ALICENT

Alicent had always longed for a better window into the world of powerful men. The proper, patient way to power, not the bloody path Rhaenyra had tried to carve as she had her father hold open the doors and her uncle kill the men that stood in her path.

For one brief foolish moment, Alicent thought this might be a victory to share with her son as they make their way into that world together. Her, from womanhood, and him, from boyhood. But the moment sours quickly as the Council chats in wait of the Hand, and both Alicent and Aemond exchange horrified looks as they come to know the truth hidden in the core of the world of powerful men.

Men are disgusting.

Lord Wylde and Ser Tyland had been debating the 'merits' of Lord Baratheon's daughters when Alicent and Aemond came upon their conversation. But the topic had soon shifted to the triumphant return of the Realm's Delights.

"They'd better be here to stay," says Ser Tyland, who'd been recounting his long-awaited reunion at the gathering over Rhaenyra's injury.

Lord Larys and the Grandmaester had settled into what was for Larys, calculated, and for the Grandmaester, uncomfortable, silence, but Lord Wylde had no qualms about the topic. "I don't see why not. I cannot imagine this King wanting to banish them, unless he's the type who prefers to lock them away for himself."

"It wasn't the King," Ser Tyland pouts. "It was the Queen. She was so accustomed to thinking of herself as the most desirable woman at Court, she couldn't handle it when the attention went somewhere else."

Excuse me? Why are men always so convinced that all disputes between women come from jealousy over the attention of men? She turns to Aemond to share in their outrage, only to find him regarding her with an expression she cannot identify.

He doesn't believe them, does he? She must have raised him better than that.

Fortunately, Aemond's consideration dies out as the men descend further and further into depravity. Regarding Rhaenyra. And Alicent.

"I think they still face skyward," Ser Tyland says of the Realm's Delights.

"But not for much longer," Lord Wylde points out. "The modest bosom might not be as gratifying in the moment, but certainly offers a longer shelf life."

"But does it even matter if she hides it behind layers of cloth and seven-pointed stars?" says Ser Tyland.

Alicent folds her arms over her chest.

"You don't see the appeal in saving something for only your own enjoyment?"

"Please," Ser Tyland scoffs. "You think a woman that aggressively proper is going to be any more enjoyable in private? The King's frailty was the only reason he did not look elsewhere for his private enjoyment."

Lord Larys is mercifully silent.

Lord Wylde gallantly defends Alicent's cause. "Do you enjoy sweets that have been endlessly passed around until bled dry of all flavour?"

"That's a myth," the Grandmaester says, seemingly desperate to redirect the conversation to anything else. "A woman's number of partners does little to alter her… anatomy."

Aemond actually sighs in relief. Alicent smacks his shoulder.

But the Grandmaester's efforts were for naught, because the men soon realize they have an inside source for both of their objects of debate, and they turn their attention to pestering him.

Strangely, Aemond seems to be mouthing numbers to himself and wincing every so often, rather than following their actual words.

To her horror, the Grandmaster does sometimes decide it's easier to give them what they want. He's wise enough to keep his head and hold back information regarding Alicent, but he has no such worries with Rhaenyra.

"No. I had a look last night," he says to a particularly rude question. "It will be a moon at least. Though, if bearing a child is the only reason, I recommended waiting for the second cycle. But the Hand overruled me."

Alicent becomes very focuses on looking only through the grate, but she does hear Aemond fidget beside her. Mayhaps this is not the ideal mother-son bonding activity they both hoped it would be.

"I can understand," says Lord Wylde. "If we put off the… unsavoury part once, I worry the gentler members of our cause might continue to do so. Best to set the boundary now."

The Grandmaester takes up Rhaenyra's cause. Uncomfortably. "The problem is that the usual… recovery time is based on partners… familiar with each other. It takes much longer for everything to… return to normal, and I worry that having someone…"

"Unskilled?" Ser Tyland offers. Alicent pretends not to notice Aemond huff.

"Unfamiliar with a given woman's… specific responses might lead to discomfort, pain, mayhaps injury."

The men continue to descend and Alicent and Aemond both pretend the other one is somewhere else. Alicent decides they should definitely alternate watches in the future.

The men turn their questions back to Alicent. And though the Grandmaester had been reticent to reveal anything, he does admit that she probably could have resumed relations sooner than she did.

"I mean, can you blame her?" says Ser Tyland.

