ALICENT
"Come."
A Hightower guard inches the door open, averting his eyes. We still have the staff locked away, Alicent remembers. And she'd given the remaining loyal Kingsguard leave to finally sleep.
The guard hesitates. "Your Grace, I did not know who to bring this to."
"What is your trouble?" She looks to the window and sees that dawn has yet to break; she will not know sleep tonight.
"There are… two troubles, Your Grace. One which we would not have woken you over but both demand — "
"Let us go chronologically then," she says before he can trip over his words.
"Ser Erryk fled the Red Keep earlier, possibly with the crowns of Jaehaerys and Alysanne."
"Why was this not brought to my attention?"
"You had just retired for the night; it was assumed you needed the rest. Disturbing you would not change the situation. We are currently sweeping the city for him. It's the other matter… We were told only to use the guards, but this matter may require a woman's expertise."
"And which matter is this?"
"The Princesses have barricaded themselves in their chamber. Screams come from beyond the door. It was our presumption that the Princess… has reached her time."
But she hasn't. Sh hasn't reached her time. That is the problem. "Her term is far from complete," is all she can manage.
"Yes, Your Grace."
Alicent had envied Rhaenyra for each of her labours — if they could even be referred to as such. Despite being The Queen, no one had given her the attention and affection that they had so lavished Rhaenyra with. She had thought that due to the circumstances of Queen Aemma's death, the King would have remained by his new queen's side constantly. But instead he seemed to distance himself, as if afraid to be too emotionally involved.
Fortunately, childbirth agreed with Alicent as much as it did with Rhaenyra — in a physical sense at least. But the King had waited hours to visit his Queen, and seemed almost surprised at her survival.
It was not so with Rhaenyra.
The Princess and the King had both been apprehensive during her first pregnancy. Alicent had found herself wondering if anyone had even noticed her own. But the days leading up to Jacaerys's birth were high in stakes — Alicent was sure now that Rhaenyra had worried, at least with the first one, about the baby's appearance and the reactions of both her father and Laenor's parents.
Alicent gave birth but a fortnight before Rhaenyra did. Her brother had paid her a brief, polite visit between one of his shifts and a party he was due to appear at, but otherwise she'd been alone. She had never felt her father's absence so strongly.
For Rhaenyra, the King had sent for a dozen of the most skilled midwives in the Seven Kingdoms — a precaution he'd never taken for Alicent. "If it comes to the choice," she'd overheard the King tell the head midwife. "The mother takes priority."
The birthing room became so packed that Rhaenyra had thrown everyone but the most essential experts from her chambers. "For fucks sakes, I cannot breathe with an audience sucking the air from the room! Dragons lay their eggs in peace and quiet."
"My dear," the King had said. "Are you —"
"Get the fuck out and leave me in peace!" Alicent swore she roared like Syrax.
Outside of Rhaenyra's chambers, for the entire extent of her labour, waited Ser Laenor, the King, the Lord Commancer, the Hand, the Sea Snake and the Princess Rhaenys. Ser Harwin ran through a dozen excuses to visit his father, his friend, and his King, until he eventually settled for lurking in the hallway.
The moment the door opened and the birth was announced, the entire small crowd battled to enter the room first. Even Ser Harrold seemed anxious to visit.
Ser Harwin had waited forlornly in the hall.
"My dear girl!" the King had exclaimed. "How strong you've been." The couple shifted awkwardly. The babe was still swaddled and neither Rhaenyra nor Laenor seemed eager to unveil him.
"Well, let us have a look at our future King!" Lord Corlys said. Rhaenyra reluctantly handed the babe to the Sea Snake, who reached for him before the supposed, ambivalent Grandmother did. She did look down into her husband's arms, only to roll her eyes at what she saw.
Lord Corlys missed a few breaths before trying to recover with a joke. "My dear Baratheon wife, the seed is certainly stro…" he realized his mistake. The Hand looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor; the others may have been caught off guard by a stranger, but Lord Lyonel was certainly seeing… familiarity.
Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor looked nervously toward the King, who was also seeing the babe for the first time. The black wavy hair, the fair skin, that familiar nose.
This is it, she'd actually hoped. No more lies, no more flouting the rules, no more doing whatever she pleased with whomever she pleased. Rhaenyra's actions would finally be answered.
The King finally spoke. "We must write to Lady Arryn at once. I do believe he is the image of your Arryn cousin… his name escapes me at this late hour. In fact, he reminds me of your late brother, but str— sturdier. So sturdy."
With the King's position clear, everyone then embraced the babe and praised the Princess for her strength. But the Princess did not need their comfort or assurances. She had glowed in the way Alicent had come to think was myth.
