King's Landing, The Red Keep – 130 AC

Days, weeks, months—they all blurred together in a haze of despair and numbness after my father was executed. Time lost all meaning. It was as if the world outside my chamber had ceased to exist, and I had been swallowed by the darkness that had taken root in my heart. I barely slept, barely ate, barely bathed. I felt like a ghost, haunting the very castle I had once walked with pride and purpose.

The color green became my enemy. Once, it had been a symbol of strength, of power, of my house. The beacon of the Hightower, standing tall and unyielding. But now, every scrap of green felt like a mockery, a reminder of all that had been lost. My father's ambitions, his schemes, had all turned to ash. And with him gone, green was nothing but the color of a past I wanted to erase. I tore the green gowns from my wardrobe, the emerald jewelry from my neck, and flung them out of the window with all the force I could muster. They fluttered down like leaves in autumn, dead and decayed, just like the hopes that had once driven me.

I didn't even realize when Helaena got married. I didn't care. My sweet, strange daughter, betrothed and wed without her mother's notice. It was cruel, wasn't it? A queen who couldn't be bothered to see her own child wed, who couldn't bring herself to step outside her chambers even for such an occasion. But what did it matter? I was no longer a queen—just a broken woman trapped in a gilded cage.

It wasn't until Viserys died that I finally snapped out of it, and even then, I didn't know how to feel. The news came like a gust of cold wind, sharp and biting, but it didn't cut through me the way I thought it would. Viserys… my husband, my king, the man who had ruled over me for so many years. I should have felt grief, sorrow, something more than this hollow emptiness. But instead, all I felt was relief.

Viserys had been kind to me, at least in the beginning. When I was first brought to his bed, he treated me gently, spoke to me with a softness I hadn't expected. I was young then, so young and naive, thinking that kindness meant love. But love was never a part of our marriage. I was a duty, a means to an end, a vessel to carry his children. And as the years wore on, the kindness faded, replaced by something colder, something distant.

He never raised a hand against me—no, Viserys wasn't that kind of man. He had always been careful, always maintained the appearance of a good husband. But there were other ways to wound, other ways to remind me of my place. The way he looked at me, or rather, the way he didn't. How his eyes would glaze over during our conversations, how he would nod along to my words but never truly listen. I was there, beside him, but I was invisible. Nothing more than a shadow lingering in the corner of his life.

And then there were the nights in our bed, the nights when he would whisper Aemma's name as he lay with me. The first time it happened, I froze, my heart clenching with a pain I didn't understand. I was his wife, the mother of his children, yet in those moments, I was nothing to him. Just a warm body, a placeholder for the woman he truly loved. Aemma, who had been dead for so long, was still more alive in his heart than I ever was.

I learned to endure it, to turn my mind elsewhere when he came to me. I would stare at the ceiling, counting the stones, focusing on anything other than the man above me. It was easier that way, easier to pretend that it didn't matter, that I didn't care. But the truth was, every time he whispered her name, a piece of me broke, crumbled away like old parchment. I was never enough for him, never what he wanted, and I had to live with that knowledge every single day.

And yet, even with all the hurt, all the quiet humiliation, I didn't hate him. Not truly. How could I hate a man who was as much a prisoner of his own life as I was? Viserys wasn't cruel, he wasn't malicious—he was weak. He was a man who couldn't make the hard choices, who let others decide for him, who clung to the past so desperately that he couldn't see the future slipping away from him. He ignored our children, his sons and daughters, in favor of Rhaenyra because she reminded him of Aemma, of a time when he had been happy, when the world hadn't yet turned to ash around him. And I… I was just a reminder of everything he had lost.

So, when he died, I felt relief. Relief that the man who had held me in his grasp for so long was finally gone. Relief that the chain that had bound me to him was broken. For the first time in years, I was free. Free from the whispers, the half-hearted touches, the endless comparisons to a ghost. Free to be myself, whoever that was. But with that relief came a terrible, gnawing emptiness, a void that I didn't know how to fill.

What was I now, without Viserys? Without my father? Without the green that had defined my life for so long? I had spent so many years being what others wanted me to be—obedient daughter, dutiful wife, devoted mother—that I had forgotten who I was beneath all that. Or maybe I never knew.

As I stood by Viserys's pyre, watching the flames consume his body, I didn't shed a tear. There was no grief left in me, no sadness for the man who had been my husband. Just a strange, cold detachment, a sense that something had ended, but not in the way I had expected. I was free, yes, but I was also lost, adrift in a sea of uncertainty with no land in sight.

I glanced at Rhaenyra standing beside me, her face a mask of calm, her eyes fixed on the flames. Did she feel the same? Did she share this strange mix of relief and emptiness? There was too much history, too much resentment, too many ghosts between us. But in that moment, I wondered if she too felt the weight of it all, the crushing burden of a life that had been defined by duty and expectation.

