ALICENT
She summons Ser Harrold at dawn.
They were able to release the imprisoned staff after the wedding, but most were given the morning off to recover. With the additional absence of those who had stayed up late for last night's festivities, the gardens were quieter than ever before. Ser Harrold had been surprised that she trusts him enough for a promenade, but she assured him he'd be unable to flee. She does make a point to gesture to the various guards they pass, though she is doubtful he would try to hurt her with no means to escape.
He stops just around the corner from their destination. "I heard, Your Grace. I've yet to see, but I have heard enough accounts."
She turns to him so he might see she means it. "I swear, I had no part in it."
"You had every part in it."
"If you're referring to the fact that she is presently alive — then yes, I did."
He does not respond. He only stands there. Alicent continues walking, gesturing for him to follow. He does — reluctantly.
"I assume you are aware of your role today, Ser Harrold?"
"As a puppet for your farce of a performance? Yes, I am well aware." He grasps the hilt of the tourney sword, it is convincing so long as it stayed sheathed.
"Can I expect your cooperation?"
"I am your prisoner, after all. And my Queen is your hostage. I will not endanger her life."
"You need not be a prisoner. Not once… everything is settled."
"I do not want to picture any of our lives come the day you consider matters 'settled.'"
She looks straight ahead so she need not see the expression that accompanies that comment.
"I do not want him alone with her ever again," he insists. "Nor your father, nor your sons. Those are my terms."
Alicent turns to him and nods; she had been considering the matter as well. "I agree. I will see to it that you or I should be present when one of them is with her. Except…" They break eye contact and look ahead down the path. Ser Harrold shakes his head.
"I do not think either would want an audience," Alicent points out. She kindly leaves out the rumours of the Rogue Prince's exhibitionism.
Those poor children.
They walk in silence for a time. Until they reach Alicent stops them at her intended location.
The gravel bed that had been overflowing with life is now brown and withered, but some green remains in the smaller shoots. "Interesting choice," he comments.
She gestures to the dead and dying triangular succulents. "I want an explanation."
"You have one," is all he says.
"Mayhaps I do. But not the one I want. All this garden tells me is that Rhaenyra will spurn any effort I make in her favour.
Ser Harrold does not disagree.
But he does smirk.
Every time Alicent tried to reconcile with Rhaenyra, she has spit in her face.
A moon after Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon's return from their post-wedding trip, Alicent convinced the King to visit Dragonstone. Larys had enlightened her on how these situations could escalate, and she wanted to assess the matter firsthand. Prince Daemon had 'greeted' them at the bridge.
"Where is my daughter?" the King inquired. He was too fatigued from the walk to take notice of Caraxes and the garrison standing behind the Prince.
"My wife rests within the castle." He smiled at the word. "She was not in a state to meet you here."
"Is she well?" the King asked with concern and no regard for the taunt.
"She is very well."
"Then why w—" the King actually managed to look angry for a moment. "Daemon."
The Prince extended his arms. "Brother. Or should I say—"
"Absolutely not. I should have known. Is nothing beyond you? You would seduce my daughter to entrap her into this… arrangement."
"I resent the implication. She is not due until nine moons after the ceremony. Of course, many children are ready before their term, and the Maester says this one grows especially quickly."
The King sighed and dropped the argument. He'd warned her earlier that he was not interested in fighting.
But Prince Daemon was interested in fighting. He turned to Alicent. "You dare bring her here? After she maimed my wife? Are you truly so without a backbone?"
It was a rare occasion when the King's indecisiveness worked against the Prince. Rather than call attention to this fact, Alicent chose to respond diplomatically. "It is time we were all reconciled."
"You do not reconcile what never was."
And then he saw Ser Criston. "He stays on the boat," the Prince ordered.
"He is the Queen's sworn protector," said the King.
"Your wife does not need a protector; she needs a leash. Mayhaps she could borrow one from her rabid dog. And if there is only one leash, we will receive but one of them."
Caraxes roared for effect, but it was not necessary. The King only sighed. "Ser Criston, you may wait for us on the ship."
"You cannot be serious," she demanded. She then looked to Ser Harrold for support, but he offered none either.