Despite her earlier reticence towards child-bearing, Rhaenyra did not want to let Jacaerys out of her arms, insisting she wanted to feed him at her own breast. Her father only convinced her by reminding her she would be hard-pressed to make time for daily council meetings and dragon-riding if she were so bound by the physical aspects of motherhood.
Eventually, all but Laenor filtered out to give the Princess rest. Alicent trailed behind and passed Ser Harwin who still lingered in the halls. Ser Laenor then popped out of Rhaenyra's chambers and gestured to him.
He scampered in like a puppy.
Alicent had tried to put it aside as the King so willed. After all, it was a woman's duty to bear children. What was she to do if her husband could not provide her with heirs? As her father liked to say — sometimes, when one path is blocked to us, we must light our own way. Mayhaps Ser Harwin had sought to help them.
She'd even tried to bond with Rhaenyra over their newly shared motherhood. The King had decided that Daeron and Jacaerys should share the same wet nurse, so she had plenty of encounters with the Princess.
"The first few months are the hardest," she'd tried to assure Rhaenyra during a visit to her rooms. Instead of joining Alicent in enjoying a break from their duties, Rhaenyra had felt obliged to take the Prince back the moment the wet nurse was finished; she carted her firstborn with her nearly everywhere.
"I should hope so," she said without looking up from the babe. "My tits ache far worse than my stitches. I mean, they've never looked better," she tried to gesture without putting the Prince down. "But what's even the point if you cannot enjoy it?"
Alicent was lost. "I, what do you mean?"
"The question is, will they feel better?"
"Oh. The pain will subside when the swelling does."
"No, I mean, will they feel better?"
"I… you mean to… Ser Laenor?" She wanted to escape.
"No. Like… will they feel better. To me." She spoke like she might to a child. "Oh, Alicent. Nevermind then. Of what were you speaking?"
"I mean the… loneliness. The love comes slowly, but it will come."
Rhaenyra finally looked up. "What do you mean?"
Before she could answer, Ser Harwin bursted into the Princess's chambers alongside Ser Laenor.
"How are you?" Harwin had asked, with an enthusiasm she'd never seen in Viserys. He hadn't seen Alicent and headed straight for Rhaenyra. She thrust Jacaerys into his arms before he could expose their relationship — any more than he already had — in front of Alicent. He didn't seem to object and took Jacaerys readily into his arms.
Laenor had seen her. "Ser Harwin and I were just passing by after a drink. You know how he is with babes." He looked at Harwin but his words were for Alicent. "It's really too bad you were born a man; you might have had a great career as a nurse."
Ser Harwin smiled but did not look up from the babe.
Not until he looked at Rhaenyra. "How are you? Has the Maester cleared you for riding?"
"Not yet," Rhaenyra had sighed. "My grandmother took flight only ten days after giving birth, but I suspect my father's head was nowhere near as large." She glared up at Ser Harwin. "He suggested another moon, but I was able to push it to a fortnight."
"Perhaps I'll take the Prince for his first ride," Ser Laenor offered.
Rhaenyra glared at him. "I don't think so! If I cannot ride, you cannot ride. It's only fair."
"Well, perhaps you can get creative," Ser Harwin said. "There are other ways to enjoy a dragon besides riding." He winked and Laenor sniggered.
Rhaenyra looked nervously to Alicent. "I should go," Alicent said at she stood. No one argued with her, and she returned to her chambers alone.
"Where is Aegon?" Alicent asks. She'd had the council reconvene once more, and decided that he should also attend.
"Gone, once again," Aemond answers. "Returned to his exploits. He said the day was long and he was in need of… reinvigoration. At least, that's what I understood him to mean."
The room waits.
"He said… time to get it wet."
Alicent sighs with the rest of the room, who all also seemed relieved that Aegon was not to be their King — or their problem. Ser Criston shakes his head. "Every woman is an image of the mother, to be spoken of with reverence."
"Speaking of mothers…" her father informs the council of the news Alicent had shared with him.
"I cannot help but worry that writing that letter and lying about the miscarriage invited this misfortune," Alicent admits.
"What misfortune would that be?" Lord Tyland asks. "Does this not accelerate our timeline in regard to succession?"
"I see your point," her father says. "But this leaves us open to too many contingencies."
"How so?" Ser Tyland asks.
"He means," Ser Criston clarifies. "Mayhaps the whore dies in childbirth. What then?"
After today's, or yesterday's, events, Alicent had not thought the council capable of shame. But to their credit, everyone has the decency to share her disappointment. Her father is surprised, Lord Wylde and Lord Tyland uncomfortable, the Grandmaester at least is disgusted, and Aemond… Aemond…
He looks like he's seeing Ser Criston for the first time.
Ser Criston reads the room. "I apologize. That was beneath me."
Her father recovers. "Ser Criston does raise a good point. Grandmaester, any word on the Rogue Prince?"
"None."
