Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

The Green Bitch of Oldtown

Sometimes you must make do with vinegar where there would be wine. The phrase hadn’t left Alicent’s head all morning.

She usually rose early, but that day she waited until the light that shone through the one, high window of her keep was full and bright. She usually tried to eat or drink something. They fed her well; indeed these men were vassals of her family, but not richly. The food was often old, although there was a lot of it. The cheese was hard, the bread was hard, the soup was overflowing and full of oil.

It had been her mother’s phrase, the phrase about making do with vinegar, and there were yet more examples that she had given. Cotton rather than silk, brine rather than honey, tansy rather than jasmine - this was to say, you don’t always get everything you want. Alicent had little claim of great achievements or accolades in life but one thing she could certainly contend for was the title of she who knew most about not getting what you wanted.

The Septa had news today.

The Septa’s name was Toil, at least that’s what she said her name was, but in truth her name was Clarise. Alicent had discovered her true name when one of the guards who stood daily outside her door called to her as she entered, having known her from childhood. It wasn’t, as far as she knew, usual for Septas to change their names upon taking their oaths.

She hadn’t asked the girl why she had.

“Can I call you Clarise?” Alicent had asked her.

“It’s better if you don’t.” Clarise had said. Then added, after some thought, “Your Grace.”

“‘Lady Alicent’ will suffice.” Alicent had said, or something like that. She had felt cold at the use of her title, it brought back unwilling memories, many of which she had buried deep in her mind for her own sanity.

Clarise’s news was that King Aegon III was to marry Jaehaera. The news shouldn’t have come as a shock to Alicent, she should have known that it would be announced sooner or later, but it still made her stop to catch her breath. Jaehaera, the last remaining trace of her family.

The girl had never visited her, but Alicent was no longer allowed visitors especially as Oldtown was ravaged evermore with plagues and famine.

Jaehaera, who Alicent had held moments after her birth. Jaehaera. She looked over the top of the child’s head and saw Helaena lying there, small and defeated, stricken and grey. There. It had been that moment. The first true regret Alicent had felt for what she had begun. The first in a long series of regrets to come, regrets that would pile like plywood at her feet, regrets that would hammer on her door, break the windows of her cell and fill her dreams with a hundred faces, a hundred voices and they would all then become just one: Helaena’s.

“It’s good news,” Clarise said, gently. “It will be good for the Realm.”

“Yes.” Alicent whispered.

“They are ringing the bells in the city,” Clarise said. “Once the ceremony is over.”

“That’s good.” Alicent turned her eyes back to her prayer book. The words were often blurry these days. The darkness of the room meant that her eyesight often failed her, even in broad daylight. She had not seen her own face in many years, but she imagined she must look far older than her fifty years.

“Your throat sounds dry.” Clarise said. “Would you like me to make some barley tea?”

“Yes, please.” Said Alicent. “Thank you, Toil.”

Some inmates live within their memories to find comfort in their long hours, but Alicent only held them at arm's length. Not many of them were good anyway.

Alicent remembered when she was first touched by bitter, reddish spite. Seeing Rhaenyra embraced warmly by both her mother and her father. She had stifled the feeling at the time, feeling shame that she should be so small-minded, but it had sat there like a stone in her soul.

She also remembered other injustices, the first time she had eaten something sour when her brother had promised her it would be sweet, her father’s iron glare, other ladies sweeping past her brushing her with their elbows and making her stagger on her feet.

She could also, vaguely, remember what had been good. Honeycakes, for one. The smell of the rain when it had fallen on the flowers: a pungent aroma that rose during the night and reached her bedchamber. The people of Oldtown holding celebrations in the streets at the time of her nameday. Rhaenyra reciting old rhymes and purposely getting them wrong just to annoy… Rhaenyra. It was dim, but there it was. An old wound throbbing. Regret, despair.

The door shook as a guard leaned on it too heavily from the outside and Alicent was disturbed from her dark thoughts.

She took the remaining barley tea to her bed and enjoyed the final, cold sweetness.

The air in her chamber was always musty, but the next morning it was bitingly cold. Alicent kept her blankets wrapped around her as she attempted to finish her stitches from yesterday. The crisp light was decent enough to see the pattern, but her hands were too frozen to manouvre the needle.

Clarise didn’t arrive until much later and when she did she had on large black boots, a heavy brown cloak and gloves. The cloak was wrapped up around her neck and jaw and, upon seeing her, Alicent smiled for the first time in a long while. “Do I look strange?” Clarise said, unwrapping herself. “Forgive me, my lady, it is a frightful chill that has settled across the land.”

“Is that so?”

“Aye, all the roads have been blocked because too many folks were becoming stuck,” Clarise was originally from the Northern lands and her voice, although enunciated from years of elocutary teaching, still echoed the accent. “They say it is to last the next few weeks at least.”

“How is the town?”

“It’s a desperate picture, my lady, many are being struck down by the Winter Fever.”

“I see.” Alicent looked at her hands.

“You may have to go without meat or ale until the supplies arrive.” Clarise said. “But I can make you a warm compress for your knees, my lady.”

“My knees?”

“My grandmother often gets a stiffness in her knees when it’s chill outside.” Clarise said, brightly.

“Oh, I see.” Said Alicent. I really must look old.

Clarise read to her a little and left promptly, saying that she had to make it back to the Sept to help shovel snow from the steps. Alicent often wondered if Clarise actually enjoyed keeping her company, or if she held any resentment at the thankless task that was being the only companion of the evil queen.

Clarise had never shown Alicent anything other than kindness. She was, Alicent thought, rightly under the assumption that Alicent was no more than a helpless prisoner and there was no need to be cruel, that life had already been cruel enough.

.

The next day Alicent awoke feeling the chill in her bones. Her teeth chattered as she contracted her shoulders and legs, trying to restore warmth in her body. She knocked twice on the door, hunched over in her blankets.

“Please, could you fetch me a warm compress?”

A gruff voice replied, “You’ll have to wait for your little waiting maid, I’m afraid.”

Alicent returned to her bed, hearing the guard snort behind the door at the audacity of her request. Alicent waited all day for Clarise, eating as much as she could of the watery soup and bread they served her, but the girl never arrived.

The next day, it was even colder. Alicent found that she couldn’t so much as move from her bed, let alone go to the door. She could see her breath in the air. Throughout the night, her face had gone numb. She waited, at the edge of her pallet, eyes closed, trying to focus her mind on anything to get her thoughts away from the cold. She only moved to use her chamber pot and when they placed a piece of bread and a cup of hardly-brewed tea on her floor.

The tea was ice cold.

When the light had died, the door opened and, instead of Clarise, there was another girl there. Not a Septa, but a girl dressed like she was from the kitchens.

She curtsied, keeping her eyes down. “I’m here to fetch your pot, my lady.” She said, shortly. Understandably, she thought the task beneath her.

“Please,” Alicent said, managing to raise her voice above a whisper. “Where is my Septa?” The girl shrugged.

“They said she was took sick, my lady.”

“Sick? With that?”

“I don’t know, my lady,” the girl seemed eager to leave. “Goodnight.”

As she left, Alicent realised that she had probably left it so late thinking that she would be asleep. There came no word about Clarise the next day or the one after until, once again, the days became simply one stretch of time where the only differentiation was the light. Alicent lay many nights in her bed, waiting to die. This cold dried her throat, mangled her breathing, froze her joints - the least it could do was end her suffering. Her meals had become less and less as if her captors were also hoping for her slow demise. Alicent whispered to death at night, calling him lovingly forward in a way that she had never called a lover - but it, like many things she had wanted, never came.

Finally, there came a new Septa, this one red-faced and very tall with straw-like hair that was so thick it could barely be concealed underneath her habit.

“Do you have news of Clarise?” Was the first thing that Alicent asked her.

“Who?”

“Of…Toil? The previous-”

“Oh, Toil,” the new Septa said, breezily. “Yes, she is long dead, my lady. Taken with the rest of them from the Sept. They were fools enough to clear snow into the night and each got struck by the Winter Freeze.” She folded her arms. “I don’t care much for reading or embroidery, my lady, I hope you won’t mind if we twist rope instead. We can give it to the fishermen for their nets.”

.

Alicent was accustomed to sorrow. Indeed, it was one of the few things she could endure like no other. She was thinking of Rhaenyra that morning.

Perhaps because it was the morning that King Aegon was to marry her granddaughter, but they had given her porridge instead of bread - this was either intended as mockery or pity. No doubt, preparations for the nuptial celebrations were afoot, despite the chill weather.

Rhaenyra had sprained her arm whilst dismounting Syrax - it came after a few warnings to armor herself properly. She hadn’t wept, she wouldn’t allow herself to, but she had put her face into Alicent’s shoulder and Alicent had held her like a child as the Maester had applied a soothing lotion.

“There now,” Alicent had whispered. “Sweet child.”

“Don’t mock me.” Rhaenyra’s voice had been muffled. Her silvery hair was sticking up, mussed, smelling of smoke.

“I’m not,” Alicent had said. “After this I shall rock you to sleep.”

“And I shall put salt in your milk at dinner.”

The sound of the door being unlocked at the end of the hall interrupted Alicent’s thoughts. Her new Septa’s visits were never prompt, she spent an hour sometimes flirting with the guard at the door for whom she seemed to have some kind of penchant. Alicent would often listen to them go back and forth, not quite fond enough of either of them to be amused but having nothing to do made this a small light in her day.

“Here she comes,” the guard said. “Here to tarry.”

“I’m here to see to Her Queenship.”

“Ah, yes.” The guard said. “That dour old bat.”

The Septa laughed. “I can’t believe an old crone like her ever managed to turn a King’s head.”

“In her day she was said to be the comliest wench in the Kingdom.”

“Oh-er,” the Septa snorted. “The Green Bitch of Oldtown.”

“Now, you know she can likely hear.”

“She’s too deaf by now to hear anything but her own thoughts.”

“At least she is quiet so you needn’t tend her long.”

“You think I’d rather be out here with you?”

“I say you would.”

Alicent stared up at the window as they argued behind her. The clamour echoed her own thoughts which were inescapable today: the memories which she never usually dwelled upon.

“Here she is,” a new voice, indeed it was Prince Daemon’s. “The Green Bitch.”

Those words had been whispered to Rhaenyra and Rhaenyra had inclined her head to him and they had both smiled. This memory was fresher than the others. She could hear Daemon’s voice perfectly, crystallised in her mind. She could see the shine in Rhaenyra’s long hair. There had been a time, there had, when Rhaenyra would smile at her like that.

.

Alicent could not sleep. She had gone to bed as the light fell but these days the light fell before the hours of sleep. The sound of the town that was usually deadeningly quiet was suddenly alive with voices, the faint sound of music. The shadow of the guard at the door was gone - he had left to enjoy the party and the company of the Septa, knowing that Alicent would make no attempt to leave anyway. 

 As soon as Alicent had settled her thoughts on something else, she remembered a horrible picture. The sight of dragonfire. Rhaenyra’s cry. Not a scream, but a cry.

 Then Rhaenyra’s voice: “I will read you a poem before you sleep.” Her face, from many, many years ago, alight and playful. Her large eyes, wide features, warm breath. “Will that make you feel better?”

 And then the cry came again, as if from above. 

 “ENOUGH!” Alicent rose from her bed, taking the jug at her side and thrashing it against the stone wall where it shattered. “How long must I be tormented?! Have I not suffered?! Have I not lost?! Would I not join them all in the next life given half the-?!” She broke off into a coughing fit, her sore throat not able to mount the final words. The cough became a low moan, then a scream, then she wept.

 It had been long enough since she had last let her tears fall. The more she allowed herself to consider the bitterness of her miserable existence, the more she fell into despair. But despair was her friend that night. Despair sat beside her and took her hand. Despair said, I will read you a poem before you sleep.

 There was a change to the light, a shadow that swept across the room like a bird, a wing’s length of darkness. 

 Alicent looked up to catch it and her eyes fell upon a woman sitting upon her sewing stoop, her face covered by a shroud. 

 “It is come,” she whispered, a miraculous feeling of relief filling her chest, a rush of warmth. “Death is come for me.”

 “Death is not my name.” The figure said. The voice was hollow, it echoed into nothing.

 “It isn’t?” Alicent said. As her wits returned, she looked towards the door and back again. “How did you get in? Who are you?”

 “Ask me only one question at a time.”

 “Who are you?”

 “Who I am is not important for now.” The figure said.

 “How did you get in?”

 “I have no need for human entry.”

 Alicent sat back against her pillow. “You are here to torment me,” she concluded. “Some wandering witch who is come to toy with me.”

 “Aye,” the figure said. “That is close enough.”

 “What do you want?”

 “I’m here to call upon you.” The figure said. Although the voice seemed to belong to a living thing, the figure's shape was as still as a corpse and Alicent couldn’t see if the mouth moved beneath the shroud. “I am here to see if the past can be rewritten or if it is destined to be repeated.”

 “What do you mean?”

 The figure paused. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

 “I have met you before?”

 “Very long ago.”

 Alicent shook her head. “No, I don’t remember.”

 “I thought you would recognise my voice."

 "I don't recognise a single thing about you, witch." Alicent snapped. "If you're here to torment me then get on with it."

 "You never were any good at listening." Alicent opened her mouth to reply, but the figure cut her off. “If you choose to accept my terms, Alicent Hightower, I will allow you to try and change your fate.”

 Alicent sat back up, her joints screaming with pain. “Change my fate? What do you mean?”

 “Exactly what I say. Go now to that place where you first encountered your fate and do battle. I will send you there. Do you wish to hear my terms?”

 Alicent stared at her in silence. With nothing in the world to lose she finally said, “I do.”

“The first,” finally the figure moved. It extended one ghostly finger. “You will tell no one of your first life or imply that you know the future.”

 “My first life?”

 “The second,” the figure said. “You will not run away.” She paused. “And finally, the third condition, you will use the hourglass no more than thrice by every full moon."

 Alicent wondered if she really was going mad after all. The confinement, the loss of Clarise - perhaps her mind had finally given way.

“Do you agree?”

 “Agree to what?”

 “My conditions.”

 “I…yes, I agree.” Alicent said. “But I don’t understand. Where are you taking me?”

 “I’m taking you to the past.” The figure rose to her feet, it was one fluid motion where she hovered just shy of the ground. “Through near thirty years worth of time.”

 Alicent stiffened as the figure moved closer. 

 “Don’t be afraid,” the figure said. “It’s not such a long journey, even so, you might want to close your eyes to avoid seeing something you should not see.”

 Outside the bells rang for her granddaughter’s wedding, but Alicent was not present to hear them.

.

The night that Alicent had been born, there had been a terrible storm. She knew this because her father and brother had often brought it up, reflecting on how she as a babe had wailed even louder than the wind. It had been a way to irritate her, one of the few inside jokes the three of them had had, but when she was much younger Alicent had always thought that the storm had been her fault. That she must have conjured it inland from the sea. As an adult, she would never have dreamed herself up such an arrogant fantasy, the very idea that she could conjure up anything from anywhere was ludicrous. Even when she was a girl of fifteen, she had understood how powerless she was. 

 The strange creature that threw her, it seemed, from the height of the high tower had thrown her into a wailing storm. 

 Maybe she could will herself back to the day she was born before death inevitably found her during that cold night. Alicent waited for the embrace of her mother’s arms in a wild moment of exhaustion. 

 When she regained gravity, she felt her cheek against something soft. She smelled a faint smell of candle smoke. This must be a further dream, she thought. As they would never allow me a candle. 

 She awoke briefly to a waking twilight where she shifted from one side to the other. Her hair fell over her face and, rather than pain, she felt a tingle in her limbs.

 At least, she thought, the pain is gone and so is the cold.

Chapter Text

 “My lady,” 

Alicent opened her eyes to the sound of Clarise’s voice. “Clarise.” She sat even before she understood who she was looking at.

 “My lady?”

Upon focusing, Alicent could see that it wasn’t Clarise but a serving girl dressed in the burnt red shift of a maid from the castle. It was so nostalgic that Alicent found herself smiling. What dream was this now? 

 “Are you alright?” The serving girl said. She was much younger than Clarise, near fourteen. “My lady, you look slightly pale.”

Alicent looked beyond her to where another maid was moving the single gold and ivory curtain from the window. The chamber was small, there was an old oak dressing case, a blue gown draped over a rocking chair. A fireplace hung with small white flowers.

 “This is my room.” Alicent said, in wonder. “My room.”

Ever since she had been sent to the castle as Princess Rhaenyra’s companion, this had been her room. She had taken great care in keeping it, making the table coverings herself, embroidering her curtain with flowers, curating her gowns and small collection of jewellery in small boxes.

 “How strange.” Alicent moved to her feet. The feel of the stone flags felt so uncommonly secure, as if she hadn’t felt solid ground in years. 

 “My lady?” The serving girl was exchanging a look of confusion with the other maid that Alicent didn’t catch. She was walking towards the unlit fireplace. She tasted the long-gone ash of a candle in the air. It must have blown itself out during the night. There was the scent of animal fat, wax, flowers, sugar.

  I’m taking you to the past. Through thirty years worth of time.

 Alicent’s gaze burned into the fireplace. She lifted her hands. They were soft, small, unblemished. She heaved a breath that was unfettered by cough or soreness. 

 “It’s not possible.” She said. 

 She turned. “A mirror. I must see a mirror.”

 The maids looked about the room. “A…mirror, my lady?”

 Alicent then remembered where she had always kept a pocket mirror - within the recesses of her coin purse. It was a woven mirror that her brother had given her.

 “All the ladies at court carry one, you’ll find.” He had said and then Alicent had provoked him, asking him how he would know anything about the ladies at court.

 Alicent searched her room, her eyes falling upon the purse on her bedside table. She was reaching for it, digging inside it, her hands closing on the mirror as she heard the maids behind her clamour with increasing concern.

 Alicent looked at herself. It was a face she hadn’t seen for a long time - small and pretty, large brown eyes, freckles, a button nose. It was her, eighteen-year-old her. 

 She dropped the mirror on the bed.

 “Lady Alicent, don’t fret,” the maid was saying. “You will be well-dressed for your nameday celebration. I believe they are preparing a honeycake-”

 “Quiet,” the other maid barked at her. “Take yourself to the kitchens and get Lady Alicent a tonic, she is feeling unwell.”

 The series of events were falling into place as Alicent stood there. This was no dream. She had been conjured here as part of a witch’s trick, or whatever had sat before her. She had been given three conditions to follow, taken thirty years into her past. She was no longer imprisoned in her cell, she was here, where it had all began.

 “Rhaenyra.” She said. “I must see Rhaenyra.”

“Aye, the Princess will be here to congratulate you no doubt.” The maid said, holding her hands up. “But first we must ready y-”

 Alicent brushed past them both and flung open her door where the cold draft of the hallway greeted her, the familiar tallow scent of the castle walls. 

 “My lady!” The maids were scandalised.

 “You’re in your nightclothes my-”

 Alicent left them behind, her feet carrying her without hesitation though every foot in front of the other felt nostalgic. She hadn’t run since she was a child. The old lightness of her body before pain and confinement had frozen her bones. 

The sweeping sunlight, a fresh glimpse from every window, found her skin. The refuges of shade, the cloisters and alcoves she recognised from when she would have found them with a book. Even when she had lived here during the Dance, those long and dreary years as her children were killed off one by one. 

 Alicent ran past the maids gathered near the entry to the courtyard. “Lady Alicent!” One exclaimed and they all began to chatter.

 Alicent ignored them, continuing on. The freshness of the air carried itself through her body along with the scent of flowers. From what she remembered: honeysuckle, jasmine. 

 This undisturbed, overgrown courtyard had been her and Rhaenyra’s sancturay away from the prying eyes of the Septas and the courtiers. It had been their special place.

 Each hazel tree was placed exactly where she remembered it having been. Autumn was in the air, unlike the unyielding frost of her last year in Oldtown, it was soft and balmy, punctuated by the red and gold leaves that twisted themselves from the branches of the trees. 

And then, there she was. As if conjured by magic, she was there, only Alicent had known that this was where she would be.

Her face, turned away, her eyes flickering quickly over the book that she held, her legs splayed before her like a foal. 

There was the face that Alicent had become accustomed to only see while dreaming. The face she had grown to hate and now craned her neck to see in full view of the morning light. 

 “Rhaenyra.” Alicent said, out loud. Her feet had stilled. She couldn’t run anymore.

 Rhaenyra raised her head. “Alicent?” Her face broke into a bright smile. Alicent only remembered this face when it was full of resentment, pride, fury, sorrow. “Why are you in your nightclothes?”

 “Rhae-” Alicent was interrupted by the sound of her own heart. She fell to her knees, her legs giving way completely. 

 “Alicent?” Rhaenyra rose, frowning. “Are you unwell?”

 She approached, dropping her book at the root of the tree that she had been sitting beneath. She came close and knelt beside Alicent. Now, a small smile was playing at her lips. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming one of those silly ladies who faints every time she has a nameday because they are now one year older?” Alicent jumped as Rhaenyra’s touch found her cheek. “Don’t worry, Lady Alicent, I will still keep your company when you become a frightful spinster.” She crooned. 

 Alicent opened her mouth, a thousand words filling every cavity of her mind. She was going to ask for forgiveness. No, she was going to scream and shake her. Then she would cry. And then she would ask for forgiveness again. 

 She fought to keep control of her senses. This was not the same Rhaenyra who loathed her, this was the Rhaenyra who loved her, who she loved. 

 The words that the witch had spoken returned then to her mind. “You will tell no one of your first life or imply that you know the future.”

 Alicent swallowed hard. “I…” She managed. “Just…wished to see you.”

 Rhaenyta laughed her high and silvery laugh. “You rushed all the way here just for that? I was going to come and seek you out anyway before breakfast. I must give you a special gift for your eighteenth nameday.” She noticed the maids that had gathered to tut in their direction. “You should go and dress before one of the old Septas sees you and has a heart attack.”

.

Even if this was a dream, Alicent thought as the maids washed and dressed her. A cruel dream that had been conjured to tease her with happiness before plunging her back into despair, there is no need not to make the most of it.

The witch had stated the conditions simply to her. If she disobeyed, she was sure that the penalty would be ending up back in her cold tower. 

She could not impart what she knew of the future or say that she had already lived this life once. That was easy enough. She doubted anyone would believe her if she was to say otherwise anyway.

She couldn't run away. She had nowhere to run to without being eventually dragged back so that one was simple too.

The witch had mentioned some kind of hourglass and that she couldn't turn it more than thrice in a full moon. 

But what hourglass? Alicent had searched her chamber, her posessions. She did not and had never owned an hourglass. Perhaps this was another clue that illusions were just toying with her. 

Still, if it was an illusion, it was a grand one.

The maids had washed her hair and skin with rose oil and fat, brushed out her long brown locks to weave them intricately on top of her head. The gown she had eventually selected was a lapis shade (not green) and cut at her shoulders. The fine cloth was softer than she remembered.

Despite her misgivings, Alicent knew exactly what she should do.

She should stay out of the business of the Targaryens, marry some other obscure lord as quickly as possible and live her life happily away from their mess. This, she was sure, could not be construed as 'running away' as she would be acting within the confines of her position.

It would mean that she never married King Viserys, never birthed any of her children, never played into her father's scheme of insinuating his blood into the royal line.

Alicent had one wish: to never be remembered as anyone or anything except 'the Lady Alicent'.

.

Fine. Alicent thought. This is so much stranger than I thought it would be.

Recalibrating herself back into her life from thirty years ago was a challenge. When Rhaenyra had called for her and they had gone to visit Rhaenyra's mother, Aemma, as she lay heavily pregnant and near immobile upon a divan, Alicent had felt faint.

"You look pale, Alicent." Queen Aemma had said with a kind smile. "You should eat more beef from time to time. Beef does wonders for a young girl's complexion."

"I will, thank you, my Queen." It was both odd and relieving to be calling someone else 'my Queen'. 

"Alicent is feeling fine, mother," Rhaenyra smiled. "She came to greet me today in her nightclothes."

 Alicent couldn't help but smile.

"You girls!" Aemma said, rolling her eyes. "I suppose you are excited for tonight's celebrations, Alicent."

 "Yes, Your Grace."

 "I suppose your father is buying you a fine nameday present."

 Alicent set her teeth. Father. 

 "I'm sure he is, Your Grace."

If the past was to be dealt with, Otto Hightower must be dealt with first.

On her eighteenth nameday in her previous life, Otto and Gwayne had arrived late into the night during the celebrations. Alicent remembered not minding so much, having been too preoccupied eating orange silces and drinking honey wine with Rhaenyra. 

Now, in her second life, she sat at the high table next to Rhaenyra and tapped her foot impatiently against the stone.

The great hall of the castle was filled with all of the lords and ladies hoping to create a strong bond with the Hightowers. They were a family who had clawed to power and many wanted a share in it. No Lannisters or Baratheons felt the need to attend, but many of the minor lords. House Massey, House Darklyn, House Buckwell. 

Lord Emmon Buckwell presented Alicent with a spoon made of pure silver engraved with the Hightower crest. "Congratulations on your 18th nameday, Lady Alicent." He eyed her eagerly. "And just as beautiful as your dear mother was."

 Alicent could feel Rhaenyra rolling her eyes beside her. "Thank you, Lord Buckwell." She said. "Are any of your sons of marriageable age?"

Rhaeenyra dropped her fork and turned to stare at her.

"Uh..." Lord Buckwell now looked uneasy. It was not common for young ladies to enquire after their own marriage prospects but Alicent was ready to get it over and done with. Although her body was 18, her mind was 50 and she knew all she needed to know about men without any need to be bashful. "My son, Lond, is now just eleven."

Eleven. Alicent frowned. Even if she got betrothed she would still have to wait five years and who knew what would happen in those five years.

"Thank you." She put the spoon on the table heavily. "My best regards to your House."

As Lord Buckwell shuffled away, Rhaenyra pressed close. "What has gotten into you?" She was aghast. "You sounded like you were about to marry yourself off!"

Alicent looked her in the eye. "I am."

"What?!"

"It is every lady's duty, Rhaenyra." Alicent said airily. "My father will want me to be considering prospects now that I'm 18."

"I would have thought he'd want to organise the match himself."

"I cannot wait for that."

 Rhaenyra frowned into her orange cake. "You really are different today."

Alicent said nothing. It's all for your own good. She thought. 

"Prince Daemon of House Targaryen!"

Alicent felt a queasiness wash over her as she set eyes on the man who perhaps loathed her most in the world - or at least, had done.

The hall hushed and, although her heart was pounding, Alicent was amused at how Daemon had always quietened every room he entered just with his presence. One could call it respect, one could also call it fear.

She caught Rhaenyra's eyes follow Daemon across the room and sighed. How had she never anticipated the strength of her affections? 

"You should go and greet him." Alicent said.

Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows. "Why should I?"

Alicent reached over and took her hands. "Because perhaps you want to."

Rhaenyra frowned at their intertwined hands. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...well, who knows? It may be that the two of you are suited to each other." Alicent forced a smile. Daemon and Rhaenyra together had been the bane of her existence in her first life, but her resistance to it had also been the catalyst to the trouble between them. So in this life, she would cheer them on.

"Suited?"

"For marriage."

"What?" Rhaenyra pulled away. "He is my uncle, Alicent."

Alicent stared at her. "I know."

"How could you suggest such a thing?"

"How could I suggest it-?"

"Yes, it's..." Rhaenyra shook her head, the tips of her ears going red. "So strange that you would."

Now I'm getting called strange. Alicent sighed. Perhaps she should be more subtle.

She watched as Daemon and Viserys spoke. Her eyes left Daemon and lingered on her former husband. She hadn't spoken with him properly yet, just as in the old days there was now a high wall between them, there was no need for them to keep any company with each other. Before she had started visiting him in his room they had never had more than a few polite words of conversation exchanged. Seeing his face, lit with health, smiling at his brother, Alicent felt her heart ache.

"-been strange since this morning," Rhaenyra was saying when Alicent finally began paying attention. "You must have been thrown out of sorts because you're 18 now. I hope I am not the same when I turn 18."

The back of Daemon's shoulders seemed broader than she remembered. All of a sudden the prince turned towards her. His face, younger than she had last seen it, wore a very familiar expression: a mocking smile. He inclined his head in her direction, almost sarcastically. Yes. He was just the same as ever.

Alicent dropped her eyes, not returning his greeting, feeling a chill run down her spine. Please just leave me alone in this life.

"He's coming over." Rhaenyra remarked. "If you're so eager to get married you should ask him."

"He's already married." Alicent matched her joking tone. And I'd rather eat a scorpion.

Daemon stopped in front of their table. The menacing aura he exuded made Alicent physically recoil in her chair.

"Greetings, Princess, Lady Alicent." Daemon said. "I'm coming to wish you a fine nameday."

There was a silence. Alicent realised that they were both waiting for her to reply. 

"Oh," she said quietly. "Thank you."

"She is somewhat out of sorts today," Rhaenyra said. "I think she is depressed to be one year older."

"Is that so?" Daemon leaned down, his eyes steely. "I'm sure they will still know you as the comliest woman in King's Landing, Lady Alicent."

"Uncle, you're embarassing her." Rhaenyra said, with a touch of protectiveness.

Alicent stared at her hands. Just go away.

She remembered now, how he used to toy with her to raise her father's anger, as a way to get some petty vengence. She flushed, remembering how he had asked for her tokens at tourneys and flirted with her in the hallway, never taking a single action seriously. All this to finally dub her the Green Bitch.

Daemon was smirking, but there was something else behind it. Something that, when she raised her eyes to meet his, Alicent recognised and didn't recognise.

"I will come to claim you for a dance later to make up for my rudeness." Daemon said. And there it was, that edge again. 

Hatred.

Alicent froze in her seat. But why? To him, she was still the useless woman who was her father's pawn. There was no reason to hate her yet.

"She is unwell." Rhaenyra said quickly. Under the table, her hand found hers.

"Is she?" Daemon said quietly. "And mute too."

The doors to the hall opened again.

"The Lord Hand, Otto Hightower and Ser Gwayne Hightower!"

Alicent stopped to catch her breath as her father and brother entered.

"I'll leave you now." Daemon said, turning.

As he did, Alicent caught sight of an accessory that she had never seen him wear in her previous life. It appeared to be a necklace that wasn't made of Valariyan steel - but a coarse black string and, at the end of it, a small wooden hourglass.

Chapter Text

“To my dearest daughter on her eighteenth name day!” Otto raised his wine glass high and caught Alicent’s eye as he did so. He gave her a small, knowing smile.

Alicent turned her face away and smiled out at the hall, trying to control her expression.

An unwarranted memory of her sitting with her children at the high table, Otto on the other side, came to her all of a sudden and she wondered when the memories would finally be done with her.

Concentrate. She thought. 

Perhaps she had been mistaken. She had had that damn hourglass on her mind since this morning and her wits were a blur, her nerves racked. It would make perfect sense to think she had hallucinated the hourglass at Daemon’s neck.

He had now seated himself at the far end of the high table where she didn’t dare to look at him.

Alicent wasn’t left for long in her distraction.

“Daughter,” Otto came to stand before her. “Do not think I have forgotten your gift.”

Alicent looked up at him. Despite herself, seeing his face again did give her a certain comfort as much as it did anguish.

“Father.” She said, slowly. “Thank you.” All of a sudden, she wanted to embrace him but perhaps that would be too strange. Rhaenyra already thought there was something wrong with her as it was. 

Otto placed a small box before her, a wooden one that had been decorated with a skilled hand: intricate markings like the vines of a sweetpea, all curled like tangled thread. Opening the box revealed a pair of small white earrings, two round and perfect pearls.

Alicent almost cried out. Yes, these earrings - she knew them well. He had given them to her on her 18th nameday in her first life. She had worn them for her visits with King Viserys, through her pregnancy with Aegon, the nights she spent with bodily pains, her stomach and thighs attacked by shooting agony. They had been the ordinary pain of a first child, the Maesters had told her. Alicent had, one night, found such difficulty sleeping that she had taken the earrings out and thrown them from the window. The next day, full of regret, she had searched for them. It had been the first of Otto’s gifts to her that she had truly loved. She had never found them again.

 “Oh, I love them.” She said. She rose to her feet and, to everyone’s surprise, reached across the table and threw her arms around Otto’s neck. “Thank you, Father.”

Otto extracted himself, coughing uncomfortably. “Yes, well.” He straightened. “Your mother wore something very similar.”

“They will look very nice on you.” Rhaenyra smiled. “Do you want me to put them on?”

 “Alright.” Alicent said.

 The warmth of Rhaenyra’s hands undoing the clasps of her gold earrings and replacing them one by one with the pearls was so comforting that it reinvigorated Alicent’s courage.

She must not tarry. She must make sure the odds were on her side this time around.

 “Thank you, Princess.” She said.

Rhaenyra’s nose wrinkled. “Don’t call me ‘Princess’. It’s odd.”

Alicent clasped her hand underneath the table.

“Father,” she turned to Otto who had taken the seat on her left side with Gwayne beside him. “Might I speak to you later?”

Otto glanced at her. “How could I refuse you anything on an auspicious day like this?”

Rhaenyra pressed close. “You can ask him for anything as it’s your nameday. Think of something exciting.”

Alicent smiled at her but on the inside she was steel. She would be asking for her freedom.

.

Alicent had spent her childhood trying to please her father. She had never exactly been afraid of him, but they had never been particularly close either. She had always clung to her mother and, when the Lady Hightower had died, Otto had started to pay more attention to her. This may have had to do with the fact that, as Alicent grew, it was always said that she and her mother had a marked resemblance to each other.

Otto had never been cruel to Alicent, but he had never had any scruples when it came to pushing her around the chess board to achieve his dream: the Hightower name remembered in glory. 

By her teenagehood, she and Otto had found that they had some common ground. They were both self-preservational, analytical and cowardly. Where Alicent had always resented her own cowardice, Otto had used it to his advantage and became a master at slipping into the shadows.

Gwayne, her dear brother, had had his own Hightower vices: fearful and arrogant. But he wasn’t afraid to love his family. It was something that Otto had spent his life denying himself and Alicent, toward the end, had tortured herself with, like a rat caught in a vice trap being strangled alive by its own dying struggle. 

We make the Targaryens look entirely functional. Alicent thought as she followed Otto and Gwayne to the Hand’s Chamber to talk. As the light died on her first day in her second life, she couldn’t help but feel wistful towards her family. How she would like to fall into them and cry, tell them everything. But she dared not.

“So what is it that my daughter would have with me?” Otto seated himself upon entering, his high-backed chair that served him as a throne a perfect metaphor.

“I’ll get the fire started.” Gwayne said. “It’s chill in here, is it not, sister?”

 This is nothing. Alicent thought. 

“I’m fine.” She said.

 “Still.” Gwayne busied himself at the mantle. “Any tinder, Father?”

 “It’s there somewhere.” Otto said. “Alicent?”

 “I wish to marry.” Alicent said, flatly.

 Several books came thumping down as Gwayne accidentally knocked a pile to the floor.

 Otto only inclined his head sidelong. “What?”

 “Oh, Father, your books…” Gwayne knelt to the debris.

 “Just pick them up, boy.”

 “It may come as a shock,” Alicent said, rather generously she thought. “But I am eighteen and ready for matrimony.”

 “Daughter,” Otto’s voice was ice. “You’re not-”

 “I am not with child.”

 “Thank the gods.” Gwayne muttered from the floor. 

 “You must tell me if you are.”

 Alicent frowned. “I am not.”

 “Because there are some disturbing rumors.”

 “What rumors?”

 “You,” Gwayne said, slowly. “And…Prince Daemon. They say he is over-familiar at times.”

 Alicent was reminded that there had been rumors of that sort going around at the time, no doubt started by Daemon’s men to get the desired rise out of Otto.

 “There is no world in which I would consider Daemon a prospect.” She said, fighting to keep her voice level. “He is the Prince, after all.”

 “And a constant thorn in my side.” Otto said, with bitterness. “He undermines me at every turn to the Small Council. Trying to get His Grace on side with those animals he calls soldiers storming every street in King’s Landing.”

 “Father,” Alicent cut in. “Will you consider my question?”

 “I am.” Otto Hightower said. “I will inform you when I have a suitable candidate for your hand.”

 Alicent folded her hands. “Please select one within the week.”

 “Sister!” Gwayne shot to his feet. 

 “Concentrate on lighting the fire, Gwayne.”

 “Why the haste?” Otto said, his voice deceptively gentle. “Do you tire of being the Princess’s playmate?”

 “It’s not that.”

 “If you wish, you may return to Oldtown for a season.”

 “I-” Alicent knew she could not just dither in Oldtown, she would be wasting precious time. Also, in truth, she had no wish to visit the town in which she had been imprisoned for so long even if it was her home. “I am simply asking for what any lady would want.”

 “I do not know why you would be asking so suddenly if you weren’t trying to conceal a bastard child or if you were tired of Princess Rhaenyra’s company.” Otto rose to his feet and approached her. “Forgive me for speaking plainly.”

 “I am not…either of those things.” Alicent couldn’t believe that she had traversed the boundaries of time just to lose another argument with her father like she was a child again. 

 “Good.” Otto said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Purity is a woman’s best quality.”

 Alicent bit her tongue. Purity had never done her any favours, that was for sure.

 “When the time is right, I will wed you. For now, there is no one that I would so easily lose my daughter to.”

 “What of Jason Lannister?” Alicent said. “He is yet without a wife.”

 “Alicent, you surely are not so desperate for marriage.” Gwayne looked horrified.

 “Jason Lannister is a fool.” Otto said quietly. “As you know.”

 “The Lannisters are one of the oldest families in the Realm.” Alicent said. “And the wealthiest, I’ll warrant.”

 “Gods be good.” Gwayne whispered.

 “I will make the appropriate selection,” Otto repeated calmly. “When the time is right.”

 Alicent was frustrated. “My chances will not be any better a year or so down the line!”

 Otto looked at her steadily. “You may be surprised, my dear.”

 Alicent felt a sudden chill looking into his eyes. She did not know what he meant and, for some reason, it succeeded in frightening her. 

.

Alicent rose the next morning feeling an appropriate amount of defeat. Her plan had been rebuffed and now she was back at the starting point, wondering how she would navigate the the coming year, which would be one of upheaval.

The air was cool and promised rain. Alicent let herself be dressed in heavier material: wool rather than silk. She pulled an overcoat over her shoulders and went to sit by herself in the pavilion near the stables.

 The gentle commotion of the rain, whispering and humming on the diamond-shaped slats, the smell of hay: it calmed her. 

 At the end of the autumn, the Queen would die. 

 Alicent had never been quite sure how exactly Aemma died. Viserys had never spoken of it, had practically sunk into himself whenever his beloved first wife was mentioned. Alicent had never had the full story from either her Father or the Maesters. She had simply perished on the childbed, as far as she knew, as many women did.

 As soon as Queen Aemma died, her father’s master plan would spring into action and Alicent did not know how she would avoid it. Her marriage to Viserys would put her inescapably in the path to Rhaenyra’s claim. 

 “You,” She rose to her feet, collaring a stable boy making his way across her path. “Saddle me a horse.”

 He blinked at her. “It’s not fair conditions out there today, m’lady, very muddy and-”

 “At once.” Alicent said, coming down from the pavilion. “I am not afraid of some rain.”

In truth, Alicent wasn’t a strong rider at all but she wanted to be doing something with her hands. She had, in the past, mounted Gwayne’s steeds under his careful instruction and, once at the castle, had been taken on a riding party a time or two.

 Most lady's companions go riding with their fellow ladies, but as her own Princess preferred dragonback, Alicent had little occasion to do this.

 She pulled Rhaenyra’s gift from yesterday from her pocket, a badly-embroidered handkerchief, and used it to wipe sweat from her lip.

 They chose her a sturdy mount that seemed calm as it left the yard and took the castle road towards the paddock. It made little noise, but sweated profusely, steam coming from its flanks, the sound of nature, birdsong and leaves, punctuated by the heavy clop of hooves.

King’s Landing, was not known for its greenery but the castle enjoyed many rolling acres of grassland, orchards, the sweeping yarrow-infested valleys before the edge of the black cliff faces could be seen. It came with keeping a castle of dragonriders: they wanted somewhere to ride.

 As Alicent traced the edge of the paddock woods, she became emboldened by her secure seat and urged the horse along faster.

 “Come now, on. On!” She sank her ankles into her horse’s flanks. Out of amusement she said, “ Dohaeris!” And then felt embarrassed that she had said it out loud. Rhaenyra would have laughed at her.

 The horse picked up its pace and began to canter along the green edge of the paddock woods. The dirt path dipped and the canter became a gallop, the speed of it made Alicent gasp with pleasure. 

The woods fell away, revealing a valley of short, flat grass. Perfect to race horses. Raindrops fell on her hands as she smacked the reins.

 “Forward!” She cried, lifting herself up onto her feet as both stayed clenched in the thick, leather stirrups.

Something from above ended her reverie. An unnaturally high-pitched whistle. The hair on the back of her neck stood. She knew that call.

The dragon swooped low as if hunting her. Its shadow fell over Alicent and her horse like an early nightfall, a smell that could only be described as burnt leather permeated the fresh air and a strange sort of heat found her skin. Alicent imagined that this must be what it was like for so many soldiers the Targaryen dragons found in battle just before that soldier was burned to a crisp or skewered by talons. 

Although Alicent’s horse had been calm and reliable until then, the sound and smell of the approaching dragon had triggered a primal fear in him. He shook his neck wildly, displacing Alicent’s elbows so she was forced back heavily into the seat of the saddle.

Another predator’s whistle and Alicent gasped, feeling the dragon almost at her back. Looking behind her was a terrible mistake. The sheer size of the beast made her stomach knot and her knees weaken. The incredible length of its body cruised above her with what must have been a few miles’ distance but what felt like a razor’s edge.

Alicent’s horse let out a strangled sound and bucked its back legs out, dislodging Alicent once and for all.

She managed to tuck her arm in to break her fall, her mouth met the dirt and she tasted the mud that she had been warned about. The shock of the ground was so sudden that Alicent felt no pain but she did feel her nose burst with a warm stream of blood. 

Slowly, Alicent picked herself up from the ground. Her arm was painful but the rest of her body moved as normal. She put a hand to her face and it came away streaked with grime and a bright red smear. 

The dragon landed ahead of her. The horse disappeared wildly into the edge of the woods and the dragon swivelled its long, worm-like neck to follow it with a hunter’s keen gaze, making an almost pigeon-like sound in its throat.

Alicent knew the dragon. Caraxes. And so, she knew its rider.

She summoned her strength to push herself to her feet. She should leave before he got to her. She couldn’t imagine dealing with him at that moment.

 It was no use, though. She turned and began to head shakily back towards the castle when she heard him approach, his long strides easily catching up to her. 

 “Lady Alicent.” He said. “I saw you take a rather unfortunate fall.”

 Alicent set her teeth. Of course he would not miss an opportunity to gloat. 

 She turned to face him. “I did, my Prince.” She said.

 Daemon, his slicked silver hair long and tied, inclined his head at the sight of her blood. “Yes, my apologies. Perhaps do not ride in the dragon training field next time.”

 Alicent sighed. “I did not know…I didn’t remember that this was a dragon training field. Forgive me.”

 “You must clean yourself up before you go.” Daemon approached her. “Do you have a handkerchief on you?”

 Alicent took a step back. “I will clean myself when I return.”

 “It’ll do no good you showing up with a bloody nose and a face full of dirt.” Daemon was smirking and Alicent wished something heavy would fall on him. “Come. Give me your handkerchief.”

 “I cannot.” Alicent said, taking another step back. “The only one I have was a nameday gift from Rhaenyra and far too precious to be stained.”

Daemon’s gaze was icy. “You are so very close with the Princess, aren’t you, Lady Alicent? What would she do without you?” 

Alicent searched him with her eyes for any sign of yesterday’s hourglass but found no evidence of one. She really had been imagining it. 

 “I will take my leave.” She curtsied.

 “Wait.” Daemon moved his sleeve over his hand and approached her. “If you’ll allow me, my lady.”

Alicent stilled under his touch like an animal caught by its tail. His fingers gripped her chin so tightly that it was almost malicious. His skin was unnaturally warm, like a dragon’s hide. His hands smelt of dragon. He wiped the blood from her face with his sleeve, his hooded eyes drilling into her. Alicent tensed as he drew the flat of his wide hand across her lips, sheathed only by the thin fabric.

 “There will be no lasting damage to your face.” His words almost sounded like a threat. 

 “Can you,” Alicent said, barely able to speak from the pressure of his grip. “Please let go?”

Daemon seemed to be enjoying his heavy-handed grip on her cheeks. Alicent felt an unwanted blush rise up her neck. She was humiliated when his smirk grew.

He let go. “As the Commander of the City Watch, it is my duty to make sure simple girls like yourself are protected.” He said. “Do not venture out here again without escort. Is that understood?”

 “Yes, my Prince.” Alicent whispered and turned her back on him.

She could feel his gaze linger on her even as she trudged away.

Chapter Text

There had been a corner of the woods that Alicent had often frequented in her first life. An impossibly tall oak tree had been hit by lightning and the ensuing fire that sawn it in half, blackening a league of berry bushes and wildflowers before a dark and heavy rain had extinguished the flames. The gap left by the lightning strike had just been big enough to nestle into and, if one was slight enough, there was enough room to put your feet to the desecrated bones of the trunk and hear the endless vibration of the sea that crashed and gullied underneath the cliff faces and into secret caves underneath the earth, eroded into the rock. 

Alicent found her way back to the tree down the familiar bracken path and stood before its great height. It was no longer cracked in half but whole. In this second life, the tree was still standing.

This tree is much like me, she thought. Before I was broken, I stood tall also.

Alicent placed her hand upon the cool bark, her other injured arm nestled against her stomach. “We have both returned, old friend.” She said. “It is good to see you again.”

The lightning had struck the tree the same year she had fallen pregnant with Aegon.

Alicent wondered if the lightning would fall the same as it had in the past; if the tree was unable to escape its destiny.

The idea that the future was inevitable had occurred to her fleetingly since coming to terms with her new reality, but she pushed that fear away. 

If Otto would not marry her in time, she would be his pawn once Queen Aemma had died. So, she must be unmarriagable by that time and, as the tourney to celebrate the babe would be in the late autumn, she must figure out what to do quickly.

Alicent fidgeted, digging her nails into her fingers, thinking. Blood started to seep once again from her nose and she wiped at it distractedly. 

Should she elope with the next knight she saw?

You will not run away.  

 Alicent chewed on a hangnail. No. That wouldn’t do. Anyway, her father would simply drag her back. He would still try and push her onto a grieving Viserys if she was spoiled.

I do not know why you would be asking so suddenly if you weren’t trying to conceal a bastard child.

Alicent smiled at the very idea, then her smile faded.

A bastard child.

If she was with child by the time Aemma died, it would be impossible to conceal by the time King Viserys would begin to be hounded to remarry and Otto had a chance to implement his plans. Even he wouldn’t be so nakedly ambitious as to present his pregnant daughter for the King’s selection and, anyway, the Small Council would certainly object.

Alicent’s finger left her mouth. It was such a ridiculously simple and vulgar plan that only her father could have given it to her. 

She would, of course, be reprimanded by her family, despised by Otto, pitied by the ladies at court and banished back to Oldtown to raise her child in the privacy of the keep’s walls. In time, she would be quietly married off to a lord who valued her position but was not so influential as to object to a ‘ruined wife’. It was Otto’s own fault anyway; if he had simply married her when she had asked he might have saved her honor and his.

And Rhaenyra would forgive her. Rhaenyra, who may one day sire her own bastards if that same story repeated itself, would understand.

All she need do is find a man to do the job. Alicent was no longer romantic and didn’t wish for any kind of romance to complicate her plans. She needed something simple and efficient.

She needed a whore.

.

 “Gods,” Rhaenyra studied her face closely at dinner. They had taken their seats in the sandstone great hall again among a few stray nobles who had stayed the night on. They were eating leftover cake from yesterday’s celebrations: one of Rhaenyra’s favourite pastimes. “How did you get that bruise?”

Alicent had cleaned her face well after scaring a few maids with her sudden bedraggled appearance. All the visible evidence of her fall this morning was a purple smile-shaped bruise underneath her left eye which had been closest to the ground. Her arm, though it still smarted, didn’t appear to be broken. Even so, it hurt when she bent it.

 “I fell while riding,” she paused, then concluded that she didn’t see why she shouldn’t tell Rhaenyra what happened. “Caraxes startled my horse and I fell.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth fell open. “And my uncle was riding?”

 “Yes.” Alicent said. “It’s fine.”

 “No it isn’t.” Rhaenyra looked indignant. “If I were you I would have slapped him.”

 “He may have borne that from you, but I fear I wouldn’t have escaped his wrath.” Alicent smiled. “He apologised.”

 “Not very sincerely, I’ll warrant.”

 She was right, it had been more of a sneer, but Alicent couldn’t be concerned with Daemon and his antics now. She was too busy thinking of what she would need to do to slip outside of the castle walls and avoid detection. She would do as noble men did whenever the fancy took them and enter a world that was forbidden to all noble women: the whore house. 

Alicent herself had never walked down ‘the silk road’, even in her first life, but the whore houses should be easy enough to find. She would bring a knife, good coin and dress as a maid from the castle. Now, where would she find a maid’s dress? She supposed that she could not simply ask for one. 

 “Lady Alicent.”

Alicent was startled to see Jason Lannister looming over her. She knew it was him as he dressed so differently from his twin: he was not a man, in any case, known for subtlety. A roaring lion clawed air on his flowing cape and he now smiled down at her with what she thought was an overly familiar smile.

 “Lord Lannister.” She said. “Good evening.”

 “Good evening.” His smile grew. “I came particularly to see how you were...keeping.”

 Rhaenyra looked from Jason to Alicent in something like disgust. “Good evening, my lord.” She said.

 “Princess.” Jason cast her a fleeting glance before turning back to Alicent. “I did not get the chance to wish you a pleasant eighteenth nameday, my lady. I regret not having had that pleasure.”

Alicent returned his smile, racking her brains desperately to remember if she had ever had this kind of friendly relationship with Jason Lannister before the Dance ever began. She certainly remembered him well from the Small Council, but they had only ever exchanged polite and distant words. “I thank you.” She said.

 “I wonder,” Jason Lannister said. “Might I…take a moment of your time?”

 Alicent looked at Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra returned her gaze. I will save you if you want me to. Her eyes seemed to be saying. 

 “I will be right back, Princess.” Alicent decided that she should indulge him. If she filibustered there was always the risk that he would seek her out later and derail her plans.

 She and Jason stepped out on the balcony together, the floor-length gold curtains rustling. Rhaenyra craned her neck to look incredulously at the two, her eyebrows high.

 “My lady.” Jason said, puffing out his chest and looked out at the lights of the town in a way that was far too posed to be taken seriously. “Forgive me. I must have startled you with my boldness.”

 “Not at all, my lord.”

 “It is not my intention to startle you. I wished to speak to you in a way that would protect your feminine delicacy.” 

 Alicent squinted at the side of his face. “...Thank you.” 

 “I am pleased to say that I have the consent of your good brother to be speaking to you in this way.”

 Suspiciously, Alicent swept her gaze back to the great hall. There, in the corner, looking sheepish and avoiding looking her way, was Gwayne hunched in the corner over a wine glass. “I see.”

I might have to kill him.

 “It’s just that,” Jason continued. “I have always been specially conscious to avoid wounding the feelings of young ladies. Many have been interested in wooing me, as you can imagine. Being the Lord of Casterly Rock, I suppose this isn’t at all surprising.” He cast his eyes back to her, looking her up and down. “You, of all people, would not be surprised by this.”

Alicent was too dumbfounded to speak.

 “I am entrusted with a sacred line,” he started up again. “A line that goes back to the very dawn of Westeros. My great-great grandfather-”

 “My lord,” Alicent snapped. “What exactly has my brother said to you?”

 Jason broke off his speech. He considered her quickly, then coughed, appearing to feign some embarrassment. “Only that,” his voice lowered to a murmur. “You asked your father to approach me with a betrothal.”

 “Indeed, I had not thought that you and my father had such strong feelings for each other.”

 Jason blinked at her twice before his face became a mask of horror. “You mistake me, my lady,” he said, swiftly. “It was a your a betrothal between you and I, of course.”

 “I see.” Alicent sighed. I suppose I brought this on myself by mentioning his name. Surely Gwayne could not think I was actually enamoured with him. “Lord Lannister, you honor me. I just don’t really know if-”

 “The Hightowers and the Lannisters have some common ground, I think.” Jason appeared to be ignoring her. “We both sit on the Small Council and we both influence the decisions of the Crown. An alliance between us would not be unspeakable.”

 “That’s very romantic.” Alicent said, flatly.

 Jason chuckled, shaking his head in false modesty. “I know. I am often told I am quite the romantic,” he drew a pink rose from his sleeve and handed it to her. “I will give you this, as a mark of affection.”

 Alicent held the rose stem between her thumb and index finger like it was a mouse attempting to wriggle free. “Thank you.”

 “I must first discuss with my family before I make any commitment,” Jason said. His eyes would not stop roving over her body. “I will first make sure that, forgive me, there are no more superior options open to me. But then,” he leaned forward and Alicent stiffened at the sensation of his breath on her ear. “I hope to approach your father with joyful intentions.”

  Gods be good. Alicent forced herself to simply smile. “I don’t know if my brother forgot to mention it, Lord Lannister, but my Father has no intention of betrothing me anytime soon. He told me so himself.”

 “A marriage into my House is the best a woman in your position could expect.” Jason straightened. “And, as you are newly eighteen, you must make haste to marry before you reach, forgive me, expiry .”

Alicent had previously supposed that a quick and easy marriage to a lord like Jason would be preferable to enduring the Dance and years of imprisonment but, in that moment, she questioned that theory. 

“I must return to the Princess, forgive me,” Alicent curtsied quickly and turned to leave.

 “Lady Alicent,”

 Alicent unwillingly turned back to him and he tapped at his collar. “Wear the rose I gave you when you dine. It will ward others off as it’s a symbol of my courtship.”

Alicent managed to smile and nod. The rose’s thorns bit into her palm as she crushed it into her hand.

She took her seat back next to Rhaenyra, who immediately pressed close to her. “What did he say?” She hissed.

 “He…wanted to speak to me about my father.” Alicent couldn’t bring herself to repeat the encounter. “Nothing untoward.”

 “Thank the gods,” Rhaenyra snorted. “Can you imagine if he was attempting to court you? He forgets himself entirely.”

 “Yes.” Alicent gritted her teeth. “Imagine.”

.

The only thing that was unfolding in her favour was that it was a rainless night with low clouds that were wisps of velvet purple moving calmly across the sky as if on a slipstream. The night was perfect for an escape; but nothing had proven easy.

Alicent had avoided the eyes of the maids snuffing the lanterns and the rat catchers setting their traps to stalk to where she knew the spare linens were kept. The closet was unlocked and full of embroidered cover sheets for the bed and nothing else thar would serve as a disguise. She couldn’t believe she had lived for most of her life in a place where she barely knew where anything domestic was kept. 

She supposed she could, if she wanted, simply mount a horse and ride out of the gates before anyone would stop her - but then she would be sought out within the hour and she needed more time in case the task proved more difficult.

And she shouldn’t just seek out one conquest. She could take several to increase her chances. 

Her cheeks burned at the thought but the rest of her remained cold. It was just the animal act, the same she had performed with her husband many times and never felt pleasure. This would be be no different and it would ultimately not only save her life but everyone else’s too. 

Finally, Alicent had found a knight’s hooded cape hanging inconpiciously on a hook near the Guardroom. It wasn’t emblazoned and was possibly meant for any soldier taking the night watch who would be stationed in the courtyard. It was muddied at the hem and torn at the shoulder: but it would cover her.

Alicent scurried back to her chambers and hid the cape underneath her bed. She dismissed her maids early and told them that she was suffering with a headache and wished to sleep the night through in peace.

Once the footsteps in the hall had died down and the castle settled into sleep, Alicent sprung alive. She let down her hair and tied it simply. She then covered it with a shawl from her dresser. Her dress, clearly one of a lady, could not be helped but the cape suitably disguised not only her identity but her gender. The bulk of it hid the feminine nature of her frame, the slightness of her shoulders. 

Alicent armed herself with a finger-long knife that she kept in her sewing box for cutting thread and a purse of coins: all the money that she had. 

Now to escape without being seen.

The castle had many exits and entrances, but it was also strictly guarded and each cart coming in or out was examined. 

Alicent considered and finally decided that escaping from the laundry exit where the castle’s sheets and clothes went to the pump maids and then the dressmakers to be washed and then darned was her best strategy. It would provide her a straight road into King’s Landing and was often used by those who worked at the castle as an easy access point.

Alicent steeled her nerves and went to leave, intending to skirt the hallway and take the servant’s corridor. The handle turned before she touched it.

 “Sister?”

Alicent’s foot slammed against the door before it could open. “Gwayne!” She barked, hunched over in her disguise. “What do you want?”

 “Will you not let me in?”

 “I…” She swallowed. “I am…dressing.”

 “I suppose you do not wish to speak to me.” Gwayne said glumly. “Alicent, I had no intention of siccing Jason Lannister on you. It was a blunder.”

 “It’s fine. Don’t-”

 “It’s not! I do not wish to see you marry that ninny.” Gwayne sighed heavily in a manner which reminded her of herself and her father. “I merely mentioned to a fellow knight that you had requested father to marry you and then said that you spoke his name and he overheard. Once he questioned me, I confirmed it which perhaps I shouldn’t have done. It was…it’s just so out of character for you to suddenly ask to be wed and then mention a man by name. For a moment I thought maybe you did prefer him-”

 “Gwayne.” Alicent said, exasperated love filling her chest. “Do not fret. I can see how it might have happened.”

 “He did not harass you about it, did he?”

 “He…only approached me to try and woo me.”

 She heard Gwayne pause. She could imagine his stony expression. “I will challenge him to a duel.”

Despite herself, Alicent burst out laughing. “Gwayne!” She put a hand to her face. “Enough!”

 “What?” He sounded dismayed. “You do not think I would win?”

 “No, indeed, I’m sure you would.”

 Alicent wanted to open the door and fling her arms around him, but she couldn’t. Her children’s deaths in her previous life had broken her heart, but Gwayne’s had broken her spirit. Her brave older brother who loved her dashed into the earth and trodden upon by hoardes of soldiers, his body lost in the mud. It had been too much to bear.

 “I…must sleep.” She said. “We will speak tomorrow.”

 “Tomorrow I am headed back to Oldtown.” He said. “Come, it isn’t so late. I will pour you an ale like old times.”

 “I really can’t.” Alicent said, forcing herself not to abandon her plan. She must do what she had planned to do now and not risk any further delay. She was to do what she did partly to save Gwayne from his fate as well.

 “Very well.” Gwayne said. He sounded as if he was masking his sadness but was putting brightness in his voice for her benefit. “We will speak again soon, sister. I will write to you.”

 “And I you.”