And that is the comment that finally earns a chastisement from the other men. Strangely enough, it's Lord Larys who sincerely leads the objections on behalf of the late King. They then return to their debate that had prompted Alicent's original conclusion.

"Seven Hells," the shadows say. "Men are disgusting!"

Alicent jumps and gasps, too loudly, and Aemond whips around to face the source of the sharp whisper. Alicent follows. Aegon stands there in the darkness, mouth hanging open, arms cradling that stupid cat.

"Shh!" Aemond commands in an actual whisper, pulling Aegon to the floor and motioning for Alicent to do the same.

But it's too late. Be it from Aegon's words or Alicent's gasp, the Grandmaester, whose back is closest to them, finally speaks. "Did anyone hear that?"

They all exchange desperate looks, until Aegon stands, holds Pancake to face the grate, and scratches the base of her tail. She squawks, and Aegon stops, only for her to squawk even louder to make it clear that the first time was not a protestation and had actually meant, 'Don't you dare stop, human slave.' Aegon resumes the massage and she lets out a third, softer squawk as if to say, 'That's right, human slave,' before switching to purrs.

"Ah," says Ser Tyland. "The cats must have found some nearby vent."

"Do we really want cats in the vents we use for clean air?" the Grandmaester asks.

"Would you prefer them to be full of rats?"

The men grumble in agreement. Deeming it safe to move, Alicent pulls both her sons around the corner back to where Aemond, and Aegon, had left the torches.

Aemond voices her question before she can. "How did you find us?" he demands in a half-whisper.

Aegon continues to massage the cat, whom Alicent can now see wears a harness. As if one could even entrap pancake batter in a harness. He opens his mouth as if to speak at his regular volume, sees Alicent and Aemond raise their finger to their lips, and answers in as soft a voice as Aegon can likely manage. "I might have opened your gift out of curiosity. Rhaenyra left it laying around and I was curious. And I knew it had to be good if she wouldn't let me see the map."

Aemond sighs. "Please tell me you didn't make a copy of the key."

Aegon then becomes very concerned with looking into all the dark corners of the corridor. And changing the subject. "I cannot wait for my nameday," he says. "Rhaenyra's branch takes gifts seriously. Blackfyre, secret spy rooms, I'm-sorry-I-forgot-your-nameday-chains that presumably accompany a lot of tongue work..."

Alicent looks longingly around the corner before turning back to their new obstacle. "Aegon, you're too disruptive for covert observation. You'll give us away in a heartbeat."

"I didn't come here to spy," Aegon says. "Well, not today. I came to charitably retrieve my brother."

Aemond scoffs. "Charitably?"

Aegon dramatically swishes his hair, which, under torchlight, Alicent can now see is damp. But the scent that escapes is not his normal fragrance. He appears to have switched to whatever Aemond uses.

Aemond has tensed beside her but says nothing.

Aegon smiles at Aemond he speaks. "So, I was just washing my hair. You know, since Grandsire told us to look our best tonight." He peers at Aemond in the torchlight. "Actually, you're looking a little yellow, baby brother. Might want to take care of that."

Aemond seethes, for whatever reason. But the longer Aegon speaks the more that anger turns to fear and discomfort.

Whatever point Aegon had been trying to make, likely at Aemond's expense, is left behind in his new enthusiasm. "And you'll never believe it, but Helaena's supplies were gone!"

Alicent and Aemond trade beleaguered looks, and she inclines her head for them to return to the grate.

Aegon follows, but he at least whispers. "Aemond, we need to go," he appeals. "Don't you understand? They're washing each other's hair right now."

Alicent pushes him back from the grate as they approach. If he's going to prattle on, even in a whisper, best keep him away.

And he does prattle on. "And who knows what else. Have you heard the rumours about Laena and Rhaenyra when they were young?"

Alicent remembers. Right around the time when Rhaenyra had helped Laena find Vhagar and the King had to ask the Velaryons to keep her from court because the rumours were getting so bad.

Turning her attention back to the Council, she finds that whatever conversation they'd left had died out. Likely realizing that the Hand, whom everyone had by then noted is late, could walk in at any moment and that they should therefore not continue to talk about his daughter's body, the men had shifted to a safer topic.

"I don't understand Cole," Ser Tyland says as he briefs the others on his absence. "He's always hurting Rhaenyra, but he loses his mind over harmless fun."

