"

It is made of soft baby blue silk that finds itself lined with silver trimmings and lilac skirts. Alicent thought herself quite the seamstress when she had picked it out, beaming with pride when Rhaenyra commended her with vigour. Even now Viserys laughs and lifts the girl up. "It is beautiful! Never has there been a princess as beautiful as you!"

"Thank you! Alicent helped me, she has a very fine taste in fashion!"

"Yes, she does," His gaze finds hers for a long moment before kissing the top of Rhaenyra's head. Fighting to be free of his hold the princess demands Alicent reads to her for the remainder of her visit, quick to find her way onto her lap and clinging on to each word until her head drops onto the crest of her shoulder. The soft sound of heavy breathing fills the silent air before Alicent even notices it — has it always been so quiet? Viserys is not even occupied with his model anymore, instead watching both princess and lady. Once he notices her gaze he is quick to straighten his back. "Lady Alicent," He messes with the hem of his tunic. "I think it would be of my best intentions that I make my feelings for you clear."

"Your Grace?" Her heart pounds in her chest and her eyes bore into his own, trying to goad out the lie he is trying to sell her. Though it amounts to nothing, Viserys is not capable of such a cruel thing, not even in her wildest of dreams. "I know we have only spoken for a few moons, I have practically ignored you before then but I cannot sate the  

"That is very kind of you to say," Alicent looks down at Rhaenyra in her arms, the portrait of Aemma stares back. "I think — I think it would be an honour to be your wife." 

It takes Alicent three days to strike up the nerve to tell her father of Viserys' proposal. In the midst of her worry, her now betrothed attempts to soothe her with promises of the grandest wedding the Realm has ever seen, so no one would question his decision. 

"I find it in my greatest pleasure to announce that I have finally found a lady to stand by my side.”

Lord Corlys Velaryon has a bitter look on his tanned face once Alicent walks forth, he had been itching for his daughter Laena to be of Viserys interest and all thoughts of her being queen are now tossed to the side in favour of Alicent. She cannot say it does not make pride swell in her chest a tiny bit. If only the eyes of her father beating on her was not so intense.

It takes Gwayne's outburst for him to even comment on it. "The king truly?" Her brother asks when they find their way to the tower of the Hand, disgust evident in his young voice. Alicent does not expect a boy of thirteen to understand something as complex as love, especially love for a man who has helped her through the darkest point in her life.

Father on the other hand finds it more contemplative than a simple feeling. “Alicent has done her duty well, our blood will continue to prosper through the line of House Targaryen.”

Alicent giggles, how he manages to be so serious in even the most joyous of times never manages to humour her. "Do not worry we will be the best for each other."

Alicent is wrapped in a black cloak on the high morning on the fourth moon of the hundredth and sixth year after the conquest. The sigil of House Targaryen binds the notion that she is now one with their dynasty. Any maiden would be jealous of the honour and some are she notices as she towards the crowd.

When Alicent turns to face Viserys his face is full of a joy that she has never seen since the death of Aemma. His hands clasped tightly in hers as if letting her go would cause her to disappear as well and Alicent finds her heart racing as if she will herself. So scared that this will all turn out to be a dream and she will be a girl again, scared of the monsters lurking outside her door.

Instead, the king lays a kiss on her lips and draws her back to reality, the sun beating down on her skin making her ever hotter under his body. Alicent allows a smile to come to her then, laughing as Viserys whispers in her ear. "You are my queen now, I suppose."

The cheering feels like a distant memory as they make their way out of the Sept and into the royal palanquin. Alicent allows her joy to settle, how Mother would have loved to see this. . . If only.

The feast is a grand event for the most part. Alicent sits high at the royal dining table looking down at guests who get as drunk as they can and find themselves lost in the merriment of the occasion. Even her elder brothers who prefer the sights of the Reach from the Crownlands make their presence known, their laughter rivaling even the crack of thunder. Viserys is the leader among them, finding his way to the dance floor long after they had their first one as a married couple, spinning around ladies from every house he finds himself acquainted with.

Gwayne comes up once or twice to give Alicent company before finding his way to a group of young squires who seem to take him under their wing. She dares to laugh in the revelry of it all before glancing around. On the left side of her, Rhaenyra seems to have found herself in a bind. A sort of anguished longing dawns on her pretty face that she cannot make any sense of. Alicent ponders for a moment or two before placing her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Are you well, princess?"

Rhaenyra hums as she leans back in her seat, no words to be spoken. It is out of place against the pale yellow gown she wears. "Has something happened to make you so upset?"