 Alicent closed her door and waited, perched on the edge of her bed. When she was sure he had gone, she opened it a crack to check. The hallway was empty. 

 Taking her chance, she descended the stairs, holding the hood over her face with one hand. The arm that she had fallen on that morning began to throb. She hoped it would get no worse as the night endured. 

 Alicent’s heart pounded as she avoided all lines of sight. The castle was echoing and wide, but full of corners in which she could duck. The real challenge would be getting through the courtyard without being stopped. 

 The night time activity of the castle was something that often went unseen by the royalty and nobles that lived within it: knights jostling around makeshift tables, playing cards, stable boys drinking mead leftover from the kitchens, maids who had already performed all their duties for the day taking the time to flirt, to gossip, to let their hair from their caps. 

 Alicent found an obliging corner to nestle in and surveyed the castle’s laundry exit. There were two guards standing on either side but they didn’t seem to have much care for checking who was going in and out. As she thought, it was less a laundry exit and more a general access road to King’s Landing as castle staff weaved in and out. 

 Perhaps she could make it if she hurried.

 Alicent stood and began to make her way across the yard, keeping her head down.

 “You!” 

 She flinched, feeling as if the call had been for her but not daring to look.

 “Knave! Halt!”

 She stopped unwillingly and looked up to see two guards that were not marked with Targaryen dragons or City Watch gold cloaks but Lannister lions. It seemed that her ongoing torment from all that was Lannister would be ongoing. 

 “Now there’s a man who could light my pipe for me.” One of the guards said. His face was reddened by drink. The other who accompanied him was thinner, sober as a judge and regarding Alicent’s hooded figure with suspicion. 

 The other guard threw a tinder box in her direction. “Light me up.”

 Alicent fumbled to strike a flame, hoping to light it quickly and be done with the interaction. 

 “Why do you hide your face?”

 Alicent shook her head. Perhaps they will think I’m mute.

 “He’s probably deformed,” the other guard said, leaning forward so his pipe could be lit. “All the ones who cover their faces like that are deformed.”

 “If you really are deformed then prove it.”

 The other guard slapped his chest. “You cannot ask him that, Regan. They have their deformed working as spies these days.”

 The thinner guard named Regan narrowed his dark eyes. “He is still suspicious.”

 “Why do you care?” The other muttered. “It’s not as if this is Casterly Rock.” Once the flame was lit, the guard made a waving gesture. “Go.”

 Filled with relief, Alicent bowed and turned once more towards the exit. 

 “Are you questioning this man?”

 The voice was unwelcome and familiar.

 Both Lannister guards sprang to attention and the larger dropped his pipe. “My lord!”

 Lord Jason Lannister stood in the courtyard, hands at his hips looking Alicent’s disguise up and down. Although he wore a decidedly different expression than he had done earlier it was no less annoying. “Who are you?”

 “We- we were just ascertaining that, my lord!” The larger guard stammered. “I was just asking this man for his identification but it appears he is mute.”

 “I daresay he is.” Jason raised an eyebrow. “Maybe one of Larys’s goons. Alright, man, show us your face before you leave and display some reason for your presence.”

 Alicent wondered if it would be at all smart to run.

 “At once!” Jason said.

 “The Lord gives you a command!” The guard snapped. 

 Alicent moved an inch closer to Jason’s face and lifted the edge of her hood. “It’s me, my lord.” She said.

 Jason’s face went from irritation to bewilderment. “You…”

 “It’s Alicent.” Alicent whispered. “Do not give anyone my identity.”

 “Al…” Jason trailed off, his eyes wide. He looked from her to the guards and quickly shooed them off. “Go. Go now.”

 “My lord?”

 “Go!”

 The guards glanced at each other but turned and left promptly. Jason turned back to Alicent in shock.

 “Lady Alicent!” He said.

 “Please lower your voice.”

 “Forgive-! L-Lady Alicent, ” he whispered. “What are you doing?! By the gods, you are dressed like a man!”

 If this doesn’t convince him not to marry me then nothing will. Alicent thought.

 “I am…simply put, I am going out.” Alicent said. “I so rarely get to see anything of King’s Landing.” She dropped her voice to a simpering tone. “Sometimes I just so wish to live as a normal woman and be among the smallfolk.”

 She studied him to see if the baby-voice was working. Jason was wrinkling his nose.

 “You do?” He said, clearly disgusted. “ Why ?” 

 Alicent changed tactics. “In truth, it is embarassing to say.” She said, putting a hand to her chest. “I was going out to…buy a token. For you, my lord. In return for the one that you so generously gave me.”

 Jason’s face cleared. “Really?”

 “Yes,” Alicent lied. “I thought I might buy you a, a um…a brooch. A brooch that you could wear just as I wear your rose.”

 Jason shook his head. “Lady Alicent,” he said. “You must truly be in love with me.” He broke into what he must have felt was a seductive smile. “You little minx, you.”

 Alicent’s skin crawled. She returned his smile. “So, you see, I must go.”

 “And I will accompany you.”

 Her smile vanished. “What?”

 “I cannot allow you to leave without a male escort.” He said, beaming. “It would be unseemly and,” he cast his eyes around to check no one was eavesdropping. “It will give us some time. Some time to be acquainted .”

 “Yes,” Alicent ground out. “How pleasing.”

 Jason extended a hand. “After you, my lady.”

.

As Alicent walked alongside what may well be her future husband, she considered how often Fate had played cruel tricks on her in her first life. From the childishness of the betrayal that had sparked the beginning of the rift between her and Rhaenyra; to the death of Rhaenyra’s son at the hands of her own, before that Aemond’s eye…

There had been times when she had truly believed that the gods hated her.

This, too, was one such time.

 “I suppose it is hard to convey to a woman what exactly a man feels when he faces battle,” Jason was saying. “Although I, myself, have never been into battle I would consider myself more knowledgeable on the topic than the average-”

The roar of the city was welcome to Alicent as it drowned out Jason’s voice, her own doubts, even the heavy beat of her heart.

The lacing streets were covered in shit and smallfolk weaved between them on the cluttered path, all in such different moods, in strange dress, in mismatched colours and holding random objects that Alicent wished she could have taken the time to study each one. The acrid smell of the streets was made burning charcoal by the city lamps. Vendors screamed at the passing crowds, drunkards stumbled into the darkness. 

It was almost as if they were celebrating something, but in fact the night spelled chaos. During the day King’s Landing was a functioning hive of misconduct, but at night it was raucous. 

Alicent had heard that things in the city had both improved and gotten worse since Daemon had become Commander of the City Watch: it depended on whose testimony one was listening to. 

Jason’s hand found her waist through her heavy cloak. “Forgive me,” he smiled, pressing into her ear. “I do not wish to lose you.”

Alicent wondered how on earth she would escape this fool.

 “We needn’t go far, Lady Alicent.” Jason said. “Here, look. There is a small market to your right where you can purchase my token .”

 “Yes,” Alicent unlatched herself from his grip. “Please stay here, I will be right back.”

 The vendors reached for her as she passed. There were so many misshapen and curious items glinting and piled on the tables before her that she stopped in her tracks to examine them, causing the vendors to scream in her face.

 “Real lapis from Li Ti!”

 “Gold earrings for your lady lover!”

 “Crushed garlic for teeth!”

 “The finest blade! Finer even than Valariayn steel!”

 Alicent looked over her surroundings and caught the eye of Jason who was watching her hawkishly from a distance. She smiled and him and he nodded.

 Why is my life never easy? Alicent rubbed her temple, trying to think of what to do. 

Next to the fountain that burbled up brown and green water, a man was arguing with a Gold Cloak about something. Their exchange had become so heated that more than one person was looking their way and whispering, laughing, some were taking bets.

 Alicent ignored them. The man was clearly a drunkard, he was shouting something into the sky, stumbling over himself. The Gold Cloak attempted to snatch the front of the man’s shirt but he put his hands before him and shoved the Gold Cloak straight into the fountain.

 The onlookers all began to laugh at the sight of the Gold Cloak struggling in the dirty water. The Gold Cloak righted himself and then drew his sword.

 “You, vermin!” He snarled. “And every man who laughed!”

 With one hefty thrust, the tip of his blade disappeared into the drunkard’s mouth and came out the other end. Alicent could not stop herself from staring at the bloodied, glinting tooth of the weapon as it entered and exited.

 “Run!”

Alicent looked over at where Jason was looking on at the altercation in shock, reaching for his own sword shakily. The crowd began to jostle. Someone smacked into Alicent from behind and suddenly she was spinning in the melee of smallfolk as they tried to escape the scene to prevent getting caught by the Gold Cloak’s sword.

Her chance had come.

Alicent whisked herself out of the knot and fled down an alley to the left, so intent on escaping Jason’s sight that she didn’t see where she was going. She tripped over a man lying on the floor and he swore at her, grabbing at her legs.

 “Watch where you’re fucking going!”

Alicent slammed into the wall with her bad arm and cried out. Righting herself quickly, she continued running. Her arm was now pulsing with arrows of pain. 

She continued running until she reached a quiet street of low, flat houses and could rest against a wall. 

She cradled her arm, close to tears.

 At least this disaster of a night couldn’t get any worse. 

She looked around her to see how far she had come. Although this side of town was calmer, she felt on edge at the sight of shadowed figures coming in and out of doorways. She felt eyes staring at her from the alleys. She reached to pull her hood down further over her face.

 “Mister?”

 Alicent looked up at the top window of the house she was standing beneath.

 “This ain’t the pillow house,” the young girl said, a plait of long gold hair falling over her shoulder. She pointed to a house opposite, a door that was painted red. “That’s the pillow house.”

Alicent breathed out slowly. “Thank you!” She called up.

Before she even got to the door, it swung open. A broad woman in purple with long black hair stood in the doorway like a sentry. She fixed Alicent with an assessing look.

 “Dear customer,” she said. “What be your pleasure?”

 Alicent fought for a reply. “I…” she removed her hood. “I am looking for a, a man.”

 The woman nodded slowly, not seeming the least bit surprised as Alicent had expected her to. “How young?”

 Alicent balked at the question. “I do not seek out young boys.”

 “If you want a grown man, try the docks.” The woman sniffed. “Pretty thing like you can have her cunny savaged in any of these fine streets.”

 “I am looking for a safer bed to lie in.” Alicent said, stiffly. “If that’s not you then please point me in the direction of what I seek.”

 The woman paused, considering. “You have coin?”

 Alicent touched the purse at her belt. “I do.”

 “And I am guessing you’re something of a fine lady.”

 “I am no one.” Alicent said.

 The woman snorted. “That's what they all say.” She held the red door wide. “Come in, my lady. I think I can find you a stallion who would gladly wet his wick in you.”

.

The inside of the whore house was not as dingy and frightening as Alicent had imagined. It was dimly-lit, of course, but the air smelled of a woman’s floral perfume the kind that the ladies at court had their maids grind with a pestle and add oil to. The floor was strewn with thick, heavy rugs and each chamber was shielded from view by several thick curtains hanging together and fur hides that had been thrown across the wooden rungs. 

The house was full of the sounds of pleasure: moans and cries, screams.

Alicent felt the old conservative nature of her former self nag at her. The Faith of the Seven had often referred to these dens of iniquity and warned any from entering lest they be tainted with their sin. The only pleasure one should derive should be the one found worshipping the one god with seven faces and sex was only to be performed between a man and his wife.

These preachings had really been for the women. Lords and Sers would nod at the preachings and then visit the whore house after dinner. It had certainly, Alicent recalled with some chagrin, been her sons’ favourite pastime. 

 “I have a chamber free.” The woman said. “Wait in there. I will bring you a man. Coin first, though.” She held out her hand.

 “How much?”

 “Depends on how much you want.”

 “Find me two or three good men.” Alicent said. “And I will give you everything I have.”

 The woman’s eyes glinted. “Well, I cannot guarantee their ‘goodness’ but if it’s well-endowed men you’re after tonight, I think we can find something to suit your tastes.”

 Alicent nodded shortly. “Fine.” As she dug into her purse and the curtain in front of her slipped open. Her eyes, now accustomed to the lighting, settled on the one person she never would have wanted to see her in this state.

 Daemon came from the chamber, his shirt and trousers loose, long silver hair touselled. He regarded her with an expression she couldn’t place, torn between disdain, amusement and surprise. He looked her up and down. “Well, well.”

 “I,” Alicent felt a need to explain herself in a rush. “I am-! It’s not-!”

 Daemon held up a hand. “So this is the famously chaste Lady Alicent,” he said, coming forward. “Here to purchase two or three whores.”

Alicent swallowed hard. “You would never understand.”

 “I’m not sure if I’m inclined to try.” Daemon looked at the woman. “Mona, leave us.”

 Mona, who had lived this long by not getting involved in her clients’ lives, nodded and made herself scarce, heading into a back room and slamming the door shut behind her. 

 “Please don’t try to stop me.” Alicent said.

 Daemon’s brow creased. “And why would I?”

 “Because…” Alicent faltered. “It’s dangerous.”

 “You came here knowing the danger.” Daemon said. “Why should I stand in the way if you wish to fling yourself into it?”

 Alicent exhaled shakily and looked towards the ground, furious at herself. She didn’t know what Daemon would do with this information, but she knew he hated her father and this was a perfect piece of blackmail should he need it. Why did it have to be him , of all people?

 “It is strange, though,” Daemon said, his voice was considered and quiet. “You are not how you were.”

 Alicent looked up at him. “How I was?”

 “How you were,” Daemon said, coming even closer. “When you were a spiteful harpy who murdered my brother.”

 Alicent stared at him. “What?”

 Daemon withdrew. He pulled at a cord around his neck and the hourglass attached fell from his shirt. He studied it. “It seems I’m allowed to say that at least.”

 Alicent breathed shallowly, her mind racing. “Daemon,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Have you come back too?”

Chapter Text

Daemon, even before he was her deadliest enemy, had been something of a mystery to Alicent. Mostly she had seen him silently cause trouble: either with her father on the Small Council or her husband as Viserys tried to staunch the bleeding that was Daemon’s presence in his political life. In the brief moments they had been in each other’s company in her first life, she had watched him look at Rhaenyra with affection in his eyes or at Viserys in pain and the slight changes in his normally smirking and unapproachable demeanor had fascinated her.

Now, for the very first time, she saw his eyes flash with something new. Astonishment. Daemon’s chin jerked up as he fixed his gaze on her and Alicent almost felt smug about, for once, taking him unawares. 

The smugness did not last long as Daemon snatched her wrist, the injured one, and dragged her into the nearest chamber. Alicent yelped in pain and caught sight of a woman behind the curtain of his chamber. “My Prince-?” She said before Alicent and Daemon disappeared into the chamber together. 

 “Unhand me, I-!” Alicent tugged her hand away, the pain shooting up her elbow to her shoulder, she felt it gingerly, trying not to move. 

 “Tell me what you mean by that.” Daemon hissed. “Now. Before I see fit to kill you again.”

  Again?

 “I do not know if I’m allowed to speak of it,” Alicent whispered. “It was one of the conditions…I-” she looked around the empty chamber, which had nothing in it except a bed. She feared the witch would appear at any moment and drag her back to her prison. “I cannot say.”

 Daemon drew back, laughing bitterly. “What new degradation is this? First that crone gives me a useless toy,” he snapped the hourglass from his neck and threw it to the ground. “And then I learn that the woman who deserves it least has been given the same chance as I.”

 “You saw the witch?” Alicent hissed. “She sent you back in time as she did me?” Quickly, she checked the room again. No witch had come through the ceiling to capture her. 

 “The witch, the crone, whatever it was.” Daemon said. “Spouting nonsense about second chances and whether fate could be changed.”

 Alicent’s eyes fell to the hourglass on the floor. “So you have it.”

 “Do you want it? Take it.” Daemon said. “It doesn’t work anyway.”

 Alicent knelt and picked up the hourglass. It was locked in place by metal spines, by unlatching the top one may be able to turn it. “What do you mean it doesn’t work?”

 “In the beginning it was somewhat helpful,” Daemon sat down heavily onto the bed, throwing one leg over the other. “But now it only takes me back a minute or so. It used to be a whole day.”

 “Daemon,” Alicent looked up at him. “You must tell me everything. What conditions did the witch give you?”

 “I see no reason to confer with you .” Daemon said. “I’m sure you jumped at the opportunity to change your wretched destiny. I was content to find death.”

 “Surely you also have some regrets you wish to right.”

 Daemon gave her an infuriating smile. “I don’t.”

 “You will do it all the same as you did before?”

 “I will.” He said. “Won’t you?”

 “You mean to say,” Alicent felt aghast fury rise in her throat. “That all that you did in your first life you will be willing to repeat again?”

 Daemon moved forward. “Unlike you, I have no reason to regret anything I did.”

 “Of course you don’t regret it.” Alicent whispered. “You brute.”

 Daemon laughed. 

 Alicent looked back down at the hourglass in her hand. If one was already aware that they had been sent back in time she supposed it wouldn’t break any rule to discuss it with that person. How useful it would be to have someone to assist her! Indeed, simply someone to talk to who knew the future of her first life would have changed everything. She glared up at Daemon as he idled on the bed. It just had to be him she was stuck with.

 “Daemon,” she said, attempting reason. “I mean to change everything this time around. I will prevent the Dance from ever happening and save the lives of all of those dearest-”

 “You mean the ones you sacrified the first time?” Daemon said. He moved to his back, staring at the ceiling. “I have no wish to help you in your path to redemption, Alicent. Just stay out of my way and I will let you live your second life. Killing you does no good anyway.”

 “What do you mean?”

 Daemon smirked.

 “What do you mean by that, Daemon?”

 “I mean that the very day I was sent into the past I cut you and your father’s heads from your shoulders.” He said. “Only to find myself right back where I started and your heads somehow reattached.” 

 “What?”

 “The witch told me that I wouldn’t be able to kill any Hightower.” Daemon said. “Would she not have sent me back at all. It’s taken all the fun out of it.”

 Alicent’s hand moved to her throat. “So that’s it.”

 “As I’m unable to kill you, I have no use for you.” Daemon said. “You may go.”

 Alicent stood, looking at him and then around the chamber. Was he really pulling rank and dismissing her from a whore house? She gritted her teeth. “I…can’t go.”

 “Why not?”

 “I came here for a reason.”

 Daemon moved himself up to his elbows. “Ah, yes. Decided to use your second life to finally seek some pleasure, did you? I always knew you were a deviant, Lady Alicent.”

 “It’s not that.” Alicent said, fighting to keep control of herself. She wouldn’t allow him to continue humiliating her, not when they were technically playing on equal ground. And now she knew he couldn’t kill her. “I mean to…to become with child in the coming months. It will prevent my father from using me to-”

 “Seduce my brother?” Daemon raised an eyebrow. “A plan so depraved only a Hightower could think of it. Don’t be naive in supposing that your father won’t simply pour moon tea down your throat.”

 “It will be too late by then.”

 “Do you think your maids are for show?” Daemon said. “They are there to monitor you like hawks. At the first sign of pregnancy, they will inform your father.”

 Alicent stared at him. “You know an awful lot about this.”

 He fell back on the bed. “I have experience that you do not have.”

 “In getting noble ladies pregnant, no doubt.”

 “That was what I was alluding to.”

 “Nevertheless, it is my only chance at changing the future.”

 “Or you could refuse your father, take a horse, board a ship, leave this place.”

 “I cannot.” Alicent said. “One of the conditions was that I mustn’t run away, as you know.”

 “I don’t.” Daemon said, after a short pause. “That was not one of mine.”

 Probably because you would never . All she had tried to do since coming back was to avoid her fate by detaching herself from the Targaryens completely. It was just another form of running. 

 “You are Prince Daemon Targaryen,” she said. “You have no need to run away. Marry, don’t marry. Go anywhere you want, fight in a war. You have the freedom to do as you wish. I do not.”

 Daemon sprang up from the bed, startling her. She fell a step back. His eyes were mercenary in the dim light. “Don’t tell me how lucky I am, wench. You forget I am already married against my will.”

 “And yet here you are, in a whore house.”

 “Here you are, in a whore house.”

 The curtain of the chamber twitched. “My lady?” It was Mona. “Did you still wish me to seek you a paramour?”

 “She doesn’t need one.” Daemon said, looking down at Alicent. His hooded eyes were assessing, sweeping over her.

 “I do!” Alicent snapped.

 “Give the woman a coin.”

 “Why?”

 “Because she is giving you this room for the night.”

 Alicent dug into her purse and proffered a gold coin in Mona’s direction, which she took eagerly.

 Daemon reached over and slid the curtain shut. 

 “Why are you getting in the way?” Alicent snapped. “I need-!”

 She broke off as Daemon’s hand gripped her throat with terrifying strength. Who he was flashed through her mind, a man who had fought in combat countless times and could take any life one-handed. 

 He pushed her back until they were against the peeling wall of the chamber. Alicent used her uninjured arm to curl around his hand. “ Let me go .” Her voice could barely reach a whisper. 

 “You’re a fool in this life as much as the first.” Daemon hissed. “The only male whores you will find in these pillow houses are young boys or those who pleasure men. Once again, I have experience you do not have.”

 Alicent twisted his hand from her throat. “She said she would find something for me. Anything will do.”

 “They will be brutal drunks.”

 “I don’t care anymore.” Alicent said. “Only that they get the job done.”

Daemon’s eyes were boring holes in her face. He ripped off her cloak from behind, the button of it falling to the ground. He discarded it in a heap at their feet revealing her in her lady’s dress, the same she had worn that day. Then he reached past her face and undid her hair by breaking the ribbon it was tied with. Long brown, reddish curls fell around her shoulders, the sudden scent of the lavender she had washed with. 

 “I’ve never seen a woman so keen to be taken by strangers.” He said, his voice low. “All this time you were concealing a filthy mind.”

 “It is a necessity .” Alicent said, flushed and sweating. The absolute audacity of Daemon Targaryen to lecture her about depravity. “Unlike you, I do not act purely for pleasure. Unlike you, I have honor. I am bound by my duty-”

Daemon’s mouth fell on hers, cutting off her words with a malicious kiss. Alicent’s hand went from his arm to his chest, attempting to push him away. In the past, kisses between her and Viserys had been gentle and brief. Between her and the Dornish knight, they had been laced with sadness and desperation. This kiss was purely carnal: an animal urge.

 When Daemon finally released her, her lips felt bruised.

 “Lift up your skirt.” Daemon said, his voice a grating heat. “I will give you a child if you want one that badly.” 

 Her pulse quickened. “Not you.” Alicent said. She was trying to return her breathing to normal and found herself near gasping for air.

Daemon gripped the front of her bodice and pulled. The lace strings snapped. He snatched the sleeve and tore it from her shoulder.

 “Stop!” Alicent clutched at her dress, furious that he should dare to toy with her like this.

 “Lift your skirt or walk back to the castle in rags.” He said with unrepentant impertinence. “Or perhaps you’d enjoy that?”

 Alicent drew back against the wall. Her heart was thumping, she was sweating even more and what was worse, so much worse, was that she had the sudden urge to drag his mouth back to hers. “You’re despicable.” She said. “No wonder Viserys never trusted you. No wonder no one could ever trust you, including Rhae-” She cried out as he twisted her injured arm.

 “Mind your tongue, Hightower.” Daemon spat. “I will have no scruples in leaving you in the streets for the dogs to feed on.”

 “You’re hardly a man at all.” She said. “You could not put a child in me even if you wanted to. You’re not the man that your brother was-”

 He broke off her words by putting his hand again around her throat, but this time he used his strength. Alicent struggled to breathe, vainly attempting to dislodge him, her legs weakening as he held her there. 

 Daemon grabbed a handful of her skirt and hitched it up to her hip. His hand found her legs, her inner thigh. His grip loosened just enough for Alicent to draw a breath and then she gasped as his fingers found her. She froze in place, panting, as Daemon expertly drew the underside of his middle finger along her ridge, finding what was most sensitive and then caressing it. Even though his act was full of spite, his touch remained controlled as if his aim was not to injure her but to embarrass her with her own pleasure.

 Alicent sank her teeth into her lower lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making a single sound. 

 “You have no idea,” Daemon murmured into her ear. “What I could do to you, wench.”

 Alicent found her voice. Although her vision was blurring through the waves of unwelcome pleasure, she fixed him with a defiant stare. “Then do it.”

 Daemon studied her face, his gaze flickering from her hair to her mouth to her ripped dress. His fingers pressed deeper inside her and Alicent cried out in shock. Then, all of a sudden, he released her.

 She sank against the wall like a tattered doll, trying to keep her feet steady on the uneven ground. Her hands went to her throat. Each movement of her jaw, each swallow, burned.

 Daemon withdrew from her and Alicent felt a wave of relief and, hatefully, a small tinge of disappointment. Had she now made an even greater enemy of him?

 Then, Daemon’s mouth curved into what could only be described as a terrorizing smile. “As you wish, Lady Alicent.”

 She realised that he had withdrawn his hands to unclothe his lower half. 

 “You are a maid in this life,” he said, with feigned sweetness. “So this may hurt.” 

Alicent caught her breath. From the other chambers of the house, the moans and cries of sex endured, though the air was still and the candles burned down to ash in their pots. She could, if she wanted, flee for the door. It was as if he was giving her time to do so; as if he was challenging her to run, to prove that she was afraid of him so he could think himself victorious over her.

 Alicent dug her nails into her palms. “Pain is nothing.” She said.

 Daemon chuckled, he reached for her hands and uncurled them. “Then put these on my shoulders so you don’t faint.”

 “Even when Viserys took my maidenhood I didn’t faint.”

 “Well,” Daemon said, gripping her waist and hoisting her in the air, her legs dangling from the crooks of each of his arms. “I am not my brother.”

The sensation of him, rubbing himself in between her legs which were helpless and spread, held firmly in place, made Alicent breathless. 

Sex had never, ever been like this. This was not what she was used to. A man moving slowly over her, smiling at her kindly, treating her like she was porcelain, his touch only used to caress her breasts or stroke her hair. And then the slight pain, and then the nothingness. Just the feeling of something obstructive moving in and out of her. The act of sex to create heirs, a dutiful ritual. 

Alicent gasped as Daemon’s mouth found her neck. He branded her with a bite, sucking at her skin so hard it was unbearable.

 “Stop, stop.” She hissed.

 “I thought the pain was nothing.” He hissed back and then bit down on the top of her breast, hoisting her further up the wall, holding her in place as he once again pierced her skin. 

  He’s truly a beast. Alicent thought. No more and no less than his dragon. 

She half expected him to start tearing into her flesh.

Daemon turned his attention to her mouth, roughly pulling her back down to his eyeline by her legs and invading her mouth with another kiss that giddied her. Alicent opened her mouth wider and felt him tense as he pressed on top of her. 

 So he was allowed to enjoy himself but she wasn’t?

Alicent pushed her own tongue into his mouth and moved her hand from his chest to the back of his neck, her hand in his silver hair. 

Daemon pulled back and looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

Alicent moved her hair that clung to her sweat-covered skin and the corners of her mouth behind her shoulder and inclined her head. “Is that all I am to expect from you, my Prince?”

Daemon’s jaw clenched, the muscles flickering in his neck. He yanked her closer and they found themselves locked in another kiss. This time, they found some harmony. Alicent sighed as his tongue grazed over her lips. Daemon’s hand slid from Alicent’s thigh, up her back. “Unlace this.” He said, his breath husky. “Your dress.”

Alicent fumbled at the knots for a few seconds before Daemon lost patience and snapped them with his fingers. He ripped her dress down the middle so the gown fell in two pieces to the floor, leaving Alicent in nothing but a slip. She supposed she really would be walking back to the castle in rags. 

Daemon changed her position on the wall. Alicent found herself with her legs forced even wider open, her body slumping low. She scrabbled for balance so she didn’t fall any further backwards. When Daemon thrust himself inside her she was effectively upside down, completely helpless, her slip riding to reveal her stomach, her breasts, everything.

The pain was instant, a piercing, shrieking pain that made her scream. Daemon didn’t slow as a trickle of blood ran along her thigh, he continued on without mercy. There was no lull at all in his pace from start to finish. A frenzied lust. 

Alicent caught sight of his expression in the final moments before it was over, something brand-new once again. His mouth barely parted, eyes glazed over in utter pleasure.

.

A racing breeze woke Alicent from what had been a deep sleep, the deepest that she had had in a very long time. At first, she thought herself in her bed at home and a maid had left a window standing open. After a few moments, she rose to her hands, her blood running cold.

She was on the bed in the whore house. Alone. 

It was not that she had expected Daemon to escort her back, but he had truly left her half-naked in the nether regions of King’s Landing with no idea how to return back to the castle. 

Alicent realised that her body was aching. Not just her injured arm and her neck but every last limb. She knew she must look a sight with bites on her neck and breasts, hair a tangled mess.

She had, once again, failed in her plan. Instead of finding an anonymous man to help her change her fate, she had been taken like a dockyard whore by Daemon Targaryen and now she was stuck with that.

She noticed the hourglass laying next to her on the bed, attached to its broken string. She lifted it to the light, examining it. The red sand inside did not seem to shift even when she moved it up and down. It seemed that one would have to unlatch the mechanism of the metal spines in order to reverse it. 

Daemon had said that it was useless, but the witch herself had bade Alicent turn it only thrice in a full moon. Why make such a thing a condition unless this hourglass was integral to her changing the past?

Alicent held the hourglass tightly in her hand and left her chamber. She found Mona sitting at the table nearest the door, smoking a pipe as two girls next to her drank from tin flasks.

 “There she is.” Mona said as Alicent appeared in her crumpled shift. “Early riser.”

 “That’s the wench that took the Prince from me.” The girl Alicent recognised as the one that Daemon had left behind in the chamber last night. She pouted, sticking her lower lip out. “He wasn’t in the mood to tarry when he left you. He went straight out the door.”

 “He’ll be back, precious.” Mona said. 

 “Please,” Alicent said. “I need a dress.”

 “Where’s your fine one?”

 “It’s…ripped.”

 The girls tittered and Mona smiled into her pipe. “Is it, now?”

 “I have the money.” Alicent said, not in the mood to be laughed at - yet again. “Please fetch me a dress I can wear.”

“Lu,” Mona said. “Give her a dress.”

 “Mama, no!”

 “I’ll buy you three more to make up for it with the coin this lady gives me.” Mona fixed her with a look. “Isn’t that right?”

 “Yes.” Alicent said. She just wanted to leave and not return.

 “Get the one with the high neck.” Monda said with amusement. “She’ll want something to cover those purple bites.”

Once again, the girls laughed. 

.

The streets were far more navigable by day and Alicent realised with relief that the day was still new. The sunlight was cool and fair and so high in the sky that Alicent guessed that she would still have time to arrive at the castle before anyone noticed she was gone. 

Approaching the castle road, these hopes were dashed. 

A dozen sentries were stationed at the crest of the hill and there were soldiers stalking about the road as maids and stable boys made their way up, interrogating and checking goods as if searching for something.

And, worst of all, her brother was at the very top of the road seated on horseback next to Jason Lannister. The two seemed to be talking earnestly from what Alicent could see, but she kept herself sheltered behind the half-tumbled wall of a merchant shop.

She took a steadying breath and uttered a curse that would have made her own hair curl in a previous life. She rallied herself to approach up the castle road, not bothering to hide her face. It was Jason Lannister, of all people, who caught sight of her first.

 “Lady Alicent!” He cried, urging his horse onwards toward her.

Gwayne followed closely behind. “Sister!”

 “I’m alright,” Alicent said, wishing she had made it back before daybreak. “I’m-”

Gwayne threw himself from his horse and went to grasp Alicent’s hands. “What happened to you?” His eyes roved over her anxiously. He looked as though he hadn’t slept even an hour. “You were gone all night!”

 “I told Ser Gwayne the particulars,” Jason dismounted. “About how you ventured out last night and I happened upon you in the town. Unfortunately, I was unable to convince you to return and then I lost you when a Gold Cloak interrupted my pleading.” He smiled at Alicent. “I am so very glad you found your way back safely.”

In true Lannister fashion, he had evaded responsibility. 

Alicent nodded. “Indeed.” She said, thinly.

 “But why?” Gwayne said despairingly. “Why did you do it, Alicent? You should see Father. He’s in a dreadful rage about this whole-”

 “I will speak to him.” Alicent said with a sternness that was not that of eighteen-year-old Alicent Hightower who had never been caught in trouble but of Queen Alicent Targaryen who had near single-handedly run a castle for years upon end. “That’ll do, Gwayne. Please dismiss these soldiers to their duties.”

She pushed past both of the gaping men, making her way up towards the castle, ignoring the whispers. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flurry of gold as several Gold Cloaks approaching from the road, led by their Commander. She stopped in her tracks to glare at Daemon, who wore his full Commander of the City Watch regalia with only his dragon-eared helmet missing from the uniform. He looked bright-eyed and well-rested, which Alicent loathed him for.

 “Lady Alicent,” he said. “How glad I am that you returned safely. My men and I were about to go and turn this city on its head to find you.”

 “I am fine, my Prince.” Alicent said, fantasizing about wringing his neck. “Thank you.”

 “I would advise you not to attempt such a dangerous thing again, my lady,” Daemon continued, smiling. “These streets are full of criminals. I would so hate to see you fall victim to them.”

 “Do not worry, my Prince,” Alicent said. “I have absolutely no intention of repeating my actions from last night ever again.”

 Daemon’s smile became his signature smirk. “And here I was wrongly thinking that you quite enjoyed yourself.” 

 There may be a rule against him killing me, Alicent thought. But there is certainly no rule against me killing him . 

 She turned on her heel and continued up the path.

 “Oh and Lady Alicent,” Daemon called after her.

 She looked back at him, expecting the worst.

 “If you plan to turn it then be warned,” he said over his shoulder, inclining his head. “Do not let too much sand fall, lest you find yourself even further in the past.”

Chapter Text

Alicent could now see that a single metal spine impossibly placed in the tiny gap between both sides of the hourglass was what prevented any sand from moving freely. By unlocking the device, she would finally be able to turn it. But why? What use would it be to go even further back into the past?

Perhaps it would allow her to rewrite all that she had done that night before? She would certainly like to scratch her tryst with Daemon from reality. But how would she know how much sand to let fall?

Gods, if only Daemon was just a shred more helpful! He had already used the hourglass and could tell her exactly what it did and how to use it. But she knew he never would.

Outside, the softest autumn rain began to fall. The clouds had gathered in quickly, dragged by the wind from the North. A chilling breeze blew suddenly down the stone passage. It would soon be winter. The Queen would be dead by then and Alicent hadn’t moved even a step closer to changing her fate despite all her grand plans. 

 “Lady Alicent,”

 As if conjured from the darkest place in her memory, she recognised the voice before she saw him. 

 “Lord Larys,” she said. 

The man’s cane smacked on the stone as he made his way towards her. It was startling to see him looking the same as ever. Indeed, in the years that she had known him well his features had grown neither older nor younger; it was just the same pale and sallow face. This man had not only used her like a pawn and a plaything, but had eventually conspired with the other ministers to kill her eldest son. Alicent took a moment to remind herself that the current Larys had never done these things, that she must remain composed.

 “I greet you,” Lord Larys lowered his head as far as he could. “I hope you will not think me rude in wishing you belated congratulations for your nameday. It is a wonderful thing for a woman to turn eighteen. Even so, we do not reach our fullest wisdom until much later.”

Alicent set her mouth. “That is very true, my lord.”

 “I heard you kept everyone out of bed last night when you absconded from the castle.” Larys smiled, snakeishly. “I thought ‘surely this cannot be the demure Lady Alicent’. But I suppose, every young lady is entitled to some excitement in her life.”

 “As every man is, I suppose.” Alicent said.

 “I hear that Jason Lannister was only too happy to keep your company last evening,” Larys said, placing one hand on top of the other as they rested upon his cane. “Forgive me, I do not wish to be impertinent.”

 “No, of course not.” Alicent knew that face well. He was half-smiling, revelling in the delight that he knew something that she didn’t. What was this little weasel hiding? “Although, it wasn’t as if we meant to journey together. He simply didn’t wish for me to be unescorted.”

 “No. That’s understandable indeed,” Larys said. “A young, unaccompanied woman could find herself in terrible trouble if she was bold enough to wander King’s Landing alone. Especially if she happened to find herself in a pillowhouse.” Though his words remained deft, his eyes never left her face as he searched for her reaction.

Alicent knew he had spies all over the city. He may have had something reported to him about a young woman of her description wandering about the district. For a brief moment, she had been undisguised in full view of the street. But she could also tell that he wasn’t sure, that his probing was designed to confirm or deny, thinking that he would know by her face. 

Alicent almost smiled. Unfortunately for him, she had known him for far longer than even he was aware. 

She widened her eyes, feigned shock at his words. “Yes, indeed, my lord. But Lord Lannister and I were only buying some tokens and we were split by a sudden commotion.” She smiled, keeping her expression calm. “Luckily, I found shelter in the cottage of an old maid. I paid her some coin for her trouble. I was fortunate, under the circumstances.”

 She let Larys examine her for a few more moments, his mouth pursed.

 That’s right, Larys. Take all the time you need.

 He finally rectified his polite smile. “I’m glad to hear it, Lady Alicent.” He said. “A girl of your refinement would never stray into such a place.”

Alicent nodded. Some city spy wouldn’t be receiving their coin, she supposed. But, without proof, he had nothing to hold over her. The only man in the world who knew she had been there was Daemon. 

 “And you, my lord?” Alicent said.

 “Sorry?”

 “You would never venture into such a place?”

 Larys stared at her. “I…well,” he gestured to his leg. “My constitution is more delicate than the average man, my lady.”

 “Come now,” Alicent advanced on him, locking him in with her eyes. “There are always other vices a man could explore. Ones that are not so strenuous.”

 Larys stiffened at her closeness. His depravities were numerous and Alicent knew them all. She looked down at him with something like maternal cruelty. She was the one who should be puppeting him. It was so satisfying to watch him sweat.

 “Can I, uh,” Larys faltered. “Ask exactly what you mean by that?”

 The innocence returned to Alicent’s expression. “Oh,” she said, lightly. “I am just repeating what the other ladies at court have told me. I learn so much from them every day.”

 “Daughter,”

 Alicent turned towards Otto, who had appeared at the end of the hall. His expression was stormy. He looked between Larys and Alicent with forced calm. “I would a word with you.”

 “Of course, Father.” Alicent said. She turned back to Larys. “Thank you for your kind words, my lord. This has been most instructive.”

 Larys bowed quickly. “I will take my leave.”

 Alicent watched him turn away with interest. She wondered if he be of any use to her this time around. 

.

 “I shouldn’t have to expect this from you,” Otto slammed his hand down on his desk, his rings making the sound far louder than it might have been. “What were you thinking?”

 “Father, please.” Gwayne said, stepping forward.

 “I’m not talking to you, boy.”

 “No,” Alicent said. “Stay out of this, brother.”

Gwayne looked at her strangely. Otto also seemed surprised that she had spoken. His surprise quickly turned back into anger. “What made you think you could go gallivanting off with Jason Lannister into King’s Landing? Do you know what the city is like? You could have been brutalised, your throat slit.”

 “That’s true.” Alicent said. “For Jason Lannister is no great swordsman.”

 “How dare you make light of this!”

 Alicent took a deep breath. “Lower your voice, Father.”

 Gwayne and Otto looked at her incredulously. 

 “ What?” Otto snapped.

 “I said,” Alicent levelled her eyes at him. “Lower. Your. Voice.”

Perhaps it was the fact that last night, for once, she had opened her mouth to Daemon’s and taken something that she wanted. It hadn’t been her plan, but it had been something. Something just for her, for a change.

She had been sent back to the past just to fall into the same traps as she always had and where was it getting her?

If she truly wanted to change the future, then she would have to change herself.

She saw that now. 

Infuriatingly, Daemon had helped her see that. 

 “How dare you speak to me like that?” Otto took a step towards her, his eyes more furious than Alicent had seen since she was very young. “I should-!”

 “What?” Alicent said. “Go on.”

 “What ?” He repeated.

 “What will you do, Father?” Alicent asked. “Marry me off? That is what I have already asked for. Banish me to Oldtown? I am the Princess’s companion and if I entreat her, she will have the King ask me to stay. I am not a child any longer.” Alicent took a breath. “But, let’s not argue about it.” She looked at Gwayne who wore a mask of pure shock. “Brother, despite what Lord Lannister told you, he was more than happy to escort me. We planned to make the journey quick and then we got separated by accident. It was a blunder, that is all.”

 Gwyane looked from her to his father, who stood speechless. “Yes…I…I mean, yes, um…why are you talking to me?” 

 “Because you told Lord Lannister about what he took as an intention of marriage.” Alicent said. “That’s why he was more than happy to escort me. To make more of my acquaintance.”

Otto’s eyes swivelled to Gwyane. “You did what?”

“No, I mean,” Gwayne fidgeted with his sleeve miserably. He looked like he was twelve years old again. “He overheard me say that Alicent expressed a wish-”

 “Nothing spoken in this chamber goes beyond this room!” Otto snapped. “Don’t you realise that I am trying to arrange the best possible match for your sister and I won’t allow you to jeopardise that!” His glare returned to Alicent. “You were still acting foolishly to go with him.”

 “I know.” Alicent said, simply. “I was foolish. You do not need to scream at me. I won’t be repeating the incident.”

 The room fell quiet. Otto’s left eye was twitching. Alicent could tell he was wrestling the urge to say more, but she had successfully startled him.

 He had never seen this side of her, not at this age. 

 “I will return to my room.” Alicent said, turning toward the door.

 “Were you always,” Otto said slowly. “Wearing that dress?”

Alicent stopped in her tracks. She had forgotten what she was wearing: the dress was inconspicuous enough, a high-necked blue dress that covered her collarbone, the ruffle reaching the upper part of her neck to disguise Daemon’s bite which bloomed like a dark flower on her neck. Although it would not be immediately identifiable as a dress taken from a young prostitute from a pillowhouse, the quality of it was nowhere near what a young lady in her position would own. And her father knew every dress she owned, most of them had been her mother’s.

 Alicent inwardly cursed herself. Instead of wasting time speaking Larys she should have gone to her room and changed!

 She tried not to panic. “Yes? This is one of Rhaenyra’s.”

 “The Princess owns a dress like that?”

 “No,” Alicent stumbled. “No, not Rhaenyra, it is…a maid’s. It is from a maid that I got it. I thought it best not to leave wearing one of my own dresses.”

 Otto’s eyes narrowed and Alicent felt the fear rise in her throat. He didn’t believe her.

 “Why would a maid,” he said, his tone dangerous. “Be keeping their own dress in the castle? A dress she can freely lend to you?”

 “I don’t know, father. But-”

 “What’s the maid’s name?”

 “I…why should I-?”

 “Tell me.”

 Now Gwayne was looking at her, frowning. “Did you change your clothes in King’s Landing?”

 “The real question is,” Otto said. “Where is the dress you left in and why did you shed it?”

Alicent dug her nails into her palm, picking rapidly at the skin around her nails. Her mind jumped from excuse to excuse and found nothing she could use. She had been so close to victory and now this.

 Her other hand found the inside of her sleeve where the hourglass hung, the cord wound around her wrist. What had Daemon said? In the beginning it was somewhat helpful, but now it only takes me back a minute or so.  

 Alicent took the hourglass from her sleeve and fumbled with the metal latch. Please don’t be lying for once in your life, Daemon. 

 “What’s that?” Gwyane asked, looking at her hands. 

 “Alicent,” Otto hissed. “Where were you? Tell me at once.”

Alicent twisted the latch free and tipped the hourglass so the red sand fell between the small bulbs. At first, nothing was different and Otto and Gwayne were still standing there, waiting for her reaction. Gwayne looking with confusion at the hourglass.

Then the ground moved underneath Alicent’s feet and her reality blurred like an oil painting abandoned in a downpour of rain. She ducked as she felt the stone walls collapse, expecting to feel a rush of dust and debris but felt nothing. It was like being trapped in the very eye of a storm, but instead of uncontrollable, grey winds twisting around her; it was time itself. 

 “Can I, uh,” Larys was saying. “Ask exactly what you mean by that?”

Alicent stared at him, the storm had disappeared as suddenly as it had come. She looked around her. Here she was again. Larys stood before her, sweating, looking up at her with something like fear. Her eyes flew to the passageway where her father would appear at any moment. 

 “Lady Alicent?” Larys was saying, peering at her face. “Are you-?”

 “I must go,” Alicent ran around him, lifting her skirts so she could run, leaving him to gawp after her. “Goodbye!”

 She ran full pelt past soldiers and servants who all turned to stare at her, almost falling right into a serving girl carrying a pitcher of milk and serving at the last minute, taking the steps up to her chamber two at a time, knowing that Otto would be looking for her now and her chamber would be one of the first places he would check.

 Her maids were within the room and turned quickly as she slammed the door open from the outside.

 “Lady Alicent!” The one who had greeted her on her very first day, Netty, beamed. “You’re safe! I’m so-”

 “A dress.” Alicent interrupted her. “Yes, I’m safe and it’s wonderful. Find me a dress at once!”

It occurred to her as she raced to change, dismissing her maids before she did so they didn’t see the extremely inconvenient bite marks, that she should have said that the dress belonged to the fictional ‘old maid’ that she had told Larys she spent the night with. Panic had made her speak without thinking. 

Alicent took a breath, looking down at the hourglass in her hand. The latch had magically reattached as if she had never touched it. What a brilliant gift she’d been given! She raised the hourglass to the daylight streaming through the window to admire it more closely. And Daemon had called it useless; if he really thought that he must be a fool.

The hourglass would be her secret weapon.

.

 “I shouldn’t have to expect this from you,” Otto slammed his hand down on his desk, his rings making the sound far louder than it might have been. For the second time. “What were you thinking?”

 “Father, please.” Gwayne said, stepping forward.

 “I’m not talking to you, boy.”

 Alicent felt as though her strength had been sapped from the first encounter. She tried to remember what exactly she had said, whether she could be bothered to try and repeat it. 

 “Father,” she said, making her voice sugary. “Can’t you let it go just this once?”

 Otto looked at her in bewilderment. “What?”

 Alicent lifted her hands to frame her face. “Alicent’s very, very sorry and she’ll never, ever ever do it again. Do I have your forgiveness, papa? Pretty please?” She ended with a wink that sickened even her.

 Gwyane and Otto stared at her.

 “Have you gone completely mad?” Gwyane whispered. 

 Alicent sighed. “Very well.” She took the hourglass from her sleeve. “I suppose that would never have worked anyway.”

 She unlatched the hourglass again and turned it. This time, she lifted it close to her face and moved it gently, making sure only a few grains of sand passed through.

.

 “I shouldn’t have to expect this from you,” Otto slammed his hand down on his desk, his rings making the sound far louder than it might have been. Alicent was getting used to the sound of it now. “What were you thinking?”

 “Father, please.” Gwayne said, stepping forward.

 “I’m not talking to you, boy.”

 “Father,” Alicent said, stepping forward. “It was a mistake. I ventured into the courtyard and encountered Jason Lannister. Because of,” she glanced at Gwayne. “Certain circumstances, he saw fit to ask me to accompany him into King’s Landing. I didn’t feel like I could refuse and we were separated by accident when a Gold Cloak threatened a crowd. I sought shelter in an old maid’s cottage. That’s all that happened. It was foolish, but I don’t think it’s anything that need arouse such anger.”

 Otto raised an eyebrow, but he looked calmer now. “That is not how he tells it.”

 “Do you really think Jason Lannister would ever put any responsibility for my disappearance on himself?” Alicent said. “He is too proud for that.” She looked up at him, keeping her gaze steady. “You do believe me, don’t you, father?”

 Otto looked at Gwyane. “And why exactly did that fool get the idea that it was fine to take my daughter into that city of drunks and cutpurses?” 

 Gwayne opened his mouth, looking guilty.

 “It’s not my brother’s fault,” said Alicent. “Lord Lannister overheard him say something about me having mentioned him and got the wrong idea.”

 “What have I said about repeating what we discuss inside this room?” Otto snapped at Gwayne. “Are you trying to get your sister in a compromising position?”

 “Forgive me.” Gwayne fidgeted. 

 “If it makes you any more at ease, I have thought about it and I have no wish to marry him anyway,” Alicent laughed. “Just as you said, father, he is a fool. The only thing in his head is how glorious he supposes he is. He is envious of your closeness with King Viserys and I’m sure enjoyed toying with a daughter of yours.”

 Otto rested his hand on Alicent’s shoulder. “Now do you understand why I’m so protective of you, daughter? My position makes it so many impertinent men will use you to get to me. Jason Lannister, Daemon Targaryen-” Alicent tried not to wince.  “-They are all unworthy of you, my dear.”

 “I know, father.” 

Otto sighed, rubbing his temple in a circular motion as Alicent often did herself. “Very well. You may go. Just do not stir out of the castle walls again unless you are in the company of at least two soldiers.”

 “Yes, father.” 

 As Alicent turned to leave, she saw Gwayne wink at her.

.

If only, she thought. I would have been able to have three different chances at conversations in my past. How different my life could have been.

She wished she could have found the perfect things to say to Aegon, Helaena, Viserys and how that might have changed everything. She thought about the conversation that she had had with Rhaenyra in their courtyard, one where Rhaenyra had lied to her and the rage Alicent had felt later at her betrayal. 

Alicent thought about how she would have taken her hands and said, “I do not care what you have done, I will still love you. Just do not lie to me.” And maybe everything, truly everything, in both of their lives would have been different.

And yes, the irony of what she had ended her friendship with Rhaenyra over and exactly what she herself had done last night was not lost on her.

Rhaenyra was titillated when Alicent told her about her ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing. Alicent changed some details of this retelling: that she had been sneaking out to the whore houses to become impregnated for example. That she had lost her maidenhood to Daemon. 

 “What did Jason Lannister do when the Gold Cloak raised his sword?” Rhaenyra asked eagerly between bites of apple.

The rain had long since stopped leaving a sheen of brightness over the grass, the berry bushes, the reddened leaves of the trees. There were spiderwebs woven into the hedgegrows around their hiding spot, a patch of dry earth underneath their tree laid with a blanket. The webs now shone like diamonds on gossamer string. 

 “He made a peculiar face,” Alicent said. “He went completely grey with fear and reached for his sword like,” she imitated him, exaggerating the shake of her hand reaching for a phantom sheath.

 Rhaenyra pealed into laughter. “I can well believe it!”

 “The crowd scattering this way and that,” Alicent said. “And I got dragged away down an alley, I couldn’t free myself from them.”

 “That must have been terrifying,” Rhaenyra said, suddenly sympathetic. “I know how you do not like to venture out too.”

 “It was fine in the end,” Alicent said. “I found safe haven with an old maid who let me rest there.”

 “Thank the gods.” Said Rhaenyra. “Imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t found such shelter!”

 “Yes, imagine.” Alicent bit into her own apple. It was most likely too late for the hourglass to erase that which she had done. 

 “Is that a new dress?” Rhaenyra asked.

 This dress was the same Alicent had hurriedly changed into. It was horribly out-of-date and the other ladies at court would no doubt sneer at her for it, but the collar was high. 

 “This,” she fiddled with the purple collar. “This is…was my mother’s.”

 “I like it.” Rhaenyra said. “Purple suits you.”

 “Where your colour is certainly red.” Alicent smiled.

 “I would hope so.” Rhaenyra grinned.

 “Did you visit your mother today?”

Rhaenyra nodded slowly. “It is hard to see her lying there in so much discomfort,” she said. “It’ll be better once the babe is out.”

Alicent looked at her hands. “Indeed.”

Rhaenyra put her hands on hers. “Why are you so glum? I thought you’d be exhilarated after a night of having Lord Lannister fawn all over you.”

Alicent aimed a grape at her eye.

 That night, Alicent lay in bed staring at her hourglass. She had found a ribbon so she could attach it to her neck during the day, in case it was needed. 

Used correctly, perhaps she could use the ability to travel minutes back in time to manipulate her father’s wishes. And then there was Larys. She had quite forgotten about him but with his knowledge of the castle and network of spies, he would not be an inconsequential ally.

Only - what was her plan now, exactly? To attempt the whore houses again was too risky; she doubted she would be able to sneak out with another disguise. And if she was discovered a second time she didn't think it would be possible to explain it away.

Alicent turned on her side underneath the blankets. The whole castle would be asleep by now. A waning moon was high in the sky, a ghostly gibbous crescent half-hidden by a completely opaque darkness. The one, final candle alight in her room was about to turn to oil and ash. 

Alicent closed her eyes, revelling in the silence of the night. Perhaps she should not have wasted one of her three chances to reverse the hourglass just to provoke her father, but she supposed a test was necessary. 

After so many years of sleeping in a straw pallet on the floor, this deep and feather-stuffed bed was heaven. Alicent breathed deeply, waiting for sleep.

The door’s handle turned and it opened with a creak.

Alicent’s eyes opened grudgingly, hearing someone enter the room. “I don’t need anything. Netty,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow. Netty had a habit of coming in to put a copper bedwarmer under the sheets or put milk on the dresser even when Alicent would rather not be disturbed.  

“Are you certain I can’t bring my lady something?” Daemon said, slipping the hood from his face. “Perhaps she’s hungry?”

Chapter Text

There had not been a single doubt in Alyssa Targaryen’s mind that one day one of her sons would sit the Iron Throne. The typical line of succession based on time of birth, eldest to youngest, the rule of father-to-son meant little to her. That Baelon was neither King nor the eldest son to a King was inconsequential. She had seen it.

It had happened during the hot summer that she had been pregnant with Daemon. The heat had been so unbearable for her that Baelon had commissioned a small army of serving girls to attend Alyssa night and day by fanning her with heavy stemmed fronds stuck with ostrich feathers, buckets of ice for her bed and skin and to play music and read aloud to distract her from the heat.

Alyssa kept to her chamber that summer as Baelon took Viserys across the countryside on horseback. When Viserys returned Alyssa swore he was near a head taller than he had been.

 “Mother,” Viserys had poked his head over the crook of her arm, offering her a bunch of flowers all in different lengths, haphazardly picked and dripping with soil. “I hope you start to feel better soon.”

 “As do I,” Alyssa chucked the underside of his chin. “Put those on my bedside chest, tresy.”

 Baelon also fussed so unnecessarily over her that Alyssa had to eventually ban him from her chamber altogether so she could sleep.

It had been one night, tossing in a heat-filled slumber, that Alyssa had had her premonition. 

It began with her standing in the middle of a barren desertland: the likes of which she had seen in books written about the lands of Essos. The sky had been an unnatural green colour with no clouds except for one distant hurricane that spun into nothingness above her. From far away, Alyssa could hear the peal and whistle of a dragon.

As she walked the desert barefoot she found that the sand was not hot but cool. Her feet made deep imprints within the earth that did not shift; there was no wind to shift them. 

I am in a place, Alyssa had thought. That human eyes were not meant to see. This is one of the gods’ worlds and I have stumbled inside it. 

Alyssa walked towards the single structure on the horizon. It grew bigger and bigger as she approached until she had to crane her neck to look at it. It was clocktower. Like a giant finger, it pointed accusingly into the heart of the swirling, green hurricane.

The sound of dragons was now so overwhelming that Alyssa sniffed the air, searching for the familiar earthy, charcoal scent of their hides. She smelled nothing. 

The doors to the clocktower creaked open and Alyssa could see no reason not to go inside. She checked about the place once more, seeing nothing in either stretch of the distance.

Inside the clocktower, there was a single seat that stood in full view of the rapidly-changing light, pale green to black and then so white it filled the room as if with daylight.

Around her stood many people whose faces she could not see. All she knew was that their eyes were all trained upon the single chair in the middle of the room, as hers were. Amid the dragon calls, she heard faint music; the tune of a folk dance.

Finally, a man stepped forward from the darkness. His silver hair and slight frame giving him away to Alyssa as a fellow Targaryen. He lifted his face to meet hers and she did not recognise him.

That was when the dream ended.

Alyssa had woken up in a pool of cold sweat and a stream of blood seeping down her leg.

She was in labour the rest of that night, maids waking up the entire palace with their scurrying here and there to fetch things from the kitchens. Baelon paced like a caged lion outside of her chamber. 

It was day by the time Daemon was born. Seven dreadful hours where Alyssa had to be brought back into consciousness several times with smelling salts, her bed drenched in blood, but he was here.

The moment Daemon was placed into Alyssa’s arms she was filled with so much overwhelming love that her eyes welled with tears.

 “My love,” Baelon said, worriedly. “Let the wet nurse feed the babe, you are yet too weak.”

 “I will feed him.” Alyssa fumbled at her bloodied shift, groping for her breast. “I will feed my son.”

Even as Baelon tried to hush her into rest, she told him of her dream. “I know what it means, husband,” she said. “A Targaryen man seated within the tower, just like a king. As he looked up, I knew he was my blood. One of our sons will be King.”

Baelon did not know exactly what happened to his wife but he lost his place as first in her affections to Daemon. And, although Baelon loved both of his sons, he saw more of himself in Viserys.

Viserys was quiet, polite and studious. He spent hours reading in corners of the palace and took great pains to be a friend to all. He was popular among his fellows, though he had no aptitude for the sword which Baelon found rather disappointing. 

In comparison, Daemon was unruly as a toddler. He would run away from his nursemaids at full speed, giggling, and throw himself directly into mud. He would be completely unrepentant as they had to peel his ruined clothes off and wash him for the hundredth time, the only two milk teeth that had come in at the front of his mouth in full view as he grinned. 

As they grew, the disparity between Viserys and Daemon became more apparent; Alyssa and Baelon, who had previously never fought, began to fight about the boys.

 “You are far too lenient with Daemon,” Baelon said. “The boy is four and thinks he can get away with any disobedience. You must take care to correct him.”

 “You are so often with Viserys that Daemon gets no more of your time than a cupbearer!” Alyssa snapped back. “I would not hold him so close if you did not push him so far away.”

 “Viserys is scholarly and temperate,” Baelon said. “I have done my duty. I only ask you do yours.”

At that, Alyssa had gone white with fury. “When,” she said, her voice a betrayed whisper. “Have I not done my duty as a wife and mother?”

 “My love, please,” Baelon said, backing down immediately. “You have always. I didn’t mean…I just, I worry that Daemon will grow bull-headed. It’s hard to control a boy’s nature once they become a certain age.”

 “And I worry about Viserys,” Alyssa said, sitting heavily down on the bed. Her belly protruded with their third child, the one Baelon had begged her not to have for fear her body couldn’t take the strain. “He allows his playmates to run roughshod over him. He is still a Targaryen even if he is just a child.”

 “Boys jostle at each other, Alyssa,” Baelon sighed. “What of Daemon refusing to sit anywhere but your lap for mealtimes?”

Alyssa sniffed. “Daemon is still just a small child. He will grow out of it.”

Her poor second son. There was hardly a fate worse in the world for an ambitious boy like Daemon. Alyssa would often speak to Daemon in High Valyrian as he drifted off to sleep. “ You were born for something far greater than the sum total of your lot, my perfect one. ”

Alyssa died half a year after giving birth to their third child, Aegon, after a long sickness and the child followed her in death shortly after. 