Lord Wylde hums in assent. "At least her injury means that Gwayne cannot pull that immature stunt at dinner."

"What?" Ser Tyland asks.

"When he heard we were considering bringing her in chains. He said he was going to trip her at dinner for that time Prince Daemon tripped his horse."

What? Alicent shares an incredulous look with Aemond. Certainly, her own brother was above such petty antics.

"Prince Daemon was right!" Aegon whispers. "They are taking unnecessary liberties to avenge past perceived slights! It's almost as if they derive a sense of power from eroding at Rhaenyra's, but no one can agree on the 'appropriate' way to do so."

"Shh…"

"Mayhaps that means it's just not appropriate. Not that it matters. I do believe these men resented Rhaenyra's power and are now revelling in her vulnerable position."

"Aegon," she hisses.

"Right," Aegon whispers. "Staying on topic. Helaena and Rhaenyra pouring water on each other."

Ser Tyland, seemingly determined to be the most irritating person of the day, has his own reason to look forward to the meeting. "I hear the Royal family all have cats now."

Aegon addresses his own cat, because he must know that Alicent and Aemond ignore him. "What do you think they're wearing?"

Ser Tyland continues, "Hopefully His Grace has yet to choose a name for his own. Because I have a suggestion!"

"No way Rhaenyra risks that dress. Do you think they changed, or actually stripped?"

No one prompts Ser Tyland, so he endeavours on himself. "Brightroar!"

"I mean, they must be wearing nothing on top, right? Or at least very little."

That's… actually not a bad suggestion. Alicent turns to Aemond, who shrugs in agreement. Appropriate for a cat, yet evokes dragons with the name itself and also its namesake, a Valyrian steel sword passed down through the Lannister family until—

Oh no.

And then Ser Tyland reaches his closing argument. "You know, because he's good at losing Valyrian steel swords!"

The men are still laughing, and Alicent, Aegon and Pancake still have Aemond pinned to the floor when her father finally enters. Hoping he can now contain himself, Alicent rises and Aegon does the same.

Pancake refuses to give up her new seat even as Aemond rises, leaving him her new human slave as she oozes onto his shoulder and digs her claws into his cloak.

"My apologies for the delay," her father says. "I had to return to the Tower to rouse Daeron. And tell him to stop by Rhaenyra's suite. Apparently, those four are having a gathering later; I worry Rhaenyra is going to turn it into some kind of…"

"Orgy?" Ser Tyland offers. Too eagerly.

"She's not recovered enough," the Grandmaester reminds them.

Her father does not even scold Ser Tyland. "Knowing Aegon and Rhaenyra, I would not put it past them."

Aegon shrugs in her peripheral vision.

"Helaena is impressionable," her father says. "And Aemond…"

"Aemond what?" Aemond whispers.

"Shh," say both Aegon and Alicent.

But he does not elaborate. "Thankfully, whatever curse runs through this family seems not to extend to Daeron. Probably because he was raised in a civilized environment."

Aemond and Aegon twist and sway as they dramatically mouth Daeron's name to each other.

Whilst Alicent had been silently reprimanding her sons, her father had been informing the Council about her and Aemond's absence and complaining about Aegon's… proposal.

Ser Tyland laughs. "Jason and I always dreamt of doing that. Actually, when we were both courting Rhaenyra we actually made a pact that—"

But her father had a purpose behind his complaint and cuts Ser Tyland off. "Aegon of all people raised a point this morning. Best discuss it now that he isn't here to run straight to Rhaenyra and tell her everything for milk, cookies, and a tummy rub."

"Hey," Aegon whispers. "No one told me a tummy rub was on the table!"

"Shh!"

"First my daughter, then Aegon, and I worry Aemond is fool enough to find himself caught in her web."

"And what," Ser Tyland says. "Are you worried the black widow will spread her legs and devour her prey?"

Her father makes no argument. "You should have seen them salivating this morning. At a woman old enough to be their mother! I had not thought this family that undiscerning."

"For those boys," Lord Wylde says. "I worry that might be part of the appeal."

"What are you implying?" her father challenges.

"It depends," says Ser Tyland. "Are we talking about the one who wants a mother he can fuck, or the one who wants to fuck his mother?" But his laugh at the end catches in his throat as he remembers who he's speaking to.