The girl shakes her head, turning away from Alicent entirely. Well, if that is how she wants to act Alicent will not indulge her, she will get no response anyhow — or at least with the way she is going about now. Putting on a grin she stands from her seat, fixing the skirts of her white gown 

"Hm, I suppose if nothing is wrong I will go off to dance with the king."

"Go," Rhaenyra says, sitting up suddenly. "You both will forget about me anyhow."

Alicent furrows her brows. "And why would we go and do that?"

"You are married now and soon you will start having kids of your own. Sons and daughters and I will be the least of your worries."

Though it comes out to be a serious matter Alicent cannot help the slip of laughter that escapes from her lips, one that makes the princess whip her head up to pierce her eyes directly into the others. "Why are you laughing?!" Rhaenyra asks.

Alicent covers her lips in an attempt to maintain modesty. "I'm terribly sorry, princess," She says. "It is merely that I find it hard to consider the notion of forgetting you.

"Truly?" Her eyes widen with curiosity and Alicent does not hesitate to nod. "Mhm, you are the Realm's Delight, after all, I would not dare to make you unhappy."

Rhaenyra jumps up then beaming so brightly that it rivals the sun itself, her arms wrapping around being careful not to mess up her gown. "Does that mean I have to call you my mother?"

Alicent giggles. "Not if you don't want to."

There is a shrill scrape at the sight of lord Whelton Bettley banging his chair against the floor on unsteady feet. The hall falls silent in his wake. "Enough of these distractions," He declares. "It is a bedding I was promised and a bedding I will get!"

Many of the crowd cry out with their proclamations in the midst of his own, their patience growing thin with the stench of ale thick on their tongue. Alicent's distant cousin from house Crane is the loudest among them, his goblet coming up and sloshing about in his hands. "Calm yourself, lord Bettley, you will see a nice pair of tits in due time!"

It is not long for their words to become reality when the circle of men come towards Alicent and take her into their ready arms. They pull at her gown and jewellery until there is nothing left to claim her modesty but the thin veil of her shift and half of her stockings. 

Viserys fairs no better. Ladies ripping at his clothes until only the smallclothes underneath remain and their mocking cries of pleasure cho through the halls of the Red Keep for even the peasants to hear. "How lucky the queen is!' The title is still foreign to Alicent's ears. "Yes! The king has a dragon hidden in his smallclothes!"

Before long Alicent is being placed back on her feet in the king's bed chambers where Viserys is quickly disposed of right after her though with a little less care by the group of women. He stumbles to right himself as they shove the door close, the sound of their merriment slipping through the cracks.

"Lady Alicent," Viserys says as if this is the first time he is seeing her, truly seeing her and not a lady of a second son in his wake but a wife he will have until the end of his days. Alicent tilts her chin up then, trying to appear brave in front of him. She is in the dragon's den now.

"Your Grace," Her steps feel heavy as she makes her way over to him, the feeling of Viserys’ eyes piercing her skin with heat. "Shall we start the bedding before the crowd grows restless? They have waited long enough to have a queen by your side once more."

106 AC

Alicent has never been too worried about the future of the throne, merely a lady from the Reach with no true power it was insignificant to even put any thought into.

When Rhaenyra had been formally announced as the heir to Viserys she had been hopeful, the princess was a well enough girl with a fine education. She had practically raised her by Aemma's side and been a part of every milestone that the princess has been through even now Alicent is by Rhaenyra’s side through the teachings of her eventual reign. Besides, anyone was better than Prince Daemon in Alicent's eyes. Not that it matters with him off to war — the stepstones have met their match, she truly feels sorry for them.

However, now that she has become queen, Father has been rather assertive with his worries about Viserys and her having a son, a trueborn prince to follow after his Father as king. For the most part Alicent is reluctant to indulge in his claims, it is not strange to want to secure the Realm nor is it worrying for a father to want his line to continue but it is off putting to think about.

Are her hands capable of taking away a child before they even took their next breath of life?

Her worries warp into something else entirely once she realizes her moon's blood had not come. The implication striking the centre of her head and spreading like a virus to its core. 

Pregnancy for the most part is not at all what Alicent expects. 

She knits clothes and blankets and sings hymns with Rhaenyra, dancing for the entertainment of her and the babe who she has lovingly named Aerion after the conqueror's father. Alicent is not too fond of the name but she relents preferring this to the princess’s self made poetry. 

Cressida is farther along than she is and faring much better than her as well. Each day is blessed with a warm greeting and lovely conversations that go on for hours on end. Her other ladies are fine enough, all women from the Reach with fine personalities and she knows them well from her youth who swarm her with warm congratulations and sweet gifts for the babe and her. It is nice for a time Alicent enjoys being able to speak to a group of women who will not sneer at her for not being from the Crownlands.