Daemon did not often like to think about what caused him pain. The first time he had felt it, truly and completely in his stomach, in his spine, in his mouth, was when he saw his mother a few days before her death. His beautiful, vivacious, terrifying mother was nothing more than a yellowed skeleton upon the bed.

 “My sweet boy,” Alyssa had said, her very last words to him. “Go from here and become all that you were meant to be.” Alyssa had been the last and only person to ever refer to Daemon as ‘sweet boy’.

Her death and their youngest brothers’ sent the now-family-of-three into an era of grief. Baelon shut himself away, emerging only when necessary to eat and exchange tired words with his sons. Daemon had never seen grief eat a man away as it did his father. I will never love like that, he had thought to himself. What a truly terrible thing it is and yet everyone seems to want it.

Daemon’s only comforts were Viserys, who was always kind to him, and his sword. 

When his father recovered from his depressive state enough to begin paying attention to his sons again, he was astonished to see Daemon wielding the sword as if it was an extension of his body, like a true Targaryen-born. He would often take Daemon to practice his sword-fighting and found him to be a natural. The boy was a good strategist and quick on his feet; but he was also impatient, churlish and given to dark moods. He did not take correction well, often endevouring to try what he had been doing the first time until he collapsed with frustration.

Baelon had disciplined his son with a hard blow, the flat of his sword across Daemon’s back the same way his father would have done to him if he erred. “Cease your petulance, boy,” he said, keeping his voice calm but stern. “Mistakes are there to ensure we learn anew.”

Daemon had rolled his shoulders, pretending the correction hadn’t hurt, as usual. “I know I can do it this way, father,” he said, stubbornly. “Just watch.”

The only thing that would convince Daemon he was wrong was when Baelon would send him flying during a training session. He would lie on his back in the mud, recalibrating his thoughts. He only changed his ways when it looked sure to kill him if he didn’t.

Viserys was much more pliable and Baelon took a great amount of care in making sure he taught his son what it meant to be a leader - to be straightforward, to be patient, to be true. He would often think of Alyssa’s dream. He would often think of Alyssa in general. 

Daemon never spoke of his mother. It was another way in which he was different from Viserys. His brother wanted to talk about Alyssa, share stories and memories, especially as he had known her for longer than Daemon - but Daemon didn’t want to speak of her. If he had been forced, under pain of immense torture, to be completely honest then he would have admitted that he was afraid that the pain of remembering her would knick a wound inside him - a wound that a man with as many enemies as him should keep hidden. 

Daemon had always been loyal to Viserys, had even been happy for him when he was crowned, had felt that their father would have been proud. And then he would hear disembodied words ringing in his ears, unbidden. My poor second son.

Although he was in no hurry to change his ways, sometimes Daemon had felt like something of a slave to his baser nature. It seemed that he was doomed to always have his instinct act before his mind could. He was often regarded as a law unto himself, a loose cannon, a rogue prince. Rhaenyra had once said she couldn’t trust him. Daemon had been furious, but he had understood. He couldn’t even trust himself. 

Perhaps that was why he found himself now making his way to Alicent’s room.

.

In his first life, Daemon had had a tempestuous chain of years as he won the loyalties of every soldier in the King’s City Watch, putting all of his energy into irritating Otto Hightower and finding his pleasure where he could. 

His estranged wife, Rhea, was not someone he often thought about unless going down a mental list of people he wouldn’t mind killing. 

The young prostitutes in the pillowhouses that attended to him and his men would often croon at him, quizzing him on what he preferred as men liked all kinds of different things and royalty especially tended to be particular in their tastes. 

“Does the Prince enjoy large breasts or small?”

“Big thighs?”

“Long hair?”

“Younger or older?”

 Daemon always said the same thing. “Just fetch me a girl and I will make a judgement.” And anyone who reminded him of the Bronze Bitch was immediately dismissed. 

Perhaps, Daemon thought. I simply don’t care for brunettes.  

The prostitutes would often put long silver wigs over their real hair for him even without him asking them to and, after taking what he wanted of them, he would assume that his type was whatever a Targaryen woman was. He was, after all, loyal to his House. 

It had also become, irritatingly, hard to maintain any kind of erection while he lay with the women who had excited him before. He so quickly grew bored with each one and the worries he refused to voice, the ones about his brother not relying on him as he did Otto, about his legacy, about never having his own chance to seize power: they all complicated his mind so that Daemon would become far too distracted to concentrate on the woman before him. 

They all gave themselves up so easily too. Spreading their legs and purring like cats just because he was a prince; they presented no real conquest for him. He was a man who wanted what he couldn’t, what he shouldn’t, want. 

In his second life, Daemon had realised - with extreme irritation- that he was encountering the same problem once again with an intense dry spell that was a constant distraction. Just as the past seemed destined to repeat itself, he seemed destined to repeat his old patterns. He idled his time away at the pillowhouses, thinking just as Alicent had, about what he would do differently with a second chance. If he, Daemon Targaryen, could change. If it were even possible with his impulsive and single-minded nature to do so and if that change would carry.

Daemon had never really looked at Alicent Hightower in his first life, even once the Dance had begun. He knew her only as Rhaenyra’s friend when she was young. She had been comely, fresh and pretty. He remembered being surprised that such a sweet-looking girl could have been born of Otto Hightower. He had sometimes taken a moment to make her blush, knowing how it stirred Otto’s blood when he did. When the Dance began, he finally understood how much more like her father she was.

He knew that his men liked her. They would often mention her while they were drinking and playing games of ‘which lady would you bed’ and Alicent often emerged the victor. It had been them who had started the rumour that Daemon had deflowered her; a rumour that Otto had had Viserys reprimand him for allowing. 

Now though, he supposed, it was no longer just a rumour.

That night with Alicent had been nothing of what he had expected. He had always thought he disliked brunettes so to have been so hungered to see her long brown hair fall around her shoulders had rattled even his senses.

Daemon didn’t know what it was about her now, what was different compared to the first time. Maybe it was because he had never seen her lips parted like that, her brown eyes hot with anger, her skin so soft and so easily marked under his touch.

For the first time in a long while; he lost himself in sex. Sex where nothing, nothing, had mattered but that high of ecstasy.

Maybe it was because he didn’t have to care about Alicent Hightower - but then, had he ever cared about the whores he had bedded?

Daemon had been defiant at the idea that only the same woman who had stolen his family’s legacy could send his blood running hot; so he had gone to one of the finest pillowhouses in King’s Landing and attempted to recreate the act. Rather than sating his desire, the act with Alicent had only served to incense him. If only he could prove that nothing about that night had been special.

 “My Prince,” the proprietress recognised him at once. “I’m so glad you’re here. We just got a new girl. She’s fresh as a daisy, long golden hair so fair it could be just like yours-”

 “Brown hair.” Daemon had said, shortly. “Loose curls.” He had snatched a cup from the table, half-filled with someone’s wine and drank it. “Not too young. Eighteen, preferably.”

The woman they had fetched for him had been a stunning, simpering girl of about sixteen. Her hair was, in fact, similar to Alicent’s and they had similar complexions. 

 “My Prince,” she had curtsied at the doorway of the chamber. 

 “Daemon.” Daemon said, reaching for her arm. “Say my name.”

 “Daemon, then,” the girl giggled. She launched herself on the bed and kicked her legs. “Do what you wish.”

 Daemon looked down at her, feeling nothing. “Protest a little more than that.”

The girl had sat up, her eyes widening with a realisation. “Oh, yes. Right.” She then threw herself against the pillows and conjured up some tears. “Please. Have mercy, sir! Please, don’t ravish me!”

Daemon dragged his middle finger down the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Just act as you usually do.”

It had been completely useless. 

The girl had looked fearful by the end. “Did I…do something wrong? I can do anything, really. I can even fuck upside down.”

The night before flashed through Daemon’s mind. Alicent’s legs hooked on his arms, the bruising kisses, her gasps of pleasure against his skin. She had sweat in droplets, the inside of her thighs damp. He swallowed, forcing down the sudden, violent desire to have her up against a wall again right this second. He wouldn't let her get off so easily next time, he'd leave a few more bites. He'd put his face between her legs.

 “Oh!” The girl said excitedly, looking at the sudden swelling at his crotch. “I see you’re ready, my Prince. Did you want to try putting it in now?”

 “No.” Daemon stood, tossing a coin on the bed. 

 “Are you leaving?” She cried.

 Daemon redressed himself without replying. It was late at night and Alicent would most likely be abed. He would call on her; if only to get the first time out of his system.

.

Alicent turned over in shock. “Daemon!” She snatched her sheets and drew them up around her, creating a barrier. “What are you doing in my room?”

Daemon stood, a menacing silhouette with his hooded cape around his shoulders. He put a finger to his lips. “Better to be quiet.”

Alicent glared at him. “Don’t tell me to be quiet. You’re in my room.”

 “And I trust you wouldn’t want you maids to discover us.” Daemon said. “Unless you plan to use the hourglass. Again.”

 She squinted at him in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting. “How…did you know I used it?”

 “Because I was just about to slice the head off of a thieving merchant when suddenly I was standing a league away from him.” Daemon said. “And then, a second time, you interrupted me just a few moments later. You’re clearly having fun with your new toy."

 "So you can feel when time moves too?" That meant she would not be able to use the hourglass on him.

 "It must be a commonality we share," Daemon said. "So it's useful after all."

 Alicent put her hand over her hourglass protectively. “You can’t have it back.” She said. “I’m using it.”

 “I don’t want it back.” Daemon said, irritated. “What good is a few minutes back in time to me?”

Alicent was reminded of something that he had said before. “Did you not say that it used to send you back an entire day?”

 Daemon paused, as if considering whether he should answer or not. Finally, “When I first found myself in the past, it did take me back a day. Then the time became less and less.”

 “That’s most inconvenient.” Alicent frowned. How useful it would have been to have been able to reverse a day! “Why did it suddenly change?”

 “When I started breaking that crone’s conditions.”

 “What?”

 “Like I told you,” Daemon said. “When I first returned to the past, I killed you and your father. I rose the next morning to find all my fine handiwork undone. And the hourglass’s time cut in half.”

Alicent put a hand to her face, trying to grasp what he was saying. “Are you telling me,” she said, slowly. “That the reason we’re now only able to go minutes into the past is because you kept breaking the conditions you were given?”

Daemon sauntered over to her dresser and began to pick over her things absently, giving the impression he might snap something in two. “Why should I heed someone else’s conditions?”

 “Why-?” Alicent echoed incredulously. “Because they’re the rules, Daemon! Because if you had continued you might well have used up all of the hourglass’s time and ended back in your first life!”

 “I have no qualms about my first life.” Daemon said. “Only that death would be a reprieve.”

 “You know what’s worse than death, Daemon? Loneliness.”

 Daemon turned to her. “Loneliness created by your own hand,” he said, with venom. “Perhaps if you had been a better wife to my brother and not conspired in his death-”

 “Daemon.” Alicent said, drawing her covers away. “Do you really think I had anything to do with Viserys’ death? I was devastated to lose him.”

 “Yes and he just so happened to die at an awfully convenient time, did he not?” Daemon spat.

 “He was ill .” Alicent’s voice was shaking. “Every day he was on death’s door, only milk of the poppy would calm the pain he felt. I cared for him. For years and years, I raised my children and I cared for him. I did my duty. Something that you would know nothing about!” Her face felt like it was on fire. They stared at each other in the darkness, the only sound Alicent’s breathing. She was the one who broke the silence, “Why are you here?”

 Daemon’s jaw clenched. Why the fuck was he here?

 He turned towards the door just in time to hear the creak of the handle turning. Deftly, he skirted behind the door as it opened, pressing into the wall.

 Alicent rearranged her face, hoping she looked normal as Netty poked her head through. Behind her, she could see a uniformed soldier hanging back.

 “My lady?” Netty whispered, her frowning face peering in. “Is everything alright?”

 “Of course.” Alicent said too quickly. Her hand went to her hourglass, ready to use it. 

 “It’s just, I heard some voices earlier.” Netty said. “I thought it best to bring the soldier to check.”

Alicent’s hand fell. “Oh…no. A nightmare. That was all.”

Netty smiled in relief and curtsied. “I’m glad you’re alright, my lady. Would you like some milk?”

“I’m fine.”

“I will ask the soldier to stay outside the door,” Netty said. “Just in case.”

 “No, really,” Alicent said, panicked. “There’s no need for him to stay.”

 “There have been some wanderers found in the castle of late, my lady. What would the Lord Hand say if his only daughter was attacked?” Netty smiled, innocently. “If you need anything, just knock twice and he will assist you.”

The soldier behind her nodded, shielding his eyes. His oaths forbade him to look upon a noblewoman not fully clothed unless a need arose to defend her life. 

Alicent could only nod as Netty closed the door behind her gently.

She and Daemon locked eyes and both looked immediately toward the windows in perfect unison. They were far too small for any human to exit; much less a grown man.

Daemon glanced toward the door and moved with an assassin’s silence across the stone floor. Alicent almost admired how the metal of his sword didn’t even clink.

 He leaned down, next to Alicent’s ear. “I can kill him.” 

 “No.” Alicent hissed back. “That would just make everything ten times worse.”

 “What would you suggest then?”

Alicent’s skin tingled as his hair fell, tickling her cheek. She moved back on the bed. “My maids will not enter until a few hours past dawn.” She said. She ignored the look that Daemon was giving her. It was a look that belonged more to an animal waiting for its meal. “You must awake before then.”

 "And where should I rest?" Daemon said, his eyes not moving from her face.

 "There's only the bed." Alicent said, her voice barely a whisper.

Chapter Text

“Is that your method of seduction?” Daemon’s eyes travelled down Alicent’s body. In the moonlight, her nightclothes were almost translucent and his gaze stalled shamelessly upon her chest.

Alicent snatched the bed covers over herself again. “I do not need to share it with me. The floor is also comfortable.”

 “You’d dare suggest I sleep on your floor like a dog?” Daemon began to undress himself. “You needn’t cover yourself. You were practically naked before me last night.”

 “What are you doing?” Alicent hissed. “Keep your clothes on.”

 “I cannot sleep in this heavy leather.” Daemon slid his black aketon to the floor. Alicent had seen Gwayne’s many times- mostly abandoned in a heap near the stables. The leather straps of Daemon’s were emblazoned with tiny dragons. 

Alicent found herself smiling as she looked at it. “Must everything you own have the Targaryen crest?”

Daemon frowned. “Yes?”

 “That’s quite funny.”

 “It’s my House.” Daemon said, defensively. “What do you wear? That gaudy emerald dress.”

 Alicent’s smile vanished. “It isn’t gaudy!” She looked away. “I mean - wasn’t .”

 There was a knock at the door, startling them both. “My lady? I thought I heard a voice.” The guard spoke from behind the door.

 “I was…just me!” Alicent raised her eyes to Daemon who was looking at her pointedly. “Just…some candle wax on my hand! You may go back to your post!”

 “Yes, my lady.” The sound of the guard’s footsteps moved further down the corridor.

Daemon leaned forward again. He had dressed down to his trousers, his white undershirt. The rest of his clothes were shed in a heap on the floor and Alicent wondered if all men shared an inability to keep anything neatly in place.

 “You shouldn’t explain yourself when you’re trying to lie,” he said. “It reveals you.”

 “You’re speaking from your own vast experience of lying.” Alicent said, moving to the other side of the bed with her back to him. “Goodnight.”

The bed creaked softly as Daemon entered. He hesitated before he laid down. The bed smelled like her. Her scent brought back the memory of the night before and he felt a surge of frustration; he was impatient to rid himself of this ridiculous fantasy. 

Alicent made a sound of protest as Daemon reached for her immediately upon taking up the bed, his arm yanking her waist and she slid across toward him. “What-?!”

 “Hush,” Daemon said, unbuttoning his trousers. “The guard.”

Alicent flipped around to glare at him. He was now looming over her, his knees either side, looking down with pure intent. “I’m trying to sleep.” She whispered furiously. “How dare you assume I am here simply for your pleasure?”

 “I took you last night and I mean to take you now.” Daemon said. “What difference does it make?”

 “The difference is I don’t want to.” Alicent said. She pulled herself up against the headboard and moved back to her position. “I’m not your whore, Daemon.”

 “Well, you can certainly fuck like one.” Daemon snapped. “For someone so self-righteous.”

 “Surely you are not so desperate that you would need to call on me.” Alicent said, examining him. “I’m sure you have half a dozen pillowhouses at your beck and call.”

Daemon was silent. Unusually. To Alicent’s surprise, he abandoned the conversation and turned on his side, away from her. She kept staring at the back of his shoulders. She had known him for a long time: near forty years starting since the childhood of her previous life up until now. As much as he had a reputation for being unpredictable, he didn’t generally go out of his way for no reason whatsoever.

 “Is that why you came here at all?” Alicent said, the realisation dawning. “Because you want my company over the pillowhouse?”

 “Don’t flatter yourself.”

 “In truth, I wasn’t.”

 Daemon turned towards her. Alicent found that looking down at him from above, for once, felt nice. “I will take no wife in this second life.”

 “What?” Alicent was stunned by this sudden confession. Then, “Well you are already wed.”

 “You know what I mean.”

 “You won’t wed Rhaenyra?”

Daemon was quiet for a moment. “She was miserable with me. By the end.” His words seemed to be faltering. He had, over the past months since he had been sent back to the past, been thinking about this same thing and now that he had said it out loud, he knew it was what was in his heart. To watch Rhaenyra languish once again, the tears she had shed over him, the years that she lost waiting for him. He couldn’t, he knew he couldn’t, guarantee he wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes. He was, after all, himself. 

 “Do you not love her?” Alicent asked, still processing.

 “Of course I do.” Daemon said. “But I should have never taken her away from her father. I should never have abandoned her in the first place in this castle with you and Otto. Leaving her to be tormented.”

“I,” Alicent swallowed. “Regret what I did.”

 “I too.” Daemon said, simply.

 “This after you said you had no regrets.”

 “I was lying.” Daemon said. “Something that I have, apparently, vast experience in.”

Alicent felt like it might not be a good idea to touch him but she reached over and put a hand on his arm; the hard muscle momentarily distracting her. “I am proud of you,” she said. “In a way.”

 “Thank you.” Daemon said, dryly. “You, Alicent Hightower, proud of me. That’s all I need.”

 “I am also Alicent Targaryen.” Alicent reminded him. She resumed lying down next to him. They both stared up at the ceiling for a long while, the only sound was the slight rustle of the curtains as the night air blew through a crack in the window.

 “How did Viserys die?” Daemon asked, quietly.

 Alicent sighed. “Did you not see him at the end, Daemon?”

 Daemon fell silent again. Then, suddenly, his voice barely audible, “The night his wife died he cried like a babe. I never saw him like that. He was always more sensitive than I, but…” he paused and Alicent let the pause endure. She had never heard him speak so before. “He reminded me of our father when my mother died.”

 “My father too.” Alicent said, softly. “When mine own mother died. I know the feeling well. To see someone you thought would never crumble break into pieces.”

Daemon made a sound of exasperation through his teeth. “Do not make me feel akin to Otto, if you would.”

Alicent laughed despite herself.

 “How rare.” Daemon murmured. “Never have I heard you laugh.”

 “You were never particularly amusing.” Alicent barbed.

 “But my brother was?”

 “I loved Viserys,” Alicent said. “But I never loved Viserys. And he never loved me, his love died. I was only a replacement.” The words that she had never spoken felt better once she had said them. She didn't have the energy to feel sorry for it any longer.

 “Your father was wrong to push you toward him.” Daemon said. “I would never force my daughters into a marriage they did not wish.” He added, “In the life that I had daughters, anyway.”

 “Your daughters were princesses.” Alicent said. “I am just somber Alicent Hightower.”

 “Yes,” Daemon’s eyes were closed. “The very same somber woman who grabbed a dagger in a room full of armed soldiers and tried to extract a child’s eye. I remember it well.”

 Alicent put a hand to her eyes. “I should not have acted as I did.”

 “I would have been impressed had you not been aiming said dagger at the future of my House.”

 “My children were also the future of your House.”

 Daemon raised his eyebrows, his eyes still closed. 

Alicent’s eyes moved from his face to his chest. His half-open shirt revealed a long, silver scar that ran like a lightning bolt from his collarbone to a place she couldn’t see. “Did battle give you that?” She reached out a finger and touched it.

 “I thought you were trying to sleep.”

 “Now you have awoken me.”

 “I am tired.” Daemon said. “Do not touch me unless you wish to be relieved of that nightgown.”

Alicent took a moment, the blood starting to rush to her head. What am I doing?

Then she pulled her nightgown up over her head, squirming out of it before depositing it on the floor, leaving her completely naked underneath the covers of the bed. Without looking, she felt Daemon’s eyes trained on her.

 “Is that meant to entice me?” Daemon enquired, enticed. 

 “No.” Alicent said, turning away from him. “I am merely hot.”

 Wordlessly, Daemon snatched her from behind, both of his hands finding her breasts. He squeezed them - hard.

 “Ah! Daemon,” Alicent hissed. “Stop. It still hurts where you bit me.”

Daemon moved her onto her back and, with a deceptive tenderness, moved her hair from her face and chest. He traced the bitemarks he had left with the tips of his fingers, a classic smirk on his face. “Next time I shall put one here .” Alicent drew her breath in sharply, feeling his other hand rub her just before his long fingers entered inside. She dug her own fingers into his shoulders so hard she was almost certain her nails would pierce him.

Daemon pressed his mouth against her ear. “You’re going to have to use more strength than that if you hope to leave your mark on my skin.”

Alicent’s hips moved rhythmically as he moved his fingers in her - it felt even better than it had done and she couldn’t help but think he had learned some of her tells for when she was especially impassioned.

She reached her arms up and pulled him closer and, surprisingly, he obliged. Then, he brushed against her. She felt him. She reached her hand out, curiously, and grasped him to make sure what she supposed was true - he was aching for her already.

Daemon’s expression flickered with conflicting emotions as Alicent smiled up at him, her eyes filled with a deviousness he almost admired. “Your body betrays you, Daemon,” she said. Her grip on him tightened and he flinched against his will, much to her amusement. “You’re already dripping. Right here.” She swept her thumb over a head that was crimson and twitching.

Daemon uttered a curse in Valyrian and, trying to regain control, he flipped her over to her front, picking her up easily by her hips so she was arched in front of him.

 “I want to face y- mmf!” Alicent’s protest was muffled when he pushed her head down into the pillow.

 “Silence, wench.” Daemon’s voice was a heated whisper. He kept his hand on the back of her head, a tangled grip on her long chestnut hair, forcing her face down until Alicent wondered if he was attempting to suffocate her. “Just keep your back arched, that’s all I require.”

Feeling like a dog in heat, Daemon wiped sweat from his lips and was almost angered at how turned on he was - he was nearly at his limit just from this brief foreplay. A horrible thought occurred to him: what if it doesn’t end here? What if I never tire of her?

Alicent freed her head from the pillows, taking in a shaky breath. “I want to be on top.” She said. 

Her words startled Daemon out of his thoughts. “What?”

Alicent twisted around, breathing heavily, pushing her hair out of her face. “Like this.” She reached over and put her arms around his neck; he was bigger than her so her knees when she straddled him were spread wide. She lifted herself up and teased him; her wetness meeting what was now on the verge of exploding, her mouth meeting his temple, his ear.

Daemon’s hands gripped her waist. He held in a sound of agonized surrender as she buried her face in his neck, her tongue darting, her teeth on his earlobe. The kisses she began to give his face became terribly intimate and he hated how good it felt. He wished he could throw her back onto the bed but he couldn’t; his hands refused to obey him.

Daemon raised his chin and met Alicent’s mouth, one hand moving back into her hair, pressing her into him. The same damn hair fell around his face, the scent driving him temporarily insane and when he found himself slipping inside her he was filled with pure, liquid bliss.

Alicent stifled her own mouth. Daemon wasn’t content to allow her to complete control, he made her ride him so hard the old bed was creaking.

 “Daemon,” she groaned through the pleasure. “Be quiet. The bed. The guard…”

Daemon didn’t hear a word she said, he was too busy licking her breast, sucking it. When the pleasure became too potent he had to break his mouth away and he gritted his teeth, not allowing sound to emerge.

Alicent stroked his jaw. “Tell me it feels good.” She whispered as he got closer and closer. “Say it.”

Daemon opened his mouth and he sucked her fingers as they moved over his face; his only response. 

The crash of orgasm took them both into a mindless state of utter relief - then peace. Alicent threw a hand across her mouth again to stop the cry that threatened. She felt like something fine and precious being held in the air; something light; something that kept floating higher and higher until it couldn’t be seen.

Daemon and Alicent fell from each other, the bed making one final creak. They lay there in the almost-dawn, catching their breath.

Alicent wondered if she should speak, but in the end she didn’t and neither did he.

It wasn’t necessary to do so.

They both knew, with a terrible foreboding, what was between them in that dark room without it needing to be spoken of.

.

“You didn’t get much sleep, did you?”

Alicent jumped guiltily underneath Rhaenyra’s kind and sisterly smile. They were reading in the courtyard, a bowl of sugared nuts between them, and a cool but forgiving autumn sun hung in the sky. These were days that she hadn’t dared to dream of towards the end of her first life and now she couldn’t even enjoy it.

 “I…had another nightmare.” She said.

Daemon, in Daemon-fashion, had been gone when she awoke. He might as well have been a nightmare. How he had managed to slip past the guard in a way that he hadn’t been able to just a handful of hours before was beyond her. Though if she asked him she was sure he wouldn’t supply a real answer.

 “You’ve been having a lot of those recently,” Rhaenyra tipped her head to the side as she almost did when thinking. “Let’s see…when I was having nightmares…yes, that’s it. The Maester said it was because I was eating too much cheese before bedtimes.”

Occasionally, Alicent had to remind herself that Rhaenyra was yet only fifteen - but times like this made it easy to remember. 

 “Indeed.” She said. “I will...not eat so much cheese.”

 “I thought my uncle was going to take me riding with him this afternoon,” Rhaenyra continued dolefully. “But this morning the dragonkeepers told me that Caraxes was gone.”

Alicent’s hands tightened on her book. “Oh?”

 “He’s so unreliable.” Rhaenyra said. “He’s supposed to lead my father’s City Watch but he leaves whenever he likes.”

 “Yes,” Alicent muttered. “I had noticed.”

“I wonder where he’s going this time.”

 “Who knows or cares,” Alicent snapped her book shut. “I’m sure he’ll come back when he likes, as usual.”

 Rhaenyra blinked. “Are you alright?”

 “Yes,” Alicent said, righting herself with a smile. “Just tired.”

 “Perhaps he is going home to the wife he so loathes,” Rhaenyra broke into a giggle. “I hear that whenever he is forced to visit Runestone they keep to opposite sides of the great house.”

 Alicent smiled at that. It was easy to imagine Daemon being that childish.

 “Oh,” Rhaenyra looked behind her. “A maid is coming.”

Alicent looked round in time to see the maid curtsy. “Forgive me for interrupting, Princess, Lady Alicent,” she said. “The Hand asks for his daughter’s presence.”

Alicent swung back to meet Rhaenyra’s eye.

 “Hopefully he means to gift you a new dress for the tourney.” Rhaenyra said.

Alicent nodded, knowing that her father would never call her to see him for a new dress, he would sooner send it with a maid and a note. As she followed the maid back into the castle she struggled to remember if this same instance had occurred in her previous life too.

She supposed that it made sense that as she was not acting as she had done in the past, she was now encountering a brand-new present. It made her uneasy - and hopeful. As the present changed so would the future. Only how much exactly?

 Otto looked uncharacteristically pleasant as he stood in front of a roaring fire in the Hand’s chamber. He offered Alicent a seat and then a glass of wine, which was unusual.

 “How are you, daughter?” He said. “How is…” He hesitated and Alicent waited patiently for him to remember one of her hobbies. “The Princess?”

 Alicent sighed. “She is fine. What is it, father?”

 “Actually, it’s about your brother,” Otto said hesitantly, surprising her. “I am in the middle of negotiating what I hope will be an advantageous marriage for him. He drags his heels into matrimony, of course, too caught up with maidens and jousting-”

Alicent had a feeling why Gwayne was dragging his heels into matrimony and it had nothing to do with maidens and jousting. Not that she ever intended to reveal that to Otto.

 “Lady Roberta of House Arryn,” Otto said. “She is some years older than him, but still young enough.”

 “Lady Roberta?” Alicent frowned. “I thought that she was now about forty-”

 “She is yet thirty-eight and still spritely.” Otto said, quickly. “And her brother wishes to make her a match while she is yet unattached.”

Alicent now understood why Otto’s eyes were making that moonish look. A marriage with House Arryn, the very House that Aemma Targaryen hailed from, would be advantageous indeed for their own. Also, this was yet another development that Alicent hadn’t experienced in her first life - did that mean that it would all come to nothing eventually anyway?

 “What does this have to do with me, father?” She asked. 

 “Well,” he reached for her hand to pat it; something he always did to coax her. “We obviously can’t just send your brother over there with bells and whistles attached to court Lady Roberta. Such a thing would be inappropriate and we have our own House’s dignity to think of.”

  What’s left of it. Alicent thought. 

 “But if you expressed a wish to visit the Vale then you could be received as the Hand’s daughter and then, of course, Gwayne could accompany you as escort,” Otto nodded encouragingly. “Do you see now?”

Alicent nodded slowly. Noble ladies often made ‘calls’ on each other to be better acquainted so they would not be obstructing custom; even if this time it would in fact be just as obvious as it would have been if Gwayne had hammered on the door of the Arryn’s great house dressed as a male prostitute and playing a lute. At least through Alicent it would not be thought of as brash. And she was sure that they in turn had a son or two they’d like to push toward Otto, hoping to mesh one of their vassal families with the Hand’s daughter. 

Alicent didn’t take long to consider. It might be good to be away from the castle for a while. She could clear her head, make allies; gaining the favour of House Arryn would not be anything to discount. Perhaps, if she liked it there, she could stay. And forget about the man who kept abandoning her without a word.

 “I will go.” She said, finally.

 Otto chucked her underneath her chin, something he hadn’t done since she was five years old. “I knew, of all people, I could rely on you, Alicent.”

 “Of course, father.”

 “We will ready you to leave by the morrow,” Otto said. “Send your maids into town to pick out some new styles of dress, I see you are re-wearing those old-fashioned high necked dresses each day. You must look like a court lady having come from King’s Landing.”

Alicent didn’t bother to enquire how Otto knew so much about fashions for women at court. “Will I stay at the Eyrie? I have always wished to see it.”

 “It would perhaps be too blunt for you and your brother to stay at the Eyrie,” Otto said. “This is still a very early negotiation and the Arryns are somewhat private. We have arranged for you to stay north of Gulltown. It is itself a most beautiful place near the coast.”

Alicent frowned. “North of Gulltown? That’s-”

 “Runestone.” Otto said. “Lady Rhea Royce has been good enough to offer her castle to us. Indeed, as wife to the Prince, she can hardly refuse the Hand’s request.”

Chapter Text

The next two days were full of preparation for the journey that Alicent and Gwayne would make led by Lord Frederick Cuy and his men as their escort. It had been a long time since Alicent had seen a single soul from House Cuy, not since she was eight years old. 

House Cuy were vassals of House Hightower and had suffered heavy losses during the Dance that had taken the lives of both Frederick and his eldest son. As far as Alicent knew, the youngest of the Cuy clan had yet lived and, although they had been little help during her imprisonment, it was a great relief to see them all the same. It was like seeing beloved relatives again. Unlike Otto, Lord Frederick was not shy in showing his affection.

 “As I live,” he bellowed on the morning he arrived at the Red Keep, striding across the stone of the inner castle with his blue and yellow crest draped from his shoulder as a floor-length cape. “It’s the most beautiful woman in Westeros!”

Alicent couldn’t help but throw her arms around him. He was a shorter man, but very wide and not easily moved by anything in the physical realm. He was, however, very easily moved to tears and she recalled him crying into his beer at folk songs, the sight of his daughters dancing and his favourite mare successfully foaling in the time she had known him while she had been living in Oldtown. 

 “Good morrow to you, my lord.” Alicent said, beaming. “It is good to see you again.” 

 “None of that ‘my lord’, my lady,” Frederick said, looking over her in wonder. “Why, you’re the image of your dear mother. A rare beauty.” He looked over her shoulder. “And Gwayne is here too.”

 Gwayne, who often saw Frederick upon visiting Oldtown, rolled his eyes high. He looked pale, Alicent thought. He was easily the least enthusiastic at the prospect of their trip than anyone else.

 “Are you ready to go and meet your destiny, young lord Hightower?” Frederick said with feigned sternness. “I heard Lady Roberta was quite a strapper twelve years ago-”

 “I’m going to go lie down.” Gwayne said queasily and walked in the direction of his chamber.

Alicent turned to Frederick. “He is nervous.”

 “Well,” Frederick said. “The Arryns are not an easy family, I’ll say that. Lady Jeyne rules over the Vale as best she can aided by the Royces. She has a new steward - a bastard called Jeffrey Stone. He is a smart lad and he is, as far as talk can be believed, somewhat of a favourite to succeed Lady Jeyne.”

As far as Alicent remembered from her past life, the news that she had heard from the Septas while she was imprisoned, there had been a succession crisis when Lady Jeyne died. She wondered if this Jeffrey had succeeded her.

 “They would let a bastard rule the Vale?”

 “Sometimes I think anything’s possible these days, my lady,” Frederick said. “Some impertinents did speculate if Jeffrey is Lady Jeyne’s bastard.”

 “I see.”

 “But that’s neither here nor there. You’ll be wanting to hear more about Roberta, the niece and your new sister.”

 Alicent smiled. “If all goes well.”

 “I’m sure it will, my lady. Young Gwyane is a…cautious fellow, but he’s handsome enough.”

 “I might just go and speak to him before we leave.” Alicent said. “I must also bid the Princess and my father farewell.”

 “Aye, my lady, you go and attend to your duties. Rhys and I will be helping the servants with your luggage.” He pressed close. “I think I’ve seen about a hundred maids and soldiers since I walked through the gates. Gods know what they all do.” 

 Alicent went to find Gwyane and it didn’t take an extensive search to do so - upturned in his room with his face in the pillow. “Brother?” She said, gently. “We must bid father farewell.”

 Gwayne kept his face in the pillow. “I can’t go.”

 “Why not?”

 “I’m dying.”

 “You’re fine.”

 “I have the plague.”

 “It wouldn’t matter whether you were covered in hundreds of oozing boils, father will have you marry this Arryn woman.”

It occurred to Alicent as he lay there just how similar Gwayne was to her own first son. Throwing a tantrum and lying depressed on pieces of furniture would be exactly how Aegon would have dealt with the situation. After all, she supposed they were uncle and nephew even if Aegon no longer existed in this world.

Perhaps if she treated Gwayne as she would Aegon she may have some success.

 “Dearest brother,” she said sweetly, perching on the edge of the bed. “Do you not wish to see the beauty of the Vale?”

 “No,” Gwayne said into the pillow. “I wish to stay here.”

 “What if your bride-to-be is actually a kind sort of woman?” Alicent said. “Does her age concern you?”

 “No!” Gwayne sat up. “I do not care about her age, whether she is twenty or fifty it makes no difference. I-!” He fidgeted. “I do not want to be married to anyone.”

Alicent laid a hand on his arm. “She may wish to stay in the Vale while you go about your duties,” she said. “Then you can do as you please.”

 Gwyane snorted. “Like the Prince does, you mean?”

 At the mention of Daemon, Alicent flinched slightly. “Well…Daemon and Lady Rhea are different. Daemon is obliged to be at the Red Keep as the Commander of the City Watch.”

 Gwyane was peering at her. “Why do you call the Prince ‘Daemon’? I didn’t know you two were so familiar.”

 Alicent slipped off the bed quickly. “We’re not.” She said. “Rhaenyra calls him Daemon, so…I do too sometimes out of habit.”

 She feared her brother, who knew her well, would read her expression; but he merely groaned again and slipped back down, turning away from her. 

 “I hate the Vale.” He muttered. “It’s just sheep and old stones.”

 “Maybe you can go swimming?”

 “Maybe I can drown myself.”

 There was a knock at the doorway. Rhaenyra was poking her head through. “Sorry,” she said with an irreverent smile. “I heard your voice, Alicent.”

 Alicent opened her arms to her and the two embraced tightly. 

 “You won’t stay too long, will you?” Rhaenyra whispered. “You will be back before my brother is born?”

 Alicent swallowed. “Of course. I only mean to stay a week. We would not want to inconvenience the Royces. Would we, Gwayne?”

 Gwayne was a motionless plank on the bed.

 “Is he ill?” Rhaenyra whispered. 

 “He’s fine.” Alicent said. “He just can’t wait to be in the embrace of his lady love.”

 Gwyane scoffed. Finally, he raised himself up and regarded Rhaenyra with a knightly smile. “Forgive me, Princess,” he said. “A slight headache.”

 “You look like you’re going to be sick.” Rhaenyra said.

 “It’s a sickness of joy.” Alicent said, firmly. “Come, Gwayne. We must bid father farewell.”

 “I must go too.” Rhaenyra said. “I promised Syrax we would go flying today.” She grasped Alicent’s hand. “Send me at least one letter while you’re there. I will send you at least ten, I know.”

 Alicent hugged her again. “I promise I will.”

.

Otto had been disconcertingly cheery as he said goodbye to his children. He slapped Gwayne on the back several times and said something about ‘finally growing up’ and Alicent had to hasten Gwayne to the waiting carriage before he replied with something that he would regret.

“I’ve planned our route with a navigator’s skill,” Frederick had winked at them both as they stood in the courtyard of the Red Keep. “We will break our journey in Harrenhall tonight and then continue on to Darry where we will cross the river. He will leave the High Road and travel along the coast to Wickenden. If we still have daylight, we may be able to break our journey in Gulltown before heading to the Runestones in the morning.” He looked over at Gwayne. “You have made this journey before, have you not?”

 “When I wasn’t being forced into a marriage, yes.” Gwayne muttered.

Frederick ignored him. “Lady Alicent,” he said. “Are you sure you do not wish to bring a maid with you? The journey will be two days at least and there’s none but us old men here in this escort. Are you sure you do not need a maid to attend to, uh,” he looked suddenly ill at ease. “Feminine matters.” As the father of three daughters, Frederick had a great respect and fear of ‘feminine matters’.

 “I will be fine, Frederick.” Alicent smiled. “I am sure I can survive two days with no one to dress me or braid my hair. There are maids at the Runestones.”

 “Oh, I wouldn’t count on it, my lady. Lady Rhea is famous for being a, uh, hardy woman. She dresses as a man and does not care for finery.”

 “Even so.” Alicent said. 

 She had survived twenty years in a cold tower dungeon eating stale bread. A week or two without maids didn’t faze her in the slightest.

 “Are you coming into the carriage with me, brother?” She asked Gwyane.

 “I will ride.” Gwayne said, looking out at the sky. Alicent couldn’t help but feel he was being the tiniest bit dramatic about the whole thing. “I need the fresh air.”

 “Very well.” She said. “I will see you in Harrenhall.”

 As the carriage left the Red Keep, the green banner of Hightower and the yellow and blue banners of Cuy flying, Alicent cast one look upwards the the clear and sunlit sky.

She searched for some sign of him- the shadow of Caraxes flickering like a carrying cloud over top of the turrets. Then she looked back at the castle walls, thinking she might see his face as he watched her leave.

She did not see him. 

Finally, she sat back in her seat and buried her mind elsewhere, hoping that in these coming weeks she might forget him entirely.

A man she could not rely on would not be able to give her any measure of the happiness she desperately wanted in this second life. 

.

The journey to Harrenhall took a day, as predicted. They travelled through the Brindlewood, underneath the patchwork dark and light of the eclipsing treescape, through glen after glen. Alicent caught sight of squirrels leaping, sparrows jittering. There was so much birdsong that it lulled her to sleep.

She was awoken by the carriage jolting and when she opened her eyes it was dark.

They were trundling up the great stone path towards the fortress of Harrenhall with Lord Strong and his son Harwin standing shoulder to shoulder at the entrance to greet them.

 “You are most welcome here,” Lord Strong took Alicent’s hand as she exited the carriage. “My lady, I have seen you many times over the years and admire how much you have grown.” He looked over her shoulder, “And Gwayne’s here too.”

 “You’ll forgive me if I do not dine.” Gwayne said, shortly. “I have no appetite this evening.”

The Strongs were known for their gregarious and boisterous nature and that night they showed their true colours with a huge feast spread for the entire party and even a few minstrels to play tunes that echoed up the well-lit stone walls. Frederick and Lord Strong drank into the night and Alicent suspected they were trying to outdo each other.

 “My lady,” Harwin Strong seated himself beside Alicent as several of House Cuy’s bannermen attempted to take on House Strong’s in a coin gambling showdown. “I apologise for the noise.”

 “Not at all.” Alicent said, although her voice was nearly drowned out by the din.

 “Shut your mouths, you rabble!” Harwin lifted himself momentarily to shout over at the men who were drinking and flipping coins onto the floor. “There’s still a young lady here, don’t forget yourselves!”

They hushed a little sheepishly with a few ‘forgive us, my lady’s thrown Alicent’s way.

 “There.” Harwin said. “Now you can be heard.”

 Alicent smiled. “You are taking a reprieve from your duties in the capital, Ser Harwin?”

 “The great Dragon Lord has given me permission to scurry back to my home.” Harwin winked. “Though, nothing against the Prince, he has whipped that pack of dogs that are the Gold Cloaks into shape. Not many a man could do the same.”

 Alicent looked down at her meal. “He is certainly rare.” She said. “Though often absent.”

 “Ah, we all have vices.” Harwin said.

 “And what are yours, Ser Harwin?”

 “Me, my lady?” He grinned. “I have all manner. I am hot-headed for one. My father says I get that from my dear mother. My father and brother Larys are far more cool-tempered than I.”

 “Though I think it isn’t a bad thing to be assertive.” Alicent said. “I certainly wish I could…speak my mind more often.”

 “You will be clever like your father, my lady, I can already see it in you,” Harwin said. “But kind. Very kind, I’m sure.”

Harwin had watched Alicent ice Rhaenyra out of court life for years at the Red Keep in Alicent’s first life, had come to loathe her just as much as Alicent resented him for being Rhaenyra’s lover. And Alicent was still carrying a large measure of guilt for Harwin’s untimely death. 

 “I am not kind.” Alicent hid the tears that threatened by looking down resolutely, refusing to blink in case they fell. “I am a coward.”

Harwin was quiet for a moment and Alicent wondered if she had dissatisfied him. Finally, he said, “Life is hard for young ladies. They are not allowed to be as brash as us men and then think themselves not capable of being strong,” he smiled at her. “We can all be cowards sometimes, Lady Alicent, but fearlessness is learned - not given. You will be a fearless woman one day in the future.”

.

 After the meal, Alicent visited Gwayne as he hid in his room. “You are missing the meal, brother.” She told him.

 “I’m not hungry.” He said, his back to her, on the bed as he had been back at the castle.

 “It is another long day of riding tomorrow,” Alicent reminded him. “Are you sure you want to go to bed with an empty belly?”

Gwayne paused and then turned around. “Perhaps you’re right. There’s no point in starving myself. I am still without appetite, however, I will just have some meat, bread, cheese, olives if they have any, some nuts and some milk before I retire. Oh, and fetch a small draught of ale.”

 Alicent rolled her eyes. “Let me find the maid.”

 As she walked back along the cavernous corridors of Harrenhall she thought she saw something flicker along the windows far above her. It was a shadow that almost took the moonlight from the earth for just a split second. Her heart began to hammer. A dragon.

Alicent raced to the window just in time to see the dragon fly overhead and towards the High Road, the rest of the landscape so hushed and so dazzling with the pale light it felt unreal to be looking upon it.

Alicent’s heart slowed. It wasn’t Caraxes. She could tell by the blue colour of its hide which was unmistakeable even with just the moonlight to identify it.

She wondered what another dragon and its rider could possibly be doing in this part of the country.

.

The party left Harrenhall with some reluctance. It seemed that Frederick had made a life-long friend of Lord Strong and the soldiers were bereft to be separated from their new drinking mates. They moved at a rather more sluggish pace than they had the day before, many of them pulling their visors down to protect their eyes from the bright autumn sun. 

After crossing the bridge at Darry they only got as far as the Saltpans before it was dark outside, too dark to continue.

 “Forgive us, my lady,” he seemed genuinely regretful. “Now you will have to sleep in the carriage, it’s not fit for a Hightower daughter. What would your father say if he knew-”

 “He will not know.” Alicent said, gently. “Do not fret. At least the night is dry.”

 “And tomorrow it will be an easier trek to Gulltown.” Gwayne said. “We may even reach Runestone.”

It was no bother at all to Alicent to curl up in her fur-lined cape on the seat of the carriage. They were not far from the edge of the coast and to fall asleep listening to the sea crashing was something like bliss.

She did not sleep long, however; she was awoken by raised voices, lights and the thunder of hooves.

 “Formation!” She heard Frederick cry and she sprang upright, wide awake. Her first thought was of Gwayne. She slid to the window to peer out and saw him standing in front of her carriage, sword held aloft, ready to defend his sister with his life. Despite his often childish nature, Alicent was reminded that he was every bit a fully-fledged knight. 

Facing down on them were a row of black horses with seated armoured men. They had appeared from nowhere and now they stood in one line before the defensive circle that House Cuy had made.

Alicent fumbled for her neck. Her hourglass. She still had her hourglass if she needed it and had one more turn to use before the next full moon. If anything happened to her brother-

Then she saw it. The sigil of the eagle flying into a moon.

 “Wait!” She slammed open her carriage door, startling them all.

 “Alicent!” Gwayne was shocked.

 “Lady Alicent,” Frederick’s voice was unusually stern. “Stay in the carriage!”

 “It’s House Arryn!” She said. “The sigil on the banners they have draped. Look!”

 A man rode in heavily from behind his men, a tall, black-haired man who couldn’t have been more than twenty. He raised his hand to the Arryn soldiers and dismounted in one motion. “Friends!” He boomed. “We are House Arryn. Sheathe your swords.”

 A moment of silence and then groans from all of the soldiers.

 “House Arryn?!” Frederick raged. “You could have announced yourselves before you came galloping into our encampment like you were up to no good. For all we knew, you could have been bandits!”

 “Fools.” Gwyane muttered, sheathing his sword with reluctance. 

 “Forgive us,” the man bowed. His eyes locked on Alicent. “I heard this lady recognise us. She must have keen eyes.”

 “Who in the Seven Hells even are you?” Gwayne demanded.

 The man smiled and Alicent noticed, even in the darkness, how handsome he was. 

 “I am Jeffrey Stone,” he said. “Steward of House Arryn and of the Lady of the Vale. When your party did not arrive in Gulltown as planned, we worried for your safety. We planned to escort the Hightowers directly to Runestone, so when you did not arrive I thought it best to ascertain your location.”

 “How did you even find us?” Frederick demanded. “We must be near fifty miles from Gulltown.” 

 “The soldiers of the Vale ride their horses over craggy mountain roads for mere amusement.” Jeffrey said. “Fifty miles of flat coastal road is nothing to us. But please,” he extended an arm. “We have brought lamps to light your way. Let us escort you now.” He looked again at Alicent. “I fear the lady is weary so let us make haste.”

Alicent found it impossible to sleep as they rode through the night on their journey to Runestone. The roar of the sea kept getting louder and louder until finally, from the window of her carriage she saw an impossibly beautiful expanse of moonlit sea, ancient black cliffs drawn from the water. Their path took them just a man’s height from the stone and shell beaches of the Bay of Crabs.

So this was the Vale.

 True to his word, Jeffrey did not waste a night in Gulltown but insisted on escorting Alicent and Gwayne directly to Runestone as Frederick and House Cuy bedded down for the night in an inn.

 “We will not expect you to rise early,” he said, cheerily to the two exhausted siblings. “Do not fret. I’m sure Lady Rhea will not begrudge you a few more hours of sleep.”

Taking the road up to Runestone, an uneven trek from flatland to high mountain, Alicent and Gwayne shared one sturdy horse with Gwayne flicking the reins wearily and muttering about how people in the Vale really had no manners at all as the rumours said.

 “Jeffrey is so capable though,” Alicent whispered. “Do you not think?”

 “No.”

 “Gwayne!”

 Gwayne wrinkled his nose. “He is as all bastards. Greedy, ambitious. Ser We Rode Fifty Miles To Collect You. I think he’s strange.”

 “I think he’s quite handsome.” Alicent muttered.

 “If you marry a bastard then Father will disown you.”

 “I only said he was handsome.”

 The castle of Runestone stood proud and as infallible-looking as Harrenhall in the dawn that peeked up over the water, illuminating it in pink and pale yellow. It was smaller, much smaller, than Alicent had imagined and looked as though it could only keep about fifty or sixty inhabitants: but it was hardy all the same. 

 In front of the castle, surprisingly fully-dressed and armoured despite the early hour, was a short-haired woman in a man’s bronze aketon and thick, brown boots, a dagger at her side and hands at her hips. 

 “So these are the malingerers!” She shouted to Jeffrey as he rode up first. “Late as all fine lords from King’s Landing!”

 “I beg your patience, Lady Rhea,” Jeffrey said, smoothly. “An error in navigation delayed them.”

Well, drinking too heavily at Harrenhall delayed us. Alicent thought.

 Rhea approached Alicent and slapped her hand with hers in a grip that usually only soldiers used to greet each other. “Hello,” she said, her voice sharp. “Lady Hightower?”

 “Alicent.” Alicent said, taken aback.

 Rhea also gripped Gwyane’s hand in a vice-like handshake. “And…Glenn, is it?”

 “Gwayne.” Gwayne said.

 “Yes,” It wasn’t certain if Rhea heard him or not as she swivelled back around. “Well, I was just about to go out with the dogs. Go inside and make yourself at home. I daresay we have a few servants lurking about the place but I doubt we can make you as comfortable as a royal palace would.” She raised her eyebrows at Jeffrey. “And you’re staying?”

 Jeffrey bowed. “If you’ll allow me, my lady.”

 Rhea shrugged. “Do as you wish.” She glanced at Alicent as she passed her, but said nothing more.

 Alicent and Gwayne looked at each other.

 Jeffrey coughed. “Lady Rhea is…as you see…eccentric.”

 “Clearly.” Said Gwayne. As Jeffrey led them into the castle, he leaned into Alicent. “Can you believe such a woman is married to the Prince? I bet she puts him in his place.”

“I think so too.” Alicent smiled. She had to admit, she liked Rhea Royce already.

Chapter Text

Daemon had not seen Alicent leave the Red Keep, had not seen any preparation for her to leave and, in fact, had not spoken to anyone in three days. He had led another purge on the thief boats that docked themselves in the harbour as they masqueraded as vendors and, although it hadn’t helped his black mood, driving his sword through people had helped to clear his mind for a short time.

That was before the night fell and Daemon wouldn’t visit the pillowhouse or even leave the Keep at all. He would keep to his chamber to drink and brood.

Why did she make him feel this way, her of all people? 

Listening to her voice next to him that night had calmed him, lifted the endless cycle of dark and repetitive thoughts about the future, his past, his death. Touching her skin, breathing in the scent of her hair, hearing her little gasps as he moved inside her - it had been easily the best sex of his life, which was horrifying enough.

What was even worse was that it had been the best he had felt since coming into his second life and, if you counted the final years of his previous life, the best he had felt in a long, long while.

What did he do now? And why, gods why, did it have to be Alicent?

He had seriously considered snatching her from the Red Keep, taking her to Dragonstone and chaining her to his bed until he was finally satisfied.

But then, he supposed, that wasn’t very considerate. And she did have the proclivity to stab people’s eyes.

Now, on his way to the morning’s Small Council, he was so distracted that he didn’t notice Otto and his brother making their way towards him.

 “Brother!” Viserys greeted him with a wide smile, looking him up and down. “You look as though you’ve had no sleep.”

“I have been busy protecting your city, brother.” Daemon said, curtly.

Viserys looked confused at his tone; but ignored it as usual. “I was just saying to Otto, it looks as though the Keep will be full of celebration this month. Not only the birth of my son but also,” he looked at Otto, expecting him to continue.

 “What?” Daemon said. “Is it Otto’s 100th nameday?”

Otto gave Daemon a smile that said I’d have you killed if I could. “A fine jest,” he said. “In fact, my child is getting married.”

Daemon kept his expression neutral. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword. “Oh?”

 “Just two days ago, Alicent left for the Vale,” Viserys said. “Rhaenyra is quite bereft.”

 “She’ll be back.” Otto said. “Unless, of course, she enjoys it in Runestone. I do not want to-”

 “Runestone?” Daemon snapped. “Who is there to marry in Runestone?”

 “Well, your kind lady wife has been good enough to allow both Alicent and Gwayne board in her castle while they stay in the area.” Otto said.

 “She should have asked me if they could do so, for after all, is it not my castle by law?” Daemon spat.

 Viserys was frowning. “Why are so angered? It isn’t as though you ever cared what happened in Runestone before,” he glanced at Otto. “Although, you should perhaps visit on more occasions.”

Daemon barely heard him speak. Was this Alicent’s new plan? She had said some nonsense about falling pregnant to avoid her fate once Aemma died. That had been before Daemon had lain with her - now twice. 

He had a short vision of Alicent wedding some flat-faced Vale lord and living the rest of her life in a stone castle by the sea. Far out of his reach.

He wasn’t done with her yet. Did she think she could simply escape him? A horrible thought occurred to Daemon: she had used him. She had seduced him with her dark eyes and her unforgiving mouth and her damn, cursed, beautiful hair and now she would depart for her real life leaving him behind with a longing so palpable and so humiliating that it made Daemon seethe like he never had.

“-hope Lady Roberta is taken with a boy yet still so young and inexperienced.” Otto was saying something useless and Viserys was laughing when Daemon’s awareness returned.

 Daemon turned on his heel and walked in the direction of the gates, which would take him to the castle grounds, which would take him to the dragonpit.

 “Brother!” Viserys called after him. “What of the Council-?”

Daemon didn’t respond.

“Will you be back?!”

“No!” Daemon shouted. “My business can't wait!”

It certainly couldn't wait. 

Once he reached Runestone, he would teach Alicent what happened when you used a Targaryen Prince for amusement. 

.

Gwayne came searching for Alicent when he had awoken and found her in her chamber - a small but comfortable one on the topmost floor of Runestone with a skylight view-  the four maids that Rhea kept were poring over Alicent’s trunks.

 “Look, look!” They were saying, all about fifteen or fourteen years of age, their voices high and excited. “Real silk! And this one! Look at this hair comb, it’s bejewelled!”

 “Brother,” Alicent said from the armchair where she was leafing through the book Rhaenyra had given her to take along. “You’re up earlier than I thought you’d be.”

 “I was awoken when Frederick’s men delivered the luggage,” he said, drowsily, glancing at the maids. “I see you’re popular.”

 “As was I. Girls,” Alicent said. “I would a moment with my brother.”

 They all stood rather reluctantly and curtsied. “Yes, my lady.”

 “See if Lady Rhea is ready to take us to the Eyrie.”

 Gwayne winced. “So soon?”

 “Better to get it over and done with.” Alicent said.

 “But,” Gwayne began, then stopped himself. He waited until the maids’ footsteps had faded completely. “What if…I mean, would it be so bad if I never was to marry?”

Alicent looked up at him. “It’s our duty.” She said.

 “I know that.” Gwayne said, fidgeting with his sleeve. “But…well, that’s easy for you to say. You do not mind the company of men. For me…” He trailed away.

Alicent waited, but he said no more. 

“Marriage is just an arrangement between two Houses,” she said. “It is merely politics.” She lowered her voice. “Lady Roberta is unlikely to insist on a child, given her age.”

 Gwayne nodded, keeping his gaze averted.

 “Don’t overthink it.” Alicent said. 

 Lady Rhea had returned by lunch and Alicent and Gwayne sat down with her to eat. Lunch was fish. A lot of fish. Alicent knew that, sat next to the sea they could hardly avoid it, still she wished they’d at least cut the heads off so the eyes did not stare at her.

Lady Rhea insisted on accompanying them to the Eyrie after they had eaten, eyeing them both, sizing them up.

 “You can’t ride in that.” She gestured to Alicent’s dress. “You should change into something else.”

 Alicent glanced at Gwayne. “Oh…I only have dresses.”

 Rhea sighed. “You noble ladies, honestly. I will see if I have anything spare you can wear for the morrow. For now, you will have to ride side-saddle with Glenn as you did yesterday.”

 “It’s Gwayne.” Gwayne said. 

 Alicent sidled up to Rhea as she saddled their mare from the day before, patting its sweating flanks. “Is…your husband ever at home?”

 Rhea made a rude sound. “Him? I haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in months. You’ve probably seen more of him in King’s Landing than I have.”

 Alicent flushed pink. In many ways, she had. 

 “I’m sorry.” She said, regretful.

 “Don’t be sorry.” Rhea turned to her. “He can stay in King’s Landing or cast himself into the sea - I care not.” She waved at Gwayne. “Ser Glenn! Your horse is ready!”

 The sight of the Eyrie in the distance was far more unnerving than the flat but hearty sight of Runestone or the impressive expanse of Harrenhall. The castle stood at the very top of a high mountain laced with a winding road that got steadily more precarious as they climbed, the wind threatening to blow them all asunder. 

 In the distance, Alicent saw it again- the blue dragon she had seen flying over the sky at Harrenhall seated at the crest of the mountain before them, distant but terrifying all the same. “Look!” She yelled over the wind.

 “Who’s dragon is that?” Gwayne shouted back. “I don’t know of a blue dragon!”

 “It’s white!” Rhea called over her shoulder, somehow having overheard them. “Look at it closer!”

 Alicent peered through the bluster and saw that, when the dragon raised its head, it shone like the moon on a cool and clear summer night, its opal scales turning sunset-pink at its crest.

 “Gods,” she said under her breath. “It's so beautiful.”

 “That will be the young boy from Driftmark,” Rhea shouted. “Wanting to recruit more Vale men into the Seasnake’s pointless endevours in the Stepstones!”

Alicent remembered that at this time they had been warring with the Triarchy and the so-called crab feeder; a war that the King would not yet declare. That was the war that Daemon had won and been crowned King of the Narrow Sea for winning. Although that victory was supposed to take place at least three years from now, she was sure that Daemon would waste no time in savouring the opportunity to kill his enemies again. He was probably there now burning everyone, she thought grimly.

When they finally reached the Eyrie, Alicent already felt exhausted. Dark-clothed servants whisked their horses away wordlessly, their faces as stony as the slate sky, and walking towards the Bloody Gate felt like walking towards a death sentence with its ominous walls that spoke of the armies that had fallen against it.

Alicent gripped her own shoulder as she was filled with a sudden chill. Why did she feel such a sense of foreboding? She reached for the hourglass almost to reassure herself and wished for Rhaenyra, who would no doubt be cheering her up with a joke. Even Otto who would be rolling his eyes at the inconvenient location and whispering how Oldtown was superior. 