Despite their collective horror at the depravity of the unsupervised Council, Alicent and her sons do not trade looks this time. Instead, they focus on the tense silence that has overtaken the Council in the aftermath of Ser Tyland's nonsensical attempt at a jape.

Lord Wylde then returns to their previous discussion as if nothing had happened. "I worried from the beginning that neither the Dowager Queen nor His Grace have a taste for the… ugly side of this situation. And that's fine. They are the face of our cause, and perhaps it's best that our face not have an ugly side. But how are we to ensure Rhaenyra's behaviour if we cannot be confident that His Grace will follow through? I do not know how to slay a dragon of Syrax's size without making a spectacle and sacrificing dozens of men, save for using Vhagar."

No one else would say it. No one else would be safe to say it. But Ser Tyland is twin to the head of House Lannister, so even within a house full of dragons, even after his previous infraction, he feels protected enough to say it. "We don't need His Grace to agree," he says.

Alicent knows what's coming. So does Aegon, who handed that jape to Ser Tyland the previous week, and now wisely extracts Pancake from Aemond and puts her down on the floor, leaving his hands free.

"What do you mean?" her father asks.

"I mean," Ser Tyland says, savouring each word. "All we need to do is have Syrax led into the main pit with Vhagar and tell His Grace what we have planned. Either he agrees, and gives the order, or he disagrees, and runs into the dragonpit yelling 'Vhagar no!' And Syrax dies either way!"

They catch only the beginning of Lord Wylde's laugh before they have to turn and chase after Aemond. Her father's shout follows them down the corridor. "That is enough! He is our King, and his image reflects back upon us. It must be protected."

He makes it back to the torches before Aegon manages a clumsy, and probably accidental, tackle to the floor. Alicent joins him before Aemond can throw him off.

"You cannot storm in there like this," Alicent reasons. "They'll immediately guess you have a means of listening."

He's wise enough not to argue with words, which, in his enraged state, would emerge far too loud for how close they still are. But he does still thrash against them as they struggle to keep him on his stomach.

Aegon pins him with the full weight of his body. "Shh… think of soothing thoughts, baby brother. Grandsire getting hit with a goose egg. Rhaenyra breaking Tyland's nose. Our sisters washing each other's hair. Rhaenyra's tits at the breakfast table."

Aemond actually does stop struggling — to recoil. "Aegon," he says hesitantly. "Are you thinking about Rhaenyra at the breakfast table?"

"How did you— oh. Sorry." He dismounts from Aemond and stands in too casual a manner.

Aemond rises, but does not try to run. "I don't… I can handle the Court whispers. A king should be feared to be respected. But the inner circle of men, the ones who know..."

"That you were pummeled by a girl on your own dragon — that you also lost control of?"

"Aegon," Alicent warns, just as Aemond turns on him but before he can attack. Alicent puts herself between the brothers.

Aemond sighs, both avenues of revenge now blocked to him. "If we don't think of something, I won't just be Grandsire's puppet. I'll also be the Council's fool!"

"Hey, that's my job!"

Aemond is right, but Alicent has more immediate concerns. Rhaenyra knew exactly what she did, and exactly how Aemond would react. And now, after he's been hurt, he's going to run straight to Rhaenyra and her friends so she can tell him what a hero he is for protecting her from those cruel men.

And Alicent has to let it happen, because despite Rhaenyra's corrupted motives, they do need this window. And Aemond is a liability. "Aemond," she says. "You cannot handle this. Besides, why waste your time? I will remain here and take note. We can confer later."

Pancake then joins them, dragging her useless leash and objecting to having been left behind and forced to walk on her own accord. Oozing is easier over short distances, after all. Aegon picks her up. "I agree with Mother," he actually says. "Let's go. Oh! And Rhaenyra said you can bring your cat too. The gardeners aren't bringing the lykāpas perzot until tomorrow."

The shock of Aegon agreeing is enough to earn Aemond's consideration. He looks to Alicent. "You'll tell me what happens?" he confirms.

"Of course," she assures him. "Silence comes more naturally to me. And after, we can go over everything and give each point its proper due." And proper condemnation.

Aemond reluctantly hands over the key and takes one of the torches. Aegon then puts his free arm not dedicated Pancake around Aemond, and begins to guide him down the corridor. "Come, baby brother. Rhaenyra will get you to relax."

"Wait, what?" Alicent says. But the brothers pay her no mind.