When Daemon laughed, a sharp, cruel sound that cut through the silence like a knife, I flinched. "Viserys the Peaceful," he said, his voice laced with bitter irony, "died with his whole family hating him."

The truth of his words hit me like a blow. We all hated him in our own way, didn't we? Even those who didn't realize it. We hated him for what he wasn't, for what he couldn't be. A strong king, a loving father, a devoted husband. We hated him because he made us feel small, insignificant, like pawns in a game that was never truly ours to play.

But more than that, I hated him because he made me hate myself. For all those years I spent trying to be what he wanted, what he needed, only to find that I could never be enough. I hated him because he had trapped me in a life that wasn't mine, a life that had been carved out for me by others, by men who never saw me as anything more than a piece on a board.

And now, standing by the pyre, with the smoke and ash rising into the sky, I felt that hatred burn away, leaving only the cold, hard truth behind. Viserys was gone, and with him, the last vestiges of the life I had known. I was free, yes, but freedom had come at a cost. The cost of everything I had once believed in, everything I had once held dear.

So, I didn't cry. I didn't mourn. I simply turned and walked away, leaving the fire, the ashes, and the ghosts of the past behind me. There was no point in dwelling on it, no point in looking back. The future was uncertain, but it was mine to shape, mine to decide. For the first time in my life, I was truly in control.

As I made my way back to my chambers, I realized that I no longer knew who I was, but that didn't scare me anymore. Because now, I had the chance to find out. Without Viserys, without my father, without the green that had defined my life, I was finally free to be Alicent —whoever that might be.

Later that week, I sat in my chambers, dressed in black, a color that had become far too familiar over the years. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my sleeve, picking at the delicate embroidery as I waited. The room had been refreshed and cleaned, the servants doing their best to make the space feel welcoming, but it still felt like a cage. No matter how many times they scrubbed the walls or polished the floors, they couldn't wash away the memories that haunted this place.

I tried to focus on the present, to calm the nerves that had settled in my stomach. My children were coming to see me. It felt like years since we'd all been together, since I'd truly been present for them. Guilt gnawed at me, as it always did, but I pushed it down. Today was about them, not about my failings.

The doors opened, and I rushed to stand, eager to greet them, to see them all together again. Helaena was the first to step inside, and my breath caught at the sight of her. She looked lovely, as always, in a deep Targaryen red dress that suited her pale skin and silver hair. She had always been such a gentle soul, my sweet Helaena, and seeing her in that color—a color of strength, of fire—made me both proud and a little sad. She was no longer the little girl who clung to my skirts, but a woman, a wife, someone who had grown beyond the walls of my protection.

Daeron followed, looking every bit the young man, he was becoming, his red tunic vibrant over his brown trousers. He had grown so much, taller and broader than I remembered, and it struck me how much time had passed, how much I had missed.

Then there was Aemond, as sharp and serious as ever, with his black trousers and that Velaryon-Teal tunic, the silver seahorse belt gleaming at his waist. He had always been my most intense child, driven in a way that set him apart from his siblings. His single eye, cold and piercing, met mine, and I saw a world of experience there that I wished he hadn't needed to gain so young. He had seen too much, endured too much, but he had emerged stronger for it. I could only hope that strength would serve him well in the days to come.

But as I looked around, I couldn't help but notice who was missing. Aegon. My eldest, my firstborn. The absence was like a knife in my heart, and I bit down on my lip to keep from showing the disappointment that welled up inside me. I shouldn't have been surprised. After all the ways I had failed him, after all the ways I had been absent when he needed me most, how could I expect him to be here now? It was only fair, really. A horrible mother deserves nothing less.

I forced a smile as my children greeted me, their voices soft and cautious, as if they weren't quite sure how to approach me after all this time. I bid them to sit, to join me for tea and lemon cakes, and they did, though the awkwardness in the air was palpable.

We sat in silence for a moment, the clink of teacups against saucers the only sound in the room. I wanted to say something, to break the tension, but the words were stuck in my throat. What could I say after all this time, after everything that had happened?

Finally, I forced myself to speak, my voice trembling slightly as I addressed them. "I'm sorry," I said, the words spilling out before I could stop them. "I'm sorry for not being there for you, for disappearing into myself when you needed me. And Helaena… I'm so sorry I wasn't there for your wedding."

Helaena, sweet as always, shook her head, her eyes soft with understanding. "It's okay, Mother," she said gently. "I understand. You've been through so much. We all have."