She even wished for Daemon who would be walking ahead fearlessly, his broad shoulders a place of protection, his swagger bolstering her own confidence.

Alicent took a breath and continued walking on her own.

.

“You are not,” Lady Jeyne said. “Quite as tall as your father, Otto. A pity for you. Tall women enjoy longer lives than short ones.”

Alicent was not quite sure what to say to that. In fact, she was not sure what to make of any of this. They were seated in Lady Jeyne’s parlor with Gwayne perched awkwardly on a loveseat, Rhea standing at the doorway with her arms crossed like one of the guards, Jeffrey - who had ridden ahead of them - sat next to Alicent at the table. On a chair on Alicent’s other side was a girl with golden hair plaited to her waist. It was almost Lannister-gold and Alicent wondered if this was a visiting relative until Lady Jeyne had introduced her: “This is Melisayne, my ward. Her parents were fish merchants in Old Anchor and she uses that inquisitive mind for calculation to help me with the House's accounts and the younger servants. All the things that Jeffrey has no time to do.”

Melisayne had curtsied to Alicent. Her large smile was a bit frightening, though Alicent supposed she was rather young and just eager to please. “Lady Alicent,” she had said, excitedly. “It is such a fine thing to finally meet you. I have heard all about you. They say you are the most elegant woman in the King’s Court!”

 “Well,” Alicent said, taken aback. “I’m…not sure…”

 “Alicent,” Lady Jeyne had reached for her and taken her aside for a moment before they had entered the parlor. “I would be most indebted to you if you would spend some time with Melisayne. I know she is just the child of smallfolk, but she is such an innocent thing and so keen to know of court life. Perhaps your fine manners will influence her.”

Alicent had known that her position as the Hand’s daughter made her fairly renowned but she had never thought she would have such a grand reputation outside the walls of the Red Keep even before her marriage to Viserys. These were the same people calling her 'the Green Bitch' during the Dance.

 Now, as Alicent sat next to Melisayne she caught the girl’s direct stare at the side of her face and gave her an awkward smile. 

 “Well,” Gwayne said finally. “Can I ask where, uh, Lady Roberta might be?”

 “My niece?” Lady Jeyne said, raising an eyebrow. “I had no idea you two were acquainted.”

Alicent and Gwayne cast uncertain looks at each other. Could it be that the reason for their visit was being purposefully rebuffed? There was no way that someone as shrewd as Jeyne would not know why they had really come.

 “I will see if Lady Roberta will join us.” Jeffrey said. “Excuse me a moment.”

 “Jeffrey assists me with everything,” Jeyne said once he left. “He is a capable steward. Such a shame that he’s a bastard.” 

 “There are worse things to be.” Rhea piped up from the back.

 “Lady Alicent,” Melisayne leaned closer in her chair to speak to her quietly. “Where did you get your dress? It looks like the finest silk.”

 “Oh,” Alicent touched her skirt absently. “It is an old dress by now, it was my mother’s.”

 Melisayne’s large blue eyes looked her up and down. “It is so pretty,” she said finally, smiling. “Just like you.”

 Alicent smiled back. She was a bit of a strange girl but she didn’t seem anything more than precocious. “Thank you. I brought some dresses with me to the Vale, you’re welcome to borrow one if you like.”

 “Oh!” Melisayne said, inclining her head. “Thank you, my lady. It’s just,” she looked away. “My waist is so much smaller than yours and my shoulders much less broad. I do not think any would fit me.”

Alicent blinked at her words. “Oh… very well.” 

  That was strange, perhaps it’s because she’s young that she’s so blunt.

Jeffrey returned with not just Lady Roberta but a smiling Laenor who nodded at Gwayne and Alicent. “I didn’t know the Hightowers had come to the Vale.”

 “We didn’t know the Valaryons had come,” Gwayne glanced uncomfortably at Lady Roberta, who sat next to him without so much as meeting his eye. “Are you here on business?”

 “Lady Jeyne is kind enough to lend my father her soldiers to protect our ships against the Crab Feeder,” Laenor said. “I visit the Vale often to deliver news of our progress. And Seasmoke likes the Vale, the mountains, the fresh air.”

 “It is surprising that the Prince does not deliver that information himself from the Small Council.” Gwayne said.

 The room fell quiet.

 “The Prince does not visit the Vale.” Jeyne said, flatly. “Too beneath his dignity, I'd warrant.”

 Rhea said nothing but her eyes travelled to the ceiling with an irritated air.

  Daemon. Alicent thought. How does one man manage to make so many enemies? It’s like you’ve been living your second life the same as your first.

 “The Prince protects King’s Landing.” Laenor said, looking at Alicent for help. 

Alicent turned away. “Lady Roberta,” she said. “Gwayne mentioned to me how much he wishes to see the view from the top of the Eyrie,” she ignored Gwayne as he begged her not to do this with his eyes. “Would you be so kind as to show him?”

 Lady Roberta frowned and swung her head to Gwayne. “Do you wish to see it?”

 “I…uh…yes,” Gwayne said miserably. “Let us go.”

 “I will join you.” Laenor said, cheerily, not reading the room.

 “While they take in the view, Jeffery, perhaps you could show Alicent the flower garden that we keep on our castle grounds,” Jeyne turned to Alicent. “Flowers do not often bloom on this salt earth, but we have had some success with the frostier blooms, It’s something for our ladies to do.”

 “Of course, my lady,” Jeffrey bowed. “Lady Alicent?”

 “Can I go also?” Melisayne stood. “I would love to spend more time with Lady Alicent.”

 “Of course,” Jeyne looked at Alicent pointedly. “I’m sure that would be fine.”

Alicent found herself walking the windy halls of the Eyrie listening to Melisayne’s chatter about how they were trying to grow roses like the ones in High Garden and how one day she hoped the Eyrie would hold a huge feast for a Realm, although; apparently, Lady Jeyne did not care for feasts.

Jeffrey leaned in through Melisayne’s rambling. “The girl likes to talk a lot,” he whispered. “I hope you’ll forgive her.”

“Of course.” Alicent said.

 She liked Jeffrey’s calm and quiet nature as well as his face. He seemed sturdy and reliable; unlike certain other men she could name. 

 “How long have you lived at the Eyrie?” She asked as Melisayne skipped ahead of them, pointing out the patches of garden down below. 

 “Since I was eight years.” Jeffrey said. “Before that I lived at Redfort.”

 Alicent frowned. “So your family…?”

Jeffrey laughed lightly. “Indeed. That is where my father is. I am Lord Adros Redfort’s bastard; not, as some tongue-waggers say, Lady’s Jeyne’s.”

Alicent was touched that he had told her something so personal and also by the sad note in his voice. “Do you see your father often?”

 “No.” Jeffrey said. “My father and the Lady Redfort would prefer to forget me. My half-sister, Lady Jessamyn, visits often though. She is Lady Jeyne’s dear companion.”

 “Lady Rhea and Lady Jeyne also seem close.”

Jeffrey glanced at her, then smiled. “The Lady of the Vale keeps many female companions, my lady.”

 “Ah.” Alicent tried not to laugh. So that was part of the reason Daemon and Rhea had never quite meshed.

 “Lady Alicent!” Melisayne called. “Come and see!”

They had reached a rather forlorn-looking little flower garden with a few blooming white buds sticking from the ground. Melisayne knelt on the cold earth and began to poke at them. “They look like they have grown a little more since last time.”

 “And look,” Jeffrey pointed. “There is the oak tree we are growing.”

 Alicent turned her eyes to the small little oak.

 “It is true what they say that not much can grown on this soil.”

 “Aye, my lady, though we endevour.” Jeffrey said. 

 “Lady Alicent, do you wish for me to pick you a flower?” Melisayne said.

 “Oh, no, we’ll let them grow, shall we?”

 Melisayne seemed not to hear her, reaching forth and plucking one of the only flowers that had bloomed: a small, blueish pansy it seemed and proffered it her way.

 “Uh…” Alicent looked at Jeffrey who shrugged apologetically. “Thank you, Melisayne.”

 Melisayne beamed. “Maybe you could wear it in your hair at dinner?”

 “Speaking of which,” Jeffrey said. “I must check that the kitchens have prepared the boar for your arrival. I will take my leave of you ladies.” He looked over at Melisayne. “Make sure the Lady Alicent gets to the great hall in time.”

 “I will!”

 Alicent sighed, mentally preparing herself for more hours spent in this place. 

At least the dinner is not fish. She thought.

“How did you enjoy the view from the top of the Eyrie, Ser Gwayne?” Jeyne asked at dinner. The dinner, as it turned out, was indeed boar. Boar and fish. 

“It was nice.” Gwayne muttered, his mouth full.

 Laenor laughed. “He looked like he was going to faint when he looked down!”

 “No I didn’t!” Gwayne snapped.

 “You’d be useless if you were on dragonback.”

 “It’s lucky I don’t have a dragon then, isn’t it?”

 “And Roberta?” Jeyne looked at her.

 The woman forked a piece of fish into her mouth, her eyes downcast. “It was fine.” She said without a trace of emotion.

Alicent sighed to herself. Neither Roberta nor Gwayne seemed happy about this sudden marriage prospect even with some time spent together, and yet to tie House Hightower to House Arryn would be beneficial for them all. And, as it wasn’t in the original timeline, may go far in changing the future this time around.

Alicent picked at her food. Perhaps the path of fate could twist and shift but never truly be undone. Perhaps her destiny was a tower of imprisonment one way or another, it was just a matter of time in getting there. Only the gods truly had the power to spin fate as they wished.

“Lady Alicent?” Jeffrey said, quietly. “You seem tired.”

 “Oh,” Alicent said. “I…perhaps a little.”

 “Let me fetch you a tonic,” Jeffrey said, getting up from the table. “It will help.”

Jeyne laughed, overhearing them. “Jeffrey and his concoctions. He is always peddling about in that little spice garden.” She glanced at Alicent’s hair. “By the way, my dear, I see that you are wearing a Vale Poppy in your hair.”

 “Is that what they’re called?” Alicent touched it. 

 “Yes, as they are the only kind that grows here.” Jeyne frowned. “You must have taken it from our sparse little garden.”

 “Oh,” Alicent glanced at Melisayne.

 “It’s my fault, my lady,” Melisayne said, dolefully. “Lady Alicent asked for a flower to wear for dinner.”

  What? Alicent stared at her. 

 “Please keep in mind, Lady Alicent, that we do want to keep the few things we can grow intact if possible.”

 Melisayne sipped at her soup innocently, avoiding Alicent’s eyes. Jeffrey had left to fetch the tonic. Alicent relented. “Forgive me.”

 She reached momentarily for her hourglass and then stopped herself. It would be pathetic to use it for such a reason - if the little girl wanted to lie then she’d let her.

Jeffrey returned and pushed a silver bottle across the table to Alicent. “This will revive you.” He said.

 Alicent popped open the small cork. “It smells like flowers.” She said.

 Jeffrey laughed. “I have tried it before and I’m afraid the taste is a bit less palatable.”

 Alicent smiled. “Thank you.”

The tonic was bitter but bearable. Alicent hoped that whatever was in it would make her start enjoying her time here. She missed home. 

However, as the night wore on, Alicent found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. She wasn’t sure if it was the days of travelling or the recent chaos of her life in totality but she found herself swaying on her feet as they stood to take wine in the parlor again.

 “Lady Alicent,” Jeffrey said. “You look unwell.” His voice echoed in her mind and she struggled to concentrate enough to reply.

 “I am a little unwell, I think.”

 “Lady Jeyne,” Jeffrey said. “I think I should escort Lady Alicent back to Runestone. She is in no fit state.”

 Jeyne’s voice came to Alicent as if from underwater. “Oh, I do hope you recover soon, my dear.”

 “Sister?” She heard Gwayne come forward. “Do you want me to take you?”

 “It’s no trouble for me to take her.” Jeffrey put a hand around Alicent’s arm. “I know these mountain roads better than anyone.”

 “Yes, you will not be able to navigate, Ser Gwayne,” Jeyne said. “We will have Rhea take you back to Runestone after some wine.”

Alicent felt the ground move beneath her feet, felt herself walk, or be walked fast, down the stone corridors. Jeffrey’s voice in her ear: “Do not fret, my lady.” She heard him say. “I will take you back safely. Just lean on my shoulder.”

The cold air of night hit Alicent’s lungs and she took a shaky breath, looking out at the spindly, winding road that led to the Bloody Gate, the far-reaching sight of the valleys and watched it all smear together in one shambolic mush.

Something was wrong. She gripped at her chest, fumbling for her hourglass. This wasn’t simply tiredness, something was wrong with her. 

Jeffrey was speaking to the guards and then, suddenly, she felt the ground leave her feet as she was hoisted into the saddle of a grunting horse. Alicent caught herself from falling. Jeffrey hefted himself up behind her and brought his arms across to grasp the reins.

 “Be calm.” He murmured. “I’m here.”

 Alicent attempted to speak. “I…my…need to go.”

 “We’re going,” Jeffrey said. “Just hold tight.”

 The horse began to walk and Alicent had no choice but to cling onto Jeffrey’s neck as they crossed the winding road, the impossibly tall drop from both sides of the pass made her dizzier still. 

 “Lady Alicent,” she heard Jeffrey’s voice again, an amused tone. “I do believe you’re trying to seduce me.”

Alicent couldn’t move. She couldn’t even reach for her hourglass. The time moved and she, unwillingly, moved with it. By the time they had passed through the Bloody Gate and started on the stone track leading to the Runestones, she found that the only thing her body was able to do was breathe. Her hands were locked in place around Jeffrey’s neck.

 “Just a little further,” he murmured, checking over his shoulder. “Not long now.”

Alicent could only wait as they trotted further between the barren expanse of wind-swept grass and shrubbery until Jeffrey was satisfied with stopping. He halted the horse behind a large black rock and dismounted, lifting his arms to drag Alicent down with him. He laid her carefully, almost paternally, on the flat of the black rock.

 “We must be quick.” He murmured. “Don’t worry, Lady Alicent. You will not remember tonight, nor will you feel any pain. I have some milk of the poppy to give to you for afterwards.”

 Alicent tried to speak. She felt him lift her skirt, feel for her in the darkness. Tears started to gather in her eyes and she couldn’t even muster the strength to blink them away. 

Jeffrey kissed her frozen lips. “To think that the Hand’s daughter will bear the heir of this lowly bastard.”

Alicent couldn't believe she had been so stupid.

She wanted to claw out his eyes, to scream, to run, but she couldn’t. She was helpless. Again. Destined to suffer in every life the gods gave her be it the first, the second, the third, the fourth… 

She screwed her eyes shut against the awful feeling of Jeffrey pressing himself on her.

"It's alright," Jeffrey whispered, sweetly. "Do not be afraid. I will be gentle."

There she was. Alicent Hightower, the most miserable creature in existence, who could be sent directly into a new life with a magical hourglass and still have a man she did not love use her body like a tool.

The memory of her old life flooded through her dazed mind, so potent that she could smell Viserys’ rotting skin again as he bedded her, the taste of moon tea, the agony of the childbed, the agony of her sons turning against her, the agony of her daughter who did not wish to touch her. 

Alicent let out a hard exhale and twitched her fingers. They ached to claw free. Then her knuckles brushed something that lay in the undergrowth.

 “Lady Alicent,” Jeffrey breathed. “You feel truly wonderful. Truly. Better than the women from the village.”

With every last cavity of strength she had, Alicent’s hand closed around the rock and, with a swing that made vomit rise in her throat, smacked it across Jeffrey’s face. 

She lay there for a spinning moment, panting. The world blurred yet again and she waited for her body to settle, the rhythm of her heart to return. She desperately wanted to be sick, if she did she would rid herself of the last of the tonic that had no doubt been the cause of this horrific paralysis.

Jeffrey lay like a dead man at her feet, but she could see him breathing. Alicent was terrified that he would wake and do something far worse to her.

After a few minutes, she had the strength to bring herself up to her elbows and finally was sick on the rocky earth, clearing her body of any last effect of the tonic.

And yet, she was still unsteady as she clambered to her feet. She vaguely remembered the road back to the Runestones: yet a few miles off.

Alicent reached for her hourglass until she realised that time would only take her back into the thick of her suffering because of thoughtless Daemon.

She righted herself and, swallowing her despair, she staggered toward the Runestones. 

.

Caraxes had perfect night vision, something that had saved Daemon’s life many times in the midst of landings made long after the sun had set. He left Caraxes in the valley before the castle of Runestone so he could feed on the locals’ sheep and scare the villagers half to death. He cared not. He had a woman to corral. 

Daemon almost hoped to see Rhea or Gerard or some other witless fool confront him. He was itching for a fight with someone - anyone. Of course, Alicent would be preferable.

He already knew exactly what he would do.

First, he would find her, most likely abed, once again in her room as she had been at King’s Landing. And then he would tell her, command her, to never dare attempt to escape him again. Then he would let her know when she was of no use to him and she could seek one or ten husbands then if she wished - but until then, he had use for her as his mistress, his bed warmer, and he did not intend on sharing what he wanted with a pathetic lord of the Vale. 

And then he would have her again. And again. 

He would put her up against the wall, on the cold and hard floor of the castle, over the side of the bed until she was sweating and screaming his name.

His hands itched at the imagined sensation of running it over her soft skin. And then her mouth would fall on his...

The castle was empty, it seemed, when he entered. Not even a maid noticed his coming, although he supposed the hour was late and Rhea kept almost no servants. 

Daemon stormed up the stairs. They would have given her the best room, he was sure. The topmost room facing the sky. Yes, there was a good bed in that room too. So much the better. 

Daemon paused in his rampage up the stairs, his keen ears picking up a sound. Heavy breathing or choking - what was that? It was unmistakably Alicent’s intonation. 

His pace quickened as he ascended the stairs and he swung open her door so hard that it rattled and hit the wall behind.

Alicent jumped, a heap of the floor, she turned towards him, her face streaked with tears, her hair a ragged mess, her dress tattered and mud-covered from miles of trudging. 

Daemon stared at her. His grand plan dissolved like salt in water. The fiercely protective nature that he usually only reserved for family unfurled in his chest.

Alicent was staring at him in shock. “Daemon?”

Daemon strode through the room and dropped to his knees next to her, cupping her chin and lifting her head up to him. “Tell me.” He said shortly, his voice little more than a bark.

Alicent, torn between being relieved and stunned and frustrated that he was here, tried to move her face away. “Tell you what?”

 “Tell me what the fuck happened!” Daemon snapped. Alicent flinched and he felt the overwhelming urge to kill something.

 “Nothing happened!” Alicent pushed his hand away. “Why are you here?”

 “Because,” Daemon faltered. “Because…never mind why.” He swept his eyes down her torn clothes and at her bare feet which were covered in blisters. Her hand was bleeding. He took it in his instinctively. 

 “I can’t stand this,” Alicent’s shoulders shook and Daemon realised, with a pang of an emotion he couldn’t place, that she was crying again. “Did I not suffer enough in the past?" Alicent whispered. "I’ve been reborn just to be a slave to fate yet again!” She tore the hourglass from her neck with one hand. “I might as well just break this worthless thing in two! What purpose has it served?!”

Daemon caught her hand. “Alicent,” he said. “Enough.”

 “Don’t tell me what’s enough!” Alicent pushed herself away from him, she got to her feet and stumbled.

Daemon followed her and took her waist with his arm. “Hush.” He said. “Lay on the bed. You need to rest.”

 “I said, don’t command me!” Alicent snapped, wiping her eyes furiously. “I have no wish to listen to you.”

 “Then don’t.” Daemon said. “I will say nothing more.” He pushed her shoulders until she sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. He picked up her legs and placed her so she was lying flat.

 Alicent sniffed, her tears running once again. She watched him walk back towards the door. “Do not leave.” She whispered.

 “I’m not leaving.” Daemon said, sitting in the armchair as she had been that morning. “I’m waiting.”

 “Waiting for what?”

 “Waiting for you,” Daemon said, his voice ice. “To tell me who to kill.”

Chapter Text

When Alicent awoke, after turning away from Daemon and trying to escape through a dream, she had a momentary thrill upon feeling the soft morning light on her skin. If she lived in such a world where time could be played with and wrongs could be undone, it was possible that the encounter with Jeffrey, the hellish trek back to the Runestones, Daemon of all people seeing her in that humiliating state - it could all have been a dream. 

Then she felt the ache of her body, the disgust of each movement that was so unclean and so wretched that all she could do for a long while was lay there.

 “So?” Daemon said and Alicent started. She had been unaware he was awake. Or even still in the room.

She heaved herself upright, wincing as her scraped and bloodied hand that she had used to clutch the rock, met her weight. “Daemon?” He was still there, in the armchair, chin on his hand. “Did you stay the night?”

“The night? You’ve only been asleep for a few hours.” He nodded towards the dawn. 

 “Oh.” Alicent put a hand to her head. “Forgive me.”

Daemon got abruptly to his feet and walked over to the bed, standing before her, his hand with his large, silver ring with the sigil of House Targaryen sitting on the index finger, tapped on the hilt of Dark Sister. “Don’t avoid my question.”

 “What question?”

 “The cuts, the bruises. Your feet. Someone did something to you. I want the name.”

Alicent turned away. “I fell from my horse and had to walk back over the rocky pass. Nothing more.”

 “You’re lying.”

 “I am not.”

 “Do not lie to me,” Daemon seethed. “Do you think I’m a fool? You were half mad with grief earlier. A simple fall would not have put you in that state.”

 “Just get it over with.” Alicent said quietly.

 “What?”

 “You’re here to have your way with me,” Alicent said. “Just as you always are. To toy with me, use me and vanish as soon as it’s over. Come then.” She turned towards him on the bed, moving her hair back from her face. “I have no strength or will to resist you so come and do what you must.”

Daemon stared at her. For the first time in a long time, he could actually hear the blood rushing to his head.

 “What?” He ground out. “What did you say?”

Alicent shrank back slightly as he advanced on her. “You heard me.”

Daemon looked down at her as she sat there, shivering on the bed. He felt a familiar pain: self-loathing. The same as he had when he had taken Rhaenyra to the whore house, when he had dubbed his deceased nephew ‘heir for a day’. It was an emotion he had always pushed quickly to the bottom of his consciousness and now it frothed over every fibre of his being.

Finally he spoke, “You have two choices, so choose wisely.” His voice was pure threat. “You can either tell me the name of the person that harmed you. Or, you can watch my dragon burn this forsaken shitpit to the fucking ground.” His hand curled around Dark Sister’s hilt. “You have half a minute. Make your choice.” Alicent reached for her hourglass, Daemon caught her wrist. “Did you forget?” He said, almost sweetly. “You can turn that woodchip as much as you like, I will still remember.”

 “Daemon, please,” Alicent said, swallowing hard. “You cannot. It’s not as if the Vale itself harmed me, nor did Lady Rhea. I…don’t wish to make trouble. My plan is to avoid trouble, or did you forget? To levy accusations, to make enemies of the Arryn House…I cannot risk my future.”

 “You have about ten seconds left.” Daemon informed her.

Alicent caught his arm, holding it tight. “I’m begging you.”

 “Your pleas mean nothing,” Daemon said. “Some worthless cunt touched what is mine and I will kill them. I don’t know why you complicate what is so simple.”

 “What is…?” Alicent trailed off. “Yours?”

 “Yes.” Daemon snapped. “Even though you ran over here to marry a Vale lord.”

Alicent blinked at him. “No, I didn’t.”

 “I heard it from your own father’s mouth.”

 “He was most likely speaking of Gwayne.”

 “Who?”

 “Gwayne! Daemon, he’s my brother. You even met him once.”

Daemon shook his head. “All of these pointless details.”

 “Gwayne is intended for Lady Roberta, that’s why we’re in the Vale!”

 “Who’s that?”

 “Learn people’s names!”

Daemon felt a brief wave of elation where he should have felt anger at this misunderstanding. She had not tried to escape him.

 “The time grows short,” he turned. “Lay there and cover your ears if you don’t want to hear the screaming.”

 “Wait!” Alicent flung herself after him. “I…I will tell you! As long as you promise to act within reason!”

Daemon stared at her, wondering why she would think it unreasonable that he kill the person who had hurt her. To not kill them would have been unreasonable. 

 “It was,” Alicent closed her eyes, gathering her courage. Her words brought back memories of the act. She wound her hands around her own wrist, attempting to soothe herself before she picked her nails to oblivion. “A man named Jeffrey Stone. He’s Lady Jeyne’s steward and he…gave me something. I know not what. Some…potion that made my body unable to move and then he…” she trailed away, hoping Daemon wouldn’t ask.

“He what?” Daemon’s voice was liquid poison above her. She dared not look at him. 

 “He…” Alicent flinched slightly as Daemon directed her hand from clawing at her wrists to his own arm. “He tried to ravish me but I managed to get him off before he could do much. I hit him with a rock. Gods know that he’s planning his revenge as we speak.”

 “His revenge?” Daemon said, darkly. “The only thing he should be planning is what ditch his family should bury his bones in.”

Alicent looked up at him. “Please, don’t do anything about it. It will anger Lady Jeyne.”

Daemon made a sound of frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why would you care to leave the man who tried to rape you alive?!”

“Because I’m trying to live quietly.” Alicent said. “I’m trying to be different than I was.”

 “If this is how you do it, there is no difference between living quietly and being dead.” Daemon said. “I would rather sink once again into the lake at the God’s Eye than allow nameless, worthless fools to disgrace my family.” He snatched her face and forced her to look at him. His gaze sent a shiver through her. “You say you wish to not live as you did, but you are just repeating the same mistakes by laying down in the dirt and allowing yourself to be walked over!”

 “I am not you!” Alicent hissed. “I don’t have your strength!”

 “You choose to be weak.” Daemon hissed back. “Which is far worse than true weakness.”

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. “Sister?”

Alicent slapped a hand to her eyes. “It’s Gwayne.”

 “Who?”

 “Gwyane, my brother, for the second time.” Alicent pushed at Daemon, which was like pushing a wall made of stone. “You must hide.”

 “Why?”

 She stared at him. “Because my brother cannot see you!”

 “Sister?” Gwayne knocked again and began to open the door.

 “Gwayne, a moment!” Alicent called then, in hushed tones, “Do you wish to be discovered in my room?”

 Daemon turned and seated himself on the armchair again. “It matters not.”

 “What do you mean?”

He fixed her with a look. “I am the Prince, you are my mistress. What do I care if all know?”

 "Your mis-!" Alicent looked at him, her mouth agape. “This is your wife’s house.”

 “By law, this is my house.”

 “Alicent?” Gwayne called.

Alicent cursed and went to the door, opening it very slightly. “Gwyane, what?”

 “I’m just checking that you got back to your chamber safely.”

Alicent resisted the urge to start crying yet again. “I…did.”

 “I thought I heard a noise in here. Are you with the maid?”

 “No…I…it’s the wind-”

 “Come!” Daemon ordered from behind her. 

Alicent turned. She could have killed him. 

Gwayne moved past her, his eyes like saucers. “M-my Prince?!” He looked at Alicent. “How-?! Why-?!”

 “Gods, you do bear a certain resemblance to your father.” Daemon crossed one leg over his knee. “How unfortunate for you.”

Gwyane turned to Alicent, his eyes running over her. He finally seemed to take in her bedraggled state, her hair, her torn dress. Then he turned back to Daemon, a snarl forming on his face. “You fiend! Did you do this?” He spat, unsheathing his sword. “I don’t care if you are the Prince! On your feet!”

 “Gwayne, no!” Alicent tried to get a hold of his wrist but he shoved her to the side. 

 Daemon seemed amused. “You’re keen to die, are you, boy?”

 “Don’t make it worse!” Alicent snapped.

 “On your feet, I say!” Gwyane pointed the tip of his sword at Daemon’s chest. “Unless you’d prefer I kill you from there.”

Daemon sighed, getting to his feet. “Fine. I’ll only take an arm, but only because you’re my mistress’s brother do I show mercy.” He reached for Dark Sister.

 Alicent unlatched the hourglass swiftly, upending the sand without knowing or caring how many minutes she was sending herself back.

 The manipulated flow of time carried her back across the room and when she and Daemon were in reality again they found themselves standing as they had done, Alicent’s hand around his arm. 

Daemon locked Alicent’s eyes with his. “You have poor judgement, my lady.”

 “I don’t want to hear that from your mouth.” Alicent whacked his arm, making Daemon smirk. “What do you think you’re doing, provoking my brother?”

 “He started it.”

 “Gods.” Alicent buried her face in her hands. “Please just leave.”

 “No.” Daemon said. “Each time I leave you to your own devices, you end up harmed. It seems you can’t be trusted. The only solution is for you to follow me - obediently.”

Alicent scoffed. “I have enough troubles, Daemon, without following you deeper into your deviance.”

She heard Daemon chuckle behind her as she went to the small table mirror and attempted to right her appearance. “Gods, I do look a state.” 

 “I will get a maid for you.” Daemon said. “And then we go to the Eyrie to pay a call on Jeyne.”

 “No.”

 “Yes.” 

 “You must not leave this room, someone will see.”

 “Did you forget? I’m meant to live here in this wretched place.”

There came a knock at the door. “Sister?”

 “It’s Gwayne again.”

 “You’d had better do it right this time, you have no more turns of your hourglass to use.” His taunting tone incensed her.

 “Well then this time be silent!”

Alicent opened the door very slightly. “Gwayne,” she said. 

 “Alicent?” Gwayne peered at her. “I’m just checking that you got back to your chamber safely?”

 “I am fine. Do not be shocked at my appearance, I fell from my horse and-”

 “Come!” Daemon said from behind her. 

Alicent turned on him in horror. “What are you doing?”

Gwayne moved past Alicent again, his eyes widening into saucers again. “My Prince?!”

 “Gwayne!” Alicent got between them immediately. “It’s not what you think! Last night I fell from my horse and Prince Daemon, who has returned to see his wife, discovered me and he appears to have fallen asleep in this armchair and now here you find us. But it’s nothing more, I swear it.”

Gwayne’s eyes flickered uncertainly between her and Daemon. “I…”

 “Did you catch any of that?” Daemon said. “I’m sure I didn’t.”

 “You…you fell?” Gwayne looked his sister up and down. “Gods, Alicent, are you alright? Your hand! You’re bleeding.”

 “Yes,” Alicent reached out and touched his arm. “I’m fine.”

Daemon got to his feet and strode past them out into the corridor. “Does this place keep a single servant or not?!”

Alicent sighed as he heard him descend the stairs. He had the simultaneous ability to revive and exhaust her. 

 “My poor sister,” Gwayne cradled her hand. “Did the Prince really deign to help you to your room? That seems unlike him.”

Alicent wrestled with whether or not to tell him about her and Daemon. It seemed that Daemon had now seen fit to proclaim her his mistress which messed considerably with her plans for the future. However, there would be only further complication if Gwayne heard it from him and not her.

 “Gwayne,” she said. “If I told you that the Prince and I…that we…”

Gwayne searched her face, then his cleared. His mouth fell open. “The rumors are true?!”

 “Do not be angered, please,” Alicent said in hushed tones. “Daemon and I…we both desired each other. Father cannot know.”

Gwayne stared at the floor, making any number of connections in his mind. “I cannot tell you I am not shocked, sister, but this does explain a great deal.”

 “You will not tell Father will you?”

 “No,” Gwayne managed a smile. “I wish to see you live.”

 “Thank you,” Alicent sighed. 

 Gwyane’s smile subsided. “But, Alicent, are you certain that this…a-trysting with the Prince is a good idea? He is known to be unpredictable.”

Alicent turned away and went to sit back on the bed. “He is unpredictable,” she said, consideringly. “And he is also terribly predictable.”

Alicent didn’t think that she had ever seen people more shocked than the servants who set their eyes on Daemon. She heard the maids whisper that they had never seen him even once and Daemon certainly didn’t remember anyone in the entire castle. That didn’t stop him from sitting like a king at the head of the table in the great hall of Runestone with Alicent, Gwayne, Ser Gerard who was Rhea’s steward; and a chagrinned Rhea all seated around him. 

 “I see this place hasn’t changed,” Daemon bit off a hunk of bread. “It’s still as depressing as ever.”

Alicent spooned porridge into her mouth, wishing that she had a separate hourglass that could move her forward in time to escape this awkward meal.

Rhea shot Daemon a look that was pure distaste. “And so glad am I that you could finally grace us with your presence, dear husband.” 

Daemon ignored her. He looked over at Alicent. “Is that all you’re eating? That slop?”

 “I like porridge.” Alicent said, flatly.

 Daemon snapped his fingers at the servants. “Bring my woman some meat and cheese. Are such things rationed in this miserable corner of the Realm?”

 “Your-!” Ser Gerard almost choked on his mead.

Alicent put her face in her hand. 

Gwayne was catatonic. 

 “How dare you?” Gerard barked. “Your wife is sitting right here!”

 Rhea chewed, her expression bored. “Do not give him what he wants, Gerard.”

 “I know that,” Daemon said. “A wife not of my choosing, as we all know.”

 “The feeling is mutual, I assure you.” Rhea remarked. 

 “The Lady Alicent is my mistress. Officially.” Daemon said. “And mayhap will even become my second wife.”

 “Daemon.” Alicent groaned, her voice muffled by the hand over her face.

 “I pity her. Truly.” Rhea said. 

 “You insult this place!” Gerard pounded his fist on the table. “Do not think you are any more welcome here than a stranger!”

Daemon smirked. “Do you know to whom you speak, you sheep-fucking ingrate?” His hand fell on the hilt of his sword. “I should take your head for your insolence.”

 “Daemon, please stop!” Alicent begged.

 “Enough of your goading!” Rhea spat at him.

The doors to the hall flew open and Laenor strode in. “Good morning!” He sang. “How are we all today?” He stopped and looked around at the silent table. “What? Did something happen?”

Gerard sat heavily back down and everyone continued eating, except Gwayne. Gwayne was staring at the piece of bread in his hand, the same one he’d been unable to eat for the past minute.

Laenor seated himself at the end of the table next to Gwayne. “I’ll have some porridge, if you would.” He said to the servant. He turned to Gwayne. “Are you yet excited to see your bride again today?”

Gwayne looked like he was about to cry so Alicent cut in, “Ser Laenor,” she said. “I am…so curious about the happenings in the Stepstones. Could you tell us…more about…that…?” She trailed away, feeling everyone’s eyes on her. She could just feel Daemon smirking. 

Laenor looked surprised. “Well, as usual we must protect ourselves from the assaults of the Free Cities. They style themselves ‘pirate killers’, though they threaten our shipping lanes.” He glanced at Daemon. “I would that the Prince would speak to his brother about raising a real army against them.”

Alicent also looked at Daemon. He knew that in his own future he would be the cause of the Triarchy’s downfall.

Daemon simply shrugged, his face giving nothing away. “Lord Corlys already mentions it daily to my brother. I must attend to the City Watch.”

 “One wonders if they can spare you for this long.” Rhea muttered.

 “A fine point, wife.” Daemon said. “I’m afraid after today, Lady Alicent and I must away to Dragonstone.”

Alicent stared at him. “Must we?”

 “Yes.” Daemon said, rising to his feet. “You stay and eat. I must ready Caraxes to ride to the Eyrie.”

 “Oh, say hello to Seasmoke!” Laenor said as Daemon left. He turned back to the table. “He seemed eager to fly to see Lady Jeyne. Usually he avoids such things.”

Alicent felt sick, even as her meat and cheese arrived, put shakily before her by a terrified servant as if she was going to report to Daemon that her meal hadn’t come quick enough.

 “Sister,” Gwayne whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

 “Perhaps Laenor can take you back to King’s Landing.” She said, with mercy. “If Lady Roberta does not wish to continue the courtship then there is no reason for us to stay here.”

 “Lady Roberta has said that she will have him.” Rhea said. “She told Lady Jeyne and I so last night. He must stay long enough for us to complete the preparations for the wedding.”

Alicent looked over at Gwayne’s downturned head. “That’s…wonderful.”

 “I will saddle the horses.” Rhea put down her spoon and brushed past the table to the door. 

Alicent watched her go. “I should…perhaps speak to her.”

“You,” Gerard said, with quiet fury. “Are just as bad as him. Enjoying our beds and food while you insult our lady by flaunting your liaison with that sneering second son.”

Laenor frowned while chewing. “Did something happen?”

Alicent set her mouth. “Perhaps you are right.” She said.

 “Do not insult my sister.” Gwayne glared over at Gerard. “He is the Prince. And he’s…the way he is. What do you expect her to do?”

Alicent put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright.” She said, levelly. She looked back at Gerard. “If Lady Rhea no longer wishes me to stay then I will leave.”

She left the room, holding her head high with a confidence that she did not exactly feel but had decided to fake. 

She found Lady Rhea buckling up the horses in the outer yard, the same way she had done yesterday. The sky looked full with a threat of rain, the stormy crash and roaring ebb of the sea could be heard even from this distance. 

“My lady?” Alicent edged forward, wondering if the woman would bite her head off. “Can I…speak with you a moment?”

Rhea glanced over at her. “Why?”

 “I just wanted to,” Alicent cleared her throat. “Apologise to you. For me and-”

Rhea laughed. To Alicent’s astonishment, it sounded like a genuine laugh.

 “Do not think of it.” She said. “I swear to you, I care not.”

 “But he is your husband.”

 “No.” Rhea said. “He isn’t. We were married years ago in name alone and have set eyes upon each other three or four times since and each time has been worse than the last.” She turned back to the horse. “If you are his lover, the only emotion I feel is sorrow for you. A bright young girl like you attaching yourself to a man like that. It’s a shame.”

Alicent looked at the ground. “I do not want to defend him to you. He has…good points. Occasionally.”

 “Perhaps.” Rhea seemed disinterested. “As I say, I barely know him.”

 Alicent raised her head to look at her. “Can I ask you a question?”

 Rhea glanced at her, raising her eyebrows. “Of course.”

 “If…someone did something to you. Something unforgivable. Would you seek revenge, even if it meant destroying all the peace in your life?”

Rhea frowned and looked back towards where the dogs were bounding on the flat grass, at the far distance of the sea. “It’s hard to answer without knowing exactly what you refer to,” she said. “But,” she considered for a few moments. “I would not consider the revenge a destruction of my peace. I would consider it an inevitability. Once someone has committed an unforgivable act against you, then your peace has already been destroyed.”

 “Alicent!”

Alicent turned to where Daemon was standing, holding his hand up to signal that she should come.

Rhea rolled her eyes. “Just a word of advice. One woman to another,” she said. “I don’t know the first thing about men but I do know this. If you let them treat you like a pampered dog then they will see you as their property. Especially men who are used to commanding others.”

 “Then what would you suggest?” Alicent asked.

 “Men need to follow as much as command,” said Rhea. “You must be his master.”

Chapter Text

Alicent knew that Daemon could bend the knee. He had done so for Rhaenyra. He had ultimately pledged to serve the woman he loved until his death. Now, in this timeline - was it even possible that he do the same for her?

Perhaps she did not inspire the same feelings in him as Rhaenyra had. Perhaps, no matter what, she would always be second best in his eyes. Alicent had already, unconsciously, considered this prospect. She knew he had provoked Gerard about her as his ’second wife’ to get under Rhea’s skin; gods knew he still thought her Hightower blood vastly inferior to his.

She had never thought that the idea that Daemon would only ever see her as a bedmate, as his mistress; and nothing else important would be painful. But she felt it right then, walking across the grass towards him. A slight, sharp pain. The feeling of being a consolatory prize at his disposal. It was somehow familiar.

No father had ever left her a kingdom and defended her claim. Her father had used her to fortify his own station. No husband had ever sworn to protect her. Viserys had only ever loved his first wife and had left Alicent to raise their children alone. 

In her first life, she had been a foolish, resentful and lonely woman. 

Alicent smiled to herself, the wind blowing her hair behind her. Perhaps she still was, at heart. 

 “Caraxes is readied.” Daemon said. “Dragonback will be faster.”

Alicent looked behind him to see Caraxes about half a mile off, swinging his long neck to and fro, making a clicking sound in his snake-like throat. 

 “He’s quite safe,” Daemon said, amused at the look on her face. “As long as you’re with me, that is.”

 “Daemon,” Alicent said. “Don’t you ever think of your own future in this life?”

“My future,” Daemon said. “Is the will of the gods.”

 “I know you don’t believe that.”

 He didn't respond.

 “You could be King.” Alicent looked up at him. “Destiny has seen fit to give us the gift of foresight. Perhaps they intend for you to seek your claim.”

Daemon looked down at her; as if considering whether or not to speak. Finally, he said, “In my first life, I had a vision of the future.”

 “Your future?”

 “The future of the Targaryen line.” He looked out over the valley, past her. “I knew that our legacy depended on my undying allegiance to the Crown, in other words, my brother’s daughter.” He paused. “But, in this life, I know not. Do the gods dictate that the future should remain the same? Perhaps I die too soon this time to find out.”

 “But Viserys will not disinherit you,” Alicent said. “You can make sure of that.”

Daemon looked back at her. “And why would you care, Alicent? I thought you wanted to escape this destiny.”

 “You’re the one making it hard for me to do that.” Alicent said, irritated. “What are you thinking declaring me your ‘mistress’ to all and sundry?”

 “I’ll call you my whore next time, if you prefer.”

 “Your ‘second wife’?”

Daemon’s smirk was meant to goad her, she knew, but she still wanted to slap it off his face. “I enjoy your body, Lady Alicent. Think nothing more of it.” He started walking towards Caraxes and Alicent followed him.

 “I’m merely curious to know if this time you intend to sit the Iron Throne.” She said, keeping pace with him when his strides were twice hers was difficult. 

 “My intentions are not for you to know.”

Alicent glared at him and the side of his stubborn face; that aloof look implied she wasn’t important enough to hear his plans.  

 “Whether you like it or not, I am your ally in this life.”

 “You are not my ally,” Daemon said. “You are my woman. For now.”

 Alicent groaned inwardly, completely exhausted from this endlessly cyclical conversation. How was it done? How was such a man solved?

 “If you take Caraxes and fly to the Eyrie and burn everything to the ground,” she said. “Then the King will lose faith in you. He will sanction you for showing such unmet hostility and it will give my father a reason to convince him to disinherit you as soon as can be done. The Queen and her babe will die, you will be cast out and he will name Rhaenyra heir. Nothing will have been different from the first time.”

Daemon was looking away from her, but she could tell by his stillness that he was listening.

 “The Arryns are the Queen’s family,” Alicent continued. “They have special protection.”

 “Then what would you suggest?” Daemon snapped, rounding on her. 

 “Let us go to the Eyrie,” Alicent said. “I will speak to Lady Jeyne about Jeffrey.”

 “You will tell her what happened?”

Alicent paused. Then, “She will listen to me. I am still the Hand’s daughter and he is but a steward. And she is a woman herself, she will understand.” She looked up at him. “Do you truly wish to aid me?”

Daemon didn’t respond but he kept his gaze on her.

 “Be at my side.” Alicent said. “Do not let me be harmed again. That’s all I ask of you.”

Daemon reached for her. “Why even request it?” He said. “As long as you’re with me, no one would dare.”

Alicent laughed despite her annoyance. Daemon frowned at her quizzically, hand on her arm. 

 “I don’t think you know how romantic you can sound,” she said. “Like a court poet.”

 Daemon rolled his eyes, pulling her forward. “Get on the fucking dragon.”

That was more like it.

All her life, Alicent had lived among Targaryens. She had watched them come and go on dragonback; arrive with their clothes smelling like charcoal. She had been close enough to the beasts themselves to hear the sound they made in their stomach and throats, to feel the heat coming off their scales. They had always terrified her - but she had found them beautiful. Sometimes she could not believe while looking at them that the world she lived in and the world they lived in were one and the same - it would have been easier to believe that they were figments sent by the gods.

Now, as she sat on a dragon for the first time in her life, they felt all too real.

Alicent dug her nails into the top of the dragon saddle. Rhea had commented that her dress was not fit to ride in and it certainly wasn’t fit to ride a dragon. 

From behind, Daemon affixed a chain around her waist. “I haven’t used this in some time.” He said, securing the chain belt in place. His voice was right in her ear, his body pressed against her back. He snaked an arm around her midriff. “Usually, it’s only for battle. Or inexperienced riders.” She could hear him smiling.

There was a joke that her family shared: that the Hightowers were afraid of heights. The irony of it. Just as Gwyane had felt sick at the top of the Eyrie, as Alicent’s whole body began to sway as Caraxes began to walk across the barren valley, her stomach flipped.

 “Gods.” She whispered, feeling the sweat starting to bead.

 “Don't fret, my lady.” Daemon said in her ear. “I won't let you fall.”

Caraxes lifted his head to the sky and made a whistling shriek.

All of a sudden, the earth left the equation. 

Alicent’s stomach dipped as Caraxes beat his leathery wings to the incoming tumult of the wind, swaying heavily as they ascended into the air. Alicent was sure her nails would break if they dug in further. 

Just don’t look down. She thought. Don’t look and you’ll be fine.

 Daemon moved Alicent’s head to the side and put his chin on her shoulder, leaning over her, the reins in his hands. “I can feel your heart beating.” He murmured in her ear.

 “I’m….f-fine.” Alicent squeezed her eyes shut as Caraxes rose even further, the earthquake that was each motion, the wind becoming so impossibly strong that she could barely breathe. Daemon pushed his weight behind her causing her to lean further forward.

When she opened her eyes, she was between heaven and earth. The rush of the wind made it difficult to inhale, she turned her face against Daemon’s neck and tried to catch her breath. She felt his arm coming up around her waist, his hand tightening. 

The rise and fall of the world on dragonback made her glad she hadn’t eaten anything more at breakfast. As she regained her courage, she turned back towards the dizzying horizon. The valleys appeared white in the mist; the high rocks like knives that had been stuck into the land with their hilts gleaming, the sea a bright, shimmering layer of silk that reached far into a dark horizon. Drops of rain began to fall, the full belly of the sky finally giving way to what would become a downpour.

Daemon twitched the reins and Caraxes took a hard right turn dispelling Alicent’s momentary sentience with more terror as they veered. She couldn’t help but let out a scream, muffled by her own lips which she kept firmly clamped shut. 

Daemon chuckled behind her. It was strange; watching her made him think of the first time he had ridden Caraxes when he just a young boy. The brief wonder in her eyes each time she lifted them made him remember the wonder he had once felt before being in the sky had become his normal and preferred state of being. Although, he thought with amusement, he hadn’t been quite this scared. 

Teasing her, he lifted his arm from her and pulled his body back, leaving her sitting there holding onto only the saddle. Feeling his lack of grip, Alicent looked around wildly, reaching for his chest. “Daemon!” He let her claw her way back to him, liking when she buried her face once again in his neck. He liked how she needed him. He reasserted his arm around her waist, making his grip tighter than it had been.

Alicent, meanwhile, trying not to plummet to her death, held back another scream as she felt Caraxes descend to the ground, the wings starting to flap with new fervor as the dragon calibrated its landing. Caraxes put out his legs, claws extended for grip and found his landing with his usual over-eagerness, crashing down so hard that Alicent was sure had she not been clutching onto Daemon and chained down she would have flown over top of the dragon’s head.

She peered out from behind the front of Daemon’s shoulder, her arms still around his neck. She saw the familiar sight of the Eyrie, a castle risen in mist and now almost lost in a torrent of rain. 

But the journey wasn’t finished quite yet. Caraxes didn’t like rain. He would only brave it when hunting or in battle, but he certainly wasn’t going to tolerate it today. Spying a nearby cave, he ambled along to tuck himself underneath it.

Daemon waited until Caraxes was satisfied with his sleeping spot before he dismounted, unchaining Alicent from the saddle and letting her shakily use the ropes to let herself down. He slipped down after her, using the ridge of Caraxes wing, landing deftly on the mountain ground. 

Alicent managed to walk a few steps before her knees gave way and she fell to the rocks, panting. She looked back at Daemon and, after locking eyes for a few seconds, they laughed. It was the first time they had ever laughed together rather than one at the other.

 “You’re a natural.” Said Daemon.

 “Don't speak.” Said Alicent. 

 “I mean it,” Daemon extended a leather-gloved hand to her. “You didn’t faint even once.”

 “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.” Alicent took his gloved hand in hers and he brought her to her feet, pulling her against him as he did so. He lifted her chin and kissed her, unable to hold back any longer. Alicent’s hands found the nape of his neck and she dragged her nails from the nape down. Daemon made a slight sound against her mouth and pushed her until Alicent’s back flattened against the cave wall.

Caraxes turned away from them, the words get a room he would have spoken if he could, curling up to nap.

Outside, a powerful Vale rain hammered into the rock. 

 “Daemon,” Alicent pushed his mouth from hers. “Not here.”

He ignored her, gripping her face and pulling her back to him. He took a moment to bite the tip of his glove on his right hand, tearing it off and letting it fall. He took that hand to her dress, lifting her skirt.

 “Daemon.”

 “We must pass the time as the rain falls.” He said against her skin, kissing her neck.

 “I only just got those bites to fade.” Alicent said, pushing him back again.

 “A wasted endevour.” He muttered. “I will replace them.”

 Alicent ran her hand from his neck to his shoulders. “Perhaps I could give you some.”

Daemon pulled back to look at her, his eyes heady with desire. “I would not attempt to hide them, unlike you.”

Alicent reached for him and swept his lips with her thumb. “Or perhaps you could put your mouth to better use elsewhere.” 

Daemon raised his eyebrows, biting down softly on her thumb as it lingered over his mouth. “And where would my lady have me put it exactly?” 

Alicent leaned back on the cave wall, lifting the skirts of her dress, extending one leg. The maid had found some rose oil for her to bathe with that morning, her skin shone in the half-light. “The Prince is not too high and mighty to kneel at my feet, is he?”

Daemon could barely think one coherent thought at this point. He didn’t know if it was blood thumping in his ears or the sound of the rain. He didn’t break his gaze on her once as he knelt on the cave floor, taking her leg and putting it over his shoulder gently. 

Alicent swallowed hard, feeling him underneath her dress; his attention turned toward her thighs. His breath, his soft kisses. She gasped hard when she felt his tongue flicker over her. Her hand instinctively went to the back of his head which was lost underneath the layers of skirts. Her foot rested on his back, her toes curling in pleasure. 

Gods, he really knew what he was doing. Alicent pressed into the cave wall, throwing her head back and moaning as Daemon’s tongue sent wave after wave of heat throughout her entire body. He grasped her legs and forced them even further apart for more of her. She noticed that every breath he took against her skin was a pant, that each lick was desperate, starving.

Alicent bit down hard on her lip as she reached new heights; ones that didn’t make her afraid. 

She realised that if there was a science to understanding Daemon Targaryen, then she might be in with a chance at solving him. He may be a dragonlord but if he knelt at her feet, what did that make her?

Alicent uttered a final cry as her vision splintered; the sheer bliss that it was made her nearly lose her balance. Luckily, Daemon was holding her firm.

When she looked to her right, sweat trickling down her neck, heaving breaths one after the other, she saw that the rain had stopped.

.

 “I thought you were coming on dragonback.” Said Gwyane. “How am I here before you?”

 “Oh,” Alicent said, sipping her tea and not meeting his eye. “We…waited for the rain to stop.”

 “For an hour?”

 “It took a while to walk up the narrow pass.” Alicent said. She was not, in fact, lying; her knees that been so weak that she had had to lean on Daemon’s arm the whole way. “And then, of course, we…were taking our time.”

Gwayne turned away, rubbing his eyes. “Alright. I do not wish to hear it.” 

They were sitting, once again, in Lady Jeyne’s parlor. The arrival of Daemon had been about as shocking as was to be expected. Jeyne had looked him over like he was here to set her castle on fire, curtsying curtly. “My Prince,” she said. “What brings you here suddenly in this part of the Realm?”

 “Why, the Runestones are my property,” Daemon said. “Why shouldn’t I come here?”

 “For no reason do I ask.” Jeyne’s eyes had slid to Alicent. 

Daemon, ever the master of subtlety, put his hand on Alicent’s waist. “Go and take a seat, my lady, I fear your legs are still weak.”

Thank you, Daemon. Alicent went to sit awkwardly, feeling like the hussy of the hour as they all watched her. 

She had looked about for Jeffrey, anxiously, but had seen no trace of him. It was only Jeyne, Lady Roberta, Laenor and Gwayne who were seated around Jeyne’s roaring hearth. 

 “Tea, my Prince?” She enquired.

 “Wine.” Daemon took a seat next to Alicent and put his arm over the back of her chair. “Not too cold, if you would.”

Jeyne’s eyes settled on the arm and then steered to Alicent, raising a single eyebrow.

Alicent concentrated on her tea.

Laenor, who was soaked through from riding Seasmoke into the gale that had swept in, had several blankets wrapped around him and was talking cheerily about his sister. “-and the sweetest thing happened last week as well. She composed a song about father and I. It was called something like… ‘the ships when it’s sunny’, or something. Anyway, she also made up this little dance where she whirls around and around until she falls over. It makes mother and I laugh every time!”

Jeyne sipped her tea. “How charming.”

“By the way,” Laenor glanced around the room. “Where’s that man from yesterday? What was his name? Your steward? I was going to ask him about fetching something fresh for Seasmoke.”

Alicent tensed and she felt Daemon’s hand move from the back of her chair to her shoulder.

 “Oh, Jeffrey?” Said Jeyne. “The poor man took a fall yesterday coming back from the mountain pass. He broke his nose, I believe, and lost a tooth. We have a local physician who travelled into see him this morning. Jeffery said it wasn’t necessary, of course, but I couldn’t stand to see him in pain.”

 “That physician needn’t bother.” Daemon said, sipping his wine.

 “Lady Jeyne,” Alicent said, quickly. “I would a word with you. If possible.”

Jeyne looked surprised. “Yes, child?”

There was a pause.

 “Perhaps I could speak to you in private.”

Gwayne sat up anxiously. “You’re not looking to plan the wedding already are you?”

Roberta looked over at him and said, in a dead tone, “Why not? Preparations must be made as soon as possible now we are betrothed.”

Gwayne looked from Roberta to Laenor for potential help.

 “I love weddings.” Laenor said. “I will bring a gift.”

 “Keep it.” Gwayne muttered.

 “My lady?” Alicent prompted.

Jeyne set down her cup. “Very well. We shall speak in my office. I hope my guests can entertain themselves until then.”

As Alicent rose, Daemon went to follow but Alicent shook her head.

She wanted to go alone.

 Following Lady Jeyne through the Eyrie where rain had swept the outer corridor, Alicent cast her eyes around for the sight of the flower garden from yesterday. She had only been in the Vale one full day but it felt more like a week. She wished that Frederick and House Cuy would journey in from Gulltown to see her. She could do with seeing a few more friendly faces. 

Jeyne gestured her into a cozy private office, the window looking out upon the mountain, a desk neatly stacked. “You’ll forgive the clutter, I hope,” Jeyne said. She sat on a chair behind the desk and motioned for Alicent to sit opposite. “Luckily, Jeffrey is better at keeping things in order than I am.”

Alicent summoned her strength. “That’s…what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Jeyne frowned. “I thought we were speaking of your brother?”

 “No,” Alicent said. She couldn’t help but remember the horrific night before as she spoke. Daemon’s presence had distracted her mind from misery and so had her brother, Laenor, Rhea - but nothing had undone the memory of the bitter violation of his hands on her body, the helplessness of her temporarily paralysis, the smell of the earth as he- 

 “What about Jeffrey?” Jeyne said.

 “As you know, Jeffrey offered to take me back to the Runestones last night,” Alicent said. “And-”

 “If you’ll forgive me, Alicent,” Jeyne said. “I hope you won’t think it too bold if I say this as you could be my younger sister in age,” she fixed her with a cold look. “It is unsightly for a woman to drink as much as you did last night. And in my house too. You should hold yourself to a far higher standard than a common laundry girl.”

Alicent stared at her in shock. “I had only one glass of wine. I-”

 “We all saw you, Alicent,” Jeyne said. “Stumbling and slurring. I have to tell you, for a moment I thought to write to your father so he could better his correction of you. But then, I thought of the folly that often follows youth. Especially in young women.” She folded her hands across her knee. “I will let it go this time, but I hope you remember that more is expected of you.”

Alicent struggled to maintain a steady tone. “I…” she said. “I was not drunk. I was drugged.”

 “What?”

 “By Jeffrey,” Alicent said. “He…he gave me some tonic in a silver bottle and then he put me on his horse and when we were far away enough he tried to…he put me on the ground and he…” She was angry when she felt the tears threaten her eyes. She blinked hard to dispel them. “He raped me. Or, he tried. I honestly can’t remember which it was. I hit him. I hit him with a rock which is why,” she looked up. “Which is why his nose is broken today, I'd warrant. Lady Jeyne, I must come to you for justice.”

 Jeyne was looking at the table between them, her eyes steady. When she raised them, she said, “Jeffrey is a common steward. A bastard. If you, a high-born lady accuse him of this act, the penalty can only be death.”

 “Yes.” Alicent said. “That is why I have come to you.”

 Jeyne regarded her coolly. “And I am to simply take your word for it?”

 “W-why would I lie about something that could threaten my honour?”

 Jeyne sighed and gave a little laugh. “Lady Alicent,” she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “There is a certain type of woman. As a woman myself, I hold all of my fellow women in the highest regard, but there are certain women who let our sex down time and time again with their shameless behaviour. Women who get drunk, women who lie with other women’s husbands,” she eyed her. “It is certainly remarkable that after all this time, the Prince has graced us with his lofty presence. It seems to have coincided with your arrival. I suppose you think that the Vale and its women are something to be laughed at?”

Alicent couldn’t speak, her fingers picking away at themselves. 

 “Do you deny that the Prince is your lover?”

Alicent swallowed. “I would…never intrude on a marriage where there was love to be broken.”

Jeyne laughed again and this time the laughter was cruel. “It isn’t about your grand philosophies, child. I do not wish to hear them from a girl of eighteen. To forge a tryst with Daemon Targaryen, a man who I know by rumor is as like to abandon you once it's convenient than to make you his wife, and then have the affrontery to stay in his wife’s house. I don’t think I have ever met a woman so unabashed.”

Alicent clawed at her nails until she drew blood. “I may be all the things you say,” she said, trembling. “Call me any name you wish.”

 “I do not wish to call you anything at all.” Jeyne said. “You may leave.”

 “But…what about what I have told you?”

 “You were so thick with drink that night, Alicent, that you could have just as well lain with any random stranger or maybe even the Prince. I will not allow you to use your rank to put an innocent man to the noose. This is the Vale, not King's Landing where girls of your ilk may run wild.” Jeyne said. “I hope, in future, you will think carefully before you speak.”

.

It was Daemon who found her as she sat on the steps outside the castle, watching the pigeonhawks wrestle with each other over the spines of the mountain. From far off, Seasmoke, who had enjoyed the rain, could be seen rippling his wings in the wind.

 “Alicent?” Daemon said. 

She turned towards him. The tears were drying on her face but her red eyes were a giveaway. 