However, they are rather distant to the knowledge of a queen or so they present themselves as, much too quick to agree with what she says when she says it. Alicent prefers not to have to deal with it in this state.

"Robert wants to name the babe after himself if they're a boy," Cressida says, her laugh practically bouncing off the high walls. Alicent smiles along with although a bit seldom. ‘Of course, he always was the more arrogant of the two of us,’ She thinks, if it had been Alicent who had been with his child should would not let him push her over so easily. “You should not listen to him, Robert is such a bland name.”

Cressida laughs til her cheeks turn red. “Have you thought about names for your own?” She asks after a moment, clearing her throat.

“No,” Alicent says. She has pondered on it for some time, passed over Rhaenyra’s suggestion and vaguely listened to her brother Gwayne who thought she should name the babe Gaemon so it would sound close to his own name. Which it isn’t. 

“I will wait until they are born,” It is best not to slant her chances with hopes and dreams, However, the moons leading up to her birth Alicent makes sure to pray every night before bed and in the early hours of the morning for the best to come to her.

When her water breaks Alicent has just returned to her chambers, exhausted after a long day hearing courtiers and ambassadors from each corner of the Realm. Yet the feeling slips away from her once she realizes the implication. The gift bestowed upon her will finally be brought into the world and fulfill the role he was always meant to play.

As she lies in the birthing bed now, her nails clung tightly to the sheets beneath her, soaked with the evidence of her labour Alicent awaits the arrival of her son. Her perfect Prince, the future of House Targaryen.

She feels such joy even as her body clenches at the last wave of pain shooting through her. It soon ends, however, and the slip of pressure that leaves Alicent begins to cry, a sweet, joyous sound that can be heard through the cracks of the door. She watches as the midwives take the child and begin to remove any blood, amniotic fluid, or vernix that lingers on their skin before they hand the babe back. 

As they do so Alicent finds her heart hammering away against her ribcage. She must know, she has waited nine moons for her child and she shall know if her prayers have been answered. "What are they?"

"A boy!" One of the nursemaid's proclaims, joy emanates from her body like no other and Alicent finds herself basking in it. A son. 

"I want my baby," Alicent whispers and the hand of her aunt caresses her cheek. "In just a moment's time," She promises.

When the babe is finally placed in Alicent's arms the first thing she notices is the pale hair that sticks to their fine head. A slender and small creature they are, with big luminous lilac eyes that almost appear glowing under the light. He also has fine, pale, porcelain skin, nearly translucent. The cries that come from him are like a kitten desperate for their mother. "He is the most handsome babe I have ever laid my eyes on!" Lady Florent says.

"He is my perfect son," A boy. A Prince. Her Prince. A boy as fine as any other who will surely live to bring about a time of prosperity through the Realm of given the chance. She rubs a thumb across the babe's head before the maester comes up to her, the King rushing through the doors behind him to which Alicent sits up a bit straighter.

"'Tis a boy, Your Grace," Her joy is thinly veiled. 

The King nods his head, his purple eyes wide with what look like shock. "A son? My Alicent look what you have given me," He says, looking down. "Such a beautiful boy you are already, you take after your mother in that regard. Barely have anything of me in there," The babe gives a little coo in response to his father's warm and gentle voice. His tiny fingers curl and grasp at the air in the air in front of him as he looks at him with those large, pale lilac eyes. 

Alicent smiles, her heart heavy. "He has your chin," She says, lining his finger down her face softly, refusing to let Viserys go on with his assumption. "And your very shapely brows — What shall you name him?" She asks after he swiftly takes their son into his arms, scenting the poor thing with his strong odour of wine that makes his nose scrunch and cheeks turn red.

"Aegon!" He proclaims. "After the Conqueror himself, look at the lad and tell me it would not be perfect."

Alicent cannot contain the amount of love she feels in this moment both son and husband with her. She can only hope she can share this feeling with Rhaenyra when the time comes but for now she finds herself smiling. "A name fit for a true King."

"Aye, if Rhaenyra were to pass he is sure to take the mantle with ease," And as soon as her happiness is given it is quickly taken away with the faintest shift in the breeze.

"What?" Alicent dares to ask as if she had heard her husband wrong. However, he doubles down on what he said, a big, jolly grin on his uncaring face. "A spare for the throne. . ."

Spare . Alicent should have known better than to think the Gods were ever on her side.

Labour has taken a toll on Alicent. As Aegon grows, the more resentful she becomes. It is not a proud thing to admit, to be jealous of a girl no older than ten but the sweltering feeling in her chest becomes painful to ignore.