The King dismissed her outrage. "Enough, Alicent. It has been a long journey; I will not waste my energy on petty squabbles."
Prince Daemon did not move until Ser Criston took his leave.
Even the King found the Prince excessive. "You might show a little less hostility, Daemon. Considering I have come to reconcile, and not to take your head."
"I am still unconvinced. Hence the welcoming party." Alicent was quite certain the King only then noticed the welcoming party.
They might have continued in that manner all afternoon, had an anxious Ser Lorent not emerged from the Prince's men to whisper in his ear.
"What?"
"Did you?" Ser Lorent demanded.
"So what if I did?"
Ser Lorent gave him some kind of look, inclined his head to the sun in the still-clear sky, and waited for something to register.
Caraxes gasped.
Prince Daemon excused himself and Ser Lorent, and they both rushed ahead toward the castle. "Does Rhaenyra know?" she heard him ask.
"Not yet."
"Let us keep it that way."
They started running once they saw the King no longer watched.
Rhaenyra gave them a dutiful, if not warm, reception in a comfortable sitting room. Even once Ser Lorent came to retrieve Ser Steffon, there were still an excessive number of guards present for such an informal setting.
Curiously, Rhaenyra had invited her Maester to lunch. He spent the entire meal eyeing the King and writing the occasional note. "Are you well after your journey?" she asked too casually. "Mayhaps Maester Gerardys could see to you."
Alicent nearly rolled her eyes. Rhaenyra had made her opinion about the Maesters quite clear over the years, and this was yet another attempt to discredit their efforts.
"That will not be necessary, daughter."
"Are you certain? He is very talented. He treated mine own injury with a skill I have yet to witness in another Maester." She rubbed her arm and gave a pointed look to Alicent.
The King looked uncomfortable but said nothing.
Which left the task to Alicent. "I assure you, Princess. Our own Maesters are quite skilled. They did an admirable job with poor Aemond's wounds." She had nearly hoped not to mention the matter, but Rhaenyra forced her to retaliate.
"Ah, yes. Gerardys has also done an admirable job treating the girl's injuries after Aemond's attack. Baela has made a full recovery — physically."
Alicent knew enough of the girls to find the insistence on Baela's fragility absurd. But the King apparently did not. "That is good news. I am glad to hear we have all healed from the incident."
Alicent gave her husband an incredulous look. She then pivoted her topic of concern: the Rogue Prince, and possible kin-slayer. "How are your boys adjusting to a new… father figure in their life? So many changes, in such a short time."
She realized her mistake before she finished. She had not truly meant to include Ser Harwin in her statement, but there it was, always present.
Rhaenyra clearly assumed she had been referring to both previous fathers, and grew ever colder. "They are quite taken with their new stepfather. And I do adore his daughters."
"Are you certain you believe him a good influence on your boys, Rhaenyra?" Alicent asked in earnest.
To her surprise, the King actually supported her. "I must say, I am inclined to share Alicent's concerns."
"He has been a pillar of stability for them."
Mayhaps the years had condensed the memory, altered it so that the fateful moment seemed timed so poetically. Alicent could no longer be certain, as every time she replayed the incident, it occurred immediately after Rhaenyra's claim.
She caught only a glimpse through the doorway of Prince Jacaerys running for his life, but his scream spoke long before and after he was visible. It was no scream of a boy playing.
"What in the—"
And then the next yell followed; a muffled roar, more accurately. A smaller, child-like figure completely encased in wrap bandages chased the Prince with its arms outstretched.
Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon streaked by next, followed by a laughing Baela and a concerned Rhaena holding some type of triangular cactus. "I wasn't finished!" Rhaena shouted.
Prince Daemon's demonic laugh consumed the castle.
There was a loud crash, and several voices started yelling. The laughing stopped. Rhaenyra immediately decided who was responsible. "Daemon!" she yelled.
He appeared and leaned casually in the doorway — with a cactus.
Rhaenyra questioned him in High Valyrian, and he gave an answer that troubled the Maester enough to send him running after the children. The King also seemed concerned and began to ask questions — in High Valyrian.
The King could not see Rhaenyra's face in that moment, but Alicent could. And she wore that expression of contemplation she takes on when she is deliberating over a risk. She gave a pointed look to Prince Daemon, and inclined her head.