I looked at her, marveling at the kindness, the empathy in her voice. What had I done to deserve such a daughter? I reached out, taking her hand in mine, and for a moment, the coldness in my heart thawed just a little. "Are you happy, Helaena? Does Jacaerys treat you well?"

Her face lit up with a smile, a soft blush coloring her cheeks. "He's wonderful, Mother. Truly. I couldn't have asked for a better husband."

Hearing that lifted a weight from my shoulders, a small relief in a sea of regrets. At least Helaena had found happiness, something I had never known in my own marriage. "I'm glad," I said, and I meant it. If nothing else, I was glad that her path had been kinder than mine.

I turned to Aemond and Daeron, eager to hear about their lives, to reconnect with them in a way I hadn't done in so long. "And you, my sons? What's new in your lives?"

Aemond was the first to answer, his voice steady and measured. "I was knighted by Lord Corlys after my first successful voyage with Lucerys to Braavos."

Before I could respond, Helaena chimed in, her enthusiasm shining through. "Jace was knighted too! After he won the archery competition during the tourney held in honor of our wedding. And Selwyn was knighted for winning the joust, and Ralph for winning the melee!"

Her joy was infectious, and I couldn't help but smile at her excitement. My children had accomplished so much, had grown so much, and I had missed so many of those moments. But I was here now, and I would do my best to be present, to be the mother they deserved.

Daeron spoke up next, his voice laced with pride. "Kepus Daemon has taken me and Joffrey as his squires."

My smile faltered slightly at that, the mention of Daemon bringing with it a wave of discomfort. Given our history, I couldn't say I was thrilled to know that Daeron was under his influence. But I kept my feelings hidden, nodding in acknowledgment. "That's… quite an honor," I said, doing my best to sound supportive, though I couldn't completely mask the unease in my voice.

Daeron didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he chose to ignore it. "It is," he said, his eyes bright with excitement. "We've already begun our training, and I've learned so much from him."

I bit back a sigh, forcing myself to focus on the fact that my children were happy. That was all that mattered, wasn't it? Their happiness, their safety—that was all I had ever wanted for them. Even if it meant swallowing my own fears, my own discomfort.

"Are you all happy?" I asked, my voice soft but filled with hope. I needed to hear it, needed to know that despite everything, they had found some measure of joy in their lives.

All three of them smiled, their faces lighting up with a warmth that eased the ache in my chest. "Yes, Mother," they said in unison, their voices filled with sincerity. "We are."

Their words gladdened me, put my worries to rest, at least for the moment. Even after all the suffering, all the mistakes, all the things I had done wrong, my children had managed to find happiness. Maybe that was enough. Maybe that was the one thing I had done right.

As we sat there, the conversation flowing more easily now, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. It was a fragile peace, delicate and easily shattered, but it was there. I wasn't alone anymore, wasn't lost in the darkness of my own mind. My children were with me, and they were happy. And in that moment, that was all I needed.

For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better. That I could find a way to move forward, to make amends, to be the mother they needed me to be.

And as I looked around the table at their smiling faces, I knew that I would do whatever it took to protect that happiness, to keep them safe, to ensure that they never had to endure the same pain and suffering that I had. Because they were my children, my flesh and blood, and they deserved a life free from the shadows that had haunted me for so long.

No matter what it took, I would make sure they had that. I would fight for it, just as I had fought for everything else in my life. But this time, it wasn't for power or position or duty. It was for them. For their happiness, their safety, their future.

And that was a fight worth fighting.

Later that fortnight, the Throne Room was a sight to behold. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that could be felt in the marrow of your bones. Rhaenyra stood at the center of it all, a figure of pure regal power. She looked every bit the queen in her black dress embroidered with red dragon motifs, the crown of Aegon the Conqueror resting on her head. Those big red rubies gleamed in her braided hair, catching the light as if the very fire of the Targaryen bloodline burned within them. She was magnificent, no doubt about it, and even I, who had once seen her as a rival, could not help but admire the sheer presence she commanded.

I kept a smile on my face as the Lords of the realm came forward to kneel, one by one, their loyalty shifting like leaves in the wind. It was almost comical, watching how quickly they bent their knees, how easily they swore fealty to the new Queen and her consort, Laenor. But this was Westeros, after all. The game was always about power, and those who knew how to wield it would always find themselves surrounded by those eager to follow.

When Jacaerys and Helaena were named Prince and Princess of Dragonstone, the room seemed to hold its breath. The crown wasn't just passing to Rhaenyra; it was solidifying a new future, one that would see our children hold the power we had once only dreamed of. Helaena, my sweet daughter, standing beside Jacaerys with that serene smile on her face—she looked radiant, a true Targaryen princess, but with a softness that was all her own.