Daemon put a hand on his sword. “Very well. I will speak to her.” He turned on his heel.

 “Wait.” Alicent said.

 “Do you see what happens when you try to simply ‘talk’?” Daemon said, halting on the steps. “People do not listen to mere words, Alicent. Justice can only be taken with blood.”

 “Perhaps I deserve the things that happen to me.” Alicent said, looking back out at the birds as they dived. “I am a villainness, after all. My fate isn’t supposed to be easy.”

Daemon came back down the steps to stand before her. And then he knelt, lifting her face to his. “You are gentle.” He said, simply.

Alicent’s brow creased. “Me?”

 “Yes,” Daemon said. “I never knew it until now. I always thought you were rock and ice. Like that mountain.” He gestured towards it. “Answer me: does your blood not turn for vengance?”

Alicent met his eyes. 

Daemon’s large hand clasped hers. “Then take it.”

.

Jeffrey went from the kitchens to the stables that night, intending to ride out to Gulltown in the bluster. He had some errands to run, a woman to find for some pleasure and then he wanted to be back before sunrise so the cook could make him breakfast.

Jeffrey winced as the cold air hit his tender nose and face. He would have his satisfaction though. He had poisons enough, stored from all of his time practicing the art of making them in differently coloured glass bottles lining the walls of his room. 

It would be nothing at all to slip some poison in Alicent’s goblet at the next meal. He had one that would make it look like she had simply had a turn from a food that was served, or one where blood would gush from each orifice. That whore would deserve nothing less. 

Checking he had coins in his purse, he selected a chestnut horse from the post - already saddled - and made ready to mount.

A hand closed over his mouth, firm enough so that he couldn’t scream and there was a metal prick at his throat as a blade was pressed up against the skin. 

 “Make a sound,” a voice said, man’s voice. “And I will gut you like a pig.”

Jeffrey froze as he was dragged away, his mind working a mile a minute, thinking of who it could possibly be. What enemy he could have? He was always nice to everyone and the women he raped did not remember that he raped them, so who could be wanting for revenge?

As he was taken from the stables to a sparse woodland where the trees were half the size and only shrubs and rock hid him from the eye of the Eyrie, Jeffrey thought of who it could possibly be. As he was thrown into the earth, he spun around, wild with explanations. 

 “I beg you, sir,” he spluttered. “If this is about the young lady Alicent then I must protest. If you are her brother or…lover, I know not - but she was the one who seduced me. I am but a humble steward and I couldn’t refuse her-”

 “Jeffrey,” Alicent said, coming forward from the woodland. She had let her hair down around her shoulders and it shone in the moonlight. “Silence will suffice.”

Daemon drew back the hood of his cloak. “A mere steward should know better than to get such ideas above his station.” He spun the dagger in his hand. “What should I start with?”

 “His tongue.” Alicent said. 

 The dagger was efficient. Jeffrey’s cries could now no longer be heard as his tongue was cut from his mouth, the blood spewed forth from his face as he clutched at the cavity. 

Daemon picked himself back up, admiring his handiwork. He inclined his head. “I believe my cut is even cleaner than it once was. You should be grateful, steward.”

He looked at Alicent. “Tell me what limb.”

Alicent regarded Jeffrey. Her mind felt so clear. It was as if the clouds had parted. Blood revenge. She should have considered it from the start.

She stepped forward and raised her hand for the dagger.

Daemon put the hilt to her, surprise in his expression. He hadn’t thought she’d have the stomach for it.

Alicent came forward and dropped to her knees next to the man that raped her. She would no longer feel helpless. Not in this second life.

She pushed Jeffrey flat to the ground. “It’s alright,” she said sweetly. “Do not be afraid. I will be gentle.”

She lifted the dagger and brought it down into the organ that had offended against her. Jeffrey wailed in agony and attempted to twist away, but Alicent held the dagger fast. When she lifted it again it landed in his abdomen, then the cavity of his chest and scraped against the bone, the blade resisting. Alicent tasted the blood on her lips. And then she lost count. The dagger fell again and again and again.

Finally, sheer exhaustion stilled her hand.

Daemon stared at her. She was covered head to toe in blood, blood seeping from her hair, splashed across her face. When she looked back at him, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes as hard as the steel of the dagger. 

He had read often about the old gods and, as she rose to her feet, she reminded him of a painting of a goddess; one with fire in her hair.

He looked down at Jeffrey. “I can see life.” He said.

Alicent put the bloodied dagger back in his hand. “I think Caraxes is hungry, my Prince.”

“Dragons burn their food before they eat it.” Daemon said. “You give him too much honor.” His eyes drifted from her feet to her face. That burn in her eyes distracted his thoughts from the task.

“I am,” Alicent said. “As you say, gentle.”

She watched Daemon drag what was left of Jeffrey’s dying body to the middle of the valley and she watched Caraxes fire fall and she felt something new once again. She was something that she had never been before.

Avenged. 

She lifted her hand and Caraxes' flames flickered behind each glistening finger.

Chapter Text

The water in the basin was going from pink to brown. Alicent squeezed her hair, making sure the worst of it was out; at least enough to not frighten the maids in the morning. 

Daemon entered after her, closing the door behind him. He put his sword on the table near the window and then the dagger, cleaned.

Alicent turned her eyes back to the water.

 “Are you injured?” He asked, keeping his voice low.

 “No.” She said. “It’s all his blood.”

Daemon approached her from behind and dropped his face to her shoulder, his arms around her waist, leaning into her. He brushed his lips against her wet skin. Alicent closed her eyes and rocked against him.

His kiss found her jaw, then her cheek. “Get in the bed.”

 “But if I’m in the bed, where shall you sleep?” 

Daemon made a sarcastic noise.

 “There is not room for the two of us.” Alicent slid beneath the sheets, her slip sticking to her skin. 

Daemon shed his clothes. “I’ll make some room.”

He reached across the bed to snatch her, lifted her to his lap; once again wanting to have her straddle him, looking down at him, her hair falling around him. She was like cream in his mouth, every time: unimaginably sweet and soft.

Alicent indulged him for a moment before slipping back down. “I’m tired.” She purred, rolling over. “You’ll have to wait.”

Daemon turned her on her back underneath him. “Do you think provoking me is wise?”

Alicent stretched, shaking her hair over her face, now knowing it was one of his weaknesses. She dragged her fingertips lightly from his chin to his chest, just to torture him. Feeling him twitch under her touch she smiled, satisfied.

 “The Prince has already worn me out for the day.” She said, turning on her side. “With his tongue.”

Daemon dragged a hand down his face. “Alicent, it’s been four days.”

Alicent burst out laughing at the seriousness of his tone. “Oh, four days!” She cried. “What a great injustice has been wrought! I do so hope the City Watch hasn’t disbanded out of grief.”

Daemon muttered a string of crude words in High Valyrian and lay back down next to her. “Never mind,” he announced. “I prefer sleep anyway.”

 “So my Prince no longer wants me?” Alicent whispered in his ear. She made sure to brush her breasts against his bare forearm. “He prefers sleep over my mouth, my tongue, my-”

Daemon snatched her face and kissed her deeply, his hands reaching for her once again.

 “Tell me how much you want me.” Alicent said, moving out of his grip. “Say it.”

 “Is it not already said?”

 “With your body,” Alicent said. “Not with your voice.”

Daemon bit back what he wished to say. 

 “Tell me.”

He wrestled with his pride, his jaw clenching. Finally he turned away. “Goodnight.”

Alicent glared at the back of his shoulders. Was he serious? Running around the Vale declaring her his and flaunting her as his mistress in everyone’s face was something he had no scruples about but this was a step too far? To merely say he wanted her. She wanted, just once, for him to tell her just how much he did. She laid back down, turning her back on him in kind.

Daemon didn’t sleep. Laying in a bed that smelled like her, listening to the soft rise and fall of her breath, glancing over at the silhouette of her in the darkness. There were battle injuries he’d rather have revisited on him than whatever this was. His desire for her had only grown and, not just that - he actually liked being with her. It settled something in him that had never felt settled before. She clung to him, she challenged him, she needed him and she didn’t.

Was this how Viserys had felt? No. Daemon doubted it. Viserys had never let go of Aemma after her death. Daemon had never felt grief like that over anyone, not even Laena who was another woman he did not intend on once again complicating the life of. 

Viserys had never cared to see the fire in Alicent, as he had now seen it. Her bloodlust earlier had set something within his soul ablaze. She was something akin to him after all; fire and blood. 

For the first time, Daemon wondered at how foolish his older brother had been to disregard Alicent as little more than a replacement for his first wife. What a waste of her mind and body. 

That which was now his, he thought, his mind curling itself possessively around the idea that she now belonged solely to him.

Alicent’s words returned to him in the dark. You could be King.

King.

He thought he had left that ambition behind him along with his desire to build the next Targaryen dynasty, to have as many children as Jaehaerys I and ensure the stability of their line for years to come, to have his name engraved in history books just like all the Valyrian kings he had spent his life reading about. Though, in this life, there was no guarantee of anything. His past had been lost to darkness, perhaps written over or existing still outside the mortal realm. 

And yet, he was here. Defying death. Defying his first life.

He could try again. 

And this time, he could have all he desired. 

Alicent opened her eyes to the maids creeping into the room, whispering as they peered over at the bed. She rolled over and realised Daemon was still in it - for once. 

“Leave us.” She waved at them and they skittered away, slamming the door behind them.

Daemon’s eyes opened on her looking down at him. Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed his lips with a gentleness that made something within him ache. 

 “You are not angry with me, are you?”

He took her small hand in his and kissed her palm, draping her fingers over his face, his eyes flickering up to look at her. Eventually, his hand found her cheek, drifting up into her long brown hair.

Alicent studied him. He looked contemplative as he searched her. “What is it?”

Daemon didn’t reply at once. He left the bed abruptly and began to dress. “You were right in what you said.”

 “About what?”

 “About this,” Daemon said. “This new life.” He turned to her. “My destiny has changed.”

Alicent frowned. “You mean…with regards to the throne?”

 “I am my brother’s heir,” Daemon said. “In the past, fate saw fit to displace me but in this life, everything stands at the ready for my claim to be realised.” He looked at her. “And I need a wife who will bear me strong Targaryen children so our line may endure throughout time.”

Alicent stared at him. “Why are you looking at me?”

 “Because you’ve done it before.” Daemon said. “At my brother's side, you had four healthy babes.” He secured his sword belt in place. “I can only imagine how many we shall have.”

 “Oh indeed and it should be of great ease, I’m sure!” Alicent’s pulse began to quicken as she realised his expression was earnest.

 “And, in return, I will give you a kingdom.”

 Alicent stared at him in complete mortification. “I don’t want a kingdom. I’ve had one already and it brought nothing but misery.”

 “This time, I shall stand by your side.” He said. “You shall bear my sons instead.”

 “I did not intend on bearing anything-”

 “Some of the children you bore in your first life were not entirely useless. This time, they will have a father who will guide and correct them. Our children will learn the sword and their ancestry from the cradle; and they will learn to revere and protect their mother, as all Targaryen-born should.”

 “Daemon,” Alicent said through gritted teeth. “What part of me changing my fate do you not comprehend?”

 “You are changing your fate,” Daemon said. He put a possessive hand behind her head, gripping the back of her neck. “You will be wed to me this time. Unlike my brother, I will give you anything you desire. My sword will be yours.”

Alicent pushed his hand away. “Me locked up in the Red Keep squeezing out your heirs would be no different from any other time!”

 “You would be free to come and go as you pleased, of course, as Lady of Dragonstone - and eventually the Queen.”

 “You are far too hasty,” Alicent rose from the bed. “What about…well, what about Rhaenyra?”

 Daemon paused as he secured his sword to his side. “What does this have to do with Rhaenyra?”

 “Is she not the one you truly want?”

 “Is this feminine jealousy intended to rile me?” Daemon said, making Alicent want to smack him. “She is yet a child and I intend to start heir-making now. In our first life, our trueblood children almost killed her with the third dying in her arms. If I take her, she may yet die on the childbed.”

 “Oh,” Alicent spat. “So I am a fine scapegoat?”

 “You are naturally predisposed to the task.” Daemon said. “Non-Targaryens tend to be so.”

 “I will not.” Alicent said, venom in her voice. “I am not your tool to use as you please. I already lived through a lifetime of that. After everything, this is how you see me? As your broodmare?”

Daemon gripped her shoulder, yanking her towards him. “'Tool'? 'Broodmare'? Have you run completely mad?” He hissed. “I claim you as my wife.”

 “You are already married!” She pushed him away.

 “The Conqueror had two wives. Maegor the Cruel had six; his first Ceryse Hightower was your own ancestor. Such things are in our blood.” Daemon said, resolutely. “Or, if you wish, I will kill Rhea. Again.”

 “I won’t allow you to hurt her.”

 Daemon ‘tsk’ed under his breath. “Why does everyone like that woman?”

 “I thought I was just a body you enjoyed.”

Daemon met her eyes. “The situation has changed.” He said. “We will fly to Dragonstone and be married on the morrow.”

 “You have decided you need a woman with child-bearing prowess, that’s the only reason you propose marriage.” She moved out of his reach. “You clearly have no respect for me at all. And even after last night and…and everything! You’re still the same birthright-obsessed, power-hungry man who would abandon me once I was no longer of any use.”

 Daemon gritted his teeth, trying to control his temper. “Can you explain why it is that when I say one thing, you hear another? I will protect you with my life for the rest of my days.”

 “As long as I resume my duty on the childbed, as you say?”

 “Do you not think that as long as you remained with me, the result would soon be a child?”

Alicent had considered it and had attempted to block the idea from her mind.

Falling pregnant with Daemon Targaryen’s child would tie her forever to their House - and forever to Daemon.

 “I will not make my son or daughter a bastard,” Daemon said. “We will wed.”

 “For that reason?”

Daemon's expression didn't change. “Why else would we?”

Alicent flinched. “Get out.” She said. “I do not wish to see or speak with you.”

Daemon battled the idea of reaching for her, kissing her hand, begging forgiveness, telling her that last night when he had looked into her eyes his very soul had shifted - but he did not.

 “I will let you calm yourself, my lady,” he snapped, walking for the door. “You are over-wrought.”

Alicent stood there, fists clenched, as the door slammed from behind her.

.

 “So,” Gwayne said into the thick silence of the breakfast table. “These eggs…what kind of eggs are these? Are they…goose?”

 “They’re chicken eggs.” Rhea said flatly, reading from a pamphlet from the capital as she ate her porridge. 

 “Oh,” Gwayne said, looking at Alicent hopefully. “They are reminiscent of the goose eggs we eat back in Oldtown, is that not so, sister?”

 “Yes.” Alicent said, her eyes on her bowl. 

 “Gerard is off hunting this morning,” Rhea began.

 “A great shame, as I so enjoyed his company last time.” Daemon cut in.

 Rhea ignored him. “Lady Alicent, if you wish I will fetch your people from Gulltown this morning in his stead, I thought to ride out that way anyway.”

Alicent opened her mouth.

 “No need.” Daemon said. “We are headed to Dragonstone this very day.”

Alicent glared at him. “You can do what you like, my Prince. I will stay with my brother.”

 “You are coming,” Daemon said slowly. “With me.”

 “No, I’m not.” Alicent looked at Gwayne. “You wish me to remain here, don’t you, Gwayne?”

Even though he was trembling under Daemon’s eyes, Gwayne spoke up, “Uh…y-yes. I wish her to…stay w-with me.”

 “Your brother must prepare for marriage with Lady Rebecca,”

 “It’s Roberta, Daemon.”

 “He doesn’t require your presence.”

 Gwayne swallowed hard. “If my sister wishes to stay then she will stay.”

 “Keep out of this-” Daemon paused.

 “Glenn.” Rhea supplied.

 “It’s Gwa-! Honestly, never mind.” Gwyane went back to eating his breakfast, hunching over. 

 “It seems that your mistress wishes to stay at the Runestones.” Rhea said, smiling brightly in Daemon’s direction. “She is more than welcome in my eyes.”

 Daemon looked at her, imagining another rock at her head. 

 The front doors were thrown open. “Just in time for breakfast again!” Laenor said, excitedly striding through. “I’m glad I asked Seasmoke to fly fast from the Eyrie.”

 “Oh gods.” Gwayne muttered. 

Laenor seated himself next to him. “Have you given any more thought to when we might depart, Ser Gwayne?”

Alicent looked between them. “Depart?” 

 “Oh, did he not say?”

 “You need not repeat-”

 “We need more strong swords to protect our shipping lanes from the Free Cities,” Laenor said, slapping Gwayne on the shoulder. “Gwayne here has offered to come back with me and assist us in our cause.”

 “What?” Alicent turned to Gwayne in shock. “You will go to war?”

 “It’s not officially a war,” Gwayne said, shooting a withering look at Laenor who didn’t seem to notice it. “I just thought that…it would be good to get away for a while.”

 “You are soon to be wed.”

 “Perhaps the lady would wait for me.”

 “Gwayne,” Alicent said, worry rising in her voice. “You cannot go to war. It is too dangerous. Gods know what might happen to you.”

This was once again, something that had never occured in her previous life. It must be the ripple effect of her own actions. That meant that if something happened to her brother, it would be her fault. Perhaps the gods meant to punish her for the life that she’d taken. After all, Gwayne's destiny was to die on the battlefield if destiny could not be escaped. Alicent’s hands became knuckles. Even if this was so, she would not let them have Gwayne again. 

 “Alicent, I am a capable knight,” Gwayne said. “I am sure father would not begrudge me the chance to prove myself in combat.”

 “No.” Alicent said. “I forbid it.”

Gwayne stared at her. “You forbid it? I am your older brother!”

 “You may not go.”

 “I will.”

 “You won’t .”

Daemon and Laenor glanced uncomfortably at each other during this sibling argument. Rhea coughed and put her pamphlet down, muttering something about needing to ride out as the day was new and left quickly.

 “You do not have a say what I do in my life.” Gwayne said, straightening next to her. 

 “I am trying to protect you from getting yourself killed!”

 “I am not as incompetent with the sword as you seem to think.”

 “Daemon?” Alicent turned to him. It would be his war, after all. “Do you not think Gwayne should stay?”

 “He should go.” Daemon said. “And earn his mettle as a man.”

 “What?” Alicent set down her spoon, furious that he was now refusing to back her up, likely out of spite. “You think he should just fling himself into unknown danger when he is to be wed?”

 “If his bride does not object, why should you?”

 “Because he is my brother and I worry for him.”

 “He could just as well fall from his horse tomorrow. Let the boy go and fight.”

 “No.” Alicent said, standing abruptly, slamming the table and pointing at Gwyane. “I am not letting you go to war.” Her finger moved to Daemon, “I am not going with you to Dragonstone. And that’s the end of both discussions! Enough!” She swept out of the hall, the servants ducking out of her way. She slammed the large wooden door behind her so hard that the hinges rattled.

Laenor looked between Daemon and Gwayne as they sat there. “Shouldn’t…one of you go after her?”

Gwayne looked pointedly at Daemon. 

 “You’re her kin.” Daemon muttered.

 “She would listen to you.”

 “I wouldn’t count on it.”

 “Well, I’m too scared.”

 Daemon resumed eating. “Don’t suppose I am not.”

Alicent walked to the edge of the rocks to calm herself. She was overlooking the crashing waves, frothy and dark, thundering in the distance. The sky was so clear today that she could see as far as the villages that lay at the flats of the mountains, the winding dirt road up which she had travelled. 

Before she could even properly gather her thoughts, she saw a horse galloping from the east road kicking up clouds of dust behind it. She recognised the sigil, a draped banner flapping at the horse’s flanks: House Arryn. 

Her eyes flew toward the mountain road behind him. Only one horse. It couldn’t be anything more than a messenger. 

She retraced her steps back down the rocks and headed towards the valley where the road veered towards Runestone. She had washed off the last of the blood that morning. It had felt good to be clean of it, but it had felt even better to plunge Daemon’s dagger into that man. Whatever the messenger had to say, she was ready.

The horse and rider came to a dust-cloud stop on the path, the horse whinnying loudly. The sound must have carried as the doors to Runestone opened behind her and she glanced back to see Daemon striding out with his usual menacing gait. 

The messenger dropped to the ground. “Is Lady Rhea at home?”

“She has just left.” Alicent said. She felt Daemon stop behind her, a looming presence. The messenger looked uncertainly up at him.

 “If you’re looking around for the highest authority,” Daemon said, placing his hand on his sword. “That would be me.”

“Er, yes, my Prince,” the messenger bowed. “I have a summons from Lady Jeyne Arryn. She wishes to see the Lady Alicent at the castle of the Eyrie. I have been sent to escort Lady Alicent forthwith.” 

 “The Lady Alicent goes nowhere with you.” Daemon said. Alicent glanced at him. He met her eyes. “Unless I go too.”

 “Uh,” the messenger began to fidget with his tunic. “Forgive me, my Prince, the Lady of the Vale asked that Lady Alicent come alone.”

 “The Lady of the Vale can throw herself through that so-called moon door for all I care.” Daemon said.

The messenger looked at Alicent for help. “Lady Alicent, I take it? This is the request of Lady Jeyne that she has made in earnest.”

Alicent drew her shoulders back. “I don’t think you were listening.” She said. “I do not come and go as ordered by Lady Jeyne. If she wishes to see me then she can see me as I wish it.” She looked at Daemon. “And I will not go unaccompanied.”

The messenger looked like he was dithering. He’d most likely been ordered not to come back without her, Alicent thought.

“You may leave.” Daemon said. 

 “But-”

 “Before my patience runs thin.”

The messenger thought better of arguing and retreated to his horse.

Daemon pulled Alicent back gently into his arms. “She does us great insult by summoning you in this way as if you were some criminal.”

Alicent pulled herself away. “Well,” she said. “She is right to think so.”

 “She’d do better to put her mind to more practical matters,” Daemon followed her. “Than seeking justice for a worthless steward.”

Alicent stopped in her tracks and faced him, a crooning wind blowing between them.

 “Daemon,” she said. “I cannot put myself back in the place that I was in the Red Keep.”

 He sighed. “More of this.”

 “It was you who spoke of it.”

 “I was telling you my intentions, I thought that was what you wanted.”

 “And you announce my part in them without consulting me.” Alicent said.

 He advanced on her. “It was you who started speaking of my claim and the Iron Throne and our new fate. And you were right. Everything has changed and this time I will not have my birthright taken away.”

 “And I want to be happy,” Alicent said, swallowing. “For the first time.”

Daemon grabbed her arm. “You would want for nothing as long as you lived.”

 “You have given me no assurance of your true feelings. One moment you claim you want me to marry you and yet you declare publicly that I am your mistress. One moment I am the woman who you protect and the next all my use is whittled down to the childbed.”

Daemon’s eyes flashed and his hand tightened around her. “And what about you, Alicent? One moment you are seducing me, clinging to me and the next you run away as if I was a stranger. You said I thought of you as my broodmare. Are you trying to insult me?”

 “You merely want me for your great Targaryen dynasty.”

 “I wish to marry you,” Daemon said. “And from the very beginning, you have wished to keep me as nothing more than a secret that brings you shame.” He brushed past her towards the mountain where he had left Caraxes. “Do as you please.”

Alicent lingered there some minutes before she turned back to see if she could catch sight of him. She could not.

.

Alicent kept to her chamber all that evening. She was in a horrible mood. She hadn’t seen any hint of a reappearance from Daemon since he had left that morning, she and Gwayne were avoiding each other and Rhea had not yet returned with House Cuy from Gulltown. 

She mostly attempted to read. The book Rhaenyra had given her was another grand story of a princess on dragonback, but Alicent wasn’t inclined to read about princesses with dragons at the moment. She wondered if there was a book where the beautiful princess had to walk everywhere instead. 

She was thankful when a knock on the door interrupted her mood and, for one hopeful moment, she thought it might be Daemon. Then she remembered that he never knocked. 

 “Alicent?” Gwayne said, gruffly, as she swung open the door. “I thought you might be abed.”

 “Not yet.”

They looked at each other awkwardly. 

 “Do you,” Gwayne said. “Want to go drink some wine?”

 “Yes.” Alicent breathed. “I do. Very much.”

 The two Hightower siblings sat in the great hall together, huddling up under a shawl Alicent had plucked from her trunk. The great hall was very cold, especially at night with no fire.

 “Do you remember,” Gwayne said. “When that one winter, the one where the wells turned to ice, Father caught a cold and Mother would make fun of the way he sneezed?”

 “Yes,” Alicent smiled. “I remember, she said it sounded like a bear in the woods.”

Gwayne imitated the roaring sneeze and they both began to cackle, chugging the ice-cold wine. “This really is the worst wine in the world.” Gwayne remarked.

 “I’d be careful when insulting it.” Alicent said. “The Vale isn’t known to be forgiving, or so I’ve found.”

He looked sidelong at her. “So,” he began carefully. “For how long have you…with the Prince?”

 “Gwayne-”

 “I wish to know!” Gwyane sighed. “Here I was getting into fights over your honour with any man who mentioned the rumour that the Prince had trysted with you and it turns out it's all true.”

 “Forgive me.”

 “I just don’t understand what you see in him, Alicent. I mean, I suppose he does have a fair few admirers in the Realm. Ones who don’t know him.”

 “It’s hard to explain.” Alicent said. “Daemon is…”

 “Temperamental?” Gwayne suggested. “Hostile? Terrifying?”

 “He is bull-headed,” Alicent sighed. “When he gets an idea in his mind you have to bend the heavens to convince him to let go of it.”

 “Just be careful,” Gwayne said, taking a sip of wine. “That’s all I ask.”

Alicent looked down at her cup. “He says he wants to marry me.”

Gwayne spat the contents of said cup on the table. “ What?!” Then, “Can he do that? He is already married.”

 “I believe he is under the impression that he can do whatever he wants as long as the old Targaryen kings did as much.” Alicent said, airily. 

 “Father will…” Gwayne looked down at the table. “Father might kill you.”

 “I know.”

 “What will you do?”

Alicent looked into her nearly-empty cup. 

 “Don’t tell me you wish to wed him?”

In that moment, Alicent wished that she could tell Gwayne everything: how she had come back in time with her previous mistakes still hanging like bronze weights from each of her limbs. Out of everyone in this world, he might believe her, he would understand. But the witch’s condition stopped her tongue: an ever-present threat.

 “It would be unwise to become involved in Targaryen affairs.” Alicent said. 

Gwayne scratched the side of his face. “It may be too late for that, sister.”

The thud and thunder of horse’s hooves began to fill the silent air, at least ten or twenty riders. Alicent’s heart dropped while considering that it might once again be Jeyne Arryn’s men who had come to drag her to the Eyrie; but it was not. It was Rhea, who had arrived with Frederick and House Cuy from Gulltown. 

Gwayne sighed when he heard the din approaching. “Here they come with enough fanfare to wake the gods as usual.”

 “Lady Alicent!” Frederick’s voice boomed from the outer hall, but it was Lady Rhea who opened the doors, looking far more tired than she had when she had left that morning. She caught Alicent’s eye for a brief moment before stepping aside and letting Frederick approach, sweeping Alicent’s hand for a kiss. “This Vale air agrees with you. You’re looking taller already!”

 “Hello.” Gwayne said.

 Frederick glanced behind Alicent. “And you’re here!”

 “So now I don’t even have a name?”

 “Lady Alicent,” Rhea said, barely heard over the clamour of the men of House Cuy outside the doors. “I would a quiet word with you.”

 “What is it, Lady Rhea?”

Rhea glanced at Frederick and Gwayne.

 “Oh,” Alicent said. “Yes, of course.” She looked at Frederick pointedly.

 “Come, Ser Gwayne,” Frederick swept an arm across Gwayne’s shoulders. “Let us allow the ladies to have their chatter. What’s that you’re drinking? Wine? You should try some ale!”

 “Don’t leave me, sister.” Gwayne hissed but Alicent had already departed to a quieter alcove off of the great hall. Rhea looked somewhat distressed, she was sweating in her bronze armor and wiped her brow many times with her thumb like it was an anxious tick.

 “Forgive the late hour of my return,” she said. “I spoke with Lady Jeyne this morning.”

Alicent’s breath hitched in her throat. “I see.”

 “She told me everything,” Rhea said, looking at Alicent with an expression in her eyes that Alicent couldn’t place. “You needn’t conceal it.”

 “What did she say?” Alicent asked, her nails digging into her palms.

 “She said that her steward, Jeffrey, insulted you on your journey back to the Runestones the night of your departure from the Eyrie. That same steward is now missing. She says that they found some blackened bones in the fields near the stables, that the stable hands smelled smoke. Some say that they saw Daemon’s dragon, Caraxes, in that field. The horses of the Vale are more valuable than any other kind of horse: they are specially trained to make journeys up the mountains and to navigate the rocks in good time. When they smelled the smoke they were worried that Caraxes was eating their horses so some guardsmen rushed to the site only to find remains before they turned to ash. They said that they resembled human bones. It cannot be proven, of course, but Lady Jeyne suspects you and Daemon of the deed.”

 “Lady Jeyne,” Alicent whispered. “Said that Jeffrey insulted me?”

Rhea sighed. “She said that you attempted to seduce him and he rebuffed you.”

 “Did she?” Alicent sank her nails further into her skin.

Rhea made a further exasperated sound. “In truth, I do not believe it. Jeyne must be misled on this occasion.”

 “What will she do?”

 “Why she can’t do anything. You are the daughter of the Hand and Daemon is the Prince. Even if she is the kin of Queen Aemma herself, she cannot go about wreaking a holy war for her bastard son.”

There was silence between them.

 “Her bastard son?”

Rhea kept her eyes on the ground. “Jeffrey is, or perhaps was is more apt, the bastard of Jeyne and a lowly knight from Redfort. Lord Redfort offered to protect Jeyne’s honour and claim the bastard as his own for a chunk of Arryn lands and Arryn gold. But Jeffrey was Jeyne’s trueborn son and she wanted him to inherit her position after her, so she drafted him in as her steward.”

The news, at least in part, did not come as much of a shock. “So that’s why,” Alicent said. “She protected him.”

 “Did you kill him?” Rhea asked and Alicent looked up into her eyes that were as intent as an arrow’s point. “Deny it if it's falsehood.”

 “He did not insult me by rebuffing any advances,” Alicent said. “He stopped that horse, laid me on the rocks and did something far worse to me that night that I would like to recall. I do not care if you do not believe me.”

Rhea exhaled slowly. “Gods…”

 “If I took revenge,” Alicent said. “If I did. I would have been well within my rights to take it in blood.”

Rhea swept a hand over her face. “I agree with you,” she said, after a pause. “So that is why Jeyne would not linger on the subject.” She put her hand under her breastplate and pulled out two pieces of parchment both stamped with the blue wax of Arryn’s House seal. “I have a warning for you here, Lady Alicent.”

 “You said Jeyne could not act.”

 “She cannot,” Rhea said. “No matter what, she cannot act against you. But that does not mean she cannot retaliate at all.” She handed Alicent the slimmer parchment. “Read this one first.”

Alicent opened it and read the words out loud. “This written is addressed in the highest deference and esteem to Lord Otto Hightower, Lord Hand of the King. Most eminent Lord, House Arryn have considered a proposition of marriage between Lady Roberta Arryn and your most noble son, Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown. Although his propositions were met with the most prominent regard for his station and sincerity, we must humbly decline this betrothal on account of the fact that Lady Roberta is already soon to be engaged to another and their engagement will be announced to all by the winter-” She let her hand drop. “So they’ve called off Gwayne’s engagement.”

 “It isn’t much,” Rhea said. “But it is a public slight. Also,” she held up the next letter. “Worse is to come.”

 “What does it say?”

Rhea handed Alicent the letter. “It is a grand feast. The first that the Eyrie has held in two decades. In your honour.”

 “Mine?” Alicent opened the heavy parchment. The crests emblazoned with expensive ink were that of every House in the Vale. House Royce, House Redfort, House Corbray, House Baelish, House Grafton, House Upcliff…the crests went on taking up almost the entire bottom of the page.

In two days, the parchment announced, there would be a grand feast held in honour of the Hand of the King’s daughter paying the Vale a visit of courtesy. The feast was to signify the strong alliance between the House of the Queen and the House of the King’s Hand. 

 “Do you understand the intention?” Rhea said.

Alicent looked up at her. “To get me to the Eyrie so she can fling me out of the moon door?”

Rhea’s mouth twitched. “She’s just a touch more subtle than that,” she said. “She wishes to expose knowledge of your attachment to Daemon. To show the Vale that you have come here to flaunt your bigamy towards one of their kinswomen. She wishes to turn the Vale against you and your House.”

Alicent exhaled. “So that’s it.”

Rhea shook her head. “I can declare my disinterest in Daemon’s business until the hens come to roost, it won’t matter. Valemen do not take such matters as lightly as they might do in King’s Landing. Your honour and name will be forever spoken as a curse if this rumour is confirmed. Daemon has already shown proof enough that you are his mistress, all Jeyne need do is confront you. If you confirm, you will be besmirched. If you deny, you will only be regarded as concealing it due to cowardice. Especially if Daemon continues to make it known to all.” 

 Alicent held the invitation in both her hands, rolling the corners with her thumbs. “What do you think I should do?”

Rhea sighed heavily. “Whatever you do - you are in a difficult position. If you choose to simply not go, it will be considered a huge insult from House Hightower to House Arryn. But…it may save you some further embarrassment.”

 “She wants me not to go,” Alicent said under her breath. “She’d love to see me run away scared.”

 “I fear she would.” Rhea said. “I know Jeyne well. Though I never believed her capable of protecting a man who had committed such an act, even if he was her son. I am truly shocked by it.”

Unbidden, Alicent thought of her own son. She thought of Aegon. She thought of the maids that had come crying into her arms after being pulled drunkenly into his bed, she thought of holding him in her arms when he was a babe and imagining how great, how kind, how magnificent he would become and then she thought again of all of those poor girls. 

 “It is sometimes done out of foolish love,” Alicent said. “The most foolish love that exists on earth. The love of a mother.” 

 “Even still,” Rhea said. “If it were my son, I would disown the scoundrel.” 

 “I should have killed us both back then.” Alicent murmured.

 “What?”

 “It’s nothing.” Alicent looked again at the invitation. “I will go.”

 “Are you sure that’s wise?” Rhea asked.

 “I need someone first, though.”

 “Who? Daemon?”

 “No.” Alicent said, turning back towards the door to the great hall. “Laenor.”

Chapter Text

Even Caraxes didn’t care for the Vale. Daemon listened to him bemoan his woes to the wind by way of whistles and clicks, shaking his long neck left and right.

 “Nyke gīmigon, uēpa raqiros.” Daemon said. I know, old friend.

The clouds overhead were breaking apart to make way for the sun. Daemon was reminded of standing with his father and Viserys on the beaches of Dragonstone over a breaking dawn. This had been a handful of years after his mother’s death. A sword-training session had carried on into the night. Viserys had begged their father to let him return to bed, Daemon had begged for his father to continue sparring with him. Baelon would have, when Alyssa was alive, agreed to Viserys’ request and taken the boys back inside. Since her death, he was colder, more demanding.

 “On your feet, boy.” He had commanded, pointing the blade at his oldest son. “When you fight a battle, do you expect your foe will let you rest awhile?”

Viserys had glanced over at Daemon, who had shrugged. He sighed, “No, Father.”

 “Father show me that thing you did when you parried,” Daemon whirled his sword over his head, imitating his father. “That thrust.”

 “Feet wider,” Baelon said. “Your stance is weak.”

 Daemon had widened his feet, glancing down at the sand. “Like this?”

 “Viserys,” Baelon said. “You and your brother. Show me.”

Viserys dragged his feet over to face Daemon, knowing that it was pointless to argue. He watched in exhausted resignation as Daemon danced from one foot to the other, ready to disarm him.

Viserys attempted to find his younger brother’s weak spot: he knew he was sometimes slower on his left side. He swept his sword, a smaller and lighter version of what he would one day wield with the edges part blunted, in an arc for Daemon’s lower hip.

Daemon caught the strike with his arm, grunted momentarily at the pain and pushed forward, knocking back Viserys’s wrist with his elbow and pointing the tip of the blade in his brother’s face.

Daemon retreated and rocked back on his heels, sticking out his tongue. “I win.”

 “Yes, yes, you win.” Viserys muttered.

Baelon brought a hand down hard on the back of Daemon’s head, the crack loud enough to startle the pigeons that had been pecking near the stone wall. 

Viserys winced. “Father-”

Daemon tasted blood inside his mouth where he had accidentally bit down on the inside of his cheek. 

 “Don’t gloat,” Baelon said. “It’s a bad habit of yours.”

Gone were the days when Alyssa would baby him; Baelon was determined to set Daemon back on the right path.

Viserys waited for their father’s back to turn before walking quickly to his younger brother, tipping his chin up. “Are you alright?”

 “Fine.” Daemon muttered. “Don’t try to stop him, it’ll just be worse.”

The next moment, Baelon was sitting with his sons on the sand as the day dawned, pointing at the horizon. “Can’t you just imagine the Conqueror coming from behind those very clouds? How the whole of Westeros shook to see him and his sisters fly through the sky on fire-breathing beasts? That is the heart of our House, trēsi. From the Smallfolk to the Lords in their castles- they all fear the retribution of the dragon. Molten death headed straight from a dawn like this one.”

 Viserys stifled a yawn. Daemon picked up a shell and aimed it as far as he could into the overlapping waves. 

 “One day,” Baelon said. “You will have to decide how you will continue that legacy.”

 “I know, Father.” Daemon said, brightly. “I’ll burn Westeros to ash if anyone dare besmirch the Targaryen name.”

Baelon chuckled. “That is a bit too much fire and blood, son.” He looked at Viserys. “And you?”

Viserys sighed. “I think the best way to win the people’s respect is by showing them mercy. We have already established our dynasty, why must we continue to pick fights with other Houses?”

 “Both interesting points.” Baelon said. “Both completely wrong of course.”

 “Then what, Father?” Viserys said. “How do you continue your legacy?”

 “The way legacies are continued is simply through an upkeep of our Targaryen traditions,” Baelon said. “And finding a good woman who will bear you many children.”

Daemon wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want a woman. They run slow and they can’t spar.”

Viserys, who was thirteen and slightly more inclined to the idea of women, blushed. “You don’t perhaps need as many as our grandsire the King.”

Baelon smiled. “Yes, my father perhaps had too many.” He fell silent, his thoughts back to Alyssa. “Your mother was a great woman,” he murmured. “Even after she was bedridden with your brother, Aegon, she still spoke of bearing more sons for me. She was…she…” He trailed off, turning his face away.

Daemon and Viserys looked at each other wordlessly. Daemon reached for another shell to throw. Bending down, he knocked the practice sword that stood balanced against the wall and it skittered down the stones and sand until it fell into the fire.

 “Shit.” Daemon muttered.

 “I’ll get it, don’t fret.” Viserys jumped to his feet and went to attempt to retrieve it.

Baelon snatched Daemon’s left ear and twisted it. “Are you not satisfied until you have created enough chaos?”

 “Father, please, leave him alone!” Viserys cried.

Daemon refused to make a sound, even when his father’s slap made his ears ring and his vision blacken.

 “Father, stop!” Viserys said, pulling Daemon out of reach and standing in between them. “Enough! It was an accident.”

 “Both of you,” Baelon said, the voice was not the one that Daemon knew as his father but another voice belonging to whatever had possessed Baelon’s body after the loss of his beloved wife. “Helped kill her. Each birth weakened her body. I pleaded with her not to have you.” His eyes met Daemon. 

 “Mother loved us.” Viserys said, weakly.

 Silence fell between the three of them. Only the gulls in the sky could be heard, the distant rumble of the dragons in their pit sleeping.

Baelon rubbed his eyes. “We shouldn’t have trained all night.” He said, finally. “To your beds, both of you.”

 “Yes, Father.” Viserys pushed Daemon in front of him protectively, taking his brother’s hand in his.

They ran up the stone steps, taking two at a time until they were both out of breath at the top. Viserys looked at his brother worriedly. “Is your head okay?”

 “I told you not to stop him.” Daemon snapped. “He just gets worse when you do.”

Viserys clenched his fists. “He shouldn’t strike you so often, Daemon. If Mother was alive, she would have never allowed it.”

 “Well she’s dead.” Daemon said. “Isn’t she? And I helped kill her.”

 “No you didn’t.” Viserys said. He came close to pat his brother’s head. “You didn’t kill anyone. Mother loved you. Don’t you remember?”

Daemon did remember.

As he lay on the mountain hills of the Vale, he remembered.

My poor second son.

Daemon rose, rubbing his eyes hard. Perhaps he had lingered here too long, gone for almost two days, back to Dragonstone and then here again simply to settle his thoughts. His intention was to go back to Runestone and speak to Alicent once more. He had thought she would have received his proposal of marriage better than she had, but it was no matter. She would get used to the idea. She had done so for Viserys, so why not him? Did she see him as somehow inferior because he was the second son?

He could really have done with more of her that morning in Runestone. The memory of her taking her teeth to his earlobe, kissing his forehead, the way she had clutched his head when he had licked her, rocking against him.

Daemon felt a familiar desire ebb through his lower body and cursed. He had a woman in his bed, he shouldn’t be here considering relieving his desire in the mountains to his memory of her like some kind of wandering drunk.

Daemon lifted his sleeve to his nose. He could smell her. Faintly. He swallowed.

Perhaps when he returned she would be in a better mood and she would let him take her to Dragonstone. Once he had her there, he wasn’t entirely sure he would let her leave, even if her father sent an army after them. And once they were wed, she would never be able to leave him. 

His father had taught him two important things: how to swing a sword and that love was pain. Pain that Daemon had never intended on getting involved in after seeing what it had done to Baelon over the years. But Alicent would not die on the childbed; she had stronger blood. She would survive. She wouldn’t leave him alone feeling such pain.

Daemon cursed this weakness in his nature, this terror of being without a family that anchored him to the earth, and he blamed his father for giving it to him. He must be getting soft to have such thoughts. 

He armed himself again, securing Dark Sister at his belt and whistled for Caraxes.

Caraxes had spotted a rabbit running over the hills and had decided to follow it, making chirping noises as he did.

“Caraxes, dohaeris!”

Caraxes spun himself back towards Daemon and crashed down in front of him, his tail sweeping a small tree to the ground as he did so. Daemon noticed that his dragon’s stomach was swinging low, he must have been picking off more sheep in the fields. Daemon thought wryly about all of the farmers that must want both of their heads.

Another dragon’s call caught his attention and both he and Caraxes looked overhead to see Seasmoke and Laenor sailing overhead, heading west. Daemon raised a hand to his eyes to shield them from the growing glare of the sun and he watched Seasmoke fly. He had expected Laenor to remain in the area awhile before returning to Driftmark to rally more ships, but perhaps his negotiations with Jeyne were at an end and he simply wished to hurry back.

Travelling back to the Vale, Daemon sailed over the Eyrie and briefly, just briefly, considered burning it down. But Viserys would be angry if he did. Alicent would be angry if he did. He flew on, descending into the valleys through a spackle of clouds, wiping his sleeve across his face to dispel the rain that hung in its purgatory and braced his legs for Caraxes’ usual crash-down. 

Dismounting from his dragon, the first thing Daemon saw was that boy, Alicent’s brother, making his way out of the valley from the Runestones. He didn’t really want to speak to him but he supposed, if Alicent was to be his wife, he should be cordial. 

Surprisingly, it was Gwayne who approached him first. “My Prince!” He waved. He had a large smile on his face which unnerved Daemon slightly. “Good morrow to you!”

 “Good morrow.” Daemon muttered, trying to brush past.

 “Wonderful weather!” Gwayne said, his smile never faltering.

Daemon pulled the leather gloves from his hands. “Nothing so uncommon.”

 “I think it’s a truly marvellous day,” Gwyane breathed. “I’ve never seen weather like it. Truly.”

Daemon didn’t respond and attempted to leave again.

 “Oh, I should tell you,” Gwayne said. “I am not getting married.”

 “Is that so?”

 “Yes!” Gwyane beamed. “The Arryns have cancelled the engagement. Just,” he waved his hands. “Like that!”

 “My condolences.” Daemon said, dryly. 

 “Yes, they just sent the letter saying as much last eve,” Gwayne said. “I suppose I have you to thank for much of this.”

 “How has this got anything to do with me?”

 “It’s because of the, uh...the business between you and my sister. It seems that the Lady Jeyne has seen fit to shun us.” He leaned forward. “Just so you know, though, my Prince, I bear you no ill will.”

Daemon’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. So, Jeyne had decided to seek some revenge, had she? All for the life of that steward: a feud with House Hightower. He was truly stunned by the stupidity of this woman who would send a public slight to one of the most powerful Houses in the Realm over a dead servant. One who had had a far better death than he deserved. 

 “In fact,” Gwayne continued. “I’m certainly seeing the many benefits of the situation. I am yet too young for marriage and by no means ready to make any such commitment-”

 “You are certainly glad for your House to be insulted,” Daemon said, icily. “That House Arryn should refuse House Hightower sends a message to all that the Vale finds you inferior.”

 “Well,” Gwayne said, with a glow around him that irked Daemon greatly. “One must not hold grudges. That is one thing my mother taught me.”

 “She would have thought better to teach you how to take pride in your family’s name,” Daemon said. “Where is your sister?”

 “Oh, Alicent and Lady Rhea went out riding this morning.” Gwayne said.

Daemon hadn’t known that a sentence in any language could irritate him more than that one did. “Did they?” He ground out. “How wonderful.”

 “If you wish,” Gwayne said, whose joy had made him near immune to fear. “I shall keep you company, my Prince. We can play Cyvasse or maybe the Bottle Game?”

Daemon took a breath. I cannot kill Alicent’s brother.

 “I will wait for Alicent’s return.” Daemon immediately hated himself for those words. Who was she to make him wait? Was he to perch on the rug like a dog also? He stopped in his tracks and turned back to Caraxes. “In fact, tell your sister that I have left. I will return again in a day or so.”

 “Oh,” Gwayne said. “Are you coming to the feast?”

Daemon looked back at him.

 “‘What feast?’” Gwayne ventured, imitating a voice that sounded suspiciously like Daemon's. “Was that what you were about to say?” Daemon’s expression made him hurry to an explanation. “There is to be a feast in Alicent’s honour tomorrow. Jeyne has invited all the great Houses in the Vale - and you, of course, my Prince.”

Jeyne at least knew better, Daemon supposed, than to accuse Alicent of the steward’s death. Even an Arryn wouldn't be so bold. So, she could only mean one thing by putting Alicent on display for all the Vale to see.

Daemon thought about how he should have let Caraxes burn that bitch’s castle to the ground after all.

A few strategies went though his mind, a fair few containing blood. This wouldn’t have happened if he and Alicent had left for Dragonstone when he had told her to and, if they had married, the tongues could wag all they pleased but there would be no honour to save.

Daemon had always thought the idea of ‘a woman’s honour’ was a rather interesting joke. The wives of Westeros often played around with various servants and knights as much as their husbands and all knew it - and yet they hung their ‘honour’ around their neck like a bauble. He conceded that they would face harsher consequences than their husbands for their affairs, but to pretend as if they were superior to those who held their liaisons out in the light of day was ridiculous. All must know they Jeyne kept a slew of female companions, no one was blind, and he imagined there must be a man or two besides. And yet because he and Alicent had not concealed themselves; Alicent was to be put under scrutiny by the likes of her?

Imagining Alicent in a room full of old Vale lords whispering behind her back was enough to make his bloodlust return with a vengeance. And Alicent would no doubt be angry with him for giving Jeyne that arrow to nock in the first place, which was another fight he didn’t care to have.

Daemon’s mind cleared. But, if Jeyne knew Alicent was to be his wife, she would surely stop this mummer’s farce. She would not possibly be stupid enough to make an enemy of the ruling House of the Realm over this petty business.

 “Should I tell Alicent that you’re coming, my Prince?” Gwayne called as Daemon stalked back towards Caraxes.

 “Tell her there will be no ‘feast’!” Daemon snapped.

 “What do you mean?” Gwayne called after him, but Daemon didn’t reply.

Caraxes did not land safe miles this time from the spiralling fortress. Daemon landed him directly onto the roof, snapping spires from turrets and sending stone, snow and dirt tumbling down the side to the seemingly bottomless drop below. 

Soldiers looked up in horror as the dragon walked its way across the castle’s high curtain wall, its huge tail like an iron hammer as it made large dents in the ancient rock. 

Finally, Caraxes found a large enough parapet on which to rest, sending soldiers on each side scurrying for safety. 

Daemon dropped from Caraxes to the parapet, glancing up as Caraxes dislodged yet another turret, leaning into it with all his weight to find a comfortable position.

Daemon looked over at the guardhouse on the other side of the walk where at least five soldiers were staring out at him. “My apologies to your Lady,” he said, adjusting his sleeves over his gloves. “I missed my landing there.”

The guards didn’t seem to know whether to reply or run.

 “I would speak to her,” Daemon said. “Take me to her now.”

Finally, the bravest among them spoke, “My…Prince, um,” he glanced up at Caraxes who was now gnawing absently on one of the broken spires. “The Lady…keeps to her chapel. She has asked not to be disturbed.”

Daemon approached him, slowly. “Will you make me repeat myself?”

 “I cannot…take you to her.”

Daemon looked beyond him at one of the other soldiers hiding behind the door. “You there!” He said. “Where is the chapel?”

The guard first looked up at Caraxes and then pointed shakily from the parapet to the floor below, where there was an alcove leading to a staircase.

Daemon glanced around him. “How many rooms can one fit on this ugly rock?”

The first guard reached for his sword. “I cannot let you pass, my Prince.”

 “You are sworn to House Arryn and House Arryn is sworn to House Targaryen who are the Lords of the Realm.” Daemon said. “I would consider that before you draw your sword.”

The chapel was illuminated only by small candles. Some sat underneath sculptures depicting the seven-headed god, a seven-pointed star, prayer wheels that had been placed as effigies on the walls.

Daemon walked forward, each step echoing on the stone. Lady Jeyne knelt at the altar over which hung the largest star of all, held by string and wire and made of what looked like fool's gold.

 “I heard you arrive.” Jeyne said. She did not open her eyes, unclasp her hands or turn to face him. Her head was shrouded by a velvet shawl. “I hope the Crown will not mind paying for the damage done to my castle.”

 “My good lady wife would be more than happy to cover any cost.” Daemon stopped in the middle of the room, crossing his arms at his waist, leaving a hand resting on Dark Sister’s sheath. 

 “I know why you’ve come.” Jeyne said. “You think to scold me for my treatment of your paramour.”

 “I’ve come to order you to call off this fucking feast.”

 “You may not give me orders.” Jeyne said.

 “I am the Prince.”

 “And I obey only the King.” Jeyne opened her eyes, sensing the candles failing. She took the longer candle from its mantle and began to relight the smaller flames that had been blown out by the cold wind. “You are a mere second son.”

 “I would watch your words,” Daemon spat. “Don’t think that your position is untouchable.”

 “You should follow your own advice.”

 “I would know what exactly you plan by inviting Lady Alicent to a so-called feast in her honour.”

 “Is it against the law for me to hold a feast in my own castle?”

 “It is a trap, clear as day. You wish to show the whole Vale that Alicent and I are lovers and gather some indignance for that poor Bronze Bitch of Runestone.”

 Jeyne rose to her feet. She turned to him, taking down the hood that veiled her face. “It was you, Prince Daemon, who revealed the affair in the first place,” she said. “If any of this is to end up smearing Alicent’s name, that will be your fault. Not mine.”

 “I intend to marry her,” Daemon said. “She has nothing to fear from the backward old fools of the Vale.”

 “Then why,” Jeyne said. “Are you here?”

Daemon’s thumb brushed the hilt of his sword. “Because the very idea that you would attempt to bring her to this wretched castle to publicly humiliate her is something I will not allow.”

 “You killed him, didn’t you?” Jeyne said.

Daemon met her gaze. “Who?”

 “Jeffrey.”

 “Never heard of him.”

 “My…my steward.”

 “Ah yes,” Daemon said. “Now I remember. He was the one who begged for his life before I burned him.”

Jeyne was silent.

 “Fond of him, were you?”

 “You never loved anything, did you, Prince Daemon?” Jeyne said, her voice low. “You’ve never wed a woman you loved, you’ve never had children. You don’t know what it’s like to lose something you love. You can’t even imagine it.”

 Daemon’s mouth twitched into a smile. “What you don’t know about me could fill a tome, woman.”

 “Jeffrey was a good soul.” Jeyne said. “At heart. He was just… Growing up as a bastard, it’s hard thing to do. People never let you forget where you come from in this world. He was as good as could be expected.”

 “Save your weeping for your seven-headed god,” Daemon said. “Go upstairs and arrange for pigeons or sheep or whatever you Valeish use to send messages to all the Houses that your feast is called off. Make any excuse. Say you are on your deathbed. I can help you with that, if you wish.”

Jeyne smiled. “If you wish to kill me then do so.”

There was a pause that swept between them.

 “You cannot,” Jeyne said. “Your brother the King would have no choice but to imprison you if you did so. And then what would become of your Hightower plaything with her maidenhood in ruins?”

Daemon’s smile was cruel. “I don’t think you wish to make an enemy of me, Lady Arryn. I am my brother’s heir.”

 “Until his son is born.” Jeyne said. 

 “Well,” Daemon said. “I suppose no one can know the future.”

 “You realise that there is a very simple solution to this problem, don’t you, Prince Daemon?”

 “And what would that be?”

 “Denounce her.” Jeyne said. “Spend the feast arm in arm with your wife and make it known that the gossip is merely false.” She smiled. “News travels fast in this corner of the Realm and gods know it can die an even quicker death if it is put to the light. The only one you can save Alicent’s reputation is you.” She brushed past him. “The hour is late. I can offer you a place at the Eyrie until the feast.”

 “Do not assume I would stay in this echoing dungeon.” Daemon said. 

 “A storm brews.” Jeyne said. “I can hear it in the walls. You and your dragon will be caught in it. Unless you prefer to venture on horseback, which would be even more dangerous.”

Daemon fell silent, listening to the sound of hammering rain on the stone walls. Curse this place and its hideous weather; within an hour it could go from sun to storm. Caraxes would make his way to the caves from last time they were here and by the time he reached the Bloody Gate the path would be unnavigable. 

 “I will have a servant show you to a room.” Jeyne said. “And do not worry, I have no intention of slaying you in the night.”

 “I would very much like to see you try.” Daemon said. 

Jeyne summoned a small, blonde girl as she walked the corridor. “Melisayne,” she said. “Come here a moment.”

Melisayne approached, looking at Daemon with wide eyes. “The Prince?”

 “Melisayne has a great knowledge of this place and can have the servants fetch whatever you need,” Jeyne said. “Melisayne, show the Prince to a room where the stone is not too damp for a flame in the fireplace.”

Melisayne nodded, clasping her hands together. 

 “Goodnight, Prince Daemon,” Jeyne said. “When the weather clears I will send word to Lady Rhea that you have arrived here so you need not return to the Runestones.”

Daemon wondered if he should argue. He had wanted to see Alicent that night. Now he did not know if he should seek her out before the feast at all. She may yet have some plan to overturn Jeyne’s act of retaliation - he knew her. She would not come unarmed. And he would scupper it if he told her what he wanted to say. That he wanted her to run to him, not renounce him.

Melisayne glanced up at Daemon through her long, pale eyelashes as they walked. “My Prince,” she said. “Are you hungry at all? I will fetch you a meal.”

Daemon grunted. “Something hot. Wine.”

 “Yes, of course, my Prince,” Melisayne said. “We pride ourselves on our fish stew.”

 “Fish,” Daemon muttered. “That’s all you people ever eat.”

 “Then perhaps some boar?”

 “I don’t care.”

Melisayne glanced down at Dark Sister at his side. “That is the biggest sword I have ever seen,” she said. “May I touch it?”

Daemon looked down at her, wondering why she was bothering him. “You may not.”

 “Oh,” Melisayne put a hand to her mouth. “Forgive me. What a foolish thing to say. I am so sheltered here at the Eyrie, I never converse with men day to day. Especially not Princes.” She glanced away. “Now you must think me impertinent.”

Daemon noticed that her eyes travelled slowly back up to his face and there he saw it. Intention, like a jagged knife. He could have laughed. What fresh indignity was this, a Vale maid attempting to seduce him. He wondered if he had a bad reputation or if he was just unlucky. 

 “Leave my food outside the room.” He said.

The room she showed him to was large and depressing: perfect for this place. The curtains that hung from the posters of the bed depicted Valemen in battle. Daemon sighed. He missed Dragonstone. 

 “My Prince,” Melisayne watched him enter. “The other maids are busy at this hour so I will light your fire for you.” She followed him inside, reaching for the iron and flint on the mantle. 

 “I can do it. Leave.”

 “I couldn’t let a guest do it themselves,” Melisayne said, aiming her strike at the kindling scattered on top of the logs in the fireplace. “What would Lady Jeyne say?”

Daemon strode across the room and snatched her wrist. “You forget yourself, maid,” he said. “When a Prince gives you an order, you follow it.”

 “Oh,” Melisayne looked up at him, blinking rapidly. “Forgive me once again, my Prince. I have offended you.”

Daemon vastly preferred the cheekiness of the whores in King’s Landing over whatever the fuck this was. And, what was worse, he now wished Alicent was here with him in this awful room. He could see her now bending over the fire, looking back at him, her unknowable smile where one couldn’t tell if she had intended to smile or if it was just some amusement playing at her lips.

Daemon made a noise of frustration. “Just get out,” he said to Melisayne. “Now.”

Melisayne sank into a curtsy, looking up to catch his eye before she left. “Yes, my Prince.”

Daemon waited until she had shut the door carefully behind her before going to sit back down on the bed. His hand lingered a moment over his face. He could conjure Alicent’s taste by memory. He dragged his tongue over his lips just to check. Outside, lightning struck, rain hailed and the rain screamed through the stone walls.

Daemon lay in the darkness, imagining a phantom hand on his chest, phantom brown hair splayed over his shoulder.

.

Alicent had been dreaming about the day her mother had died. 

She had been standing there on the balcony of her mother’s room. The King had made sure their finest Maester had visited her mother's chambers and the room had been full of their smoke, the pungent scent of ointment, candles burning. 

Alicent had prayed to the Mother of the Seven so many times that she had lost the count that she had been keeping in her head. When her mother called her to her side, Alicent had searched her face for evidence that her prayers were being answered, signs that her mother was recovering.

 “Alicent,” her mother’s voice. Alicent fought for her eyes to focus on her mother’s face, the dream wouldn’t let her see it clearly. “Take care of your father and your brother. They need a strong woman to guide them.” 

Alicent tried to speak, but couldn’t.

 “A woman is made to be the bones of a family,” her mother said. “If the bones are weak, the family falls.”

Alicent gave up, closing her eyes. Finally, she said, “I know this is a dream, Mother.”

 “I wish I could watch you find your happiness, child,” her mother said. “I wish I wasn’t leaving my gentle girl so soon.”