Towards Alicent. Prince Daemon ever-so-slightly tilted his head in agreement.
And then she heard her name braided into the string of High Valyrian.
In Rhaenyra's voice, then Daemon's, and then the King's. But Rhaenyra was first. And she used that tone, the one she reserved for only her father when she wanted something — or wanted out of something.
The conversation turned urgent and emotional before concluding. Despite her participation, Rhaenyra at one point even seemed annoyed with the Prince's performance, though the King received it in earnest. The King then turned on Alicent, his eyes full of anger and disappointment.
"It is fine, Father," Rhaenyra finally answered in Common, "But I do think it would be best if…"
"Of course," the King nodded. "Alicent, I think you should return to King's Landing tonight. I will return on one of the Dragonstone ships."
"We only just arrived."
"I do not recall issuing an invitation to begin with," Prince Daemon said — with a cactus.
The King did not even scold him.
"She might stay the night," Rhaenyra so generously offered. "There is a storm coming, so the children will likely join us in the Sea Dragon Tower; you should not encounter them in the Stone Drum."
The children did not join them for supper that night, nor did they make themselves known afterwards. Prince Daemon insisted that she not be given any knives for the duration of the meal, and ordered they bring her food precut like they did for the one-handed King.
Word of whatever tale they'd spun had spread throughout the Kingsguard that had accompanied them, and she would often find Ser Harrold looking at her through narrowed eyes.
After accepting no answer will come, she has Ser Harrold led away for the preparations. Alicent decides to deliver Rhaenyra's and Rhaenys's meal herself, until they can determine which servants can be trusted.
She looks even worse than she did the day before. Her pallor is gaunt, there are dark circles under her red eyes, and the bruise has grown even darker overnight.
"How are you?" she asks, and immediately regrets it.
Rhaenyra does not even attempt to rise from the sofa. "The gods have punished me for my indulgences."
"I might have to agree."
"Ugh, fuck you."
Alicent sets the small table in front of Rhaenyra; she suspects she will not wish to venture to the dining table. "Should I bring the Princess's meal to her room?" she asks.
Alicent has always known Rhaenyra to save her tea for after her meal, but today she starts with it. "You could, but I would not advise it. She was awake when I came back last night and had at least a little supper, then I believe she stayed up until dawn. Honestly, I would leave her be. A sick dragon is an angry dragon."
Alicent has no desire to find out for herself, so she sets Rhaenys's meal on the dining table. She gives Rhaenyra a suspicious look, "You will ensure she eats something later, won't you? We cannot yet have servants assigned to you."
"I am not so bitter about her conduct as to let her starve, Alicent. I have seven children and a Daemon; I know how to attend to a petulant patient without taking personal offence."
"I will send the Grandmaester to see to her after the ceremony," Alicent offers.
"Oh yes, such talented hands she will be in. Not necessary; she trusts your Maester no more than I do."
"The Grandmaester gave his best efforts, Rhaenyra."
"Nefarious intentions or not, your Maesters confine themselves to their own world. The lykāpas perzot gave Father much relief, yet still they convinced him away because they reject such foreign knowledge."
"The what?"
She sighs. "Lily of the desert?"
They both let it go. Rhaenyra's revelation reminds her of two questions. She decides to begin with the one less likely to be answered.
"I must ask… again. What was Viserys speaking of, the night he passed? A song?"
Rhaenra pours herself a second cup, still paying no mind to the food. "That is for the ears of the rightful heir alone, Alicent."
"Very well," she lets it go, for now. "Tell me this: what was the cactus for?"
"What?"
"The cactus. And the mummy."
"What?"
"Why was I blamed Rhaenyra? And for what?"
"Are you honestly asking me about plants right now?"
"No, I'm asking about how you got your way, time and time again."
That at least, triggers some reflection in Rhaenyra. "I am sorry, Alicent — for some of it at least. I did what I needed to survive. The truth… the truth would have endangered my family. I had to, don't you see?"
"You did not have to commit adultery."
"I do not want to argue with you," Rhaenyra says. But she sounds so unlike Rhaenyra.