Jeyne Arryn and her heir, Joffrey, looked particularly smug, as if they'd known all along that this day would come. And perhaps they had. The Arryns for all their talks about honor, they were very prideful birds, and they had never gotten over how quickly Viserys had remarried. They had wanted one of their blood to take their throne from the start. And now they had managed to do so.

Then came Borros Baratheon and his heiress, Cassandra. The room shifted, whispers buzzing like flies as they approached, and I couldn't help but notice the tension in the air. All eyes turned to my son, Aegon, as he stepped forward with them. Aegon—my troubled, complicated son. There had always been those who whispered that he should be king, that he was the rightful heir, and here he was, stepping forward as if to fan those flames.

The commotion was palpable, a ripple of unease spreading through the crowd. But I knew, and Aegon knew, that anyone who still harbored thoughts of placing him on the throne would be silenced then and there. Rhaenyra's grip on power was ironclad, and this was no longer a game of thrones—it was a show of unity, of a family that would not be divided, no matter the cost.

I was surprised when Johanna Westerling and Tyshara Lannister stepped forward to swear their fealty. Rumors had swirled for months that they might be brought down from their positions as Wardens of the West, that their loyalty was in question and their house was cursed. But here they were, pledging their allegiance with no hesitation. It dawned on me then, the brilliance of Rhaenyra's strategy. With three Ladies Paramounts—Arryn, Baratheon, and Lannister—she was doing something unprecedented, something no ruler had done before. It was a move that spoke of power, yes, but also of inclusion, of reshaping the very fabric of Westerosi politics. For the first time in history, the women of Westeros held the reins of power, and Rhaenyra was the one who had handed them those reins. I almost chuckled at the thought. Who would have guessed that this was where we would end up?

But the real moment of amusement came when Aemond, my ever-loyal son, stepped forward to swear fealty. He wasn't alone, of course—he was with Corlys and Lucerys, following his betrothed like the devoted shadow he had become. Rhaenyra and Laenor's smiles softened as they watched their daughter, and for a moment, the room felt lighter. Aemond, who had once been so fiery, so determined to carve out his own path, now found his place beside Lucerys. It was strange, in a way, to see how love—or something like it—had tamed him, softened those sharp edges. But as a mother, I was simply glad to see him happy.

The smile on Jacaerys and Helaena's faces mirrored that of Rhaenyra and Laenor's when House Stark stepped forward. Cregan Stark, with his strong, unwavering presence, beamed at the new Prince and Princess of Dragonstone, and I could see the bond between them. There was something reassuring about the sight—a reminder that the North, with all its stark (no pun intended) pragmatism, was aligned with us. It meant that the realm was more united than it had been in years, that the fires of war might yet be kept at bay.

Daeron and Joffrey followed suit, joining Daemon, Laena, Rhaena, and Baela in swearing their fealty. My youngest son, standing proud and determined, his loyalty clear for all to see. It was a moment of pride, yes, but also one of bittersweet realization. He was a man now, no longer the boy who had been sent to Old Town against my wishes. He had his own path, his own future.

And just like that, the last of my children had pledged their loyalty to Rhaenyra, sealing the fate of our house, at least for now. I watched as Rhaenyra was crowned, the weight of Aegon's crown settling on her brow. It should have filled me with dread, with fear for what was to come, but instead, I felt something I hadn't expected—peace.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, I saw House Targaryen standing united. Not as rivals, not as enemies, but as a family. A twisted, broken family, perhaps, but one that had finally found a way to come together. There was no room for fear, not anymore. The dance had begun, yes, but it was a dance we would face together, as one.

I looked around at the faces of those who had sworn their loyalty, at my children, at Rhaenyra, and felt a sense of calm wash over me as she finally sat on the Iron Throne as the Queen of Westeros. We had been through so much—betrayals, losses, heartbreak—but we had come out the other side stronger.

As the ceremony drew to a close and the Lords and Ladies began to disperse, I stood there a moment longer, letting the peace settle over me like a warm blanket. There was no going back now, no changing what had been done. But that was alright. We were still here, still fighting, still standing.

As we turned to leave the hall, I looked back one last time at Rhaenyra, at my children, at the lords and ladies who had sworn their loyalty to her. This was a new beginning for Westeros, a chance to move beyond the old divisions, the old rivalries. And as much as I had once feared it, I found that I was ready for it. Ready to let go of the past, ready to embrace the future, whatever it might bring.

Because in the end, that's what I had always wanted—for my children to be safe, to be happy, to live in a world where they could thrive. And now, with Rhaenyra as queen and the realm united behind her, that future seemed more possible than ever.

So, I left the hall with a sense of peace, a peace that had been hard-won, but one that I intended to hold onto for as long as I could. The world had changed, and so had I. But for the first time in a long time, that change didn't frighten me.

It gave me hope.