 “Then don’t.” Alicent said. “Come back in time like me. Find me here.”

 “The light grows dark,” her mother said. “Tell your father to come in.”

Alicent found herself at the door. She reached for the handle, but it swung open on its own.

It was the witch who stood there, shrouded in darkness. 

 “What do you want?” Alicent said. “I have followed all of your conditions.”

The witch spoke from inside her own head. Are you Alicent Hightower the lonely Queen, or Alicent Hightower who chooses her fate?

 “I am Alicent Hightower.” Alicent said. “Free from her curse.”

 “Alicent?”

Alicent opened her eyes to her brother’s face. The dream had been so vivid that for a moment she thought he was an extension of it. “Gwayne?”

 “Are you alright?” Gwayne asked, his brow creasing.

 “Y-yes,” Alicent rose shakily. “Just a nightmare.”

 “That scared me,” Gwayne said. “You were saying your own name over and over.”

Alicent felt the wetness of sweat on her brow. “I’m fine.” Was all she could say.

 “It’s almost the middle of the day.” Gwayne said. 

Alicent felt her heart skip. “Is he back?”

 “He’s back,” Gwayne rolled his eyes. “Loud as ever.”

Alicent couldn’t waste time dressing. She pulled her shawl over her nightclothes and raced into the corridor and down the stone steps with Gwayne calling after her.

Laenor, Rhea and Gerard were standing around a large, oak trunk on the table, waiting for her. Laenor turned to her, beaming. “Good morrow, Lady Alicent!” He was soaked through and had so many leaves and twigs sticking out of his hair she would have thought he’d been dragged backwards through a woodland grove.

 “Ser Laenor,” Alicent said. “Are you alright?”

 “Oh,” Laenor waved his hand. “There was a storm last night that I got stuck in so I slept in a bush.”

 “Clearly.” Gwayne remarked. 

 “Gods, I’m so sorry,” Alicent said. "I promise I will make it up to you with any favour you ask." 

 “No, not at all. Happy to do it.” Laenor said. “Everyone in Oldtown was so kind. Mostly. And this was exactly where you said it would be.”

 “So, um,” Gwayne said. “What is it?”

 “I don’t know.” Laenor said.

 “You didn’t look inside?”

 “Well, Lady Alicent only said to take it, not to look inside.”

 “Gods, weren’t you at least a little curious? You did travel half the country and back for it.”

 “No.” Laenor said. “And it’s rude to look in a lady’s trunk. That’s what my mother says.”

 “So, what’s in it?” Rhea said, impatiently. 

Alicent reached over and unscrewed the wooden latch. The wood was worn but decorated with painted butterflies that her mother had painted on herself. Alicent smelled dust as she opened the top. 

 “What is that?” Gwayne peered over her shoulder.

 Rhea put her fingers to the bridge of her nose. “Seven Hells, Alicent. Don’t tell me this is what you wanted so badly.”

Laenor grinned. “I love it!”

Gerard sighed. “I will never understand you King’s Landing folk.”

Alicent gazed into the trunk and it was like gazing into her own destiny. The one behind and the one before her. 

.

The statue of Alyssa Arryn had attracted much of the guest’s attention earlier in the day. They did not get to see it much and they rarely had the opportunity to visit the Eyrie itself; they had begun to arrive almost by daybreak. The storm had cleared during the night and the morning that dawned; high and clear as a bell, was almost a summons up the mountain. One could not navigate the treacherous paths if there was too much wind and today there was only a cooling breeze in the air.

And, for some reason, Daemon Targaryen was here. 

 “My Prince,” Lord Corbray had greeted him with a bow. “Do not tell me that your Command of the City Watch takes you even to these far-flung corners?”

 “The Watch takes up a great deal of my time,” Daemon said. “But do let me know if there are any criminals I can cut in half for you while I am here, Lord Corbray.”

The Lower Hall was where they were to be entertained that eve: Jeyne had had it prepared the morning before with a small army of servants who had blown dust off all of the table settings and cleaned each ornament and surface fastidiously. 

The room was so full that the parties had to be split into four tables. On the head table facing the room was Lady Jeyne, a seat left for Alicent and on the other side a seat left for Lady Roberta, Rhea, Laenor and Gwayne. A seat had to be cleared next to Alicent's for Daemon as, now, he was the highest rank in the room. 

 “Melisayne, dear,” Jeyne said. “Why don’t you sit on the other side of the Prince? He might need to be attended to.”

Melisayne nodded eagerly and went to fetch a chair.

Daemon glanced at Jeyne and saw that she was smiling at him. He really hated it here.

There were a few words of chatter from the tables as Melisayne sat, most wondering aloud where exactly the Hand’s daughter was at a party being held in her name.

 “These ladies from King’s Landing,” Therese Belmont said. “I hear they sometimes take half a day just to dress, wash and prepare their hair. Half a day.”

 “Whatever they do, they clearly have no regard for us Vale folk.” Wallen Waynwood said. “We cannot begin the feast until the lady gets here.”

 “If she even deigns to come.”

 “Start serving the food,” Jeyne gestured to her servants. “It seems Lady Alicent tarries.”

 “My Prince,” Melisayne said to Daemon’s left. “Can I get you something to eat? Something…that Valemen often enjoy?” She smiled up at him, her long, gold hair tied intricately, curls falling around her face. 

The door to the Lower Hall opened, the sound of falling leaves could be heard carrying over the stone floors.

 Rhea entered in her bronze armor, looking warily around the room.

 “Lady Rhea Royce of Runestone!”

 “Lady Rhea!” Jeyne clapped. “Come here, friend and sit by me.”

Rhea moved slowly. She caught sight of Daemon and slightly shook her head.

Daemon frowned, his eyes moving to the door. He saw Gwayne poke his head through uncertainly.

 “Ser,” the lower steward hesitated. Gwayne whispered something to him. “Um, Ser Gwayne of House Hightower! Only son and heir of the Lord Hand! And Lord Laenor Velaryon of House Velaryon, heir to Driftmark! ”

Laenor followed after Gwayne, pulling at his doublet and looking around excitedly. Daemon noted that Alicent’s brother looked nervous. 

 “That must mean our dear Lady Alicent is here,” Jeyne said. “How wonderful. Friends, let us rise for our esteemed guest.”

The Valemen rose from their tables, looking towards the door. Each member of the high table stood, including Daemon. Melisayne caught Daemon’s arm as she stood.

 “Oh, forgive me, my Prince,” she said. “I slipped.”

Daemon was about to move his arm far out of her reach when he caught sight of her. 

Alicent walked through the door to the Lower Hall, her hair swept to the crown of her head, her fair shoulders and neck bare but for a simple chain. She wore a dress of pure emerald, the colour so bright it shone like a beacon.

 “Lady Alicent of House Hightower, only daughter of the Hand of the King!”

Alicent stepped past the tables, looking straight ahead, ignoring the eyes that stared, the mouths that began to whisper.

She reached the high table, her hands folded in front of her.

 “Thank you for your kind gesture, Lady Jeyne,” Alicent said. “I hope you know how much happiness it brings to my heart to see you all here today.”

She walked around the table to a completely silent room. She took her place next to Lady Jeyne, Daemon on her left side.

Alicent turned to Daemon and smiled. It was the most terrifying smile he had ever seen in his life and it set his heart racing.

 “Hello, my love,” Alicent said, making sure her voice carried over everyone’s heads. “Thank you for waiting for me.”

And then, in a moment that would live on in infamy in the Vale for many decades to come, Alicent grabbed Daemon’s collar and pulled him into a deep kiss for all those great Houses to see.

Chapter Text

The year that Alicent turned eight she had started to follow her mother daily to pray to the Seven. They both knelt at the stone altars of each of the seven faces of the God and Alicent would watch her mother for cues on what to say and do.

 “Why do we pray to the Maid, mother?” She had asked. “What does she do?”

 “The Maid is especially important for us women, Alicent,” her mother had said. “The Maid protects young girls from impurity. Maidenhood is the most precious thing a woman can have and is broken only by your given husband on the night of your wedding.”

Alicent looked up at the Maid’s solemn face. “What if it’s not?”

Her mother had glanced at her. “Even a noble lady from a House like ours cannot expect to marry well if their maidenhood is broken. Every noble lord in the Realm will expect purity from their wife.” She put a hand on Alicent’s shoulder. “That is why you must only ever entertain the courtship of men from afar until your Father finds you a suitable husband.”

 “What if he does not find one?”

Her mother smiled. “I promise you, sweet one, you will marry one who is kindly and benificent who will instruct you in obedience and value your demurity, as a Westerosi lord should.”

Now, Alicent took a long sip of wine from her cup. 

It’s too fucking late for that, Mother.

Daemon reached his hand underneath the table and put it on Alicent’s thigh over her green dress. He looked like he was trying not to laugh.

The Vale lords were whispering to each other. Jeyne turned stiffly in Alicent’s direction. “You certainly like to make an entrance, don’t you, child?”

Alicent smiled at her. “You went to all the trouble of building such a grand stage, I thought I would use it.”

She swung her head to face Daemon, who looked her up and down.

 “Well?” Alicent said. It had been days since she had last seen him, the heavy sensation of his hand on her was making her strangely nervous. 

Daemon couldn’t take his gaze from her. “It feels like I’ve gone back in time,” He murmured. “The first time I ever saw you wearing that dress it was like watching an arrow head straight for my eye.”

 “Should I take that as a compliment?”

 “If you wish to.”

Alicent pushed his hand off of her thigh. 

She had missed him. She had missed him in her bed, at her side. His support would have been helpful as she gathered the courage to out herself as a ‘ruined woman’ for all of the Vale to point their fingers at. Yet where had he been? He had been off somewhere - again.

She hadn’t missed Melisayne’s hand on his arm when she had entered the room, either. She could feel the girl staring in her direction but didn’t want to look to meet her eye.

 “Lady Alicent,” Melisayne said finally. “Your demeanor has changed somewhat. Are you well?”

 “Indeed I am,” Alicent said. “Better than I have been.”

 “That dress is an unusual colour,” Melisayne continued. “Is this tone the fashion in King’s Landing?”

 “Lady Jeyne,” Alicent said to Jeyne on her right. “Do you usually allow your servants to sit at the high table?”

Jeyne glanced at her. “Melisayne…is there to attend to you and the Prince should you-”

 “We don’t need anything.” Alicent said. “She can leave.”

Daemon smirked behind his goblet.

Jeyne gestured to Melisayne. “Your presence seems to be disturbing Lady Alicent, dear girl. The servants may need some extra direction in the kitchens, go now.”

Alicent ignored the poisonous look that Melisayne threw in her direction before she stood, chair scraping, and left quickly, skirting the tables.

 “Poorly trained servants are something of a theme in this house, I see.” Alicent said.

Daemon laughed. Lady Jeyne put her fork down heavily. 

 “I suppose you think you’re being extremely clever.” Jeyne said under her breath. “But you’re just a foolish girl who doesn’t realise what she’s just done.”

 “Jeyne,” It was Rhea sat on her other side, engrossed in eating without looking up at them. “Enough.”

 “Rhea, this woman is humiliating you before your very-”

 “I said, enough.” Rhea looked up at her. “Don’t pretend this was all for me. You thought only of your own revenge, as always.”

Jeyne stared at her. “What-”

 “Alicent knows,” Rhea said. “About who Jeffrey was to you.”

Jeyne’s hand closed tightly around the edge of the table, her expression was one of fury. “You told her?”

 “I did.”

 “You’re supposed to be loyal to me-!”

 “I have no interest in protecting men like that,” Rhea finally met her eyes. “No matter whose House I am loyal to. You never claimed Jeffrey. If you wanted him to enjoy a protected position then you should have defied the contempt of others to give it to him.”

 “No one exists above contempt.”

Rhea glanced at Alicent. “It can be done, as we have seen.”

 “Sorry,” Gwayne said from the other end of the table. “Am I the only one who doesn’t know what we’re talking about?”

Laenor poked his fork at Gwayne’s plate. “Are you going to eat your fish?”

 “I’ve only just started-”

 “It’s getting cold.”

 “Get your fork off my plate.”

Jeyne kept her eyes on the table. “So, Lady Alicent,” she said quietly. “I’m assuming your next step is to destroy me with what you know by telling your father everything that has happened.”

 “Oh, stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” Alicent muttered. She glanced at Rhea. “Nobody wants a war between my House and yours.”

Jeyne looked up at her. “But…my…what Jeffrey-”

 “The deed has been avenged,” Alicent said. “Let that be the end of it.”

She felt Daemon frowning at her. “What do you mean?” He said.

 “I have no interest in further complicating the business.”

 “If I am to understand her words, that steward was her bastard,” Daemon said. “You should reveal it to all.”

 “Gods, keep your voice down!” Jeyne snapped.

 “I will decide what to do.” Alicent said. “For dragging me to this place to ruin me, I might yet seek a favour in the future.”

Jeyne’s eyes moved between them. “Your upcoming marriage to the Prince should alleviate at least some of the scandal around your attachment.”

Alicent’s cup froze in midair. “What?”

 “The Prince told me that you are shortly to be wed.”

Alicent turned to Daemon, who returned her gaze unabashedly.

 “Congratulations.” Rhea said, mouth full. 

 “Wait, what was that?” Gwayne asked as he elbowed Laenor away from his plate again. 

 “Daemon,” Alicent said, quietly. “I would a word with you.”

Daemon took a drink of wine. “Now?”

 “Yes. Now.” Alicent stood, sending another hush over the room as she did. The hush became whispers as Daemon followed her. 

They left the way they had come, Alicent taking the stone steps down to the fortified bailey. Daemon inclined his head towards the alcove he had gone inside yesterday that led to the chapel. “It’s quieter in there.” He said.

Alicent turned without a word to the alcove, pausing at the sudden dimness and then deciding that the more secluded they were the better. They descended the gloomy stairs, finding themselves in the chapel. The candles were out and the room was cold, smelling of damp and dripping faintly from somewhere. The seven-pointed stars and the effigies had an eerie presence to them, the dead eyes of the statues were ominous.

 “I see my lady is feeling especially bold tonight,” Daemon said. “Proclaiming her love for me and then secreting me in this chapel for a tryst.”

Alicent scoffed. “Do not suppose that I am in any such mood for your humour.”

 “I’m not joking.”

 “What were you thinking, telling Lady Jeyne Arryn that we are to be married?” Alicent snapped. “We never concluded that discussion. You had no right to say it.”

 “It will already be assumed now that you have made your favour for me so clear.”

 “That was by design,” Alicent said. “The King will never have me now. Not after this.”

Daemon advanced on her, looming from above. “Do not suppose he would have had you otherwise. I’ve already claimed you.”

 “I’m not something you can claim, Daemon.”

Daemon didn’t appear to be listening. He drew the back of his index finger over her exposed collarbone. The metal of his sigil ring made a chill run down Alicent’s spine.

 She caught his hand, moving it to the side. “Listen to me for once.” Their fingers interlinked.

 “I have.”

 “Where were you these past days?”

 “Elsewhere.”

 “You said you’d remain by my side.”

 “I knew you’d be safe in Runestone. Now that you know who your enemies are.”

 “It’s not just about having your protection, I could have used your support.”

 “I was here.” Daemon said. 

 “Threatening?”

 “Convincing.”

 “Is that why the castle wall has dragon-sized claw marks upon it?”

 “Caraxes missed his landing.”

Alicent moved herself away from the warmth of his hand. “I wish you would consult me before pulling these stunts.”

 “I know what I’m doing.”

 “If you knew what you were doing we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

Daemon turned and walked towards the door. 

 “We’re not finished speaking.”

Daemon reached the door and closed it firmly, sliding the bolt through to lock it. He turned back. “Yes, we are.”

Alicent withdrew a few steps as he approached. “I…this isn’t the time or place. We are in a chapel of the Seven. It will displease the gods.”

Once Daemon reached her he picked her up at the waist, placing her on the altar. “They can consider it an offering.”

 “Daemon-”

Daemon pressed his mouth to hers, his hands tucking under her chin, forcing her to kiss him back. Alicent made a sound of protest and shoved him, unable to push him even a single step. Daemon let her go when he was ready, looking down at her. Her dark eyes gleamed, he felt the dampness of sweat at the back of her neck.

 “What are you doing?”

 “I’m about to assure my bloodline.”

Alicent seethed in his hands. “Fuck your bloodline.”

Daemon wound his hand in her long reddish-brown hair and tipped her head back until she was practically facing the ceiling. “Careful, wench.” He said, his voice low. “Looking at you in that green dress is doing nothing to improve my mood.”

 “Why? Does it remind you of the downfall of your precious House?”

The sound of him removing his sword made her jump, as if she had thought he was going to run her through. Daemon threw Dark Sister on the altar and Alicent realised he was making sure it was out of the way for what he was about to do.

Daemon drew Alicent’s face to his. She was no match for his strength as he kissed her. She worked her hands up and down his chest, digging her nails into the leather of his tunic. Her hands fell and he grunted against her mouth as he felt her brush him. He swept the unlit candles to the floor along with a few smaller statues depicting the gods.

 “You’re desecrating the chapel.” Alicent whispered.

 “Then pray for me.” Daemon said against her neck, his hand running over the bodice of her green dress. “Pray for this wretched sinner.”

Alicent sat upon the altar as Daemon’s mouth went to her chest, then her shoulder. “What do you wish to be forgiven for?” She said, looking down at him. “Being arrogant, untrustworthy, unreliable?”

Daemon glanced up at her. Her hair had come loose when he had gripped it, now it fell just as he liked it. “You’re so keen to name all my faults,” he said. “I might see fit to name yours.”

Alicent glared down at him. “Which are?”

Daemon rose to loom over her again, pinning her to the altar. “Stubborn, self-righteous, fickle.”

Alicent couldn’t believe he had actually had the gall to name them, even if she had asked him. “You’re calling me stubborn?” She said indignantly. 

 “Well, I would know, would I not?”

 “What else?” Alicent snapped. “What are my other failings? I wish to hear them.”

Daemon parted her legs, wrapping them around his waist. “You pretend you aren’t desperate for me to fuck you.” He said. “When really you should just give in and beg.”

Alicent looked at him under her eyelashes, plotting revenge. She lifted her green-sleeved arm. “Come.”

Daemon’s body reacted before his brain did, moving close, lifting her skirt up her thighs as he did so. Alicent moved her parted lips further away and, glancing up at her, he followed. He caught her lips, his hands went gently to both sides of her neck, the scent of her hair making him light-headed.

Alicent put a hand to his crotch, a place where he was far less able to conceal his tacit desire, and dragged her hand over him, hard.

Daemon broke from the kiss. “Fuck.” 

 “Like that, do you?” Alicent breathed as Daemon braced himself on the altar, gritting his teeth. “Perhaps you should be begging me.”

Daemon put his face on her shoulder and tried to steady himself. Alicent squeezed her legs around him, not giving him a second to do so. “I think you like me in this dress.” She murmured. “You must enjoy being so desperate for a Hightower girl. Does it make your dragon blood run hot?” She bit down on his ear and felt him flinch, only not with pain.

She went to drag her hand over him again, this time he caught her wrist. “Alicent.” His voice was hardly a whisper. “Have some mercy on me.”

Alicent wrapped her arms around his neck. “Ask the gods for mercy,” she said, drawing him close. “Beg me for relief.”

She unclothed him from the waist down - slowly. Daemon met her eyes and in them he saw a command. Her soft hands were finally on him, stroking with a teasing gentleness, an infuriating lightness of touch. 

Daemon put a hand to his face to avoid making a sound. Alicent drew his hand away.

 “Say it.” She whispered. “Tell me you want me.”

 “I want you,” Daemon grated. “Gods, I want you. There’s nothing in this life or the next that I want more than you.”

Alicent pulled him down towards her with one hand and licked his lips, avoiding his ensuing kiss.

 “You call that begging?” She hissed, stroking him harder.

 “You truly are,” Daemon groaned. “The cruellest woman ever to touch upon the earth.”

Alicent let go of him altogether and Daemon made a guttural sound of frustration. 

 “Find some gentle maid to fulfill your desire then, my Prince.”

Daemon snatched her wrist, kissed her hand and then her palm. Alicent felt herself tremble just watching him. He leaned to kiss her neck and she couldn’t resist throwing her head back and giving a wanton moan, digging her nails into the nape of his neck as she did.

Daemon stiffened, paralyzed, then, “Please.”

Alicent thought that she had imagined the word. She looked down at him in shock. “What?”

Daemon kept his face in her neck. “You asked me to beg, wench,” he hissed. “I’m begging. If I don’t have you right here and now; I will run mad.”

Alicent fought not to grin. “You’re endearing sometimes, my Prince. I never noticed it before-”

Daemon’s hand went to her throat, when he lifted his head she could see he was sweating, his pale Targaryen skin was flushed. “I have limits,” his voice was pure threat. “Open your legs before I lay you on this altar and ravish you for all the gods to see.”

Alicent ran her fingers down the sides of his face. “Take me,” she said, her breath hitching. “I need you.”

Daemon’s eyes softened as he looked at her. He lifted her legs once again to his waist and she wrapped around him, their mouths dancing just inches apart, his arms went underneath her. Alicent inhaled sharply when she felt him inside her, she gripped onto him tightly and whispered against him. “Daemon…” He touched her face as gently as he could, his hand trailing down to grip her green dress, pulling her closer by her bodice while his other kept her high. His pace was starved. 

Alicent moaned into his ear as the pleasure hit her like a tide. The very sound finished him off; he held her close. They were both breathing so heavily it was as if the air in the room had been sapped, they leaned back against the altar, glazed in sweat.

Daemon noticed that the seven-pointed star of fool’s gold that had been dangling above had fallen and now lay broken on the ground.

Daemon and Alicent returned to the feast looking slightly more dishevelled than they had before they left. The guests eyed the two of them as they made their way back to their seats.

 “The feast is almost over.” Jeyne snapped. 

 “Where were you two?” Gwayne asked. 

Alicent scraped her chair back and sat down heavily. Daemon seated himself beside her, looking visibly brighter and refreshed. “Wine!” He gestured to the servants. He placed his arm on Alicent’s chair, causing more whispers to erupt around them. “Two more cups!”

 “Alicent,” Jeyne said, under her breath. “I would a moment with you before you leave.”

Alicent sighed. These ‘moments’ were beginning to drive her to exhaustion. “As you wish.” She muttered.

Vale lord after Vale lord approached the high table to greet Alicent and, warily, Daemon. Some made reference to their recent visit to Oldtown, or an old friendship with her father, some gave their condolences for the death of her mother.

Alicent found that her head was spinning as the night gathered outside. Finally, Daemon put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s leave,” he said. “We can take Caraxes to-”

 “If you say ‘Dragonstone’ I will stab you with this fork.”

Daemon smirked. “King’s Landing,” he said. “The day of the tourney approaches.”

The day of the tourney. 

Alicent drew a breath. The day the Queen would die and the events that had fallen into place one after the other, building a path to the future, would commence.

She looked at Daemon, who sat at her side. She could no longer run away, nor could she hope to be overlooked.

For whatever reason, she was an integral part of the history that was to be written and, if she couldn’t burn the words, she would move the quill. 

Daemon keeping his position as heir to the throne would prevent the future of the Dance - and that was the most important thing. 

 “Daemon,” she spoke so only he could hear. Jeyne had left the table, leaving space between them and the others, their words easily drowned out by the din of the room. “If you still wish to be King, I will help you.”

 Daemon looked at her, surprise dawned on his face for a moment, then resolve. “Wed me, then.”

Alicent dug at her nailbeds. “I am not fit to be Queen.”

Daemon unhooked her hands from each other, clasping one tightly so she could no longer pick at it. “And I am not fit to be King.” He said. “We will be unfit together and run this country to ruin.”

Alicent giggled, her fingers rubbed her eyes. “I’m serious.”

 “So am I.” Daemon said. He looked at their interlinked hands. “They were right about me in my first life. I have no patience for politics, I have no sense of diplomacy. I tire of court and all of the fools therein. My sword, battle, ceaseless action: that’s all I know or wish to know.” He looked at her. “You would be my guidance.”

 “Yes,” Alicent murmured. “I suppose I at least know how to be silent and unseen.”

 “Nothing about you is unseen,” Daemon muttered. “You’re either a woman or an open flame.”

She looked up at him. “It must be a secret until I tell Rhaenyra and my father myself. About…the two of us, I mean,” she said. “They must hear it from me.”

 “I would hurry.” Daemon nodded at the many sets of eyes that were falling on them, the eyes that had fallen on them again and again throughout the evening. “It won’t be long until all know it.”

.

Alicent met Jeyne once again in her small office room: it was much more disorganised than the last time she had set eyes upon it. There were ledgers open, books everywhere as if they had been knocked to the ground. 

Jeyne faced her as before, hands clasped. “I do not wish to feud with you any longer,” she said. “As you say, it is enough.”

 “Very well.” Alicent said simply.

 “If you are truly to wed the Prince then House Arryn must embrace you with open arms,” Jeyne said. “One day there is every chance that my kinswoman’s son will wed one of your own children.”

Alicent didn’t reply to that.

 “If anything did occur between you and Jeffrey-”

 “It did.” Alicent said shortly. “I wasn’t lying to you.”

Jeyne’s face tightened. “Then…I’m sorry.”

Alicent shook her head. “The time for apologies is at an end. I have no desire to become your ally. But I will not reveal your secret. As yet.” She looked at her. “If I ever have need of your help in the future, I am assuming I can count on it?”

Jeyne hesitated, then seemingly relented. “Yes, of course.”

 “Then fine.” Alicent stood. “I take my leave.”

 “Lady Alicent,”

Alicent turned.

 “One day, when you have your own children,” Jeyne said. “I hope you will understand my actions.”

Alicent smiled, then laughed softly.

Jeyne’s brow creased. “Do you mock me?”

 “No,” Alicent said. “How strange. When I looked at you just now, I saw myself in another life. I saw my own face upon yours. Perhaps it was a mere trick of the light.” She turned towards the door. “I once believed that sacrifice and duty would heal what was broken, would make all wrongs right. But what he did was wrong. No matter what trials he had suffered, those girls with no family and no voice deserved far better than I gave them.”

 “Forgive me,” Jeyne said. "Is it my son you speak of or someone else?”

 Alicent opened the door. “I must go.” She said and left without another word.

Daemon waited for Alicent in the corridor, itching to leave this place once and for all. It would be several years before anyone would be able to convince him to visit the Vale again. 

Rhea emerged from the hall along with a few guests filtering out to wait until the first daylight shone; a daylight that would allow them to navigate the treacherous path back down the mountain. She approached him and crossed her arms. “You’re looking sour,” she said. “Don’t tell me you had yet another quarrel with your lady love.”

 “That’s no business of yours.” Daemon said.

Rhea put her hand under her tunic and pulled out a letter that held House Royce’s wax seal. “Here.” She handed it across to him. “Give this to Alicent to take back, she won’t lose it.”

 “What is this?”

 “It’s a letter for the King.” Rhea said. “There are some things I must communicate with him.”

 “Like what?”

 “That's no business of yours.”

Daemon resisted the urge to tear the letter in two. “Very well.”

Rhea regarded him. “She’s far too good for you,” she said. “I’ve told her so but she won’t listen.”

 “I can always rely on your fine support, wife.” Daemon spat. 

Rhea rolled her eyes. “How she puts up with this is beyond me.” She walked away without turning back. “Do not darken Runestone’s door again. Your next lady wife is more than welcome, though.”

Daemon bit back a retort and stuffed the letter in his own tunic’s pocket. He couldn’t wait to get back for the tourney and start putting his sword through people again. 

He was so busy watching for Alicent to approach from down the corridor that he didn’t notice Melisayne who sidled up to him from, he could have sworn, seemingly nowhere. “My Prince?” She said, her voice saccharine. “I regret that we did not get more of a chance to converse earlier.”

Daemon frowned. “What would I possibly converse about with you?”

 “The truth is, and, I’m somewhat frightened to say it,” Melisayne cast her large eyes around as if to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “I feel I must speak to you. The conduct of Lady Alicent has been disconcerting to say the least. Particularly to you, as her lover.”

 “Mind your tongue.” Daemon said quietly. 

 “Forgive me,” Melisayne looked down at the ground. “I do not expect you to believe me. I just think that if the Lady Alicent has been so fortunate as to win your affection then she should guard herself more cautiously. They often say women wear many faces. The night she came here, before your arrival, she became extremely drunk on wine and flirted unrelentingly with Lady Jeyne’s steward, a man who is now missing - probably in an effort to distance himself from her out of concern for his position.” She sighed heavily. “For a woman to take advantage of your permissive nature and to put another man of lower rank in such danger, I thought I simply must speak of it. My conscience would not rest otherwise,” she put a hand on Daemon’s arm. “Please do not hesitate to reprimand me if I speak out of turn, my Prince.”

Daemon wasn’t looking at her, he was looking behind her at where Alicent stood.

Melisayne felt a chill on the back of her neck and whirled around just as Alicent got close enough to touch her. “Oh, my lady,” she said, taking a step back. “I was just wishing farewell to-”

Alicent grabbed her throat with one hand and forced her back until she hit the wall behind. She sank her fingers into the flesh. Melisayne writhed like a fish in her grip, her choking and spluttering barely audible.

“I will only say this the once to you, girl,” Alicent’s voice was a molten whisper, her face barely an inch from Melisayne’s ear. “Keep your filthy fucking hands off of what’s mine.”

Chapter Text

Admitting fault did not come naturally to a Hightower, Gwayne had often observed. They were a proud family; guardians of the Reach, the keepers of Oldtown, whatever they wished to be called. The only possible exception had been Gwayne’s dear mother, who had had a more pious and dutiful temperament. 

 “Your father and sister are very alike,” she had often said. “You, my darling, are more like your me. Far more reasonable.”

It was true, Gwayne was slightly better at admitting his wrongs, although it was true that Alicent had been different of late. Since her eighteenth nameday, she had been somehow harder, more grown-up, far more measured than she had been before.

He wondered if it had anything to do with the Prince.

The Prince and his sister. That was another thing that Gwayne didn't wish to spend too much time thinking about.

As Gwayne readied himself that morning for the journey back to King’s Landing, he wondered if he would be able to protect Alicent from their father once he heard the news. 

But first, he had to go and grovel to Laenor, something he was not looking forward to.

When a knight makes a promise, like the one Gwayne had made to join Laenor in protecting the shipping lanes for the Seasnake, he was honour-bound to keep his word. Of course, Gwayne had, at the time, every intention of keeping said word - when he had believed that an unwanted marriage was the alternative.

But now that he had been untethered from Lady Roberta (thankfully) he had no reason to join any burgeoning war. As the first and only son of Oldtown, his duty was truly there. 

Laenor’s reaction might be one of anger or one of contempt, he would simply have to stomach it either way.

Fortunately, it was easy enough to find him. The boy was sitting alone at a table near the hall, his seat facing a window through which the rolling hills, the rocks and the distant ocean could be seen. It seemed that he was writing a letter.

 “Ser Laenor,” Gwayne said, thinking it best to just get it over with. “I would a word-”

 “Good morrow,” Laenor interrupted, not looking up. “Why are you calling me ‘Ser’ all of a sudden?”

 “That...is your title.”

 “Very well, Ser Gwayne,” Laenor said, smiling down at his letter. “Seeing as you are so keen on titles, you should really refer to me as ‘young lord’ or ‘heir to Driftmark’ or perhaps ‘lieutenant commander of the fleet’-”

Gwayne gave a very Alicent-like scoff, then caught himself. Laenor would technically one day outrank him, by quite a margin, it wouldn’t do to keep on being so over-familiar even if the boy did irritate him. “Uh, yes, indeed…young lord.”

Laenor swung round to face him. “I was jesting.”

 “Still.”

 “It’s unlike you to seek me out.”

 “I must…speak with you,” Gwayne said. “About me rallying with you at Driftmark to travel to the Stepstones and fight the-”

 “Oh,” Laenor said. “Is that all? I already know. You’re not coming.”

 "So you knew it."

 "I guessed."

Gwayne fidgeted. “I suppose you think I’m the worst kind of coward.”

 “No, indeed,” Laenor turned back to his letter. “I think you’re exceptionally foolish with your life; risking it simply to avoid a marriage.”

Gwayne looked at the floor. Laenor was calling him foolish. This was a new low.

 “I deserve your contempt, young lord,” Gwayne said. “I will repay your acceptance of my revocation with any debt you wish.”

 “Oh, don’t be so grim,” Laenor said. “You said you would come but you never swore anything to me on your honour. And don’t call me ‘young lord’ after all. It feels very strange.”

 “As you wish.”

 Laenor turned back towards him and rested his chin against the back of the chair. “Can I ask you a question?”

 “Yes?”

 “Why don’t you want to get married? Would it really be so terrible?”

 “It’s not that I don’t want to,” Gwayne lied. “Is it so wrong for me to simply wish for a bride of my own choosing?”

 “But so few nobles get to decide.” Laenor said. “You’re far more rebellious than I would have been.”

 “Well I’m sure you just can’t wait to be married.” Gwayne said dryly.

 “No,” Laenor said. “I dread the day my father tells me I am to be wed.” He put down his quill finally and blew on the ink. “It will take everything I have not to escape into the distance with Seasmoke.”

He was far more serious now than Gwayne had seen him act in the past week. He watched as Laenor got to his feet, holding his letter. “What are you writing?”

 “Oh,” Laenor folded it. “This is for my mother.”

 “Aren’t you to see her upon your return?”

 “I always give her my letters in person,” Laenor said. “I just tell her what I did that day; silly things about the weather, what I ate. I don’t know if she wishes to read them, but she’s never not accepted one.”

Gwayne smiled at that. “You are fortunate to have your mother still living. Mine own died not long ago.”

 “What was she like?”

Gwayne looked at the floor. “She was the best of us.”

Laenor studied him. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

 “Well,” Gwayne righted himself. “My sister is, of course, taking after her example.”

 “And you?” Laenor said. “Are more like your father?”

Gwayne didn’t reply immediately. “I am sure he often regards me as a huge disappointment.” He said.

Laenor reached out and patted his shoulder, surprising him. “We are something alike, I think, Ser Gwayne.”

Outside of the Runestones, Gwayne could hear Alicent and Daemon arguing. Alicent seemed like she was trying to keep her voice down and Gwayne only caught snatches of their conversation.

 “-go now and have it settled-”

 “-won’t understand unless I-”

 “-wasting time-”

 “-after I have spoken-”

 “Gwayne!” Alicent caught sight of him from behind the rocks and Gwayne came forward, pretending that he hadn’t heard anything. His sister was dressed in light blue that morning, her hair tied but for a few loose curls around her face. The Prince looked much the same as any day. It was like his sister had adopted a kind of menacing guard dog that now followed her about everywhere. He turned away as Gwayne approached. “We were just saying,” Alicent said. “We must make haste to King’s Landing before Father hears of what has happened here.”

 “I’m sure he already knows.” Gwayne said. “You know what he’s like with his great network of whisperers.”

 “Many of the guests from last night are still at the Eyrie,” Alicent said. “There is a chance that he has not heard. Especially if we get back to King’s Landing today. Then I can speak to him first.”

 “Alicent, it’s better to let him calm himself before he hears of it,” Gwayne said. “I don’t know what he’ll do if you’re the one to tell him.”

 “I want to be the one to tell him.” Alicent squared her shoulders. “I will make him understand.”

 “That’s not a good idea.”

 “It’ll be fine.”

 “Anyway, what in the Seven Hells do you mean if we get back today? It is two days of travel back to King’s Landing at least.”

 “Not on dragonback.”

Gwayne glanced behind her at where the Prince was standing just a little way off. “Just be careful on that monstrous fire-breathing beast.”

Daemon appeared to pick up his words and aimed a glare at him. “Watch how you speak of my dragon, boy.”

Gwayne instinctively put a hand to his sword.

 “I wish you could go with us.” Alicent said.

 “A dragon will only carry one other along with its rider,” Daemon said. “Unless I tie your brother to the tail. He might survive.”

 “I’m fine on horseback.” Gwayne said, teeth gritted. “House Cuy accompanied us, we should at least see them back.”

 “Tell Frederick I’m sorry I can’t spend the journey with him and his soldiers,” Alicent said. “They were so kind to take us here.”

 “All for a wasted endevour.” Daemon remarked from behind her.

Gwayne smiled. “Well, my part is easy enough. The lady simply wouldn’t have me, Father cannot be angry at me for that.”

 “He will do his best, I’m sure.” Alicent said. 

Gwayne was unsettled. It was Alicent who would really be in danger from their Father’s wrath. “I wish I could be there with you.” He murmured.

 “I have a solution,” Laenor said, appearing from the ether. “He can ride with me on Seasmoke.”

 “What a kind offer,” Gwayne said, quickly. “I must decline.”

 “Come, it’s no trouble.”

 “No, really.”

 “Let us go together.”

 “I don’t want to.”

 “Come with me on Seasmoke.”

 “No.” 

 “Brother,” Alicent said. “It isn’t a bad idea.” 

 “Oh, well,” Gwayne had begun to sweat. “It would show disrespect to House Cuy if I left them to go back alone-”

 “I’ll go ask them if they would mind.” Laenor started towards the waiting bannermen. 

 “No, really, it’s fine.” Gwayne tried to catch him but Laenor moved in a perfect circle around him. He turned back to his sister desperately. “Alicent! I don’t care for-” He broke off seeing Daemon smirking at him and lowered his voice, a flush rising up his skin. “I don’t care for heights.” He muttered. “Nor do I want to cling to a a scaled beast as it swings itself through the skies!”

 “You’ll be quite safe.” Daemon said. “The saddle has a chain that can be used. I’ve had your sister chained down many times.”

 “That’s not funny.” Alicent muttered.

 “Is he joking?” Gwayne hissed. 

 “Ser Gwayne!” Gwayne turned unwillingly to where Frederick and Laenor stood next to the flying banners of blue and yellow. Frederick was lifting his hand and smiling. “We will journey on without you!”

 “Do you see what you’ve done?” Gwayne put his face in his hands. 

 “Our friends are waiting for us in Harrenhall!” Frederick called. “We will go and get reacquainted! You take Ser Laenor’s dragon, Ser Gwayne!” 

 “They’re going to get drunk at Harrenhall for two days,” Gwayne muttered. “And I’m going to fall directly in the sea.”

 “That rarely happens.” Daemon said. “Though, the winds do blow strong this morning.”

Alicent nudged him. “Stop it.”

Laenor jogged back towards Gwayne. “Come, let’s go while the weather holds.” He looked at Daemon. “First one back to King’s Landing buys the other a night of ale, cousin.”

 “Done.” Daemon said, taking Alicent’s arm.

 “Don’t race!” Gwayne hissed. “Gods be good, don’t race!”

 “They won’t.” Alicent said.

As she and Daemon began to walk, Gwayne heard Daemon say, We will. 

 “Come, Gwayne,” Laenor said. “He can drink a lot and I don’t wish to ask my father for more coin.”

 “If I die,” Gwayne said. “I want you to know that I do not forgive you and blame you completely.”

The dragon raised its head to keen at the sky. When Gwayne had seen this dragon last he had thought about how beautiful it was, a creature of pure opal. Now, up close to its heaving flanks, claws that sank like daggers in the earth and impossibly huge, swaying body, he could understand why soldiers had thrown down their weapons and run rather than attempt to face a dragon in battle.

 “Use these ropes,” Laenor said. He put a hand on Seasmoke’s neck and the creature whistled. “Usually, she’s fine to mount. It’s the dismount that’s a challenge!”

 “Something to look forward to.” Gwayne muttered.

 “I’ll go first. You follow.”

 “Right.” Gwayne cast a final, desperate look over his shoulder, hoping that someone would save him. The valley was empty apart from his so-called vassal house leaving eagerly for Harrenhall. He couldn’t even see Alicent or Daemon any longer, they had headed towards the mountains where Caraxes had sheltered. 

Gwayne climbed the ropes unsteadily, flinching as Seasmoke twisted her neck to look at him consideringly. “Gods.” Gwayne whispered.

 “Don’t worry!” Laenor called. “She’s just curious!”

When Gwayne finally reached the top, clinging on for dear life to the bristling spines, sweat running down his face from the heat of the scales; Laenor reached a hand to him. “Sit in front of me here.” He said.

Gwayne had a mental image of being held like a maiden being carried on horseback by a knight and wasn’t ready to let go of the last shreds of his dignity.

 “I’ll sit behind.” He said, staunchly.

 “It’s more dangerous.”

The words almost made him cave, but he stood firm. “I’m…taller. You will not be able to see over my shoulder.”

 “That’s a good point.” Laenor said. He raised the saddle’s chain. “Though this will have to go around both of us then.”

Seasmoke shifted and Gwayne sank his fingers into the scales, his body freezing.

 “Hey, be careful,” Laenor said. “If you scratch her, she’ll remember.”

 “I would need hands of iron to scratch a dragon!” Gwayne snapped and then looked up to see Laenor grinning. “You mock me.”

 “I don’t.”

 “You do. I know you do.”

 “Come and put your arms around me.”

 “Don’t say it like that.”

 “O my sweet lady come and put your arms-!”

 “Stop. Singing.” 

Seasmoke shifted again and this time Gwayne’s breath caught as he almost lost balance. The wind was whipping into a frenzy which wasn’t helping his state.

 “You’d had better hurry.” Laenor said. “Seasmoke doesn’t like to tarry.”

Gwayne heaved a breath and crawled forward, settling himself in the saddle behind Laenor. He was at least a head taller so his chin could almost rest on top of him. 

Laenor wrapped the chain around them both and secured it in front. The pressure forced them both so close together that Gwayne began to sweat anew.

 “You feel scared.” Laenor said. “You’re shaking.”

 “Of course I’m scared!”

 “Put your arms around me then.”

Gwayne flushed angrily and placed his hands on Laenor’s shoulders. “There.”

He heard Laenor laugh. “Your choice.” He leaned forward to pat the crest of Seasmoke’s shoulder. “Umbās!”

Gwayne’s stomach dropped as the dragon began to rise, two powerful wings in his ears as they beat against the incessant wind. The higher they rose, the harder it became to balance. His arms moved, humblingly, from Laenor’s shoulders to his waist. He thought the boy might gloat, but he said nothing, simply leaning forward to guide Seasmoke’s pace towards the south from whence they’d come.

Mother, look, I’m riding a dragon. Gwayne thought, his awe overtaking his fear for a split second.

Then, Seasmoke dipped to the right and Gwayne made a noise he was not proud of as he tightened his arms around Laenor like a vice.

 “Sorry!” Laenor laughed. “She needs to work on turning!”

Gwayne wiped his sweat from his brow with his shoulder, not daring to unleash an arm.

 “Are you alright?”

 “I’m fine!” Gwayne’s voice sounded squeaky even over the wind.

Laenor smiled to himself. “How disappointing.” He murmured, urging Seasmoke onwards. 

.

Last night had been the first full moon that Alicent had seen since returning to the past. She would be able to use her hourglass again. 

Examining it as it hung by a ribbon from her neck, she wondered if it would be any use in the conversation she planned to have with Otto. Or, indeed, the one she planned to have with Rhaenyra. 

 “You might as well throw that thing into the sea.” Daemon said, watching her. “For all the good it does.”

 “I find it quite useful.” Alicent said.

 “What good is a few minutes?”

 “It can be everything,” Alicent said. “Depending on what you are trying to undo.”

Something hung on her lips. She wished to speak to him sometimes about the past. She knew so little of his and Rhaenyra’s life; their years at Dragonstone. The death of her grandson orchestrated by him. The death of Aemond. Too many things to count that she wanted to talk about, but she didn’t know how to begin. She didn’t know if she should.

Perhaps reminding him of how much he had despised her back then would unravel all of his affection. He was known to be unpredictable. There was still no guarantee he wouldn’t one day tire of her, the same way Viserys had. 

When she was no longer bright and charming, but a shell of herself, Viserys’ interest had cooled. He had blamed her for her father’s schemes, seeing her as an equally guilty party. Each look he had given her had been weighed down by the memory of a wife he had loved far more, until even she couldn’t bear to look at her own face in the mirror at the risk of feeling like she was looking at a dead woman.

Maybe Daemon would one day feel the same and abandon her.

Alicent’s hand closed tightly around the hourglass. She hated how much it had come to matter to her how Daemon felt about her. She could no longer pretend that a lack of him wouldn’t break her. That was why she had agreed to his marriage on top of assisting his ascension to the throne. A part of her just wanted to keep him close. 

Alicent tried to steady herself. She could feel herself trembling.

“Alicent.” She looked up to Daemon’s hand on hers, moving the side of her thumb from her teeth; she hadn’t even realised she was gnawing on it. She looked up to his gaze, which was now on her, searching. 

 “I’m fine.” She said to no question.

Daemon didn’t respond, but he didn’t move either.

They stood in the middle of the cave’s floor, Caraxes waiting for them. A chill rain starting to fall, a mist rising from the sea. 

 “Do not speak to your father without me present.” Daemon said.

 “I will be fine.”

 “Enough of your iron will,” Daemon said, irritated. “I wish to be there with you.”

 “He will not harm me.”

 “You don’t know that.”

 “Gwayne will protect me.”

Daemon paused.

 “My brother.”

 “I know who he is.” 

 “Your presence may only make my father more uneasy.”

 “My intention is to make him uneasy.” Daemon said. “After you speak to him and Rhaenyra, we will fly to Dragonstone.”

 “After the tourney.” Alicent said. 

 “Before.”

 “After.” 

Daemon muttered something and Alicent made a quiet pledge to herself that she would learn High Valyrian before the year was out so she could understand his mumblings.

 “After her mother dies, Rhaenyra will need me there.” Alicent said. “Before I was there for Viserys and this time I will be there for her. Everything will keep until then.”

Daemon put a hand to the small of her back. "To King's Landing then."

.

Gwayne dropped from the ropes to the ground, falling immediately to his knees from which he felt he would never rise. At least, he thought. It’s the even ground of King’s Landing and no more fucking mountains.

Laenor dropped next to him. “That was much smoother than I thought it would be. Seasmoke did so well.” He rubbed the dragon’s flanks. “Sȳz riña!”

Gwayne retched like he was going to be sick.

Around them, the Dragonkeepers approached from all angles, though more relaxed than usual. It was Caraxes who usually gave the trouble - Seasmoke had a reputation for being gentler. They were all also preoccupied with looking at Gwayne in confusion.

 “Who are you?” One asked, tempted to poke Gwayne with his spear as he braced himself on the ground. 

 “I’m going to be sick.” Gwayne muttered.

 “This is Ser Gwayne Hightower,” Laenor said. “Fearless dragonrider.”

Gwayne didn’t have the energy to be indignant as he clambered to his feet. 

 “Geros ilas, Seasmoke.” Laenor gave his dragon one last parting affectionate pat. “Gwayne, say geros ilas to Seasmoke!”

 “Whatever that means.” Gwayne muttered.

 “It means ‘goodbye’.” Laenor squinted at him. “You’re pale. Paler than usual. The wind was with us, it's not even nightfall.”

 “I really thought I was going to die.” Gwayne whispered.

 “And here you are.” Laenor said. “If you wish, I can take you on a calmer route next time. The-”

 “No.” Gwayne said, firmly. “Alicent may be all for climbing over those beasts, but I like to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.”

 “So I see.” Laenor said dryly. “That’s probably why you never go anywhere.”

Before Gwayne could unpack exactly what he had meant by that, he saw that Alicent was already waiting for him, standing on the steps of a nearby carriage.

There was a familiar, warm breeze in the air. Like summer had returned.

As Alicent stood on the steps of the carriage, she began to have a strange feeling like she had been here before.

Watching Gwayne approach her, she felt her pulse quicken. She had been here before. This was the same day that she had waited for Rhaenyra who had been flying Syrax around the city. She had been worried that day that Rhaenyra wouldn’t return and that she would be waiting in the carriage as night fell; but she had returned. Looking down, she realised that she was even wearing the same dress she had been wearing then. Fate had returned her to this place, at this time, once again.

 “Sister,” Gwayne said. “You must have flown quicker than us.”

 “Daemon is such a cheater,” Laenor muttered. “He flies high and fast.”

 “I can hear you.” Daemon emerged from behind the carriage, shedding his gloves. “And you owe me a night of ale. For me and my men.”

 “Do you have any money?” Laenor whispered to Gwayne.

 “Don’t make bets when you have no coin.” Gwayne snapped back. 

 “Let’s go.” Alicent said. “We should-”

 “ Alicent!”

She stopped short, hearing Rhaenyra’s voice. It came from the carriage that was drawing up behind them. Alicent ran down the steps and towards the carriage to meet her as the small girl flung open the wooden door so hard it almost cracked. 

Rhaenyra hugged her tightly, her mussed hair smelt of pear blossom from all the time she spent reading books in various gardens; the same scent as ever. “You didn’t write me one letter! Not one!”

 “Forgive me,” Alicent said. “It was…too eventful in the end.” She didn't mention that she herself had received no letters, Rhaenyra was not one for sitting still long enough to pen one. In this instance though, Alicent was grateful for it. She had no idea what she would have said in response.

 “What happened?”

 “I will tell you-”

 “No, indeed, I must tell you!” Rhaenyra snatched her hand, her face earnest. “I must warn you before you hear of it,” she glanced over her shoulder. “Why is my uncle with you?”

 “Um, hear what?” Alicent quickly prompted her.

 “At the last council, I was pouring their cups as usual when I heard it, even though your father tried to whisper,” Rhaenyra said, clutching her hands so tightly they began to ache. “He said that he is to marry you. That he had accepted an offer from a noble House.”

Alicent’s heart sped. “Did he say which?”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “That’s all I heard. My father gave his blessing, though.” Her face was distressed, but she was forcing a smile, wishing to offer some comfort. “Hopefully they’re close by so you can remain at court. No, I’m sure they will be. What would I do without you after all? I’m sure your father will let you stay here. Or you could visit every week or so…” She fell silent, looking at Alicent’s face. “Gods, say something.”

Alicent stared at their interlocked hands. “I suppose…this is what I asked him for.”

Rhaenyra drooped. “I know you cannot contest his decision, but at least speak to him. He cannot marry you to a man you’ve never even met.”

 “He can.” Alicent muttered. “He would.”

Rhaenyra’s hand tightened on hers. “Do you wish me to speak to my father? Perhaps I can-”

 “No. No, I will deal with it.” Alicent couldn’t imagine any further complication at that moment. “I will not tarry. You were about to go riding, weren’t you?”

 “Yes.” Something clicked in Rhaenyra’s mind. “But why are you at the dragonpit?” She came closer and smelled her clothes. “You even smell of dragon.” She cast her eyes once again to where Daemon stood.

 “I must go.” Alicent said. Unconsciously, her hand went to her hourglass. “I will explain everything later.”

Returning, she went straight into the carriage, ignoring Daemon, Laenor and Gwayne as they looked at her. Her distress must have been obvious on her face. 

 “What-?” Gwayne began. 

 “I will ride ahead.” Alicent said, slamming the carriage door.

The three of them watched her go, the horses spurred to action as she knocked on the roof to signal the driver.

 “Does she think she’s a Queen or something?” Laenor said.

Despite himself, Daemon smiled.

Chapter Text

Alicent lingered on the edge of the castle steps, twisting her wrists with her hands, trying to think of what she should do. Red leaves filled the courtyard, trees were laying themselves bare, things appeared to be much the same as ever if slightly busier as the day of the tourney neared and plans became preparations.

First, she needed to calm herself. As soon as she was sure what her father knew and didn’t know, she would be able to decide her next step. Her fingers brushed her hourglass. All would be well, she told herself.

She lifted her skirts and made her way up the castle steps. Her duty was first to deliver Lady Rhea’s letter to the King and then she would see her father.

She was so deep in thought that she almost smacked forehead-first into the arm of the man that passed by her, dressed in a yellow tunic. 

 “Forgive me.” He said in a gruff voice.

 “I…sorry.” Alicent lifted her head. She recognised his face; but didn’t know from where. She continued on.

 “Uh, Lady Alicent?”

She turned back to the man as he called her. He was handsome with dark hair that almost reached his shoulders. She finally realised he was wearing Baratheon colours. She half shook her head. “My lord?”

 “No, indeed,” the man almost smiled. His face did not look like it was given to smiling often. “His son.”

 “Borros.” Alicent said. “Ser Borros, forgive me.”

He looked different as a young man. In her first life he had raised his banner in support of her son’s claim to the throne; Aemond had seen to that. He had a reputation for being old-fashioned, unreasonable and, even in these days, Rhaenyra had once commented that he was ‘dumb as thunder’. 

 “No, no need,” Borros said. “It’s been many years since I last saw you. I believe you were only a young girl then.”

 “Indeed.” Alicent itched to leave. “Well, I take it you’re here for the tourney? I wish you luck.”

 “Thank you.”

 She turned.

 “I would,” his voice made her turn back. “Very much like to have your favour, if possible.”

Alicent stared at him. He looked uncomfortable, but earnest.

 “Er,” she said. “I…”

 “Forgive me.” He said. “That isn’t usually how its done, is it? A knight must compete for a lady’s favour.” He nodded at her. “I hope to win it, in that case.”

Alicent kept staring after him as he turned and continued on his way.

What was that all about?

During the day, Otto could usually be found in the Hand’s chamber so Alicent steered down the corridor towards the royal quarters, hoping to find the King before she found her father. She had come to enjoy the anonymity of her old position; she was no longer a Queen walking the halls but the Lady Alicent and, although many greeted her, none stopped to give her much of a second look.

She spotted Ser Harold Westerling stationed outside Viserys’ chamber and approached.

 “Ser Harold,” she said. “I have some correspondence for the King.”

Ser Harold nodded at her. He had always been polite and dutiful, even after coming to hate her as the others had. “Lady Alicent,” he said. “The King and the Lord Hand are inside.”

Alicent stilled. “Oh, I-”

 “I will ask if they will see you.” Ser Harold mistook her hesitancy for shyness, no doubt. He knocked twice on the door and opened it. “The Lady Alicent Hightower for Your Grace.”

Alicent jammed her thumbnail into her palm. She would have to take them both on at once then.

Ser Harold nodded and gestured for her to enter.

She immediately met her father’s confused stare, the door closing behind her. “Daughter?” Otto said, his brow creased. “You're back? So soon?”

 “I didn’t know you were here, father.” Alicent said. “I have a letter for the King.”

Viserys smiled. Alicent had missed when he looked at her with a paternal affection rather than the looks he gave her when they had been husband and wife. “Alicent,” he said gently. “You do not greet your father now?”

 “Yes, forgive me,” Alicent said. “It is good to see you again, father.”

Viserys laughed, looking at Otto. “Rhaenyra is much the same these days. Girls that age!”

 “What happened between Gwayne and Lady Roberta?” Otto said, his gaze piercing. “I have not had one letter. Not a word.”

Alicent breathed. Luck! For once, it was hers. He hadn't even heard the engagement was broken - but then again, the letter had been given to her alone and only Lady Jeyne would have known the details.

 “The courtship did not go as planned,” she said. “Lady Roberta was promised to another.”

Otto raised his eyebrows high. She could see the beginnings of anger stir. “She was not when we made the enquiry into her.” He exhaled sharply. “This is Gwayne. That boy-”

 “Now,” Viserys said, placatingly. “Women from House Arryn are not as open with their affections as others. I should know! It could be that she was concealing the match all along.”

Otto nodded, saying nothing. Alicent could almost read his mind: he would have researched everything before sending Gwayne to the Vale. He had already guessed that something had gone awry. He turned to Alicent. “You must tell me everything later.” He said. “In detail.”

 “Alicent,” Viserys said. “You came here to see me?”

 “Yes, Your Grace,” Alicent took Rhea’s letter from her sleeve. “Correspondence from Lady Rhea Royce. It was given to my keeping.”

 “Ah.” Viserys didn’t look exactly thrilled upon taking the letter. He already knew the troubles between Daemon and Rhea and expected more of the same. “I do hope everything is fine.” 

 “Did the Lady Rhea mention seeing Daemon of late?” Otto pounced. “He has not been at court or the Small Council for near a week now. One wonders if he is actually taking his responsibility as Commander of the Watch seriously.”

 “Come now, Otto,” Viserys said. “You criticise his lack of presence in the Vale, but now you want him present here at all times?”

 “The Prince was there,” Alicent said. “He…was there at the same time as we were.”

They both looked at her, clearly astonished.

 “That is somewhat unlike him.” Viserys said. “And he spent time in Runestone?”

 “Um," Alicent hesitated, wondering if it had been the right move to mention it. "Yes.”

Otto was frowning. “While you and your brother were there?”

 “Yes, father.” Alicent said, adopting an air of innocence and hoping they asked no more.

 “And,” Viserys seemed eager. “Everything was fine between Lady Rhea and Daemon?”

 “They seemed…cordial.” Alicent said. She hardly knew what to say. “The Lady Rhea was very kind to us.”

 “At least she has a sense of decorum.” Otto said.

 “Father,” Alicent said. “I would a moment with you.” She couldn’t bear it any longer, she had to know more about the marriage proposal and who had made it. 

Viserys and Otto exchanged a glance, which shifted her curiosity. 

 “Yes,” Viserys said. “I think we can guess why.” He regarded Alicent with a knowing smile, which she was too confused to return.

Otto looked less enthused. “Indeed.” He said. “We shall go to my chamber.” He turned to Viserys. “No doubt, there may be something in the contents of Lady Rhea’s letter that we must go over. I will return.”

 “Yes,” Viserys was clearly in no rush to open the letter, he threw it on the writing desk. “Take your time. I’m sure Alicent has many stories from her time in the Vale.”

Otto faced his daughter across the table in his chamber. Alicent always had the uncanny feeling of being here in this exact place before, as if all the times she had stood in his chambers bled into one. 

 “Is there anything you wish to tell me, daughter?” He asked, his voice light but intentional.

Alicent studied him. Could he be referencing her and Daemon? But then why was his voice so gentle? “Such as…?”

 “I did, in fact, receive one letter,” Otto said. He reached for it on his desk and Alicent spied the trident shield as he lifted it. “From Lord Lyonel Strong. It seems it could not wait for his imminent return to court. He dated it the same day your brother and you broke your journey at Harrenhall.”

Alicent looked from him to the letter. 

 “Do you wish to know the contents?”

She nodded, wordlessly. 

 “Lord Lyonel writes of his fine impression of you during his visit. The letter is full of compliments.”

 “Oh.” Was all Alicent could say.

Harrenhal? It seemed like an age away, but she supposed that she had had a fine time there. Almost certainly, House Cuy was still sleeping off flagons of drink on Harrenhall’s great steps as they spoke. 

 “He writes,” Otto lifted the letter. “I made note of the close conversation between your daughter and my son, Harwin. I hope it does not incur your affront to suggest that you might consider a union between our two Houses. An allegiance between House Strong and House Hightower could only be regarded as one of strength-” He dropped the letter to the table. “There you have it.”

Alicent was stunned. “This is the marriage proposal you’ve accepted?”

Otto’s brows knitted. “What?”

 “Rhaenyra told me,” Alicent said, unable to keep the secret any longer. “She told me that she overheard you speaking to the King about accepting a marriage proposal for me.”