She seems so resigned. Is this her accepting her fate? Alicent wonders. Or is it simply the poison's aftereffects wearing her down?
Rhaenyra softens. "I will admit that sometimes you were caught in the crossfire. Or your sanity was, at least. Although… it is no fault of mine that you were raised so rigid. And it was nothing personal."
"It felt quite personal sometimes, Rhaenyra."
"The… Dragonstone incident might have been a little personal — and opportunistic," she allows. "But in fairness, you did stab me and try to maim my son the previous time I saw you, and all I did in return was bully you. Also, it was in a way mostly your fault." She narrows her eyes and reconsiders. "Half Daemon's, half yours. So… I suppose I rescind my apology. Let us say this: I pity you, but, not my fault? I do feel for you though, Alicent."
Now that sounds more like Rhaenyra.
But she still does not act like Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra always breaks her fast, especially after a long night. Alicent nods down to the untouched plate. "Is the food not to your liking?"
Sarcasm returns to her face even before it returns with her words. "I don't know, Alicent. I'd love to try it, but every time I chew I get this mysterious pain in my jaw."
"I should go," Alicent says. But she makes little move to leave. Since she can remember, she has always been reluctant to leave, no matter how angry she made her. She would always linger a moment in hopes of being called back, even though those times grew less and less frequent over the years.
But this was one of those times. "Wait," Rhaenyra calls.
Alicent turns back and Rhaenyra motions for her to sit. She takes a seat next to her on the sofa. Rhaenyra takes a moment to shed the mockery. "I said some things I probably shouldn't have last night."
"I believe you said many things you shouldn't have last night, Rhaenyra."
Rhaenyra smiles as much as she is able. "I will leave the comments directed at you for your consideration. And I will give you this — I do not believe your son is a Maegor. Not yet, anyway."
"I told you my son was kind."
"I have seen 'kind' men turn ugly before, Alicent. As has history. Your son plays at being a dragon, but he's just a boy. A proxy. Do not use him to..."
"What?"
"Do not mistake me, you definitely took the Baratheon approach, but does Aemond not remind you of Androw Farman, in a way?"
"In what regard?"
Aside from the age difference, perhaps? But Androw was untalented and simple-minded. That is nothing like Aemond.
Rhaenyra studies her. "Just… a theory Daemon had."
"Of course, always back to him," Alicent says aloud only accidentally.
Rhaenyra takes her hand. "I will always find my way back to him."
There is such an air of finality to her voice. Alicent wants to reassure her that no harm will come to her, but she knows Rhaenyra will disregard it yet again. Instead, she waits for Rhaenyra to rescind her latest apology.
Rhaenyra merely sits in silent contemplation. She seems as if she's about to say something else, but they're interrupted by a knock at the door.
Ser Criston enters; Rhaenyra stiffens and retracts her hand.
"Your Grace," he says with a smile. "We are assembling in the Council Chambers before we leave." He turns to Rhaenyra. "It seems your leal lords might not be as dependable as you thought."
She makes no answer. Gives away no reaction. She merely takes another sip of tea.
Ser Criston is disappointed, it seems. He continues. "The Sea Snake has awakened, and he's willing to consider a marriage pact for his granddaughters.
Rhaenyra remains composed.
At least she might soon have one of her ste— cousins for company. She did worry if they could trust the eldest not to try to free her Queen, however. They would need to be supervised visits, I suppose.
Alicent decides it is best to leave her to her own thoughts.
At first she believes that she and Ser Criston are not the last to arrive. Her father already flanks Aemond, who sits in the King's seat, and Alicent claims his other side. Ser Tyland rolls her orb toward her, but before she sets it down, she removes another orb from her pocket.
She places Viserys's long disused orb in front of Aemond. He nods, and her father takes that as his cue to begin the meeting.
And then Aegon walks in.
He takes a seat and yawns. "Some night."
Who invited him? Everyone seems to think together. Ser Tyland says it aloud.
"I did," Lord Wylde says. "He is Rhaenyra's legal heir until she grants Prince Aemond a child. It is customary for an heir of age to attend."
No one responds. Her father decides to move past it. "It appears the Sea Snake might finally see reason," he announces. "He is willing to come to the table and consider a marriage pact."