She was filled with hope that Viserys would reconsider the idea of Rhaenyra being queen of Gods and men in time, especially in the early days after Aegon’s birth. But no matter how hard she tries, Viserys remains steadfast in his decision to support Rhaenyra as the rightful heir, relegating Aegon to second place even though he is a son. His rightful place should be the throne and yet in Viserys' eyes, the only thing that truly matters is the love of his daughter. It leaves Alicent and her firstborn overshadowed by her husband's obsession with the girl. Viserys' allegiance to Rhaenyra feels like a slight against any child they may have and their family, one he has no problem tossing aside like dolls he did not want to play with anymore as soon as they had lost their charm.

No. Aegon is more like a string puppet, one where they pull and bend their bodies at their master's will and when they dare to cut the strings off they are nothing. 

Alicent looks down at her son's cradle — gold and silver, decorated with fine jewels and sheets; it brings the rest of the nursery to life through its years of emptiness. A shame she seems to be the only one who is pleased with the life that takes root here. The servants have brought her fine dishes of porridge and bread, the knife merely sitting at the edge of the table calling her name. 

It is a wicked thought, one that would permanently mark her being and render her tainted in the eyes of Gods and men. But would it not be mercy to rid him of the world quickly before it has a chance to tear him apart little by little? Let it be clear for all to see so he may be remembered for his innocence and not what he comes to be.

The faintest whisper of a voice enters her ears, one that is all too familiar, it mocks Alicent’s thoughts and makes her fingers shake and she backs away.

Moons pass after the fact and with it so does most of her bitterness. It is replaced with a feeling of indifference. Many days she spends with Aegon. Aegon, who proved to be  a much different type of baby than what she had been used to, distinctly reserved in his emotions, even when presented with something meant for his enjoyment. He rarely if ever cries or shows any sign of distress, and even his smiles were seldom and fleeting. Instead, Aegon lets his gaze wander the sights around him as if he is in as if taking everything in with a hesitance. He could hum for hours or idly fidget with anything in reach while he does so, ignoring everything else around him.

It is not until Aegon is eight moons old does Alicent start to worry. The boy does not speak, not even a whimper leaves his lips for the slightest. The maesters tell her that her son is merely taking in the world around him and that she should encourage such inquisitive behaviour for he would grow to be the brightest of men. Viserys speaks the same as them only with a jolly smile on his pudgy face as he passes Aegon a pastry as he sits on his lap. “A true man of silence gains the most experience.”

Alicent supposes she should commend their words once Aegon started talking close to his third nameday, a true gift to them all even if he does not speak unless he wanted to, somehow confusing the common tongue and valyrian, getting tongue-tied more often than not — Each word coming out haltingly and without full comprehension.

"Aegon," Alicent calls out, watching as her son ignores the sound of his own name, preferring to dig his hands in the dirt of the garden's flower bed and pull out slippery bugs from its core before throwing them towards the flock of birds nearby, swiftly wiping them off after to get the feeling off of his skin. 

She has given up on trying to get him to stop, her stress high now that she is once again heavy with child. Instead, she walks closer to him, daring to bend over a little to stroke the top of Aegon's silver locks. His head turns a bit, deterring him from the caterpillar in his hand. "The sun is black," The bug slithers around his fingers and down his wrist with little care, its brown and black with white markings shining under the light of the sun. "It matches the red sky."

Alicent hums, attempting to put on a comforting smile so he does not back away. It is strange. It is hard not to notice when even her father has been wondering if Aegon was a bit. . . Slow in the wits. "What a silly boy you are," She says. "I hope your brother will be the same. The two of you would have something in common then.”

Aegon turns back to meet her eyes, a frown forming on his face. "No."

Before her lips can even form a sentence in response the sight of Rhaenyra and her ladies draws Alicent’s attention away. She grabs onto Aegon’s hand tightly and pulls him close to her side as the princess’s gaze meets theirs. "Good day, Your Grace," The girl greets, the smile stretching across her face before frowning once more looking at her brother. "Aegon."

Aegon’s eyes light up and he tries to reach for her with a disgruntled whine. "'Nyra."

The princess does not indulge his request. Instead, she pats him on the top of his head as she saunters past. "It's Rhaenyra, brother," She tells him. "You should learn how to speak properly, you are three after all."

Alicent scowls at the comment. Her son does not even understand, merely blinking with confusion as he tries once more to cling onto the skirts of Rhaenyra’s gown. "He speaks just fine, Princess," Her fingers interlock in a tight knot. "You must remember he is not as old as you are. Things come differently to him.”