Otto sighed in irritation. “The Princess oversteps in sharing that with you. What she overhears as a cupbearer is not for all ears to hear.”

 “But it’s true.”

Otto sat at his desk, steepling his fingers as he often did when unpacking something to her. “Alicent.” He said slowly. “I have been sparing you from these tribulations. I did not wish to concern you in them. Your sudden declaration to me not long ago of your intention to marry was an indication to me that you are no longer a child, so I have been thinking of what is best for your future and the future of our House. I suppose I should have trusted your fine judgement. You are certainly more worthy of my counsel than your foolish brother.”

 “What are you speaking of, father?” Alicent wished he would just get to the fucking point. 

 “After you expressed a wish to marry, I put out some very gentle enquiries. I wished to make sure the husband I chose for you would not be beneath you. Beneath us.” He continued. “It had occurred to me to suggest you to the King as a second wife.”

Alicent felt the air go from her lungs. “What?”

 “No one knows more about the Queen’s condition than I,” Otto said. “The Maesters seek me out more often than they seek out the King. She has already had two children born in blood and two stillborn. Her health is not what it once was. There is every chance this time will be just the same.”

Alicent’s mind whirred. Had Otto always known that the Queen would die or suspected she would lose her child? He had never taken her into confidence in her first life, but it was true that the Maesters came to him before they came to Viserys about matters of health for the royal family.

I will make the appropriate selection, when the time is right. His words returned to her. Had he been waiting for Queen Aemma to die just to foist Alicent on the King? The thought chilled her.

Otto didn’t seem to notice the horror on Alicent’s face as he continued. “If the Queen is unable to produce any more heirs, it would not be unheard of for the King to take on a second wife to ensure the line continues. Kings have done so before.”

 “You sound like Daemon.” Alicent murmured.

Otto’s head jerked in disgust. “Daemon speaks only out of self-interest.” He frowned. “And why do you refer to him by his name? I hope he has not been making himself familiar to you. I had the King sanction him for that despicable rumour about the two of you-” He broke off. “Stay away from that man. He means nothing but ill will to us and our House. He toys with you to torment me.”

Alicent swallowed.

 “In any case,” Otto said. “I have not mentioned this to the King.”

 “The King would never hear of a second wife.”

 “Not immediately.” Otto said. “But as the succession crisis grows and Daemon remains his only heir, I am sure the pressure will crack his resolve. The Queen, at least, will not begrudge him his duty. She understands the lay of the land and what Viserys must do to ensure the throne has a suitable heir.”

Alicent closed her eyes momentarily, then opened them, her resolve, a resolve she should have had many, many years before building in her chest like a bastion. “I will not,” she said, slowly. “Marry the King.”

Otto looked at her in sudden shock at the change in her voice.

 “First wife, second wife,” Alicent said. “I will not be a wife to a man who does not want me for anything more than an heir.”

 “You will do as you’re bid.” Otto said, calmly. “I entreat you to use that mind of yours and think of the future.”

Alicent barked with laughter. “That is exactly what I’m doing.”

Otto paused and Alicent wondered if he would lose his temper, if she should use her hourglass.

 “We cannot know what will happen when the Queen enters her labours,” Otto said. “It may be that she gives birth to a son.” His eyes flashed. “But I doubt it.”

Alicent regarded him with a new wonder. You really are the coldest creature the gods ever made. She thought. You actually want her to die. Just for your own House’s ascension. 

 “That all being said,” Otto continued. “I did let it be known that I am seeking a husband for you. Clearly, Lord Lyonel is responding on account of this. He would like nothing better than to join House Strong with House Hightower. It would be an advantageous match. For them. For us, it is of average regard.”

Seen in the cold light of day, Alicent did not think that a match between Hightower and Strong was that absurd. It was true that the Strongs were not as greatly descended, but they had wealth and influence and both lords sat on the Small Council. But, as usual, her father’s ambition exceeded the reality. 

Alicent rubbed her eyes. “I cannot marry Harwin Strong.” My future friendship with Rhaenyra already hangs by a thread.

 “As you wish.” Otto said. “But entertain his courtship with grace. We cannot afford to offend the Strongs.”

 “Very well.”

 “There is more.”

 “What?”

 “Lord Jason Lannister,” Otto said. “Has formally asked my permission to court your hand.”

 “No.” Alicent said.

 “I thought you had rather a penchant for him at one time.”

 “I told you, he is a fool.”

 “He is.” Otto said. “But Casterly Rock is no foolish prize.”

 “No.”

Otto smirked. “Do not speak until you have considered. Wedding a Lannister would not be the worst you could do. But there is more still.”

 “Who?” Alicent snapped. “Just how many suitors do you wish to have banging on my door?”

Otto’s brow fell. “It was you who wanted me to marry you off just a few weeks hence. You practically begged me as such.”

 “Yes, but…then…”

“Lord Boremund Baratheon-”

 “He is fifty years old-!”

 “-has offered his son, Borros.” Otto finished. “I only met with him this morning. Their terms are favourable and Borros is the heir to all Boremund has to leave.” He sat back. “If the Queen's babe lives, I want you to consider this proposal, Alicent. Consider it carefully. It's the next best option for you.”

Alicent wished, wished, that she could undo her foolish, whirlwind demand to be married off as soon as possible. If she had not said that, the past would not have changed yet again. 

 “I suppose I am a victim of mine own success,” Otto said. “Having such an elegant daughter.”

 “They court me on account of your position.” Alicent muttered. “And many covet the wealth of the Reach.”

 “Oh,” Otto said. “I’m sure your charms have something to do with it.” He stood. “We will wait until the end of the tourney celebrations to decide. Then we shall know the Queen’s fate. And, from there, we can plan your future.”

Alicent twisted her hands together. “Father,” she began. “I must tell you something. I-”

 “Father!” The door slammed open and Gwayne almost fell through in his race to enter. He looked dishevelled and was sweating profusely. He spotted Alicent and came to stand protectively in front of her. “I will not allow you to take your anger out on Alicent. She is innocent in this and was acting in the best interest of her heart. She cannot be blamed for that!”

Otto stared at him. “What in the name of the Seven are you talking about, boy?”

 “I-!” Gwayne looked from Otto to Alicent, his face a question mark. “I…don’t know.” He frowned as Alicent shook her head at him slightly, willing him to shut up. 

 “You,” Otto raged. “Have no right to barge in here on account of anything your sister has done. You should be apologising for your own conduct. The only reason the Arryns would dissolve an engagement so beneficial on both sides is you. You must be the cause of it.”

Gwayne, finding himself suddenly in the firing line, froze like a fawn. “I…um, well…she was just not my particular taste, father.”

Otto put his hand to his face. “Oh that you were yet young enough for the rod, you witless, bumbling-”

 “Father,” Alicent stepped in. “Please. Gwayne is right. The lady showed no interest in the match and Lady Jeyne,” she hesitated. “Lady Jeyne was unenthusiastic about our presence. Nothing was like we thought it would be.”

 “R-right.” Gwayne said, pulling himself together. “In fact, I don’t think it would be too far-fetched to say that nobody enjoyed the Vale.”

 “That’s true.” Alicent said.

 “I never wish to go back.” Gwayne said.

 “I couldn’t fill a jar with my care about what you enjoy!” Otto hissed. “You are my oldest child and when I send you on an errand, I expect you to fulfill your duty. I hope you at the very least kept that impune Prince away from your sister during the length of your stay.”

 “Um.” Gwayne said.

As if on cue, the door opened yet again. “Carry on, Otto,” Daemon said. “You were calling me impune.”

 “Daemon-” Alicent began.

Daemon cast his eyes to her. “I told you to wait for me.” He said, clearly annoyed. 

 “I’ve got this under control, Daemon.”

Otto’s eyes went between them. “What…?” He looked at Daemon the same way one would look at a scorpion about to sting. “What are you doing…?”

 “I am taking Alicent to wife,” Daemon said with, Alicent noted, considerable relish at Otto’s discomfort. “We thought it best to inform you before we leave for Dragonstone.”

 “Oh gods.” Gwayne whispered.

 “Daemon-” Alicent was mortified.

Otto looked from Daemon to Alicent, his face slowly becoming a mask of pure fury. “You…” He spat. “Dare to toy with my child!”

Daemon put his hand under Alicent’s arm. “Shall we tell the King or do you wish to do the honours, Hand?”

Otto advanced on them, his voice white-hot with murderous intent. “I would rather see my daughter dead than wedded to you. And I will make sure the King banishes you for the rest of your days if I find that you have in any way defiled her-”

Alicent took her hourglass in her hands.

Daemon caught her movement and tried to stop her but Alicent pulled from him, unlatched the casing, and tipped the sand back. 

The world moved, a dimensional rug pulled under her, she could feel the seconds as they snailed by. Alicent checked the bulbs and saw that she hadn’t spilled much, but just enough.

 “Father!” The door slammed open and Gwayne almost fell through in his race to enter. Again. 

Alicent blinked to clear her eyes. The world had settled and her brother was there, sweating, red-faced, garbling something as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. She tried to calculate where Daemon would be if time had moved him back to his previous position. She had to find him before he burst through the door and ruined everything. 

 “Gwayne,” Alicent cut her brother’s garbled speech short. “I was just telling father that nothing untoward happened on our visit to the Vale; apart from Lady Roberta’s marked lack of interest in the marriage.”

Gwayne stared at her. “Oh.” He said. “Um, yes…that’s…all that happened. Right.”

Otto looked at Gwayne, about to rail at him again.

 “I must go.” Alicent said. “I need to gather my thoughts after our conversation, father.”

Otto looked at her, taken aback, but did not have time to respond as Alicent ran from the Hand’s chamber and made for the steps. She halted at the top. At the bottom, stood Daemon, looking far more irritated than he had been.

 “Don’t.” Alicent said.

Daemon ascended the stairs towards her. “Why did you turn the hourglass?” He appeared to be holding back his anger.

 “Because,” Alicent said. “You made the wrong decision.” 

 “We said that we would speak to him before we left,” Daemon said. “Which is what I was doing.”

 “Your goading only incensed him further.” Alicent said, looking away. “Anyway, you heard him. He’d rather see me dead than married to you.”

 “The man is a cunt.”

 “Daemon.”

He grabbed her wrist. “I am tired,” he hissed. “Of your fickle nature. In the Vale, you accepted my proposal and now you’re in King’s Landing, you dither.”

 “I am trying to do things the right way this time!” Alicent snapped. “Not throwing my weight around as you do. Haven’t you learned by now that your approach gets you even deeper in trouble?”

 "I seem to recall you choking a maid half to death just before we left." Daemon said. 

 "That was different." Alicent said.

 "That was you." Daemon said. "Who you truly are."

 "A violent lunatic?"

Daemon smirked. "A woman worthy of being my wife."

 "Your tastes need to be studied."

 "I very much hope that's an offer." 

A passing maid glanced at them and Alicent lowered her voice. “You saw how my father reacted. We must proceed differently.”

 “He would have the same reaction whether you turned that hourglass twenty or fifty times.” Daemon snapped. “What’s the difference?”

Alicent wondered whether she should tell him about the marriage proposals. It may just make things worse. But then again, he may find out elsewhere - which had the potential to be dangerous. “He has told me that he wishes to arrange a marriage for me. With Borros Baratheon. And Jason Lannister. And apparently Lyonel Strong enquired on behalf of Ser Harwin.”

Daemon barked with a laughter that was only partially amusement. “Are you to marry these men all at once or will you give each a season of your company?”

Alicent glared at him.

Daemon let go of her. “All the more reason to tell him now,” his voice was taut. “Unless, of course, you are considering your options.”

Her silence built a ball of anger in him like nothing else. Even courting Rhaenyra had not been this difficult; even if Viserys had turned against him for it, he had never had to doubt Rhaenyra’s affection.

And yet here Alicent Hightower was blowing hot and cold; one moment kissing him before every Vale lord in existence and now quailing at telling her own father about his intentions towards her. Did she doubt him? Did she not want him?

It was infuriating to feel as though he couldn’t have her; like she was just vapor in his hands that would soon dissipate. She simultaneously brought out the very best and the very worst in him.

 “Alicent.” He said, moving his head to hers, his hand moving to her chin and lifting it. 

Alicent wanted to protest, to warn him that someone could come along at any moment and see; but she wanted to reach out for him too. She wanted his hands on her.

 “I will not,” Daemon moved close to her face, as if about to kiss her. “Be having this discussion with you again. In this life, nothing will stand in the way of what I want. And if I have to kill everyone who dares to try, I will.” He straightened. “You have until the end of the tourney to speak to who you need to. Do not use that hourglass on me again.”

He stalked back the way he had come; back down to the guardhouse where his Gold Cloaks were waiting.

Alicent dragged a hand down her face. She no longer knew whether she was clearing the stage for a better future as one where Daemon was King; or one that was far, far worse just as everyone had feared. A second Maegor. Perhaps that made her a second Ceryse Hightower. 

If the history was to be believed, Maegor had ordered Ceryse's tongue removed after she had insulted him which resulted in her death. At the very least, Daemon seemed to like her tongue.

Chapter Text

“Commander on the floor!”

Daemon stalked past his Gold Cloaks, his blood humming. At times of war, some men miss peace. And at times of peace, some men miss the battlefield like a lost friend. His nights as the Prince of Flea Bottom, rounding up criminals of every ilk and executing them at whim, beholden only by his own grey sense of right and wrong: it was simple, it served to clear his mind. 

He rallied them. It wasn’t hard to do. The Gold Cloaks were made up of men who Westerosi society had no other place for. They were former criminals themselves, most of them, their blood ran too hot for the life of a common man and their frustration with a world that had left them behind to bleed out was so palpable that it was not hard to band them together like brothers and send them off on the hunt. 

One of Daemon’s captains leaned into him as the Cloaks left for King’s Landing with their usual spirit, their boots echoing through alleyways. “Will we be congressing at the whore houses after, my Prince?”

Daemon considered. He hadn’t seen Mysaria in an age. He wondered if it would be good for him to see her - not fuck her. Unfortunately or fortunately, Alicent was still the only thing that held any kind of thrall over him in that regard. He wondered if she had, in fact, bewitched him somehow. 

 “We will.” Daemon said. “If I see a good number of criminals put to justice. My brother’s streets must be safe for his tourney.”

 “Yes, my Prince.”

The night of unrestrained violence that ensued was even better than Daemon remembered it to be. In his first life, Otto had made a meal of it to the King and he intended on serving him another.

The memory of Otto’s face after he had told him of his intention to wed Alicent put anger behind the thrust of his sword as he severed a screaming man’s head from his shoulders. I would rather see my daughter dead than wedded to you. 

He supposed it had gone as well as could be expected.

Daemon wiped a spatter of blood from his chin. “Put the scum accused of murder in a line and gut them like fish!” He snarled to his men who were only too eager to obey.

There were wails from the crowd watching, mostly women screaming, “Please spare my father, my Prince!” 

 “My brother is innocent!” 

 “I have coin, please take it!”

 “This is what awaits any man who flouts the King’s law!” Daemon paced before the crowd. Dark Sister gleamed in his hand like a jagged tooth. “Never forget this night of reckoning!”

As his men’s weapons began to slice, the screams reached above them toward the knotted night sky. Daemon turned toward the men that had been rounded into the alleys, those accused of lesser crimes. The way they jostled against each other in fear piqued a monster’s instinct in him. They were afraid of him and it felt good. He didn’t have to feel ashamed of it. 

He glanced back to the crowd and saw one of his Gold Cloaks with his hand in a woman’s hair, one of the women who had been pleading to save whichever criminal had been lined up for punishment. Her long, reddish hair stilled him for just half a second. Of course it wasn’t Alicent, the face revealed that and, after further inspection, her long hair was just too dark a shade. What was wrong with him? Even here?

The Gold Cloak lifted the woman up and down tauntingly as she sobbed. “If you’re looking for something to cling onto, put your hand on my cock, wench!”

Daemon placed Dark Sister’s blade on his elbow and the Gold Cloak immediately loosened his grip. The girl fell back to the ground. 

“Do I need to remind you of your duty?” Daemon asked softly and his soldier retreated.

 “Forgive me, my Prince.” He said and hastened in the direction of the other ranks.

Daemon gave the girl one final look. She was crying into her hands.

The ground beneath their feet had gone from pale grey to copper with fresh blood, the night air swiftly turning it a deep brown.

Daemon approached the line of men once again, his grip light. He singled out a piece of prey and took his aim. 

Finally, his mind was blank. There was only the song of his sword to be heard.

 “You are too good for me these days, my Prince,” Mysaria placed a cup of wine before him. “Have I displeased you?”

Daemon drank the wine, saying nothing.

 “I heard just a week or so hence you were asking for brown-haired girls at the pillowhouse on the river.”

Daemon felt a tinge of irritation. Of course she’d know everything. “I had a passing fancy,” he said. “What man wishes to eat the same dish day after day?”

Mysaria leaned forward. Around them were screams of a different kind as the Gold Cloaks relinquished their swords (and cloaks) for pleasure. “But you left before getting your coin’s worth. And just before that, apparently you took another girl into your chamber. A brown-haired noblewoman, they say.”

Daemon looked at her over the top of his cup. “Your mouth might get you in trouble one day.”

 “My mouth is the only reason I walk free now,” Mysaria said. “Both for what it can say and what it can do.” She traced the edge of his shoulder with her finger. “But you know all about that, my Prince.”

 “I hope you did not sell that piece of information for your usual sum.”

Mysaria shrugged. “It isn’t useful if I don’t know who the woman was. Have you taken a paramour in the castle?”

 “I am soon to take a wife.”

 “Another?”

 “My first doesn’t count.”

 “So this one is one of your choosing?”

 “She is.”

Mysaria’s brow creased. He couldn’t tell if he had aroused her jealousy or her interest. “Who?”

 “You will surely find out before all others do through your band of spies.”

 “You must like her if you keep her name from me.” Mysaria smiled, putting her head to one side. “Perhaps I will see less of you now.”

 “Perhaps.”

 “Unless she does not mind if her husband steals away for the odd night of something different,” Mysaria’s fingers reached Daemon’s face. “After all, as you say, who wishes to eat the same meal day after day?”

Daemon moved her hand away.

 “I have another girl,” Mysaria whispered. “Young, pretty, brown hair. She can join us in the bed tonight.”

Daemon glanced at the window. The moon was still high. “Show her to me.” He said. 

Mysaria’s smile grew. She left the table for a short while and returned with the girl. She was much shorter, doe-eyed. Her hair was straight and long, but the right shade of brown. The girl curtsied, looking at Daemon from under her eyelashes.

 “You will be the first Targaryen she has had,” Mysaria said. “Be gentle with her.”

 “I will watch the two of you.” Daemon said, rising to his feet. “I’m sure you can come up with something to entertain me.”

He sat on the plush seat within Mysaria’s personal chamber, his armour and sword shed in the corner, watching the two girls undress each other. Mysaria planted the brown-haired girl beneath her and trailed kisses along her neck and collarbone. The brown-haired girl made loud, wanton moans with every other touch. Daemon imagined Alicent’s face on hers. Alicent having her legs spread, Mysaria’s fingers running in between her thighs, a glazed look of desire, the parted lips.

Mysaria raised her arm to him, inviting him to join. Daemon shook his head, surprising even himself. For once, though he wanted to; he didn’t.

The Gold Cloaks returned, as usual, just before dawn. They trudged back to the castle, every facet of their lust fully sated. They looked for Daemon’s approval as they reminisced on the events of the evening, casting looks at him like eager puppies.

Daemon ran a hand over his eyes. He needed sleep.

 “My Prince?”

Daemon slowed his pace. “Ser Westerling.”

The older knight appeared to have been waiting for him at the gates. He looked with distaste at the Gold Cloaks as they passed. They stank of blood. 

 “The King will see you his chamber.”

Daemon raised his eyes to the walls of the Keep. “Very well.”

 “I will take you there.”

Ser Westerling led him through the yard, into the grounds, skirting servants and soldiers all of whom gave Daemon a very wide berth and averted their eyes as they bowed.

Daemon heard two familiar voices before he saw them. Alicent and Rhaenyra rounded the corner, arm in arm, giggling together.

Alicent spotted Daemon and her smile wavered in surprise.

 “Uncle,” Rhaenyra said. “You must not have changed since your night in King’s Landing.” She lay her eyes on the blood stains. “Are you headed to see my father?”

Alicent kept quiet, looking at the floor. Daemon kept his eyes trained on her lowered head. “Good day, Lady Alicent.” Daemon said.

Rhaenyra wasn’t used to him ignoring her completely. She looked at Alicent and back to him, eyes full of questions. 

 “Good day, my Prince.” Alicent said. “Come, Rhaenyra, we mustn’t keep them.”

Daemon looked back at Rhaenyra. “And good day to you, Princess.” He turned and kept walking, causing Ser Westerling to quicken his pace to catch up to him.

Daemon’s jaw clenched. Alicent still hadn’t told Rhaenyra anything, that much was clear. What the fuck was she waiting for? 

The door to Viserys’ chamber opened. His brother wasn’t alone. Otto was there too, of course. Daemon could already tell by the smugness on Otto’s face that whatever this was about; it was going to annoy him. 

“Daemon,” Viserys rose to his feet upon seeing him. “You’re covered in blood.”

Ser Westerling discreetly shut the door behind them.

 “It’s not mine.” Daemon said.

 Otto spoke, “I heard talk that your actions last night were regarded as so wantonly violent that the Smallfolk are calling it the ‘Night of Blood’.”

 “Very creative.” Daemon muttered. 

Last time, when he had been confronted by his brother and Otto about this it had been at the Small Council. He wondered why now they were in private chambers - he would have thought that Otto would have tried to make it more of a spectacle.

 “I must speak with you about this,” Viserys was holding Rhea’s letter, the seal broken. “Do you know the contents?”

 “I didn’t care to ask.” Daemon said. “I gave it to the Lady Alicent to have it delivered.”

 “Why my daughter?” Otto wanted to know.

 “The Bronze Bitch was somewhat fond of her.” Daemon said.

 “Lady Rhea,” Viserys’ voice was strained. “Asks for an annulment of your marriage to her.”

Daemon, for a very brief moment, felt a tinge of rare guilt for having killed Rhea the first time around. If he had thought it would have been this easy, he would have urged for this from the start. “Does she?”

 “She writes,” Viserys said. “I ask that the King dissolve our marriage vows made before the Seven on account of the fact that the marriage was never consummated and is, therefore, not legally binding. House Royce requests any and all funds from the dowry, wedding costs incurred and the multitude of items Prince Daemon has charged against House Royce, including, ” Viserys broke off, glaring at him. “ Damage made to the Eyrie from Prince Daemon’s dragon’s flight. I ask for the Master of Coin to write back detailing the accounts to be reimbursed.”

 “They are greedy people,” Daemon said. “That Vale lot. I did warn you, brother.”

 “Seeing as Lady Rhea has cited a legal justification of annulment,” Otto said. “I do not see how the King can avoid giving her one.”

 “So give it.” Daemon said.

 “Why do I have to hear of you shirking your duty in this way?” Viserys snapped. “House Royce was a fine match for you.”

 “I want to choose my own wife.” Daemon said. “As you did, brother.”

 “Aemma and I were always intended-”

 “She was what you wanted.” Daemon said. “I only ask for the same.”

 “It will be difficult to remedy this rift,” Otto said. “But if you fly immediately to the Vale and speak to Lady Rhea she may rethink this request.”

Daemon almost laughed. “Why would I undo the first fine thing that woman has ever done?”

 “Otto,” Viserys said. “Leave us.”

Otto looked at Viserys in surprise. “Your Grace-”

 “I will speak with my brother.”

Daemon smirked as Otto moved around him to exit. He could practically feel the man’s animosity as he passed by.

Viserys waited until the door was closed. “To grant this annulment may set a dangerous precedent.” He said. “There have only been one or two in recent memory granted for the same reason. The Vale will see this as us breaking off from them.”

 “Your wife is an Arryn.” Daemon said. “That should be enough to heal any rift.”

Viserys rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “All I do is defend you, Daemon,” he said, heavily. “To the Small Council, to my Hand, sometimes I even have need to defend you at court. The things you say to people, the things you do - you put me time and time again in impossible situations.”

 “I spend my life,” Daemon retorted. “In your city, keeping your order and your laws. Acting as a hound for your throne. Do not say I do nothing for you.”

 “Keeping order is one thing, I only require the most basic politics from you,” Viserys said. “How hard would it have been to bed your own wife, produce a few children, spend a season here and there in the Runestones?”

 “That isn’t what I want.” Daemon said.

 “We make sacrifices as royalty. That is our duty.”

 “Enough of your piety.” Daemon said. “You listen to those who would turn you against me for their own benefit. We are kin.”

 “Gods, I know!” Viserys snapped. “The fact that you are my brother is the only reason you are at my court! I wasn’t able to defend you as a child so I do so now-”

 “Don’t bring our childhood into this.”

 “I see father in you every day.” Viserys muttered. “What father did to you was reprehensible. He beat you black and blue for years and yet you still found cause to worship him. He made you into this and I blame myself-”

Daemon’s hand clenched into a fist at his sword belt. “Do not speak ill of our father.”

 “He was a brute by the end,” Viserys said. “Vicious and cruel.”

 “Enough.”

 “I swore that I would never be a father like him and I have kept my word.” Viserys said. He looked at Daemon. “You are perhaps lucky to not have your own children. Sometimes I dread to think-”

 “Fuck what you dread to think.” Daemon hissed. 

 “Daemon,” Viserys advanced towards him. “Do not mistake me. I value our blood just as much as you do. I prefer to think of father in the old days, when mother was still alive. I always planned to name my son after him. Even now, I still wish to.” He paused. “But sometimes I feel as though I am acting out of guilt in all I do. I failed you so now I allow you to run rampant about my kingdom.”

 “Don’t feel guilty on my account,” Daemon said. “You should save your pity for yourself.”

 “What does that mean?”

Daemon was silent. 

Viserys sighed. “I will accept Lady Rhea’s annulment.” He said. “On one condition.”

 “What?”

 “That you find a new wife within the fortnight,” Viserys said. “A noblewoman from a fine family. Wed one that suits your tastes, whatever they may be. Marry, have children, do your duty for once as we all do.”

 “As you wish.” Daemon said.

Viserys looked up, stunned. He had expected far more of a fight than that. “You accept this?”

 “I do.” Daemon said.

 “Do you have someone in mind?”

 “I may.”

 “Who?” Viserys looked genuinely curious. “I have never seen you show anyone any favour.” 

 “I accept your terms.” Daemon said. “I ask that you grant the annulment.”

Viserys folded the letter in his hands. “I will have Otto contact the Sept.”

 “Thank you, brother.” Daemon said, moving for the door.

 “Daemon,”

 He looked back.

 “I wish you would seek my counsel more often.” Viserys said.

Daemon met his eyes. “And I wish you would seek my protection more often, rather than relying on snakes and vultures.”

Viserys let him leave then. Daemon came from the chamber with a new invigoration in his step. 

There, he thought. My way is clear.

.

Alicent could not recall what she had worn the first time around. She chose a pale blue gown with draping sleeves. This was close enough. 

Today was the day of the tourney, the day the Queen would die. The day her fate had started to change. 

Alicent had considered what she could do to help in Aemma’s labours, but the fact remained that she still had no idea how the woman had died. Viserys had never spoken of it and no Maester would tell her. The witch’s condition prohibited any passing comment she might make about suspecting such a tragedy.

Still, of late, the past had been changing. Things that had never happened the first time were taking place. She was particularly reminded of this when she was met in the hall by Jason Lannister, wearing his bright red half-cape, a gold lion clawing the air. He appeared to have been waiting for her.

 He must have discovered where my chambers are. Alicent thought. She wondered if she could ask Daemon to kill the person who had told him.

 “My lady,” Jason bowed. “You look ravishing. Truly ravishing this morrow.”

 “My lord, good morrow.” Alicent said. “Are you taking part in the lists today?” She already knew the answer. 

 “Ah,” Jason said. “Jousting is not a passion of mine. I must say, I never saw the point of two noble-blooded men aiming weapons in each other’s direction purely for the fun of it. It seems quite animalistic to my mind.”

 “I suppose some men have it in their blood and some do not.” Alicent said.

 “Indeed.” Said Jason. “I’m sure a refined lady such as yourself shares my opinion. If I remember correctly, from the last tourney that was held, you would shield your eyes when the blows were made.”

 “I did.” Alicent said. “For I was young then.”

 “Naturally-”

 “But I have since changed my tastes,” Alicent said. “I now find all the bloodshed rather exhilarating.”

Jason stared at her.

 “Excuse me, my lord.” She skirted around him, readjusting her sleeves around her wrists as she walked. 

Maybe that was enough to have him leave me alone now.

Her fingerbeds had only just stopped bleeding. She had been trying not to bite at them these past two days, but it had proven difficult.

Fate was not, it seemed, in her favour that day. In her path to Rhaenyra’s chambers, she spied Lyonel, Larys and Harwin Strong speaking quietly together. Her second suitor, right on cue. A bright breeze was blowing between them, but it wasn’t enough to carry their words to her; their conversation looked intense.

Alicent considered turning back on herself, but it was too late.

Lyonel raised his hand to her as soon as he caught sight of her approaching. “Lady Alicent!” He sounded jovial. “How good it is to see you again!”

Harwin and Larys bowed. Alicent thought that Harwin looked more than a little uncomfortable, which was uncharacteristic for him.

 “My lord,” Alicent, despite herself, was pleased to see Lyonel again. “It’s good to see you.”

 “Harwin,” Lyonel said. “Does the lady not look beautiful this morning?”

 “Uh,” Harwin studied the floor. “Y-yes.” He looked like he would rather be anywhere else at all.

 “Very.” Larys said, looking Alicent over. Alicent felt his eyes linger on her chest and instinctively raised her hand to cover her skin. 

 “Perhaps after the tourney is over, Harwin can take you for a walk across the castle grounds.” Lyonel continued. He was not a man to be deterred, it seemed. “Could you not, son?”

Alicent noted with some sympathy that Harwin did look truly miserable; but was attempting to conceal it valiantly. As she had suspected, the marriage proposal had not been his idea.  “Of course.” He said. “If you wish it, Lady Alicent.”

 “If the Princess can spare me, I would be glad to.” Alicent said.

 “What a joyous day it will be,” Larys said. “If the Maester’s prediction is true then we will be celebrating the birth of our new heir as well as the next Queen of Love and Beauty.” 

 “I hope you know, Lady Alicent,” Lyonel said. “That if Harwin was competing then he would certainly be looking to honour you with that title.”

 “Father.” Harwin said, reaching his limit.

 “Oh,” Alicent changed the subject quickly. “Are you not competing this year, Ser Harwin?”

 “A recent riding injury prevents me this time around.” Harwin said, smiling uneasily. He was not a good liar. Alicent wondered if he was avoiding the tourney simply to avoid courting her. She felt genuinely sorry for him.

 “Well,” Lyonel said. “In any case, I am sure there will be time for you both to become reacqauinted once the tourney is over.”

 “Forgive me,” Alicent said. “I must go. The Princess is expecting me.”

 “Of course.”

As both parties went in opposite directions, Larys called to her. “Lady Alicent. I hope you enjoyed your time in the Vale.”

Alicent looked at him with a frown. “It was…pleasant, thank you.”

 “I was sorry to hear about your brother’s expected union not going as planned.”

Alicent wasn’t about to rise to any of his bait, she glanced behind him to see that Lyonel and Harwin were now too far away to hear anything said. “Indeed, Gwayne simply accompanied me to visit Lady Jeyne. There was never much talk of marriage.”

 “I suppose the Prince’s presence didn’t help matters.” Larys leaned on his cane. There was a snakeish smile on his face. “He does tend to cause a stir wherever he goes.”

Alicent didn’t know how to reply.

 “Or perhaps, this time,” Larys continued. “It was you who caused the stir, Lady Alicent.”

He knew. Alicent realised. Somehow, he knew.  

News of her public kiss, the revealed attachment - he had heard of it from someone. And if he knew, how far behind could her father be?

Alicent kept a smile on her face. “Are you accusing me of something?” Her voice betrayed her, sharper than she had intended.

 “Not at all.” Larys said, pleasantly. “I am a great believer that one should live as they wish.” He turned to go. “Even if the consequences are abysmal.” 

Alicent watched him leave to join his family, the smacks of his cane on the stone felt intentionally heavy. Her stomach twisted. 

She needed to tell Rhaenyra and her father soon or all this waiting for the right moment would have been for nothing.

She went on her way, hoping, praying, to at least get to the end of this damn passageway without running into yet another hindrance-

Around the corner, as if summoned by some chortling god, walked Daemon.

Alicent stopped in her tracks.

They both looked each other over for a moment. He was dressed for the tourney, a red and black Targaryen crest emblazoned at his chest, his black armour glinting. 

 “Lady Alicent.” Daemon said.

Alicent curtsied. “My Prince.”

Daemon’s gaze was steady. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard the news?”

 “What news?”

 “My marriage is to be annulled.”

Alicent stared at him. “Your-?”

 “It seems Rhea came to her senses.”

So that had been the contents of the letter. Alicent looked to the ground. “Did she say why?”

Daemon approached her slowly. “She probably believes I belong to another.”

Alicent looked up at him. “And do you?”

 “Indeed.” Daemon said quietly. “Just as another belongs to me.”

Alicent glanced behind them. “Someone may overhear.” She whispered. “Not here.”

 “What does it matter?” Daemon said. “Soon all will know.”

 “I must first-”

 “Speak to Rhaenyra and your father. So why haven’t you? It has already been three days since our return.”

Alicent’s heart began pounding. “I’m afraid to say it.” She said.

Daemon lifted her chin with the side of his finger. “Perhaps you need me to help you.”

 “Daemon, I must go-”

 “Where?”

 “To the Princess-”

 “To attend to all your suitors?” Daemon’s voice was ice. “Have you told your worthless father that you don’t intend on marrying any of them or are you enjoying their favour?”

Alicent slapped his hand away. “You don’t understand how difficult it is.”

Daemon looked down at her. He was unnerving. She almost wanted to run from him, but her feet refused to move. “Night and day.” He murmured. “If I have to suffer this torment night and day, why should you escape?” He advanced a step. “I will sear my name into your tongue.”

 “Daemon-” Alicent began.

His hand reached for her, gripping the back of her neck. He moved her with ease into an alcove, protecting them from sight unless one were to pass right by them.

He was much too close. Alicent pressed her hands against his chest as he towered above. “We cannot be seen like this.” She said, her resolve wavering as he brought his face close.

 “Am I not yours?” He murmured. Like a starving dog craving its master’s attention, he put his face into her neck, his hands on her waist. He rocked her into him so forcefully that she tipped against him, staying her fall by catching his shoulders. 

His kiss to her neck was hungry. She resisted the sound that almost escaped her lips. Her hand moved to his hair, silver falling over her skin.

 “I will rid myself of the suitors.” Alicent said, hoping to calm him. “I do not place any regard on their proposals-”

Daemon’s gentle hands became claws. “I will rid you of them myself.”

 “I can handle it. I am handling-” She squeaked as Daemon lifted her from the ground, placing her against the wall with a soft thump. “Daemon, stop it! Not here.”

 “I will have you now for all your ‘suitors’ to see and hear.”

 "You're truly mad."

His fingers threatened the threads of her bodice as he squeezed her breasts. "Let those fine knights hear you cry out."

 “Put me down!”

Daemon instead put a knee between her legs, parting them. He kissed her, pushing her face to his. The taste of her tongue rousing him into a fever. Alicent struggled for breath, his intensity frightening her.

 “I said stop.” Alicent pulled away. Her face burned at the idea that someone might discover them at any moment. A maid, a lord, Rhaenyra. “I will tell them both today, I swear it. And I will not speak to any man who has offered a proposal.”

Daemon’s hand pressed her cheeks, his touch embedded so hard in her skin that Alicent wondered if he was trying to leave an imprint. “Obedience becomes you, my lady.” He allowed her to drop back to the ground. She pulled herself from the alcove, trying not to stumble, readjusting herself. Glancing around, she saw no one. Thank the gods.

Alicent glared at Daemon as he exited after her with an air of innocence. “Never will you do that again.”

Daemon smiled at her, with un-Daemon-like politeness. “Forgive me, I will be late for the lists,” He inclined his head. “I take my leave of you, Lady Alicent.” 

Alicent watched him swan away with a hot irritation in her stomach. Sometimes he was so utterly incorrigible that all she wanted was a stick to beat him with.

Rhaenyra was not in her chamber. She had already left. Alicent deduced that she had taken too long and the princess had gone up to the games without her. She cursed her timing. This would have been a perfect opportunity to speak to Rhaenyra alone.

Crossing the castle threshold once more, through Maegor’s holdfast, Alicent took note of the maids and Maesters running this way and then, all either from or to the Queen’s chambers.

She felt sick. The birth, the Queen.

Her thoughts followed her, guilt, sorrow, anticipation, fear. 

The old nervous beat of her heart was drowned out by the chatter as she approached the strangle of carriages and horses, nobles standing in the courtyard, drinking and laughing, waiting to be taken to the tourney site rather than make the short walk to the viewing deck.

 “Sister!” Gwayne was standing with his squire, his armour shining like a new penny, his breastplate depicting green fire blazing from a high tower. “How do I look?”

Gwayne always had the uncanny ability to cheer her, no matter what had happened. 

Alicent approached him, smiling. “You look like a Champion in the making.”

Gwayne smiled wryly. “I’ll probably get knocked off of my horse at the start of the first bouts, as usual.”

 “You will be fine.”

 “If I do become a Champion, I will fight in your honour, of course.”

 “I think being this year’s Queen of Love and Beauty may be more attention than I can stomach.” Alicent said.

  Especially accounting for all the scandal that’s to come.

 Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daemon mounted on his horse, followed closely by his squires in their House Targaryen heraldry, carrying his lances for the joust.

 “The Prince will win as usual.” Gwayne muttered.

 “Let’s hope he gets some sense knocked into him while doing so.” Alicent replied, testily.

Gwayne looked like he wanted to pick up on her tone, but, following his better judgement, didn’t.

 “The Baratheons look confident this year too,” Gwayne adjusted the plates around his arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Borros compete.”

A flash of yellow; the Baratheons, the servants and their squires were certainly a presence in the yard as they readied themselves.

Alicent caught the edge of Borros’ eye and suddenly his gaze was on her. Alicent quickly turned back. “Seven Hells.” She muttered.

 “What?” Gwayne asked.

 “Let’s leave.”

 “I’m not ready-”

 “Get your sword, hurry.”

 “My squire has it. What’s the rush?”

 “Good morrow,” Borros had already crossed the yard towards her. He nodded. “Lady Alicent.”

Alicent glanced to make sure Daemon had left. Seeing no trace of him, she turned to Borros. “Good luck on the field today.” She said. “Do not risk yourself.”

Borros looked absently at his chainmail glove, avoiding her eyes. “It never occurred to me that you’d be concerned for my safety.”

Gwayne looked between them, frowning.

 “I…simply do not wish for anyone to be injured.” Alicent said.

Borros finally met her eyes. “You are too gentle, my lady,” he said. “You needn’t worry. I intend to be, at the very least, among the last men standing.” He seemed to notice Gwayne for the first time. “And good luck to you, Ser. You are Lady Alicent’s brother, are you not?” He extended a hand. “If we are paired, I hope you will not begrudge me. I am competitive by nature.”

Gwayne took his hand slowly, looking at Alicent again. “Not at all, Ser Borros.”

 “Well,” Borros looked one last time at Alicent. “I will see you again in the stands, my lady.”

 “Yes, of course.”

There was silence between the Hightower siblings as he left. 

 “What…?” Gwayne began.

 “Don’t ask.”

 “No, I will ask because it can’t be my imagination that he was over-familiar with you just now.”

 “I don’t wish to speak of it.”

 “Are you…” Gwayne’s voice became a hiss. “Dallying with both him and the Prince?”

 “Gwayne!”

 “Because if so, I must remind you that I am honour-bound to defend you and I would appreciate it if you did not incur the consecutive wraths of two of the best swordsmen in the Realm!”

 “Do not insult me.” Alicent snapped. “The Baratheons have proposed a marriage between myself and Borros to Father. That is all.”

 “Oh,” Gwayne’s sandy eyebrows rose high. “That’s all? That’s all, is it?”

 “Stop.” 

 “I take it that Father still remains unaware of your and Daemon’s-”

 “ Hush, Gwayne,” Alicent hissed, glancing at the squire’s turned back. “Gods.”

 “Are you not worried about your two lovers going up against one another in a bout?”

 “I don’t have two lovers!”

 “Does the Prince know you received a proposal from him?”

Alicent was silent.

 “Sister,” Gwayne said. “You’re going to get that nice young man killed.”

 “Just leave the topic alone now.”

 “What are we speaking of?” Laenor asked, coming from the Keep and straight into the conversation with his usual abandon. 

Alicent and Gwayne moved apart slightly.

 “Nothing.” Alicent muttered.

 “Are you not competing?” Gwayne changed the subject. 

 “I thought I would sit in the stands this time,” Laenor said. “Perhaps you could fight in my honour, Gwayne.” 

 “I’d sooner fight for a comely maiden.” Gwayne said.

Laenor smiled. “Of course you would.”

The sound of horns came from across the yard; Targaryen servants signalled the beginning of the ceremonial opening. 

 “You’re in the Royal Box, sister,” Gwayne said, giving her a final disapproving look. “You’ll be late.”

Alicent nodded and left for the carriages, grateful to leave the conversation. Upon stepping inside the waiting carriage, she was just in time to see Otto walking into the yard in his usual dour colours. His eyes found her before the carriage could pull away and Alicent felt her blood run cold at the expression on his face. He held a letter with a Valeish seal, scrunched like a ball in his hand.

Chapter Text

“She seems somewhat distracted,” Laenor said. “Your sister.”

 “Indeed.” Gwayne signalled to his squire to prepare his lances and ready to head to the tourney site. “Occasionally, I feel like I don’t know her as well as I did.”

 “It’s hard to believe that you’re the older sibling.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “Only that you exude an air of youth.”

 “You’re insulting me.”

 “I’m not.”

 “You are.”

 “I’m not.”

 “You-” Gwayne caught sight of his father standing on the steps of the courtyard. Otto turned to meet his eye and Gwayne’s stomach dropped. “I’m dead.”

 “Don’t be ridiculous,” Laenor said. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. Just land on your arms rather than your head, that’s the trick.” 

 “I’ll be long gone by then.”

 “What do you-?”

 “Gwayne!” Otto snapped his fingers. “Here now.” He barely acknowledged Laenor, but managed a nod out of propriety. “Forgive us, Ser Laenor. A family matter.”

Laenor frowned, looking between them. “It’s almost time for Ser Gwayne to attend the lists, Lord Hand.”

 “Please,” Gwayne said, holding up his hand to stay his squire. “Don’t make it worse.” 

As soon as Gwayne and Otto stood in a quiet corner of the yard, Otto rounded on him.

 “Tell me what happened in the Vale between your sister and the Prince,” his father was so angry that he was barely in command of his senses. “Speak.” 

Gwayne swallowed. “It isn’t really…my place…”

 “Son,” Otto said and Gwayne was caught off guard at the term of address. “The future of our House depends on the circumstances. If this letter,” he held it aloft, crushed almost beyond recognition; the seal appeared Valeish but Gwayne couldn’t place it as only half of it was visible. “Speaks true then we are ruined. Ruined, do you understand me? After all of the sacrifices I have made so that we may enjoy an elevated position. So tell me immediately: what happened between them?”

Gwayne closed his eyes momentarily before he spoke. “I…do know that Alicent and the Prince appear to have an attachment to each other-”

 “Did he display his preference for her in front of Lady Jeyne and the nobles of the Vale?” 

 “Display-?”

 “Did he kiss her?” The word was spat like poison from his mouth.

 “Oh.” Gwayne said. “Well.”

 “Did he?”

 “From what I could see,” Gwayne said slowly. “It was Alicent who kissed him.”

Otto reeled back, taking two paces away to recalibrate himself. 

 “Father,” Gwayne said hurriedly. “I must say, however much you dislike the Prince and though it may have been ill-advised to make such a thing known, I really do think that the Prince’s intentions towards Alicent are somewhat honourable-”

Otto wheeled back and Gwayne felt the sting of the strike on his cheek. He saw Laenor react out of the corner of his eye and tried to ignore him. Being slapped by his father was no rare occasion, but to all in public was more than embarrassing. 

 “Are you really that much of a fool?” Otto’s voice was barely audible. “That man plays with your sister to humiliate me. And if he really did put on that disgusting display for all to see then he has succeeded in his pursuit. What man will have her now? Now that she has been defiled out of wedlock?”

 “Father,” Gwayne rubbed the back of his hand against his throbbing cheek. “There’s no proof that she was defiled as you say.”

 “It doesn’t matter. One kiss in front of a gathering is enough for such rumours to fly and her reputation to be sullied.”

Gwayne wasn’t about to mention that he had first seen them together when they had been conversing in Alicent’s bedroom; it would most likely push his father to an assassination plot. “I have never seen Alicent show favour to any admirer before,” he said. “Nor have I seen the Prince be anything other than a brute. But they actually seem to…complement each other in a way-”

 “This humiliation cannot continue and must be punished,” Otto said, beginning to pace as his mind worked. “I will speak to the King and have Daemon banished for what he has done. The Seasnake seeks able warriors; perhaps he can put him to work and if the gods have any grace at all, he will die out there in those barren fields.” He turned back to Gwayne. “As for your sister, she will be confined in Oldtown until I decide what to do with her. We might be able to claw back some respect if she is sent to the Reach’s Sept to repent for a few years and then perhaps I can convince a family like the Strongs to still have her-”

 “Father,” Gwayne said, horrified. “The fallen girls sent to the Sept are treated like slaves. How can you even think of sending Alicent there?”

 “How can I not?” Otto hissed. “Do you suppose this is the future I had in mind for her? She has made her own bed to lie in by doing what I warned her time and time again to never do. Perhaps if her spirit is humbled by the Septas she will realise how fine a life her father gave her-”

 “You will not,” Gwayne said, with heat. “Send Alicent to the Sept. I will not allow it.”

There was a silence as Otto absorbed his words. He looked towards his son slowly. “What did you say?”

Although his heart was hammering, Gwayne stood firm. “I said, I will not allow it. My sister is no fallen woman and I will not let her suffer there.”

 “You will do as I bid you.”

 “This time, I cannot.”

 “It is your duty to show your obedience to me as the head of our House.”

 “My duty is to defend my sister with my life,” Gwayne said. “If you wish to send Alicent to the Sept to be beaten and starved, you will do it when I am cold in my grave.”

Otto and Gwayne faced each other silently, the soft din of the knights and squires around them the, rattle of the carriages as they left the yard.

 “I’ll marry her.” Laenor said.

Gwayne looked to the left disbelievingly. “How long have you been there?”

 “Please, Ser Laenor, I am having a private discussion with my son.” Otto said through gritted teeth.

 “I’m just saying,” Laenor said. “If your worry is that she will never find a fine husband, I will marry her. So there’s no need to send her away.”

Otto put his hand to his face as Gwayne stared at Laenor, unable to speak.

 “A jest.” Laenor said, holding his hands up. “I thought I would try to diffuse the situation.”

 “Go away.” Gwayne said. “Please.”

 “Have you asked Daemon if he will marry her?” Laenor said. “I heard he is now a free man after Lady Rhea asked for their vows to be dissolved.”

 “How do you know these things?” Gwayne demanded.

Otto focused his attention on Laenor for the first time. “Does Lady Rhea’s decision have anything to do with Alicent?”

 “Daemon wasn’t just playing with her, my Lord Hand,” Laenor said. “I was there. I saw the two of them. He was courting her.”

Gwayne could practically see the wheels in Otto’s brain turning. 

 “Daemon…” Otto murmured, eyes unfocused. “Courting…my daughter.”

 “Father?” Gwayne waved his hand before Otto’s face, afraid he might pass out. “Are you alright?”

 “Rather than have him banished, why don’t you order the King to have him wed her?” Laenor said. “It would save her honour. And any children she bore would be in the line of succession. Surely that would gain House Hightower more respect than secreting its daughter to the Sept.”

Both Gwayne and Otto looked at Laenor like he had just sprouted a talking second head.

 “I fear this is too much for one day.” Gwayne said. 

 “Yes, that is… too much to consider all at once.” Was all Otto could manage.

 “Well,” Laenor said, bright smile enduring. “If I know how fast news travels, I would consider it with a swiftness, Lord Hand.”

.

The roar of the crowd was a cacophony by the time Alicent reached the stands. Her thumb was bleeding, she had peeled away the skin in the carriage with her front teeth. She hated to admit it but Daemon had been right. She should never have used the hourglass to erase the revelation he had made to Otto. It had been the worst-case scenario in Alicent’s mind at the time, but now the situation was even worse. 

Perhaps part of the reason she had stalled was the fact that Otto had wished her dead rather than wed to his enemy.

She had spent a lifetime courting her father’s approval and to hear him speak those words had crushed the small, remaining glimmer of that adoring child that she had been; always looking up at him, admiring his silver tongue, earnest for his praise. 

Ascending to the Royal Box, she wavered on the steps. She should wait for him. The idea of his eyes boring into the back of her neck as she sat in front with Rhaenyra was unbearable. 

Still . Alicent cast her eyes upwards to the stands. She didn’t know if she was ready to face him.

She picked up her skirts and made her way up after all. Maybe it would be better if she thought of what to say first, how to explain it.

Daemon would soon have his marriage dissolved by the Sept, the vows he had made rendered null. He would be free to marry her without obstacle. If, indeed, he still wanted her by then.

I will not be the foolish girl that I was, Alicent thought. And imagine that his lust for me will remain the same forever. 

She was no Rhaenyra, no mystical Targaryen beauty: she was just Alicent Hightower and she knew that men’s love waned. All the men in her former life, from her husband to her father to her sons to even her own sworn knight’s, had eventually turned to disinterest. 

Even if she was no longer cursed or paralyzed by fear - she was still no stranger to betrayal. 

Seeing that insipid Vale maid place her hand on Daemon had been enough to incense the old, buried darkness from whence she had once drawn enough ire to reach for a knife to cut out a child’s eye. 

She had thought that that side of her she had managed to smooth into a shadow that sat at the bottom of her soul, never to be roused again. But somehow, Daemon had roused it. 

Daemon would eventually, she was sure, take a lover, leave her alone to fend for herself for months or even years on end. Perhaps he would even prefer to seek Rhaenyra’s company, unable to erase her from his mind.

Yes. She would not be a fool again. 

Even though, the idea that he may one day turn from her was more painful than any slash from a jagged knife, she would not give into hope just for it to be cut out for a second time. 

 “Finally!” Rhaenyra said as she took her seat beside her. “I thought you fell in the lake or something.”

Alicent managed a smile. “I…was waylaid a great deal.”

 “By your many lovers?” Rhaenyra grinned.

 “What?” Alicent said sharply.

 “I heard some court gossip that you are being courted by both Jason Lannister and Harwin Strong.” Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows. “Not that either of them are worthy of you.”

 “I’m glad to hear that you at least have a high opinion of me.” Alicent smiled. For now.

 “Why did you not say something?”

 “My father only just told me.” Well, it had been some days, but Alicent would rather not relay all of the distress she had felt since.

 “Tell me you sent that horrid ponce from Casterly Rock away with a flea in his ear.” Rhaenyra said.

 “I told him that if he did not compete in this tourney to win my heart then I would have nothing to do with him.” 

 “Indeed.”

 “And then I had him thrown into the moat.”

 “As I would expect.” Rhaenyra said. 

 “Despite the fact that we don’t have a moat.” 

 “I imagine you had them build one.”

 “I did.”

Rhaenyra rested her chin on her fist. “I suppose Harwin Strong is more handsome. It’s a shame he’s not high-born enough for your father to approve of him.”

Alicent looked at Rhaenyra side-long. “He has other fine qualities.” 

Rhaenyra smiled widely. “So he’s the one who has your heart.”

Alicent paused, checking over her shoulder. Viserys was deep in conversation with Rhaenys and Corlys, her father’s seat was empty. No one seemed to be paying much attention. “Rhaenyra,” she heard her own voice speak without truly bidding it. “I must…tell you something.”

Rhaenyra frowned at the shift in her tone. “What is it? You’re not really getting married, are you?”

 “I am.” Alicent said and was unable to believe that she had, in fact, spoken the words.

Rhaenyra’s eyes became saucers. “ To whom?! ”

Alicent listened to the thump of her heart against her chest. “You know of him.” She said. “Please do not be angered when I tell you.”

 “I will not, I swear it,” Rhaenyra now looked truly worried. “Tell me it’s not the Lannister.”

 “It’s not the Lannister.”

 “Then, Ser Harwin?”

 “No.”

 “You have a third suitor?!”

 “In fact,” Alicent smiled despite herself, thinking to make her laugh along. “Father did also say that Borros Baratheon wished for my hand.”

Rhaenyra’s mouth fell open. “You’re marrying Borros Baratheon?”

 “No, I-”

 “Alicent!” Rhaenyra took her hands, beaming excitedly. “What a good match! Now you can remain at court with me, for Storm’s End is only just east of the Kingswood! I am relieved indeed!”

 “Oh.” Alicent said. “I-”

Rhaenyra squeezed her hand. “I’m so happy I will not lose you! You must still spend at least as much time with me than with him.”

 “Rhaenyra-”

 “Welcome to our grand guests of the Realm! ” The tourney master’s boom rang like a bell throughout the stands, the Targaryen crest blazing red upon his chest. “ To the Heir’s Tournament, in celebration of the birth of our next King!”

Rheanyra leaned into Alicent, nudging her. “If this babe is a girl, how I shall laugh. I have already named my new sister Visenya.” 

The cheers of the crowd almost succeeded in drowning out Alicent’s thoughts. The Houses taking part in the first bouts came forward to raise their banners.

Alicent felt a chill at her back and turned to see that her father had seated himself behind her. Their eyes briefly met. She decided that she would not dissect whatever expression he was giving her.

Alicent turned back to the jousting lanes.

Perhaps I am still cursed after all. She thought. 

.

Daemon did not take part in the initial bouts, so it was fairly difficult to find him. Gwayne spun a lie to the tourney master about requiring ‘extra preparation time’ and ignored the raised eyebrow he was given. No doubt they thought he was craven, but he had to find Daemon first. 

When the Prince finally was discovered, he was standing with his sword balanced in his hands, keeping warm by slashing at straw targets. Gwayne would have preferred to have found him without a weapon poised. 

 “My Prince,” Gwayne said, with an authority he didn’t feel or believe. “I would a moment of your time!”

Daemon’s arm stilled and his eyes slid to the left. “Ser Gwayne.”

Gwayne was touched, despite everything. “You know my name.”

Daemon stabbed the blade of his sword in the earth. “Should I not?”

 “I,” Gwayne gathered his earlier confidence once more. “Have something to say to you.”

 “Oh?”

 “It’s about Alicent.”

Daemon was silent. 

 “My father has received a letter from a Valesman revealing your… um, what happened while we attended Lady Jeyne’s feast.”

 “He did, did he?” Daemon said. “Somehow that snake’s put spies in every corner of this kingdom.”

Gwayne decided to ignore that. “So, I am here, as Alicent’s brother, to command you to do your duty.” Gwayne said, stoutly. “You will restore her honour with a proposal of marriage. Or I will officially challenge you.”

The silence that ensued was incredibly loud.

Daemon looked him up and down. “Challenge me?”

 “Y-yes.” Gwayne said, his voice breaking only slightly. “To a duel. An honour-bound duel to the death.”

Daemon glanced around him. It seemed like he was trying not to laugh. “I see.”

 “And that also extends to any mistreatment of my sister. I will not tolerate a man’s disrespect towards her - her husband or a Prince though you be.”

 “It’s interesting,” Daemon was looking towards the sky. “For a family known for their sharp minds, you Hightowers often lack even the most basic judgement.” 

Gwayne didn’t have time to think of what he meant by that. Daemon took his sword from the ground.

 “Why not challenge me now?” Daemon enquired. “I have already taken her. Why wait?”

Gwayne put his own hand to his sword, attempting to stand firm. “I would want to avoid leaving my sister with a broken heart, in case I killed you.”

Daemon paused and then laughed, a genuine laugh, for the first time in a while, his hand going to cover his face. 

Gwayne stood there, not knowing whether to be insulted, agree or cry. 

 “There now, Ser Gwayne,” Daemon said, recovering. “I think you have made your point.”

 “Oh,” Gwayne said, feeling like a child complimented on a drawing. “Thank you.”

 “I intend to take your sister to wife as soon as this tourney is at an end.” Daemon said. “I would have taken her from the Vale, but for her protests. I trust that will be sufficient?”

 “Oh, um, yes,” Gwayne said. “Well, yes. That’s… fine. Good.”

 “Is there anything else?”

Gwayne began to back away. “No,” he said lightly. “No, not-”

 “It’s good to see you once again, my Prince!”

Gwayne, as grateful as he was to be interrupted, felt like he recognised the young knight that drew up beside him. From the clean sheen of his armour it seemed like he had not yet competed in the bouts. His tunic depicted a wheel with its spoke missing. 

Daemon rocked his sword back and forth with the heel of his palm, his smile gone. “Do I know you?”

 “We met at Lady Jeyne’s feast.” The knight said. He looked to be no older than twenty with curling brown hair. He glanced at Gwayne beside him. “And I believe you were there too. You are Lady Alicent’s brother, are you not?”

 “Yes.” Gwayne said. “Forgive me, I don’t think we-?”

 “Walter Waynwood.” The knight said.

 “Of course, House Waynwood.” The only thing Gwayne truly knew about that Valeish House was that they were vassals of House Arryn and that the members were considered highly traditional in their values.

Walter turned back to Daemon. “It was quite an eventful evening.”

Daemon regarded him with a certain coldness. “Was it? As I remember it was dreadfully boring as all feasts in the Vale tend to be.”

Walter didn’t flinch. “Lady Alicent certainly made it entertaining.”

Gwayne’s brow creased. “What do you mean by that, Ser?”

 “Your sister, the only daughter of the Lord Hand, publicly kissed a married man, thereby declaring herself his bedmate. And in doing so, she flaunted her disrespect to House Royce.” Walter said. “I’ve never seen such a grotesque display.”

Gwayne stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”

 “I mean that your sister is not deserving of her position as the Princess’s companion,” Walter said, his expression never changing although there was an undercurrent of spite to his voice. “I am glad that my father’s letter finally reached the Hand. I hope he acts with haste and the girl is sent to the Sept for the proper correction.”

Before Gwayne could speak, Daemon did. He had advanced within half a second and now faced down the Waynwood boy, with what could only be described as violent intent.

 “You must be mad,” Daemon seemed to be considering which part to sever first. “To speak so in my presence.”

Walter moved back slightly, out of full stabbing range. “My House may not be as mighty as yours, my Prince,” he said. “But it is still a proud one. I am under the King’s protection as I stand here as a competitor in his games. You will not attack me as if I were some common-born from King’s Landing.”