Aemond jolts as they walk. "Fuck."

"What?" Aegon says.

"I'm Rhaenyra's latest form of entertainment. The deal we made this morning was that she'd tell Grandsire off so he wouldn't push about where we were going, and in exchange, I would," he says a few words in High Valyrian that Alicent does not recognize, "for each time someone said made a gross comment about her body. I didn't think it would be that much!"

"Oh. I sure hope you're not a first-timer."

Aemond offers no answer that Alicent can hear.

"This is going to be fun," Aegon says as they turn the corner. "Best get started early."

Their voices fall away after that, and Alicent can only hope that Daeron soon arrives to supervise.

She returns alone to find the Council has moved on to actual business.

"The white worm has yet to rear her head," says Lord Larys's voice. "But I did manage to look in to the fighting pits."

Fighting pits?

"And?" her father prompts.

"I'll get you the list, but I believe too many men loyal to us are accustomed to payments from the establishment for an intervention to be prudent. But it seems as if Prince Aegon has not frequented the premises since the coronation."

"Good," her father says. "As… disruptive as he can be, especially with Rhaenyra, I think it's best to keep him busy. We don't need to give the Blacks any help in the battle for public image."

Alicent finds herself agreeing. Rhaenyra might be a bad influence, but she does have to admit Aegon has been less directionless since he started spending time with her. Mayhaps Aegon is someone who cannot stay harmlessly occupied unless they are kept occupied.

They review details of the establishment for a time until they deem the matter closed, and Ser Tyland raises another.

"Oh," he says. "I would like to relay a request from my dear brother, for the seat of honour next to our new Queen."

"Denied," her father says right away. "This is a diplomatic affair to ensure an understanding. Not some farcical humiliation ritual."

"Nothing unseemly," Ser Tyland assures him. "He simply wishes to reminisce about their past. Besides, Lord Borros seeing him beside her might ease his worries."

Her father sighs. "She does have a habit of forgetting herself quite quickly. I suppose she needs every reminder she can get."

She knows what this is. The men of the Council might not know, or pretend not to know, but Alicent knows what this is. Despite her father's denial, this is a humiliation ritual. And whilst ensuring their allies cannot later deny their knowledge, and assuring others who had no interest in seeing a true Queen of the realm, might be their justification —a good justification at that —it is not their personal motivation.

It's revenge for past slights.

Strangely enough, it's Ser Tyland who seems to most recognize it. And also point out why it just might be for the best. "Besides," Tyland says. "You can seat her King on the other side so he might step up for her when need be." He addresses the whole room. "Two birds one stone. You should have seen him puff his feathers when he sent Cole from the room. And his wounded bird might finally find a master in her gratitude."

Her father actually nods. "I suppose…"

And he's right. Aemond needs to remain fond of Rhaenyra, for Rhaenyra's own safety. But she's doesn't exactly make it easy to stay fond of her. And Rhaenyra needs to learn to trust Aemond. This is a necessary evil. And while she imagines these men would find a way regardless, the necessity remains.

But that doesn't mean she likes it.

"The question is," Lord Wylde says. "Should we put Aegon far away to quell their bad influence on each other?"

"No," her father says. "They'll just yell across the table. We'll keep them contained and supervised."

"What about the Princess Helaena?" Lord Wylde asks. "What if she overhears something?"

Her father answers right away, as he and Alicent had already discussed the matter. "Hopefully, her presence will prevent the festivities from descending into… something distasteful. And keep everything just below the surface. No need for more unseemly conduct. Or that poison might seep into our own ranks."

To their credit, the Council does mutter in agreement before moving on.

"In other new," Lord Larys says. "Not only is Lady Rhaena a Velaryon, but she's also a Velaryon with a baby dragon.

The Council sighs. Except for Ser Tyland. "Speaking of Lady Rhaena—"

Her father cuts him off. "That matter will be settled at the war council. Our allies deserve a say."

"You mean your son and nephews," Ser Tyland grumbles. But then he must remember that his brother will be there to champion his cause, because he lets the matter go.

Her father returns to course. "It will be some time before she's ready for battle, at the least." He turns to Lord Larys. "How long before you have word of his whereabouts?"

"It's hard to say," says Lord Larys. "Words can only travel as fast as ships, and Prince Daemon has a dragon."

"We have plenty of time," the Grandmaester says.