A smile slithers on Rhaenyra’s face. One that shows the vile nature she hides under the facade of innocence in front of her peers. It is almost strange to see her this way after so many years of standing by her side but Alicent does not ponder on it, what they once had has been replaced by a thick wall of indifference that cannot be repaired no matter how much time passes. “As you say, my queen,” The girl says before turning towards the stables. “I merely wished to greet you before I went off to the stable. I will see you again at dinner, I suppose.”

Rhaenyra yanks the hem of her skirt away from her brother before walking off. Alicent eyes her all the while, her ears ringing from the sound of Aegon’s soft giggle, unable to foresee the sight of him being pushed to the side. “Aegon,” She says softly but as if a slight change in the breeze the boy is off once again, the sound of faint humming replacing his laughter.

Present

When the sun peeks through the window of the nursery Alicent finds herself rising with it, slightly twisting to keep from burning her eyes as her vision clears. Finding her way out of Aegon’s room she listens to the wetnurses giggling amongst themselves as they watch Aegon scramble away from Helaena every time she grapples onto him, his irritation palpable for all to see. Well, all except for Helaena who scolds him promptly for his transgressions against her, waving her finger for him to see. “Bad dragon,” She scolds. “Say sorry.”

Alicent sighs as she watches the sight of the two before the conversation reaches her ears.

“Have you heard–”

“The Princess and her uncle. . . The scandal has been heard by half the castle by now.”

Her feet move on their own in an instant and soon she is right in the centre stage of their presence. Helaena is the first to notice, throwing her hands up as she toddles towards her. “Mama!” Aegon follows close behind, though he stumbles over one of the women’s legs as they jump up to greet her.

The younger of the two fixes Aemond on her breast as she stumbles to find the words to say. “Your Grace, good morning to you,”She says with a blush. “We did not wake you did we?” She does not say anything about Alicent’s dishevelled state or why she spent the night in the nursery. That is good at the very least but the queen cannot find their words leaving her head, quick to make a comment about it. “What were you two speaking about?”

A blush comes to the younger's pale face. “Oh, that. Well, it seems as if Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Daemon found themselves deep within the slums of Fleabottom last night,” She says before the older woman chimes in. “We don’t know much about it but the king was very upset about his daughter being defiled in a way.”

Is that so? Alicent nearly finds a slip of a bitter chuckle leave her lips before she composes herself. There is no doubt anymore what Daemon had planned and even less about Rhaenyra’s safety as heir. “Thank you for being so honest.”

That night she finds her way to the king’s chambers the same as the night before. This time clad in a gown of ivory and maroon with a low cleavage and a tight bodice that put everything on display as it should. Alicent brings Aegon as well if only you keep her son from throwing a tantrum about being kept from his father for a few hours of time. Her efforts are rewarded as soon as the king opens the door, his gaze falling on both wife and child in an instant.

Viserys throws the boy up in the air as soon as he gets Aegon’s into his arms, smiling as he does so. Alicent must steer him away from throwing Aegon too high for he mislikes the height no matter how much he says otherwise. Once their son is back on the safety of the floor below the maid comes to take him to a suitable place to play with his toys to not bother the king and queen. It is there that Alicent turns to Viserys fully, taking in the sadness in his eyes. “Alicent. . .”

The queen puts on a sullen smile, coming close to take his arm in her hands. “I know, my king. It is awful to even think about,” Her grip on his arm tightens as she allows herself to lean into the warmth of his body. “Our princess, tainted by the hands of a man who will not be her husband.”

Viserys lets out a choked shudder as if the words alone cause him pain. “How could I not see? My own brother. . . doing this, right under my nose.”

“You could not have known. Any man would have found themselves prey to such kindness,” Any man who found himself blinded by the slightest of efforts. It is almost impossible to wrap around her own head that Viserys found himself trusting Daemon of all people, the wreckage of his misdeeds stain the path of all eyes who dare to remember. However, Alicent does not say those exact words aloud, instead merely sighing as she places her palm on his cheek. “That is why their wives like me to mend the pieces to move forward.”

“I cannot bear the notion of giving Rhaenyra to Daemon, not after what he has done.”

“You do not have to.”

Her eyes drift over to Aegon watching as he idly plays with a pair of dolls much too young to understand the ponders and queries being spoken. However, Alicent does and she knows in her heart this is the only right option, for the welfare of her children now and any she may in the future. Their livelihoods depend on it. When she looks back to her husband she finds herself transfixed in the purple of his eyes, the same ones she fell in love with years ago.

"Viserys, please. . . Do what is right."