"And Ser Erryk?"
"No word of him either," Ser Criston answers. "But I've posted Hightower soldiers to every major city exit. Lord Tyland is having every ship searched under the pretense of a smuggling wave. Even if we don't find him, we should have a few days before he's able to send word."
Her father nods. "A more delicate matter regarding the secrecy of the King's passing is… the King."
"If we bring in the Silent Sisters, word will spread." Lord Wylde warns.
"And here I had thought they were the Silent Sisters," Ser Criston says.
"No," her father says. "They do not actually remove their tongues, unfortunately."
Lord Tyland chuckles. "I should hope not, given that they're limited to only each other for company." He waits too long for the laughter that does not come.
The Grandmaester redirects. "What of the Princess? Her labours?"
"I'm told she will not unbar the door," Alicent says.
"So break it down," Lord Tyland suggests.
The Grandmaester shakes his head. "It's very likely that her early labour was brought on by intense stress. Her body is prioritizing her, not the baby; I do believe it is likely she will survive. But to add to that stress with a shock like breaking down the door, in her state. I do not think it an advisable risk."
"Perhaps we could just send her a midwife," Alicent wonders.
"The Princess would surely spread word of her father's departure," Her father warns.
"But we cannot have her unattended."
"Princess Rhaenys is with her."
"Princess Rhaenys despises her. And she is no midwife."
"Perhaps the Grandmaester might attend to her then?"
It's the best they can do. "Very well," Alicent says. "But surely no imprisoned woman in labour would open a barricaded door to only men. I will accompany him." The council agrees, likely hoping to wrest a few more hours' sleep from the night.
Alicent could admit that she envied the devotion Rhaenyra inspired in her paramours. Once, late into her term with Aegon the Younger, Prince Daemon had even flown to the Red Keep because Dragonstone had run out of the specific type of oranges Rhaenyra liked. Not bothering with the dragonpit, he'd landed Caraxes in the garden where she dined with the King and some of the council, and plucked the oranges straight from the tree.
"Ser Crispin," he'd called in the middle of his task. "If you wouldn't mind organizing a crate of these shipped to the island, it would be much appreciated. The Princess is very particular and aggressive in her appetites at this point in her term, and only what she craves will do. As I'm sure you are well aware. I one man alone… it is quite the burden, and I must soon return."
"Very good," said the King. "I am glad to hear she's being well taken care of."
"Worry not, brother. She is being well taken care of. I am but a humble servant to the Princess's appetites; fortunately, they often complement my own. And I do enjoy riding — only a fool would resent such a position."
"Well, I do hope her cravings will bring you here more often," the King had said.
"Who knows? She has me riding so often, I'm amazed I can walk."
"Really," Ser Criston said. "Then I can only imagine what it was like for your predecessor. Having no dragon of his own, that is."
He was in dangerous territory, but fortunately the Prince was not incensed. "Ah, you mean successor. Words are difficult for lesser learned men, I suppose. But yes, I'm told she had my successor of the City Watch riding day and night, retrieving her cravings from throughout the city. He took his position very seriously."
Ser Criston bristled. "It's a shame Ser Laenor did not take such an interest — what with a dragon of his own. Mayhaps he simply preferred to do his riding in the company of seamen."
"Well, Ser Crispin, it takes quite the stamina to keep up with the Princess's demands. Ser Laenor was far from the only one not up to the task."
"I look forward to meeting your child, Prince Daemon. I wonder if he will take after you," Ser Criston said.
"Oh, trust me. I don't think I left any room for Arryn blood."
"I do not follow," Alicent had said.
"You wouldn't understand, Your Grace. I'm afraid my brother has never been generous in accounting for the appetites of his partner. Ever to your disadvantage, I'm sure."
Ser Criston gripped his sword. "I will not suffer ins—"
"But perhaps if you find yourself with child again, you could have Ser Crispin service your… appetites. Although I'm told he demands much in return." Prince Daemon peeled an orange and — what was he doing? Whatever he was, everyone else seemed scandalized, except the King, who had no idea what was happening.
"You don't know how the orange is best eaten? My brother… You've done our queen a great disservice. Do I need to show you how to pick out the seeds again?"
Lord Tyland had also opened an orange. "And how exactly do you do that?"
They were soon interrupted by Jacaerys's landing.
"Who's the snitch?" Daemon demanded. "Darklyn?"
"He didn't tell! Mother asked him, and he thought you were jesting."
"And what did she tell you?"
"That Ser Steffon gave you some kind of drunken dare and you would likely take it too far. She also said if you don't come back with me that she will be getting her own oranges for the rest of her term."
"Unbelievable, I'm being collected by a ten-year-old." He closed his orange bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "Well, I'll leave you to your… meal. But Ser Criston, please do ensure the oranges are shipped promptly and accurately. We don't want them ending up in Asshai. Or Dorne."