The mood lifts, but her father remains solemn. "There is a caveat, however. And it is time sensitive."
Alicent nods to Aemond in encouragement. "What is it?" he asks.
"He is unwilling to commit to a marriage immediately, but he wishes to ensure the safety of his wife."
"We cannot release her, we would be giving up our leverage," Ser Tyland points out.
"And they are aware of that," her father says. "Which is why they want us to release Meleys as a gesture of good will."
"Why would we do that?" Lord Wylde asks.
"How would that ensure her safety?" Alicent adds.
The others might be confused, but both her sons actually nod. Aemond turns to her. "Dragons react to the experiences and death of their riders, Mother. They would be able to monitor her well-being."
Her father has also thought it through. "More importantly, we would risk Lady Rhaena claiming her should something happen."
"Although," Aemond says. "It is strange enough that she never claimed her uncle's dragon. Mayhaps the girl is not capable. I do not think she would be able to claim Meleys either, if that is the case."
"No need to point that out to the Blacks," Ser Criston says from behind her. "Are we considering it?"
"The risk is that releasing the Princess herself becomes much more dangerous," her father says.
"Not if her grandaughters are already wed to our family," Aemond says.
Ser Tyland's face falls. "Both? But we have only one Prince left unwed."
"Yes," Aemond acknowledges. "But the heir to the Hightower is still unattached."
"Only one of them will inherit Driftmark," Ser Tyland argues. "We need only the one."
Aemond politely holds his ground. "But both would be better to ensure their grandparent's compliance."
"I have seen how the Princess is with the boys," Alicent says. "She has no love for them. Her ambition never clouded her mind — or her eyes, in the way it did her husband. If Lady Baela is wed to Daeron, I see little reason for her to revolt — dragon or no."
"But he loses his link to the Iron Throne," Ser Criston points out. "Would the Sea Snake so relinquish that?"
Her father considers. "He is a wise man, he might know a losing battle when he sees one. Besides, we might include an arrangement for the next generation."
But no one is convinced in either direction.
Ser Tyland rests his elbows on the table and rubs his face. "This is quite the headache for so early. Might we postpone this debate?"
"We cannot," her father answers. "That is the problem."
Alicent knows her father well enough to know when he's stressed. And he now speaks under stress. "The offer is also an ultimatum. Release Meleys by midday, or Lord Corlys will wed his granddaughters to Rhaenyra's bastards today."
Aemond sighs. "You might have led with that, Grandsire."
"We cannot have that," Alicent says. "You know we cannot. It would link the boys to the continent; we would never be rid of them without killing them. I promised Rhaenyra…"
She looks to Aemond to emphasize the point. Among the men here, he is her most promising ally regarding mercy. "Mhmm, we could always have it annulled after the fact?" Aemond suggests.
Her father is unconvinced. "I do not think a daughter of Daemon would be the type to leave anything open for debate."
Ser Tyland looks up from his hands.
"But…" the Grandmaester ruminates aloud. "We cannot risk handing the Blacks another dragon."
"Should we release the Princess, she would not be a Black," Alicent says. "Besides, Daemon killed her son. She has no reason to defend them."
"Perhaps we should discuss with the Princess," Lord Wylde suggests.
"She is not well enough for a discussion," Alicent says. "I saw her last night; she recoiled from any light or noise."
They argue back and forth for some time. No one is particularly committed to either side of the debate, which makes it ever more difficult.
"Ugh, this is giving me a headache," someone says, possibly more than one.
"We must decide now," her father tries to declare, but his tone is non-committal.
"We needn't decide until we reach the dragonpit," Aemond points out. "Dragons are faster than ravens; releasing Meleys will be quicker than sending a message saying we will. She will likely return to Driftmark as soon as we set her free."
Ser Tyland is skeptical. "Without her rider?"
"Dragons are intelligent enough to return to their nest when need be."
They half-heartedly debate some more. Alicent forgets which side of the argument she was on, and so does everyone else.
"We have no guarantee they will follow through," the Grandmaester points out.
"This would be a gesture of good faith, bringing House Velaryon into the fold," her father says. "This very well might be our only chance."