"Time before disaster," Lord Wylde says. "Then we will have Tyraxes, Stormcloud, and now this new dragon to account for. And Viserys will be old enough to claim a dragon of his own."

Ser Tyland is unworried. "We have five, perhaps ten years before that happens. I don't think Prince Daemon should be a priority for now. We have more important matters."

"I disagree," says her father. "I don't like having him out there lurking as a threat. What if something does happen to Rhaenyra? What if the Velaryons grow so desperate that break their agreement and summon him back? What if the Sea Snake passes and Lady Rhaena gains the power to summon her father back? And I don't trust Aemond right now. Vhagar is the only dragon that can match Caraxes, and having Prince Daemon as a threat gives him too much leverage. "

She knew it. She knew it. Of course, they couldn't let him live. But they had also signed a binding agreement overseen by a Septon to not pursue him in the Free Cities. How do they plan to circumvent that?

But more concerning is that no one objects to the Hand wanting to deprive the King of leverage. Lord Wylde takes it further. "And should we find need to… eliminate Jacaerys, we cannot do so as Prince Daemon lives. He will no doubt return to press Joffrey's claim."

The Council agrees. Because apparently, the Council was fine with Jacaerys's death.

Bastard or no, he's still a boy of five-and-ten. He's still Rhaenyra's son. If she loses two of her sons to this conflict, they'll never convince her it was a regrettable accident.

Ser Tyland has another one of those eerie moments of reason. "I don't think we should have him assassinated abroad," he actually says. And for a moment Alicent wonders if he might actually care about honouring their holy vow. "Do you really want Caraxes and Stormcloud flying loose in Essos, in Volantis of all places? Daemon is friendly with Saera's bastards. What if the dragons then seek the company of their riders' friends, who have Targaryen blood?"

The men sigh at this complication. But Alicent is horrified. Because Ser Tyland has revealed what she has so feared.

These men have no intention of sparing Rhaenyra's trueborn sons, nevermind restoring their positions. And Alicent suspects they have even less concern for sparing Rhaenyra.

It's the Master of Laws who puts the issue forward. "I would like to point out that in Lady Rhaena, Rhaenyra has given us the gift of precedent."

"How so?" Ser Tyland asks.

"She has set a recent, notable example of passing over a first-born sibling, to bestow a station upon a second-borne. A consort of a decease] heir with a pre-existing expectation of the position. If we confirm Lady Rhaena's inheritance over that of her sister and give it some time, we can justify doing the same for Aemond should Rhaenyra… prove herself a liability. We can name Aemond as her heir."

At some point Alicent had started picking at her nails. And Rather than stop, she start to chew them instead. Because even though Aemond's full ascension would finally cut the Council's strings, strings Alicent now finds herself very much wanting to cut, it would also kill Rhaenyra.

Her father has the opposite concern. "That would give Aemond too much power. We will not make it an option until we can… establish certain checks.

And Alicent knows. No matter how much Rhaenyra lashes out, no matter how much she tries to blatantly manipulate Alicent's children, she cannot turn Aemond against her. Aemond needs to like her.

"He's right," Ser Tyland says. "We need leverage. We would need him to make an agreement. He is a dragon, after all."

"We could threaten to release the truth of Storm's End," Lord Wylde offers. "And to throw our support behind Aegon."

"Ugh," says most of the Council.

"I said threaten," Lord Wylde reminds them.

The men work through several more topics. Some Alicent ignores for her own sanity, some she takes note of to pass forward to Aemond, and some she takes note of to not pass forward to Aemond.

But she does not exclude every insult they make of their King, nor any of their desire to undermine him. Not just because he should know, but because Alicent has realized what Rhaenyra no doubt knew when she gave Aemond his 'gift.'

Aemond needs to dislike the Council. Aemond needs to distrust the Council. Because that pushes him towards Rhaenyra, towards protecting Rhaenyra — and hopefully her sons as well. But he cannot know how much they rely on Rhaenyra to keep his own power in check, or at least, she cannot allow him to dwell on it. He needs to grow fond of her so he's not tempted to… sever his leash.

The Council has no interest in protecting Rhaenyra's sons. The Council has no interest in protecting Rhaenyra. Their lives are suspended in a precarious balance that neither Aemond nor the Council can or even should see enough to appreciate and actively maintain.

Which means it's up to Alicent.