Alicent knew enough to at least be less confused than the King about the interaction she had witnessed. She'd caught that some kind of innuendo was at play. And though she knew Rhaenyra was likely shaming herself, and their whole family, at Dragonstone, that wasn't the reason she hated her then.
All that hate. All that resentment. All that… envy. Alicent must carry it now. If something happens to Rhaenyra, Alicent will have to live knowing that she'd nearly wished for it many a time.
"Rhaenyra!" Alicent pounds on the door. "Rhaenyra! Open the door!"
"Get out!"
The guard had apparently given up. "She has something leveraged too well. We're able to wedge it open no more than a crack." He gestures to the crack through which Rhaenyra yells. "If it please Your Grace, perhaps we could demolish the door with the proper tools."
"Break the room open unto a woman in labour? We discussed it. No." Alicent bangs on the door again. "Rhaenyra! Please! You should not do this alone!"
"I have Rhaenys. I want nothing from the rest of you."
"Let us help you!" Her voice is hoarser than Rhaenyra's.
"Get. Out!"
Alicent looks helplessly to the Grandmaester. He tries another approach. "Princess, your term is far from complete, this shouldn't be happening —"
"It is fucking happening."
"This is not an ordinary labour. You require my aid."
"I do not want your hands anywhere near me! The lot of good they did my father!"
"Rhaenys!" Alicent tries. "Rhaenys, please. Let us in! Do not let the Princess die for her pride."
"Rhaenys… answers… to me!" Rhaenyra's voice is raw and breathless. "The… the word of House Velaryon is not so fickle as the words of the Hightowers." Then she screams.
Alicent resumes her futile attempts to pry through the door. "Rhaenyra!" She tries to call again but her voice finally gives out.
She doesn't know how long passes as Rhaenyra screams. Alicent pounds her arms until she's sure there will be bruises, then returns to trying to pry the door the rest of the way open with her fingernails. She loses several of them below the quick.
Rhaenyra goes silent.
There are no infant cries. No gasps of first breaths. Only Rhaenyra's soft cries of relief, then resignation, and finally, grief. Alicent wants to share that grief, but it's overpowered by her relief that Rhaenyra is still alive.
"Should I send fo —" Alicent bites her words off. She cannot send for the Silent Sisters.
"Just… send me the supplies. Rhaenys, open the door only a little more."
Rhaenys manages to wedge the door open enough to pass silks and pour water through, but she will not open it enough for someone to enter. Rhaenyra remains out of sight.
Alicent turns to the Grandmaester. "Call the council. Again."
The council files in as dawn breaks, resigned to another sleepless night.
"This does not bode well for her future fertility," Lord Tyland says.
"She is still young," Alicent says. "And this was likely only the result of the trauma —"
"And what of future trauma?" Lord Tyland asks.
"We will ensure there is none." She looks pointedly to Aemond, who nods and looks down.
"Nevertheless," Lord Tyland says. "We should prioritize apprehending her two trueborn heirs."
"No," her father says. "We need to move forward with our contingency plan."
"It has been but one day," Alicent realizes aloud. "We have time."
"Not if Ser Erryk spreads word," her father reminds them.
"Then we will retrieve him," she says.
"And…" the Grandmaester starts. "What word should we send to Dragonstone?"
"The truth," Alicent says. "Rhaenyra lost the child. She is distraught and in need of comfort."
"I truly have underestimated you, daughter. Yes, and she's delirious. She's crying out for her husband and to hold her youngest son, she wants to feel a babe in her arms." Alicent tries to put aside her disgust.
"And what if Daemon still does not come?" Ser Criston asks.
Her father considers. "No more dithering. Regardless of Daemon's fate, the coronation goes ahead by tomorrow morning. Arrange the papers for both possibilities."
"We no longer have her condition to contend with," Ser Criston says too eagerly. "Tell Rhaenyra to open the door or it will be broken down."
Alicent rubs her ruined hands. They did not witness what she did. "Give her a few hours of peace. Then see she's given milk of the poppy for the pain."
The Grandmaester speaks up. "I feel it important to point out that this does affect our timeline. Regardless of the papers, this marriage cannot be consummated until I give the approval. If we announce that the Princess has miscarried, the Blacks will know this as well. They will have good grounds for requesting an annulment between now and then."
Her fatehr is unconcerned. "Then we will see that the request is denied. House Hightower has long lit the way for Oldtown. The Faith will not abandon us now."
"Still," the Grandmaester continues. "It does incentivize them to call their banners to battle sooner rather than later. Have any of you been to battle?" Ser Criston starts to speak, but the Grandmaester cuts him off. "Are we ready for battle?"
We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield.
Alicent answers before they can. "No. No, we're not."