Aemond sighs. "But then we would be forced to hold Princess Rhaenys for potentially even longer."
"Not if we seal an alliance," Ser Tyland says. "Wait, never mind. Wrong side."
"Regardless," Aemond says. "We should separate the Princesses. I hardly imagine they will make for good companions should we drive this wedge between them."
"I know," Alicent says. "But haven't you noticed Rhaenyra is already close to madness? We cannot leave her alone to fall further into it."
"Helaena could serve as a companion," Aemond suggests.
Alicent shakes her head. "Helaena is a woman grown, but her innocence still leaves her open to Rhaenyra's influence."
Aegon pipes up. "I can keep Rhaenyra company."
"No!" Alicent, Aemond, and even her father object together. No one knows what to say after that.
Aegon breaks the silence. "So… what is my role then?" He looks around. "And when do I get a ball? I have nothing to do with my hands."
Lord Wylde knows Aegon the least, and so he says, "We now have a vacancy for a Master of Ships."
Her father summons his diplomatic voice. "I think Daeron would be more appropriate, considering the Velaryon possibility."
Aemond folds his hands upon the table. "Aegon," he says. Everyone turns to him. "I have a… very important role for you."
"Oh?"
"Yes. As Grandsire says, you are the heir, the King's brother, and eldest son to the previous King. That makes you a very important person."
"It does?"
"Yes. And you have your very own special role. You will be… the Prince of the City." He gestures around the city with his hand.
"Like Prince Daemon was?"
"If you wish."
"Wait, do I need to join the City Watch?"
"No!" they all say, including Ser Criston.
"No. No," Aemond recovers his manners. "You are far too important for that; you are the heir, after all. Your job is to patrol King's Landing by sky, making sure all is well." He gestures once again.
"Oh. That sounds easy enough."
"But it is also very important, Brother. And this is the most important part. You are there to remind people that... you are there. You will be our eyes in the skies, and you will report back to us about what you see."
"Oh, because you're bad at seeing. I get it."
"Mhmm." His diplomatic smile reaches a stalemate with the frown he denies. "So get on Sunfyre, and start patrolling."
"What am I looking for?"
"You just need to be seen. You need not look for trouble — it will find you. And if it does, you make a note of it… and then you come and find me."
"When do I start?"
Aemond gestures towards the door. "Right now. This is a significant day, and we need our very best out there."
"How sober do I need to be?"
"…as sober as you wish."
"Alright," Aegon says. He stands up and exits without further inquiry.
The room lets out a collective sigh.
"The Velaryons?" Lord Wylde prompts.
"Daeron is a well-mannered young man," her father says. "I believe he will be able to impress his worthiness upon the Sea Snake. And Princess Rhaenys has received good treatment."
"Midday?" Lord Tyland reminds them.
"Let us think upon it some more," Alicent says. "We must finish the arrangements and head to the dragonpit."
But Ser Criston has another concern. "What of Ser Harrold?" he asks.
"He has been issued a tourney sword, and he has agreed to his part," her father says.
"There's something else," Alicent remembers. "He has… conditions."
Ser Criston scoffs. "Conditions."
"For his cooperation in maintaining appearances. Considering the events of last night, it is not an unreasonable demand."
"Very well," her father says. "Let us hear it."
"He knows he is not permitted to be alone with her, but he wants that arrangement to go both ways."
"How so?" Aemond asks.
"She is not to be left alone with Father, or Ser Criston, or Aegon…" She considers a moment. "Or Lord Larys," she adds.
"Me?" the Master of Whispers speaks for the first time.
"I did not ask for elaboration; that is simply what he said."
"A bold request, for a prisoner," says Ser Criston.
"But not unreasonable," her father allows. "I see no reason to object."
Ser Criston walks into her view. "It is interesting though, is it not? That we would treat her more generously than her family treated Queen Alicent."
"What do you mean?" Aemond asks.
"She is to be permitted a protector — a courtesy not extended to Her Grace." He turns to Alicent. "Don't you remember when we went to Dragonstone? Prince Daemon turned me away."
He turns back to the room. "He said… 'that woman doesn't need a protector, she needs a leash.'"
"He said what about my daughter?"
"The memory was with me last night, and it did… make me think about precautions. I conducted a search of the storage facility from Maegor's reign, and I found some old possessions of Queen Rhaena."
Alicent does not like where this is headed.
Ser Criston picks up a large leather satchel that had been on the floor and sets it on the table. Some of the contents spill out.
Discomfort flits across the faces of the men, but no one objects.
No one but Alicent. "I do not need you avenging my honour by reducing Rhaenyra's."
Ser Criston smiles. "No, I do not believe she needs any help with that."
"Even so," Lord Wylde ventures. "It is far from unheard of. Traditionally, it is almost expected."
"And there is a certain poetry to it," her white knight continues. "I'm certain Prince Daemon will appreciate it."
Very well. Perhaps Argella was not like me. Perhaps she was like you, Alicent. Perhaps the only chains she needed was the chain of a pretty necklace, the only binds necessary the ribbon from the marriage ceremony. But I do not see the woman who said, "you may take my castle, but you will win only bones and blood and ashes," turning into you after one kind gesture.
Especially when the gesture was…
She banishes Ser Laenor's words and turns back to the men. "I am the one he spoke of, so I should be the one to decide how we retaliate. And I say we do not retaliate. First, that was typical Prince Daemon speak. Second, I will not punish Rhaenyra for his actions merely in the hopes word gets back to him."
"It is not personal," her father says. "A customary precaution. And these appear to be made specifically for royal hostages."
Some of the men even nod. Aemond, to his credit, does not.
"And this only means we have them, not that we need use them," Ser Tyland reminds her. "She may yet be cooperative."
Her father is as unconvinced as she is. "This is Rhaenyra we are speaking of."
"More importantly, this is Aemond's safety," Ser Criston points out. He digs through the bag of gold to remove one of the longer chains. "These are designed in a way that they cannot be wrapped around a neck," he gestures to the long, rigid links that cover the chain.
Aemond turns to his mother, wide-eyed. Make it stop, he seems to say.
She shakes her head. You. You can make it stop .
"That is enough," Aemond declares. "We have a busy day, and we need not sit around discussing hypotheticals." He sounds more decisive than Viserys ever did.
He sounds like a King.
Thunder rattled the Stone Drum for the one night Alicent was allowed to remain. She worried the thunder would keep the King awake, so she'd wandered the corridors to avoid being summoned to his quarters. Her wifely duties had tapered off as the King's health degraded, but they had become all the more unpleasant and claustrophobic. In his weakened state and with only one arm, he no longer had the ability to support himself atop her. Despite his ever-declining weight, he laid heavier and heavier each time he took her. She might have otherwise felt guilt for denying her husband any comfort, but not after a day where he had treated her as so.
She could not ignore the malaise natural to being entrapped in the bowels of a stone dragon and found herself jumping when the lightning cast demonic shadows of the dragons and gargoyles.
The brightest flash yet lit the halls, and she braced for the crash to come.
The light illuminated three children padding past her, leading a mummy towards the stairs of the Sea Dragon Tower. Each held a cactus except for the mummy, who held a large, black, Valyrian book.
They came to a stop when the boom hit, and she noticed that no staff attended to them. "Can I help?" she asked the children in concern.
"Haven't you done enough?" Baela said with a hand on her hip. The other hand held a cactus.
"Yuh," mumbled the mummy.
They turned away and continued to the stairs. Their laughs bounced through the castle until those too were drowned by the storm.
The King remained on Dragonstone for a fortnight after Alicent was banished. He returned in good spirits and improved health. But he also still held whatever disappointment had first overtaken him.
And a cactus.
He returned with many of them. He had some planted in the gardens and kept one in his chambers next to his window. It became the subject of several debates with the Grandmaester, and eventually, the cactus withered away.
The King was careful not to speak ill of Rhaenyra or Daemon around her after that. And for weeks he looked upon her with the same anger and disappointment he had only recently shed after Driftmark.
"My King," she tried one night. "Is there something I have done to offend you?" He had made no attempt to engage her in conversation after the act.
"We will speak no more of it," he ordered and rolled over to face away from her. "No one is to speak of it."
No one ever told her what the cactus was for.