 “We clearly haven’t met.” Daemon said, gripping Dark Sister’s hilt.

 “My Prince,” Gwayne said sharply. “He is right. He is a nobleman. You cannot strike him down for an insult.”

Daemon glanced at him. “Even though he insults your sister?”

 “It is an insult that I will respond to, as her brother,” Gwayne said. He faced Walter. “You have not been called to bout, have you, Ser? Request to face me.”

Walter smiled. “Do you think that’s wise? I have seen you at tourneys before, Ser Gwayne, you are nothing much to be feared.”

 “That may be so.” Gwayne said. “But I do not have to be in order to knock a worm like you to the ground.”

Walter placed a hand on his sword belt. “Very well.” He said. “I will speak to the tourney master.” He turned on his heel. “I am sure he will permit the request, given that you city folk are so keen for a spectacle.”

As he walked away, Gwayne managed to exhale. He had acted without thinking, but he didn’t regret it. Even if he did lose, he had still defended Alicent which was his duty to do.

“Boy,” Daemon said. He had been regarding him with a slightly increased interest all this time. “The Valeish ride mountain-faring horses from the cradle, they ride like madmen in the jousts. You might have just signed your own death warrant.”

Gwayne smiled. “We have horses in Oldtown too, my Prince.”

Daemon was almost impressed. “Very well.” He said. “Go and kill the Vale rat.”

 “Well,” Gwayne faltered. “I didn’t really think to kill anyone-”

 “Don’t pick up a weapon unless you intend to use it properly,” Daemon said. He turned away, sheathing his sword. “Your aim is fine, but your bearing is weak. Lean across the rails if you wish to unseat him and put your lance square to his chest. Use your full strength for once, you pull away too quickly.”

Gwayne frowned at him. “I have never faced you in a tourney, my Prince. I don’t think you’ve ever even seen me joust.”

Daemon didn’t respond. He headed towards the stables, leaving Gwayne to prepare for his challenge. 

.

“The Queen has begun her labours!” Viserys announced to a roar of approval from the crowd. 

Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra. It was all as it had been before. She remembered, as if from a distant dream, Rhaenyra’s nervous face, her cheering too hard at the bouts in order to forget what was happening inside the castle. The brand-new heir, her replacement, and her mother.

Alicent gritted her teeth. She had a horrible pit in her stomach, a sinking feeling.

The Baratheons were among the first to bout. Boremund and Borros both had a tendency to crash against their opponent at full force, but their aim was often poor. 

Still, just the force was enough to send their first opponents flying. 

 “The bout goes to Ser Borros Baratheon!”

Rhaenyra nudged Alicent. 

Alicent chewed on her thumbnail as Borros raised his lance. She heard Rhaenys say from behind her, “He’s grown up well, that lad. I daresay he’ll be the image of his father when he’s old enough.”

 “They say Storm’s End has fine woods and fields,” Rhaenyra whispered to her. “You will find many pleasant spots to go and read whenever you wish.”

Alicent rubbed her fingers against her temples. “Yes.” Was all she could say.

The bouts continued, the banners of the Realm’s Houses raised and lowered. Alicent couldn’t remember if there was any difference at all in who won what this time around. 

The tourney master presented himself in the middle of the field, bowing. “At your pleasure, my King, two knights have requested to face each other in the next bout!”

The crowd seemed to approve, a collective cry of interest. Rarely did anyone request to face each other in what was essentially the preliminary matches. 

Viserys smiled indulgently and lifted his hand.

 “The King gives his consent!” 

The crowd roared in approval.

Rhaenyra leaned across to see the banner that approached. “Gods,” Alicent heard her say.

 “What?”

 Rhaenyra turned to her, her brow creased. “It’s your brother.”

 “What?” Alicent was stunned. Gwayne would never request to joust anyone. 

 “Our first opponent,” The tourney master announced. “Ser Gwayne Hightower, the first son of the Hand of the King!”

Alicent turned to look at her father, who was also looking at the field in confusion. So this wasn’t one of his plots. What was going on?

 “Facing him,” the tourney master continued. “Ser Walter Waynwood, second son of House Waynwood!” 

 “Do they know each other?” Rhaenyra hissed.

 Waynwood. Alicent tried to remember where she had heard that name recently. She felt as though she had. 

 “What is that boy doing?” She heard Otto mutter behind her.

Alicent turned, daring to break the silence between them. “Father, did you know of this?”

Her father fixed her with a look. 

Alicent turned back. Clearly, he was not ready to speak to her. 

Looking at Waynwood’s crest: green and black, the spoke of a wheel missing; Alicent tried to think of who this man could be.

It was only as Gwayne and Walter faced each other on either side of the field that she remembered all at once. The Vale. Lady Jeyne. A man introducing himself as Waynwood. And the letter, the Valeish seal. It was the Waynwood’s crest.

 “Seven Hells.” Alicent whispered. She didn’t know what had happened that they would challenge each other, but she knew it must have to do with her. 

As the two pelted toward each other, lances lowered, Alicent felt a horrible sense of dread. The thunder of hooves or the pounding of her own heart, she couldn’t tell anymore. 

The clash sent Gwayne’s horse veering right, giddied by the impact. His lance had split down the middle. But Walter had been thrown back, his arm dragging his lance behind him on the ground. The crowd was cheering.

Rhaenyra gripped Alicent’s hand. “That was good!” She whispered. 

Alicent couldn’t manage a smile.

The horses reached the squires. Walter heaved himself upright and Gwayne was thrown his new lance, he caught it deftly. He aimed just as Daemon had told him, straight for the chest, trying not to lean back too far so he could catch his opponent full force. If he could just repeat what he had done before, it would be over. 

The seconds were slow. Alicent felt as if it all might be a dream: watching Gwayne ghost along the field and then the unreality of seeing her brother’s neck snap against the side of his opponent’s lance. The sight of him falling to the ground, the crowd’s cheering. 

She felt herself lift to her feet and run to the side of the box.

Gwayne lay in the dirt, unmoving.

The crowd’s cheers became screams.

Beside her was suddenly her father. He yelled at the squires gesturing wildly.

 “Ser Gwayne has been felled!” The tourney master’s voice was like the voice of a god from above, pure doom.

Alicent’s heart went from fast to calm, though a faintness filled her body as she realised her brother was dead.

Don’t panic. She told herself, unlatching her hourglass. Time belongs to me.

Chapter Text

A voice from behind her, “He’s grown up well, that lad. I daresay he’ll be the image of his father when he’s old enough.”

Alicent swallowed the bile that had risen in her throat as she had shifted time, looking around at the field. Borros had just won his first bout. She had upturned as much sand as the hourglass contained, the full serving of time that could be spared.

 “They say Storm’s End has fine woods and fields,” Rhaenyra was saying. “You will find many pleasant spots to go-”

 “I’m not going to Storm’s End!” Alicent snapped. 

Rhaenyra stared at her. “I-”

 “I’m not marrying Borros and I’m not living at Storm’s End. Gods, Rhaenyra, listen to the end of sentences for once!” Alicent flew to her feet. She didn’t have time to sit here and talk about this meaningless drivel. She had to find her brother before he got himself killed because of her. Forget the Queen, forget Rhaenyra and Daemon and every Targaryen in existence and her past and her future. 

She would not allow Gwayne to die because of her, no matter what she had to do. 

Alicent raced out of the Royal Box, down the stairs, tripping over her skirts on the very last stair and nearly breaking her fall in the dirt as she skidded outside. It was about five minutes to the jousting site, Gwayne would be waiting for his turn on the right hand of the rails. She could make it in time if she ran full speed. 

Alicent didn’t think about what a sight she must look as she tore past the servants, the stable boys, squires, stray nobles taking this opportunity not to watch the joust but to rub elbows with other Houses, drinking wine in the open air. 

Alicent was almost clotheslined by Daemon as he stepped into her path. He was the only other person in the world who knew when she had shifted time and she should have known that he would come to find her.

 “Don’t stop me!” She huffed, but he did. He held her tight, lifting her from her feet. “I said, don’t stop me!” She aimed a fist at his chest, pain running down her wrist at the impact on his armour. “I need to save him!”

 “I know.” Daemon said. “I saw.” 

 “He died because of me.”

 “You turned the hourglass; he’s alive.”

 “He cannot face that Waynwood boy.”

 “I’ll take care of it.”

Alicent twisted so her face was pressed close to Daemon’s. “I will kill you if you get in my way.”

Daemon set her down on the ground, whirling her to face him. He shook her as if to wake her. “I said, I will take care of it, Alicent.” He spoke firmly, Alicent could see he was containing a temper that might otherwise have been on display.

 “No.”

 “Go back to the box.”

 “Your interference will only make the situation worse!”

 “We’re wasting seconds speaking here.” Daemon said, letting her go. “Go back now.”

Alicent stood in the middle of the field, mud on her skirts, her hair a mess, heaving breaths into the autumn air. She watched his retreating back, her mind flying from one doubt to the other.

Could she trust him? 

She heard the crowd roar as another bout was won. She had no choice. She was already out of time. 

Gwayne took a steadying breath. He felt good. The lance felt perfect in his hand, like an extension of his body. He saw the signal to approach the tourney site and pushed his horse forward, his focus the same as it had been when he approached the training field as a boy. Read the opponent, be aware of your surroundings, don’t-

Someone snatched the top plate of his armour from behind and dragged him to the ground. Gwayne barely had time to react before he hit the ground.

 “Who-?!” He gasped, struggling to his feet. His eyes met Daemon. “My…Prince?”

Daemon dragged him to his feet by his shoulder. “Is this armour just for show?” He snapped, grabbing Gwayne’s helmet from his head and inspecting it. “You made sure to form this ridiculous tower shape in the middle of it and then neglect the neck? The stupidity of your House never ceases to amaze me.” 

Gwayne stared at him incredulously. “Why are you angry with me?”

Daemon threw his helmet to the ground. “You!” He snapped at the Hightower squire, who flinched. “You send your lord to the joust with this chunk of scrap as protection? You should have your head taken from your shoulders.”

 “Please don’t threaten my squire.” Gwayne said, coming to stand between them as the squire cowered. “My Prince, I am perfectly capable-”

 “I will face Waynwood.” Daemon said. 

 “What?”

 “I will face him in your stead.”

 “No,” Gwayne put his hand to the saddle, tightening his grip. “My Prince, I cannot allow that.”

 “You will do as you’re told.” Daemon said, not just with the authority of a Prince but with the authority of a father of many, a man who had lived for far longer than his looks would suggest.

Gwayne drew himself up. “You are not to command me in this, my Prince,” he said, stoutly. “I have staked my honour. If it was your sister, would you allow another man to answer in your place?”

Daemon paused. For the first time, Gwayne felt as if he had actually said something that resonated. 

 “It must be me.” Gwayne said. 

 “Then wear a real helmet.” Daemon said finally. “And when I tell you to lean over the railings I don’t mean drop all guard from the neck up. Your father should have taught you this.”

 “My father…doesn’t joust.”

 “Of course.” Daemon muttered. “You Hightowers should just stick to writing strong-worded letters.”

 “You were encouraging me mere moments ago!” Gwayne snapped. “Now you think I cannot handle this bout? You should mind your own matters!”

Daemon looked at him.

 “Um,” Gwayne backtracked. “My Prince.” 

Daemon’s eyes found his own squire, catching up to his steps like an obedient dog. “Fetch Ser Gwayne my spare helmet.” He said.

 “Yes, my Prince.”

 “Your helmet?” Gwayne frowned. “The one with the little dragon ears?”

Daemon glared at him. “They’re not dragon ears, you fool. And they’re not ‘little’.” 

 “Are they…dragon spines?”

 “I’m not wasting any more air conversing with you.” Daemon dragged a hand down his face. “You owe your life to the fact that I am to wed your sister.”

 “My life?”

 “Just do as I fucking say.” Daemon shoved him back. “On your horse.”

 “You’re the one who pulled me off!” Gwayne called after him. 

 “Are you…alright, my lord?” The squire ventured, looking pale. “The Prince seemed out of sorts with you.”

Gwayne sighed heavily. “My new brother by marriage,” he muttered. “How I wish Alicent had chosen that nice boy from Harrenhall instead.” 

Trudging up the stairs to the Royal Box, Alicent was too nervous to give in to her mounting exhaustion. Would she have never gone to the Vale in the first place and set off this ridiculous chain reaction of events. It wasn’t just that the past was changing piece by piece, but whole swathes of the future were being cut. 

She touched the edges of her hourglass. Thank the gods she still had the remedy to correct her mistakes. Or at least, one full turn left before the next full moon. 

A Maester climbed the steps beside her, reaching the stands and making for her father. Alicent watched him pick his way along the row of onlookers, bending down to whisper in Otto’s ear. 

Otto nodded and then he caught sight of Alicent standing at the end of the row. He waved the Maester away.

 Viserys looked at Otto. “Everything is progressing smoothly, I take it?”

 “Oh,” Otto’s eyes danced from him to Alicent. “Yes. The Maester informs me that the Queen is still labouring hard. I think it best that we allow her space.”

 “Yes,” Viserys glanced back. “You’re most likely right.”

Otto already had a hundred things on his mind: most of them involved Alicent, the letter, Daemon. Even he didn’t have the wherewithal to tackle all at once. His daughter first and then he would attend to the matter of the royal birth. He started to leave his seat. 

“At your pleasure, my King, two knights have requested to face each other in the next bout!” The tourney master bowed before the Royal Box.

Viserys laughed. “What’s this silliness now? A challenge in the first bouts, indeed.” He raised his hand to give assent. “Perhaps we are serving too much wine.” 

Otto frowned at the banners being presented. Why was one of them his? 

He looked back at Alicent who avoided his gaze and left for her seat.

Rhaenyra glanced up at her as Alicent sat beside her, wordless.

Alicent swallowed hard. “I ask your forgiveness, Rhaenyra.” She whispered. “I am not in the best temper today.”

Rhaenyra’s hand found hers, warm and pressing hard. “What’s wrong?” She whispered. “Do you think you cannot tell me anything anymore?”

Alicent looked at her. The girl looked like she was on the verge of tears.

 “You used to talk to me all the time,” Rhaenyra said, dolefully. “And these days, sometimes, it’s like you’re a different person. I cannot say what it is, but just…the way you speak sometimes. It frightens me.”

 “I-” Alicent began.

 “Alicent!” Rhaenyra broke her off, noticing the Hightower banner. “Your brother!”

Alicent’s head spun, looking out on the field. Was this Daemon’s idea of help? It was all happening again just as it had done. Catching sight of her brother, she saw that his helmet was different. He was wearing a heavy, steel helmet with a slitted visor.

 “It’s a wonder he can see in that thing.” Rhaenyra murmured. 

 “Let us speak after this.” Alicent said. “I will tell you everything, Rhaenyra.”

 Rhaenyra caught her eye and smiled.

Well, Alicent thought. I will tell you as much as I can.

So this was to help, making it so his neck could not be caught by the lance. Alicent hoped that this was enough to change the course of things. 

The two opponents faced each other, lances lowered.

Alicent’s hands became fists. If that Waynwood boy was really responsible for the letter and if Gwayne was responding in kind, perhaps she could find a way to kill Waynwood anyway. Did Lady Jeyne want her to reveal the secret of her bastard to all? She would do so, if pushed. She would burn the Vale to the ground if they kept daring to test her. 

 “Kill him, brother!” Alicent bit the words out loud. “Aim for the head!”

Everyone in the stands turned to stare at her, including Viserys and Otto, shock clear on their faces.

 “This is what I mean when I say you frighten me sometimes.” Rhaenyra said. 

Gwayne, who couldn’t hear his sister but had already had a similar conversation with Daemon, began his approach down the jousting lane. Although it was harder to see from this ancient helmet he had been made to wear. It was something that one would only see from a soldier headed into a war heavy with artillery - something that would protect one from the flames of a fire-fought battle. Of course the Prince had one just lying around. 

As they struck each other, Gwayne felt his opponent’s lance skirt from his shoulder. He rolled his shoulder back to lessen the impact and his own lance skittered over Waynwood’s breastplate. Both knights had missed their mark. 

The crowd didn’t hesitate to show their displeasure at this weak start.

Gwayne cursed and pushed his horse toward the squire where his second lance was waiting.

 “Are you a simpering maiden?!” Daemon was waiting for him in his corner. “Strike to kill, Hightower!”

Why is he following me? Gwayne sighed inwardly. He caught his second lance with his outstretched hand.

Laenor had made his way to the front of the Royal Box. He was tapping his chest on the right side. 

What does that fool want now? It took Gwayne a moment to realise that Laenor was signalling to him to aim for the right. Laenor was yet a boy of seventeen, but he had seen battle, he knew from his father how to judge where a man was weak. He seemed to think that the Waynwood was leaving his right side open.

Gwayne only had half a second to work with. He changed the trajectory of his lance, this time finding the exact spot at his opponent’s shoulder. It wasn’t exactly recommended to hit a man’s dominant shoulder: often a recipe for failure. But Waynwood did seem to have his guard lowered. The boy was aiming for Gwayne’s head. 

Gwayne felt Waynwood’s lance glint the side of his helmet. The sound was so loud that it made him recoil immediately, but his own aim was true.

Waynwood left the seat of his horse and rolled headfirst over the railing where he landed on his back.

 The crowd began to cheer wildly.

 “The victor, Ser Gwyane Hightower!” 

Gwayne felt the air leave his lungs. He looked up at the Royal Box to see Laenor and Alicent standing at the forefront. His sister looked like she had tears in her eyes. She must have been worried about him.

He lifted his lance to her and bowed. 

Alicent gripped Laenor’s shoulder. “He did it.” She whispered.

 “Of course he did.” Laenor tried to contain himself, his arm around her. He lifted his other to Gwayne. 

Gwayne didn’t care what happened from then on out. Even if he lost every bout for the rest of his life; this moment was enough to see him through it.

He returned to his corner and dismounted, taking the heavy helmet from his head with relief. He looked at Daemon pointedly, expecting praise. 

Daemon said nothing.

 “I won.” Gwayne prompted.

 “Somehow.” Daemon said.

 “I think your helmet helped, my Prince,” Gwayne said. “Although I think you were being overly cautious. I thank you.”

 “Thank Alicent.” Daemon said, turning back. 

Gwayne frowned. He, once again, had no idea what he meant by that and would it kill him to dispense with at least a small word of praise? 

Alicent felt as though she could breathe again. She wiped tears of relief from her eyes. She had undone it. She may never be able to forget that it had happened, but it was undone. And Daemon. She felt a new wave of affection for him. He had clearly stepped in and, whatever he had said or done, had helped. 

She felt guilt at how she had spoken to him. She had even threatened his life as he held her in her panic to get to Gwayne. Perhaps he was growing sick of her already.

She found her seat next to Rhaenyra who was clapping still for Gwayne.

 “Tell your brother, ‘well met’!” She smiled. “I hear the Valeish are fine horsemen too.”

 “I will tell him.” Alicent said. “He’ll be happy to have your praise.”

She turned to where her father sat. Her father met her eyes and she could see that even he was glad, despite everything. 

The Maester once again found Otto’s ear as the next match-ups were announced. 

 “The Queen struggles on the delivery bed, Lord Hand.” The Maester murmured. 

 “Is her life in danger?” Otto, who had run thin on patience that day, snapped.

 “Well…not as yet. It’s still a matter of time. There will be no danger if she births in the next hour. The situation changes by the minute.”

Otto considered, glancing at Viserys. In any normal case, he might advise that Viserys go to the birthing chamber to assess the situation himself. In truth, Otto had never really expected for the babe to survive given the Queen’s already-deteriorating health. If the heir was healthy then there would be no need to monopolise Viserys’ time. If the heir was to die, that meant that Daemon was the heir by birthright. Daemon, who his daughter may wed, if such a thing could even be believed. That damn letter had thrown everything off course.

 “If her or the babe’s life is not threatened then carry on as you are.” Otto said. “Let me know if anything changes.”

 “Yes, my Lord Hand.”

Otto's eyes fell on Alicent. He would wait for the jousts to be won and then he would get some answers from her.

Boremund brought his horse before the Royal Box as his banner was hung. “Princess Rhaenys Targaryen! I would humbly ask for the favour of the Queen Who Never Was.”

Alicent watched Rhaenys step forward, favour in hand. She wore an ironic smile on her face. “Good fortune to you, cousin!”

She remembered now. This had happened before. Boremund would be unseated and then Rhaenyra would ask for the knight’s name.

Ser Criston Cole. Her stomach tightened. She had hoped to go another lifetime without seeing his face.

Rhaenyra leaned to Alicent instead. “Do you know this opponent? I’ve never seen his banner.”

 “Oh,” Alicent said. “No.”

Rhaenyra looked at her in surprise. “You usually know everyone.”

 “I’m sure he’s nothing important.”

As if on cue, Ser Criston Cole unseated Boremund in a fell swoop, sending the older man flying into the dirt as he had also done in a previous lifetime.

 “For no one important, he certainly is talented.” Rhaenyra said, she turned to summon Ser Westerling.

 “Actually,” Alicent cut in. “I think I have heard that he is a commonborn son of a steward.”

 “Some common folk have just as much talent as any noble.” Rhaenyra looked at the knight with interest.

Alicent also glanced at Ser Criston as he raised his visor. A familiar, handsome face that she could now only associate with the sadness of her final years as Queen. 

 “I also heard that he is somewhat of a lout.” Alicent said. 

Rhaenyra looked at her. “I thought you didn’t know him.”

 “I remember now, seeing his face,” Alicent said. “I recall someone pointing him out to me, advising that I take care. He is known as a drunk and a scoundrel.”

Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows. “I will make sure to avoid his company then.”

 “As will I.” Alicent said.

 Sorry, Ser Criston. She thought. Not in this life.

The drums sounded again. The black and red Targaryen banner was placed.

Rhaenyra leaned forward in excitement to see the knights line up to be chosen. Alicent twisted her hands together, nervous energy in her chest. 

 “Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!”

Daemon’s black horse galloped past the box. Alicent felt her father’s gaze like a sting in the back of her neck. 

Alicent watched Daemon make his way down the line, the crowd calling out their recommendations from all corners, hoping that their House would have a chance to compete against the Prince. 

Daemon moved his horse past Gwayne to the knight positioned next to him. He lowered his lance.

Alicent put her hand to her face.

 “Ser Borros?” Rhaenyra glanced at her, eyes questioning. It was as if she sensed that something was connected, but couldn’t quite pin down what. 

Alicent tried to ignore the rising aura of consternation behind her from Otto. 

 “The Prince chooses his first opponent, Ser Borros Baratheon! First son of House Baratheon!”

Alicent looked to Daemon as he left for his corner. She should never have told him Borros’ name. 

 “Lady Alicent!”

Surprised, she looked down to see Borros lifting his visor as his brought his horse before the Royal Box. 

 “Ser Borros?”

Borros smiled. “I would be honoured if my lady would bestow her favour upon me.” He lifted his lance high.

Rhaenyra looked like she would die without answers as she looked from Alicent to Borros. 

 “Oh.” Alicent glanced to the right at where Daemon was watching. She didn’t dare look long enough to read his expression. “...Of course.”

She stood and picked a flowered favour from the stand, feeling all eyes on her as she approached him. “Good luck, Ser.” She said, slipping the wreath down his lance.

Borros smiled at her. “Thank you, my lady.” He lowered his visor and made his way back to his corner.

  I’m so sorry. She thought, slinking back to her seat. If only you knew what you had just set yourself up for.

Taking her seat again, Rhaenyra almost knocked her over as she leaned in. “What’s going on between you and Borros? Are you marrying him or not?!”

 “I…haven’t agreed to.” Alicent said. “I swear it.”

 Rhaenyra moved back. “Well he certainly thinks there’s something between you to ask for your favour so early in the games.”

Before she could reply, Daemon’s horse broke like lightning from the corner, going at a breakneck speed. He leaned across the rails and his lance broke against Borros’ shoulder. Borros nearly left his seat, but managed to hold on although the blow must have been painful. Alicent couldn’t help but think that it had been Daemon's design to keep him hanging on for a second strike.

Daemon reached his corner again, his squire toppling over to pass him the second lance.

The crowd cheered over the sound of the galloping horses as they faced each other across the field once more. Daemon and Borros met in the middle and this time Daemon’s lance hit the centre of Borros’ stomach. Although the boy was well-armoured, the force was enough to send him flying out of his seat. He hit the ground hard, his own lance careening through the air. 

The crowd gave an emphatic ‘oh!’ of anticipation and then began to cheer as Borros heaved himself upright.

 “The bout goes to Prince-!” The tourney master broke off as Daemon dismounted in one motion and lifted his hand to his squire.

 “Sword!” 

 “Oh, er - the Prince wishes to continue to the melee!” The tourney master glanced up at the King. 

 “Why is he demanding combat when he has already won the joust?” Viserys muttered. 

Alicent put her hand over her mouth as Daemon advanced towards Borros, sword aloft. 

 “On your feet!” Daemon spat.

Borros glanced at the tourney master and then scrambled upright, motioning to his squire for his own sword. “You have won the bout, my Prince. Have I offended you?”

Daemon waited until Borros' sword was in hand before sweeping his own toward the boy’s head. The crowd reacted as the strike barely missed taking off Borros’ ear. 

 “Why is he fighting him?” Rhaenyra hissed. 

Alicent watched in horror as Daemon continued his attack, forcing Borros up the field. The Baratheon was a fine swordsman, but he was inexperienced and completely outmatched. If Daemon continued, he would surely kill him. 

Alicent turned towards Viserys. “Please, Your Grace-”

 “Your Grace,” Otto interrupted her. “Daemon clearly has a vendetta against the boy. You must stop this madness.”

Viserys sighed heavily. “And in the middle of my son’s tournament too. You would think he would keep his nature in check.” He raised his hand.

 “The King has called for an end to the melee!” The tourney master seemed relieved. 

If Daemon heard him at all, he didn’t show it. He waited until Borros was off balance and then kicked him finally to the ground, standing above him with his sword poised.

The crowd made a noise that was half despair, half excitement; craning their heads to see what would come next. If some had doubted Daemon’s bad reputation, now they no longer would. 

Alicent ran to the side of the box. “Daemon!” She shouted. “Enough! Please!”

Behind her, Viserys caught Otto’s eye with a frown of confusion. Rhaenys and Corlys exchanged a knowing look - they seemed to have at least put a small piece of the puzzle together.

Daemon’s hand paused. After what felt like an age, he took a step back and sheathed his sword, leaving Borros breathing heavily on the dirt.

The crowd applauded with something like relief as he made his way back. The tourney master wiped sweat from his brow. 

Daemon approached Borros’ fallen lance still wrapped with Alicent’s favour. He reached down and slipped the favour from the weapon, holding it in his hand for a moment before throwing it upon the blazing fire of the torch that stood near his banner. The flames spat as they ate at the flowers and twine. 

Daemon then approached the Royal Box, looking up at Alicent from the ground with a darkened expression. 

 “I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent." He said, the edge to his voice making her shiver. "Having your favour would all but assure it.” 

Alicent stared at him. “You burned it.”

 “Then give me something of equal value.” Daemon gestured. “Perhaps the ribbon in your hair.” 

Alicent’s neck burned as she looked down at him. She hesitated for a moment and then loosened the blue ribbon that was tied into her hair from the back and let it fall from her hands.

Daemon caught the ribbon as it floated down in one motion and brought it to his lips. The crowd around them began to murmur amongst themselves loudly.

 “Now watch how much blood I spill for you.” He said. 

Alicent felt the fever reach her face. She followed him with her gaze as he left for his corner, feeling something she had never felt before and hardly dared name.

Behind her, a dozen pairs of eyes were trained upon her. She turned back to see Viserys’ concern, Otto’s chagrin, Rhaenys’ scorn, Corlys’ interest and Rhaenyra-

Rhaenyra met her eyes and, finally, without words, Alicent knew that she knew. 

Rhaenyra looked down at the ground between them, her lips quivering. Then she lifted herself from her seat and pushed past Alicent to leave, racing down the stand’s steps to carry on back to the palace. Ser Westerling hurriedly followed behind her. 

Otto looked as though he was about to get up when a Maester rushed up the same steps and picked his way hurriedly toward the King.

He leaned over and whispered something that only Viserys and Otto could hear.

Alicent watched Otto’s face change.

Viserys breathed a sigh, his eyes shining. He slapped the sides of his throne and threw himself to his feet. 

 “My people!” Viserys said, addressing the crowd once again. The tourney master raised his arms to hush the chatter. “Queen Aemma has just given birth to the next heir to the throne!” His words rang out over the stands and the Houses began to cry their appreciation and applaud, waving their flags of the Realm. Viserys' face was one of elation as he brought his clasped hands to his face. “My son.” He whispered and closed his eyes. His one, true dream was fantasy no longer.

Meanwhile, Alicent couldn’t move. The cries of the onlooking crowd echoed the screaming inside her. She had no idea what had happened to make this shift in reality possible, but something was not as it had been.

The past had been rewritten.

And this future, what ever it held, was something new.

Chapter Text

There was something amiss. 

As Aemma held the young prince in her arms, the Realm’s newborn heir, he did not cry as other babes did. The Maester had slapped his skin pertly, hoping to open the lungs, but the boy did not make a sound. The prince instead made strange noises within his swaddle and laid like a stone.

Although her joy could not be tarnished on this day that she had been waiting for as much as her husband or any other; Aemma felt the beginnings of worry as she rocked her son.

Viserys burst into the birthing chamber, headed straight for her. The pride and happiness on his face reignited her own. He kissed her tenderly and then knelt at her bedside, reaching for the babe.

 “My son,” he breathed. “My heir. Baelon.” He took him into his arms and cradled him against his chest. “Oh, I knew how it would be. I knew all would be well.”

Aemma smiled at them both fondly, but her vision was beginning to blacken from the pain. She winced as she attempted to shift herself further up the bed.

Viserys caught her expression. “Milk of the poppy for the Queen.” He said sharply to the nearby Maester. “She is to be tended to.”

 “I’m fine, Viserys.” Aemma said. “Just exhausted. I need rest.”

 “I know, my love.” He reached for her hand and kissed it. “I will not allow you to leave this bed until you are recovered.”

 “At least clear the bloody sheets away.” She responded and they smiled at each other.

Baelon made one of his strange sounds and Viserys looked down at him. “The heir is somewhat small.” He said. "It has been so long since Rhaenyra, perhaps I have forgotten how they are supposed to look."

 “They said that his throat was trapped for a brief moment,” Aemma said. “They did not think he could breathe.”

Viserys shook his head. “Well, the boy breathes now. That is the important thing.”

 “We will make him a concoction, Your Grace,” the Maester, Mellos, who had been supervising the birth approached. “Something to open the lungs. He was without air for some time-”

 “He’s fine.” Viserys said. His voice rang inside the chamber. “He is a healthy baby boy. Tell my Small Council that there will be a three-day celebration after the tourney is over to honour his birth. One far greater than anything that has come before. We will snap the purse strings for my son and heir.” He smiled at Aemma. “The entire Realm will sing his name for days on end.” 

Aemma smiled back at him. Her eyes fell on her son. She prayed that the concerns that there was something not quite right with him would fade as the babe grew. It was still much too early to jump to these conclusions.

 “How does the tourney progress?” She changed the subject. “Has your brother won the day yet?”

 “Oh, Aemma,” Viserys said, scoffing despite the happy occasion. “There’s something I simply must tell you. You won’t believe it.” He clambered into the bed next to her, holding Baelon tightly. “Daemon and Alicent appear to have an accord.”

Aemma raised her eyebrows high. “Little Alicent? And your brother?”

 “She is yet eighteen.”

 “Viserys,” Aemma said, disapprovingly. “The girl is a lamb. You must keep Daemon away from her.” 

 “What can I do?” Viserys sighed, pressing his finger to Baelon’s cheek. “He has dissolved his marriage with Lady Rhea. Mayhap it was all for Alicent’s sake.”

 “He toys with her.” Aemma said. “You remember how he began that rumour of his deflowering her just to irk her father? You yourself had to reprimand him.” 

 “If he does toy with her then he has made his own bed,” Viserys said. “After that display today at the tourney, no one could be in any doubt of their relationship. The two of them have no choice other than to marry, there is no other way to preserve Alicent’s honour. And she is the only daughter of my Hand, I cannot allow Otto to be so humiliated.”

 “That poor girl.” Aemma said, shaking her head. “He will treat her far worse than he did his previous wife. And she is so young and innocent of the world.”

 “Rhaenyra seemed upset.” Viserys said. “I suppose Alicent never made mention of this to her. And she does idolize Daemon-”

Aemma put a hand on his arm. “Rhaenyra will wed Baelon.” She said. “When he comes of age.”

Viserys was taken aback by her sudden words. “Aemma…the boy has just been born hours hence. There is no need for haste-”

 “They will be intended for each other.” Aemma said, firmly. “It will ensure the succession. I didn't wish to discuss it before Baelon's birth, but now he has come there is no need to wait."

 “Indeed, but-”

 “Rhaenyra should know of this now, so she has years to get used to the idea.”

Viserys looked uneasy, watching the Maesters and maids as they pretended not to hear, to-ing and fro-ing from the chamber. “There will be fifteen years of age between them, Aemma. By the time Baelon is old enough to wed, Rhaenyra will already be a grown woman.”

 “She will be my age or thereabouts.” Aemma said. “Plenty young enough to still bear children. Or are you calling me old, husband?”

Viserys managed a smile and covered her hand with his. “My love,” He ventured. “Would it not be better for Rhaenyra to seek her own husband when she is of age? You know her temperament.” 

 “Think, Viserys, I beg you,” Aemma said. “If your brother does marry Alicent Hightower and she bears him sons, there will be many who say that his claim is stronger than Baelon’s.”

 “Baelon is my son-”

 “Baelon is yet a babe. In fifteen years, he will still be a child. Daemon has a grand, if conflicted, reputation and the Hightowers are the strength of the Reach. He will have many who support his claim when the time comes. But, if all know that Rhaenyra and Baelon are intended then there can be no stronger union than theirs when ensuring claim to the throne. Who can argue against the two children of the true King? If you and I would disappear tomorrow, the throne needs a clear line to take our place. Rhaenyra is older, as you say. Her presence will protect him.”

 “The throne has a line of succession. In Baelon.”

 “If your brother does not challenge it.”

 “I had no idea you had such a political mind.” Viserys smiled, hoping to divert her.

 “I’m serious, Viserys. Please.” Aemma laid back against the pillows, her strength depleted. “This is my wish.”

 “We shall discuss it when you are rested.” Viserys said, getting up. “You think years and years ahead when we should enjoy our happiness this day.” 

A birthing maid approached and took the babe in her arms. “I will summon the wet nurse, Your Grace.”

 “I shall feed him.” Aemma said.

 “You are yet weak, my love,” Viserys said. “Rest. I beg you.”

Aemma sighed deeply and let herself sink into the bed. “You always stall when decisions are hard but necessary,” she said. “Please think on it while I am abed.”

.

“Another challenger cut down by the Prince of the City!” The tourney master cried. “House Bolton has been felled and now our final Champion will compete!”

Alicent watched as Criston Cole rode his horse forth, bringing down the visor of his tarnished helmet. If she recalled correctly, Daemon had been so busy showboating in the tourney from her previous life that he had actually lost to Criston in the melee. Somehow she doubted that history would repeat itself there again at least. Daemon had been sending blood spatters across the dirt of the field with what was left of his opponents. 

If it was just to prove a point or if he was in a particularly bad mood, Alicent couldn’t tell.

Otto came to sit in Rhaenyra’s empty seat beside her. “The heir lives.” He said quietly. “As does the Queen.”

 “I thank the Seven for their mercy.” Alicent replied. 

Otto was silent as they watched Daemon and Cole’s banners be placed on either side of the field.

 “I thought to send you to the Sept, daughter,” He said. “For your disobedience.”

Alicent’s hands curled into fists. “For daring to follow my own heart?”

 “That man is your heart?” Otto snapped. They looked at where Daemon was circling with his horse, his lance aloft as the crowd screamed him on. “That violent, insensible rogue?”

 “He allows me the freedom to be who I am.” Alicent said. “That is more than any man has ever done for me.”

Otto shook his head. “You are not my daughter.” He muttered. “Flesh and blood, though you be. I do not know what has happened to the sweet creature I once had. You are something made of iron. What has happened to you?”

 “Perhaps I am your daughter from another life.” Alicent said.

 “I don’t have time for your jests,” he turned to her. “Does the Prince intend to marry you or has he made you his whore? Tell me truthfully.”

Alicent kept her eyes on Daemon as he raced across the field; a brutal crash that sent splinters flying, blood. Criston Cole doubled over, his hand to his arm, wounded. 

 “He says he does.” Alicent said. “But who knows? Perhaps he will grow bored of me before then.”

Otto stiffened, his hands clenching in his lap. “Take this seriously, Alicent.”

 “I am.” She fixed him with a look, his own look, the look he always gave her.

The heir was alive. She had successfully changed the future and avoided the Dance and now he could huff and puff all he wanted. She had won. 

 “The tourney is won!” The tourney master cried. “Our Champion, Prince Daemon Targaryen!”

The crowd erupted, throwing flowers and flags from the stands that landed in the dirt like bright leaves from autumn trees. Daemon’s horse galloped the field once more. He tossed his lance to the ground and held up a fist of victory. Finally, he caught her eye. Around his black-armoured wrist, her blue ribbon was tied. 

 “And for our Champion’s choice, Prince Daemon is carrying the favour of Lady Alicent Hightower, eldest daughter of the Hand of the King!” 

Alicent looked up to the many eyes of the crowd. They couldn’t have missed the earlier spectacle of the ribbon being passed. She was sure many tongues were currently wagging as to what exactly it had meant. 

 “You’d had better make your way to the field.” Otto said, tersely. “My daughter, the next Queen of Love and Beauty. I suppose I should be proud.”

 “You might perhaps show one of your children some love without irony,” Alicent retorted. “That would certainly be the day, wouldn’t it, father?” 

She went to her feet and left the stands for the field. Squires bowed their heads as she passed them and entered into the brightness of the open air, the overwhelming roar of the many onlookers was staggering. Alicent followed her feet to Daemon who dismounted from his horse and snatched the blue-flowered laurel from the pillow that the tourney master proffered. 

Alicent stood before him, looking up at his face which was spattered with blood. Daemon took the helmet from his head and threw it on the ground beside them.

 “Ladies and gentlemen of the Realm!” The announcing voice boomed in Alicent’s ears. “Lady Alicent Hightower, our Queen of Love and Beauty!”

The applause carried. Daemon placed the coronet of flowers on Alicent’s head, perhaps the gentlest motion he had made that day. He picked up her hand and brought it up to his lips, bowing his head as he kissed her. He was certainly capable of concealing his true nature under the guise of a gallant knight when the occasion arose to do so. 

He looked up at Alicent’s face. The sun blazed behind her, her skin was flush, her freckles prominent on her face. Her eyes were the colour of honey in the light. Daemon resisted what felt like an instinctive urge to next seek her lips. 

 “Congratulations, my lady.” He said, rising from his bow. “Never has a title suited a woman more.” 

“Thank you, my Prince.” Alicent replied, hoping that her voice sounded steady. “You do me a great honour indeed.”

Daemon walked past her, ignoring the shrieking crowd. “The guardhouse.” He murmured. “I will wait for you there.”

Alicent kept her eyes forward. The hail of flowers began again. The next Queen of Love and Beauty chosen, the heir to the throne born and a great celebration to come.

What more was there to want? 

Gwayne was applauding as Daemon retraced his steps to the stables. He wanted to wash and change from his armour before he met with Alicent, but here was this boy again.

 “Well met, my Prince!” Gwayne was beaming. “And a fine choice for your Queen of Love and Beauty! My sister is certainly an excellent addition to-”

 “Yes, yes.” Daemon said. “Good thing you’re not dead. You may leave.” 

 “Why would I be dead?”

 “Is that the only part of my sentence you heard?” 

Gwayne caught sight of a figure approaching them from behind. He recognised the crest before the face. “Oh gods.” He said.

Daemon glanced behind him. It was Walter Waynwood storming towards them with intent. “Some men simply can’t wait to die.” He remarked. 

 “Ser Gwayne,” Walter stopped before them. “And my Prince.” He looked to Daemon unwillingly. “Congratulations on your victory.”

Daemon said nothing.

 “Come to apologise, have you?” Gwayne said, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Daemon. “Or would you like to lose to me once more?”

 “I admit that you won the joust,” Walter said. “Somehow.”

 “How very generous of you to admit what happened in plain sight,” Gwayne scoffed. “You would do better to rescind your insult to my sister.” 

Walter glared at them both. “I have just been informed that Lady Rhea has asked to annul her marriage to the Prince.” 

Gwayne glanced at Daemon.

 “I assume this is on account of his Hightower lover.” Walter’s hand closed around the hilt of his sword. “Do you take the Vale lightly, my Prince? Are we so beneath your notice that you even spurn one of our highest-born ladies?”

 “Yes.” Daemon said. 

Walter was stunned into silence. Gwayne coughed.

 “You will not be able to get away with this,” Walter said, heated. “My father will-”

 “What,” Daemon stepped forward, unsheathing his sword in one motion. “Will your cunt of a father do?” He stopped the blade at the boy’s neck. “You dare to question my choice? You even mentioned sending my betrothed to the Sept to rot. You need to be taught the way of things, boy.”

Gwayne checked behind them. “The coast is clear, my Prince.” He said.

Daemon wondered when exactly he had acquired a side-kick. 

Walter looked from the blade to Daemon, seemingly stuck in place. For the first time, he seemed to realise he was in actual danger. “Uh…I…you can’t-”

 “On your knees.” Daemon said, his voice low.

Gwayne raised his eyebrows. 

Walter appeared to be weighing his dignity against his life for a moment before finally falling into a kneeling position. 

 “My woman isn’t here to accept your apology, so her brother will in her stead.” Daemon said. “Take back your earlier words or you won’t have an arm to joust with or a tongue to make your threats.”

Walter’s face twisted in distaste, but he looked at Gwayne unwillingly. “P-please forgive me for my insult to Lady Alicent, Ser Gwayne.”

There was a pause and Gwayne realised that Daemon was waiting for him. 

 “Oh,” he said, trying to match Daemon’s tone. “Yes, well. Make sure it never happens again. My sister is above all reproach.” 

Daemon lowered his sword. “If he is satisfied then you may rise.”

Walter staggered to his feet, red-faced.

 “You would do well to return to that cesspit that others call the Vale,” Daemon said. “And never let me see your face or hear your name spoken again. I will not be so merciful next time.” 

Gwayne watched Walter scurry away with something like awe. He glanced at Daemon. “I do not think we shall be seeing hide nor hair of him again.” He said jovially. 

Daemon cursed. Alicent would be waiting for him. He turned and began to head for the guardhouse. 

 “Will I see you at the feast?” Gwayne called after him. “Perhaps we can have an ale?”

Daemon raised a hand as he walked away. 

He had only ever had one older brother who had always despaired of him. He had always wondered what it would have been like if his younger brother, Aegon, had lived. Would he have followed him around? Would he have wished to drink ale with him? 

.

The coronet of flowers circled Alicent’s hands, a manacle of blue. She placed it once again on her own head and then took it off. It was tradition for the Queen of Love and Beauty to wear their coronet throughout the first feast after the tourney. She recalled that Rhaenyra had not after Criston Cole had crowned her. There had been no feast, no celebration. The Houses had gone home early and there had only been preparations for the funeral: both the heir and the Queen. 

The door to the guardhouse banged open, making Alicent jump. 

Daemon entered, still in his armour from the joust, still blood-stained and covered in dirt. His eyes fell on her sitting on the guards’ bench in her pale blue gown. This room was usually filled with dozens of rowdy Gold Cloaks, to see only her delicate frame perched there was refreshing. It made him hungry.

Alicent watched as he drew the bolt through the door so no one could enter after. He went to the water pitcher and drank from the ladle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

 “Are you injured?” She asked.

Daemon shook his head. 

 “You were in many jousts,” Alicent said. “It’s hard to believe you’re not injured somewhere.”

Daemon came and stood before her. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said. “I am without my squire and in need of a pair of hands to relieve me of my armour. Would you be so kind?”

Alicent looked up at him. “I do not know anything about taking off armour.” She said.

 “An opportunity to learn.” Daemon replied. He was smiling slightly as he raised his arm. “Start here. It’s the easiest.” 

Her eyes fell on the ribbon at his wrist. She unwound it and went to tie it back in her hair.

 "That's mine," Daemon said. "I won it."

 "I need to tie my hair with something."

 "I prefer it down."

Alicent raised an eyebrow, but let the ribbon fall to the bench.

She looked over the scaled black armour. The plates seemed to be fastened with leather straps on the underside, heavy black gloves were secured beneath them. She took his arm in her hands and turned it over, feeling his eyes on her. She began to undo the leather straps.

 “The King’s heir lives.” She said.

 “For now.”

She looked up at him. “I do not know why,” she said. “But I think it was the lack of the King’s intervention.”

 “Who knows,” Daemon said. “Perhaps it is simply another course of time.”

Alicent lifted his arm plate free, placing it on the bench. She pulled his glove from his hand and touched his fingers with hers, drawing her hand across his. Daemon’s hand closed around her arm. He pulled her close and leant toward her lips.

 “You are not out of your armour yet,” Alicent pulled back. “I’m still taking my opportunity to learn.”

Daemon had a feral look in his eyes that she had come to know. He lifted his other arm. “Get on with it then.”

Alicent began undoing the fastenings. “My father thinks to send me to the Sept as punishment for my dalliance.” She said.

 “Your father will meet the end of my sword if he should attempt something so foolish.” 

Alicent looked into Daemon’s heated gaze. “I want you to know that I do not expect your love.”

 “Is that so?” He said quietly.

 “In my previous life I had so many dreams and expectations,” Alicent lifted the second arm plate. She next found the buckles at his forearm, her hand running over him. “I will not ask anything of you, except your protection.” She hesitated, her hands pausing. “Just do not let me languish helplessly. Let me live as I wish. Besides that, you may do as you please.”

 “And what,” Daemon said. “Do you imagine pleases me?”

Alicent didn’t reply. She took the next glove from his hand and didn’t linger. She fumbled at his breastplate. The leather was tougher near his shoulders and she struggled with it momentarily, undoing the strap with a final tug.

 “You certainly don’t have a bright future as a squire,” Daemon said. “If this were war, I’d be asleep by the time you took this off.”

Alicent glared at him. “Why don’t you do it then?”

 “And now this insolence. That’s cause for punishment from any knight.”

Alicent ignored him. “I’d like to see you attempt to tie the strings and lacings of my dress. Then you wouldn’t laugh so easily.”

 “In truth, I don’t have much talent for putting a dress on a woman,” Daemon said. “But I'm fairly experienced at removing them.”

Alicent freed the final strap of his breastplate and the sheer weight of it made her stagger. Daemon caught the armour and shifted it to the ground. His hand went to her waist and refused to let her move. 

 “You’re still only half undressed.” Alicent said, her breath hitching as he neared her. “I-”

 “Look at me.”

Her eyes travelled up to his face. His gaze was pure, unrepentant, fearless want. 

Alicent’s hands found his neck, then his face. She traced the bloodstains with the tip of her finger. For just a split second, Daemon’s eyes closed at the warmth of her skin. The tenderness was more than he could bear, beyond what he knew. 

 “Daemon,” Alicent whispered. “Thank you.”

He refocused on her face. “Why thank me?”

 “What you did for Gwayne,” Alicent said. “The way you have helped me. You have also hindered me, but…I am grateful. And I am not sure if I ever thanked you.”

Daemon, for the first time, was truly taken aback. He hardly knew what to say. Wasn’t helping her just a matter of course? Weren’t lovers simply expected to?

His gaze flickered over her. She was looking earnestly at him, her eyes bright. She looked at him as if he was good. As if he was decent. 

It was new. It was unthinkable. 

Alicent swept her hands down his chest. After a day of wearing heavy armour in the same place, he couldn’t believe how good it felt to feel her touch there. 

 “We shouldn’t tarry long.” She said. “With the heir’s birth there will no doubt be many things to do and I must speak to Rhaenyra properly and then I should probably-”

 “We will ask for an audience with Viserys.” Daemon said. 

Alicent’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

 “‘Why’?” Daemon echoed. “So he may give us his consent to marry.” Alicent felt herself blush. Daemon caught it and smirked. “Shy as a maiden at the mention of marriage and yet you ride me as though I were a fucking Valeish mule.” 

Alicent’s blush deepened. “Daemon!”

 “Are you attempting to increase my desire by making me wait for you?”

Alicent went back to the guardhouse bench and sat before him. “Indeed.” She said. “You won’t be touching me until our wedding night.”

Daemon unfastened the last of his armour with an ease that was infuriating given that he had made her struggle. “A fine jest.”

 “It’s the truth.”

Daemon, now stripped down to his shirt and trousers, advanced on her. He towered above her as she sat. “My lady likes to play with me,” he said. “Considering that I have spent a day fighting and battering for her favour.”

Alicent met his eyes. “This is a cruel world.” She said. 

She yelped as Daemon grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. His mouth was on hers, a long and deliberate kiss that made her vision light. 

 “Stand.” He commanded, tugging her hair.

Alicent raised her chin. “On your knees.” She said. 

The burn in Daemon’s eyes became an inferno. His jaw clenched.

He let go of her hair and sank to his knees before her, his hands instead running down her skirts.

 “Sweet boy,” Alicent said, her words a honeyed bite. “You can indeed be taught.”

Daemon took a moment to stay his wits. “Release me from your fucking witchery, Alicent Hightower.” He hissed. “So I can spend one solid hour thinking about something other than what’s between your legs.”

Alicent spread her legs apart and Daemon’s hands went immediately under her skirt, along her thighs. Her heat made his mouth water. 

 “Why should I?” Alicent murmured. “I much prefer you here.”

She gripped the front of his shirt with one hand and brought his face to hers. The kiss was soft, her fingers running down his neck. His hand at the back of her head, pushing her into him. Alicent’s whole body called for him. He smelled of sweat and blood and the steel of his armour. His lips were bitter and every touch he laid upon her lingered, imprinting itself on her skin. 

She kissed his cheek, then his jaw. Daemon tensed underneath her. Her innocent kisses made him so unutterably weak. 

 “Alicent,” he grated. “You needn’t be so gentle.”

Alicent stopped and looked at him, mere inches from his face, her cheeks flushed. “Why not? Do you not like it?”

 “I’m... not used to it.”

Alicent brushed her fingers down the sides of his face. Daemon caught her hand and kissed it. 

 “Daemon,” Alicent said, faintly. “I want you.”

No more words needed to be spoken. Daemon acted on raw instinct from there, not that he would have been able to heed logic at that point. 

He lifted Alicent from the bench and placed her against the stone wall. The kisses became deeper, aggressive, slick. Alicent was breathless when he released her mouth from his. She drew her hands along his taut forearms as he held her. Feeling her touch, his grip nearly faltered.

Daemon put his face in her hair as he entered her and she heard him moan with abandon for the first time. He held her like something precious and she allowed the walls of the world to disappear around her.

There was only the feel of him, the sound of his voice.

 “Alicent.”

Chapter Text

Otto finally made his way to find Viserys; a black crow walking amongst the brightly-coloured bunting being hung about the castle, the young lords and ladies laughing and drinking in the eaves. 

He found Viserys as he flitted about his chambers with various bookkeepers surrounding him, holding open ledgers. “Ah, Otto, thank the gods!” Viserys raised an arm. “I cannot make heads nor tails of these budgets. Perhaps my eyes fail me in my age. Could you-?”

 “Is this for the celebration, Your Grace?” Otto asked, his mind quickly tallied the number of open ledgers and came to the conclusion that they would have to dip once again into the depths of the coffers. 

 “For Heir’s Day, yes,” Viserys said. “Which I shall make an official day of celebration each year. This year it will take place tomorrow and then the next year it can take place this day and then we will have-”

 “Somewhat elaborate, Your Grace. We didn’t even make the Princess Rhaenyra’s birth an annual day of celebration.”

Viserys seemed slightly annoyed. “This is my heir.” He said. “Or perhaps we should just have the feast and get it over with?”

Otto changed tactics. “No, not at all, Your Grace. We should make it so all in the Realm remember the day of Prince Baelon’s birth.”

 “And a three-day feast.”

Otto twitched. “Three days?”

 “We have the rooms,” Viserys said. “Each House should be offered space to bed down in the castle for three days of feasting. We should find some entertainment to fill the evenings too. Fools, actors, musicians, anything diverting.”

Otto did not think they did have the rooms for every House in the Realm unless they started stacking people like firewood in Maegor’s Holdfast, but he said nothing. He would speak to Strong and Beesbury about the logistics.  

 “Otto,” Viserys said. “I also wish to discuss with you another matter. Perhaps not…immediately, but eventually.”

 “Your Grace?” Otto wondered if he was going to bring up Alicent.

 “It’s about the plans for the line of succession,” Viserys fidgeted with a plaster mould from his sculptures of Old Valyria. “Aemma seems to think that we should, ah…” He seemed to remember that they were not alone in the room.

Otto waved his hand at the bookkeepers. “Leave us.”

Viserys waited until the door was closed. “She seems to think I should betrothe Baelon and Rhaenyra.”

Otto raised his brow. “Betrothe?”

 “Well,” Viserys faltered. “Of course it’s still too early for such talk. The boy is barely a day old. But, as I thought, you are perhaps against the idea?” He seemed hopeful, as if he could get away with blaming his refusal on Otto’s advice.

Otto’s mind worked. Queen Aemma was no fool, but Baelon was the King’s trueborn son and his claim was beyond contestation, even if Daemon was a threat that lingered in the shadows. Unless, of course-

Otto finally understood. “Is the Prince well?”

Viserys jumped at the question. “Of course he’s well.” He snapped. “He’s healthy. You should have seen how strongly he moved as I held him.”

Something is wrong. Otto thought.  

 “Allow me to think on it, Your Grace,” he said. “The matter of betrothal. It could be that the Queen is right in what she says, but it should be discussed further at the Small Council.”

Viserys sighed. “If you say so it might well be true. I just wish,” he paused. “I wish this didn’t have to come at the cost of Rhaenyra’s happiness.”

 “It is a princess’s duty to marry for the greater good of the Realm.” Otto said. “Whatever course is taken, she will one day understand that.” 

 “Yes. Well.” Viserys looked grim all of a sudden, sitting beside his sculptures and toying with the figures.

 “I will make the arrangements for the celebration, Your Grace. Do not fret.” Otto said. “Your Grace must enjoy this time with your new son and wife.”

Viserys smiled. “I am grateful to have you at my side, Otto.”

Otto then left swiftly, making his way to the Tower of the Hand, finding Mellos in his study chamber mixing something that looked yellow in a stone bowl. The long, wooden table was strewn with different ingredients in various stages of drying and tempering.

 “My Lord Hand,” Mellos said as he entered. “I thought you would seek me.”

 “Speak.” Otto said, closing the door firmly behind him. The air smelled strongly of spice and herbs; so strong that he was reminded why he rarely held council inside the place. “The heir.”

 “Indeed.” The old man continued mixing. “I am creating a paste to be spread upon his chest with lion’s lily and bell vine to prevent any growing infection.”

 “Thank you for the lesson,” Otto said, dryly. “Speak to me of the Prince himself.”

 "You seem to think there is something wrong."

 "Is there?"

 “The Prince does not react to sound,” Mellos said, tapping his pestle on the bowl. “I took him aside before leaving the Queen’s chambers to test him with bells as I suspected as much. The babe does not even cry.”

 “He is deaf?” Otto said, leaning forward. “You are sure?”

 “And blind.”

 “Blind?"

 “Upon opening his eyes,” Mellos said. “I observed that they were malformed.”

 “What do you mean by malformed?”

 “His eyes are pure white. White as a marble. At first I thought they were simply rolled into his head, but upon turning them I saw there was no dark middle. There is no chance the boy will ever see.” 

Otto let his words sink in. “A deaf and blind heir.” He murmured. “Gods.”

 “And mute, as usually follows deafness in children of this ilk. His left leg was twisted unnaturally during the delivery and is slightly smaller than the right so he will walk with a limp if he walks at all. The time he spent trapped with his birth cord around him may have contributed to an addlement of his brain also, I know not.” The Maester said. “It cannot be explained. One moment longer and it looked as though both mother and babe may die. We thought to summon the King to make a judgement, but the message must have been delayed as he did not come.” 

Otto thought back. Was that down to his hesitation? He had been distracted on account of Alicent and the revelation of the letter. Thank the gods the boy had lived after all; his misjudgement of the urgency might have cost him his position. 

“Then suddenly he came with much blood.” Mellos turned back to his work. “Though some may argue, it would have been better if he didn’t.”

 “Does the King know?”

 “No. I leave that conversation to you.”

 “The Queen?”

 “The Queen has a mother’s instinct. She guesses that something is wrong with her son,” Mellos said. “Which is why she hurries to betrothe him to the Princess.”

Now I see. Otto thought. She fears Baelon being supplanted. And, from the sounds of it, she should.

 “If the heir is deemed unfit to rule by the Small Council,” Otto said. “Then Daemon is still the heir.”

Mello glanced at him. “A frightening thought.”

 “What is perhaps more frightening,” Otto said. “Is being led by a boy who cannot see nor hear. He will never rally the support of the Houses and the Smallfolk. There will be rebellion if he takes the throne.”

 “Betrothing him to the Princess may yet stay his claim.” Mellos said. “If the people are satisfied that he will have a line to pass the throne to. Above all, they will be loathe to step into civil war.”

Otto almost admired Aemma’s cold-blooded foresight. She would ensure the line by making Rhaenyra the stake that was hammered down between Baelon and any other seeking to lay claim to the throne by making sure no other House had the chance. If Rhaenyra was to marry some other lord, those children might just be preferred over this damaged heir, so she looked to wed her daughter into her own line. This was Aemma’s stand to protect her son.

 “Will the boy even live?” Otto said. “In your opinion.”

 “He will live.” Mellos said. “The danger is over.”

 “But at what cost.” Otto said.

 “Precisely.” 

Otto drummed his fingers on the table. “Still,” he mused. “If the Houses of the Realm prefer to bend the knee to Daemon, the succession could turn in his favour. The Prince will not come of age for a decade and a half.”

 “The Prince is a liability to himself.” Mellos said. “He is young and wild. He has no anchor and no heirs.”

Otto was quiet. He was doing what he did best: thinking. 

.

Alicent stood outside in the hall as the maid crept around the edge of the door. She gave her a curtsy, something like sympathy on her face. “Please forgive me, my lady,” she said. “The Princess will not see anyone at this moment.”

 “I just wish to speak to her.” Alicent said. “That is all.” She lifted her head, trying to see within the room. “Rhaenyra, just a moment to explain, please! I beg you.”

The maid glanced over her shoulder and then shook her head. “I am sorry, my lady.” 

The door closed in Alicent’s face. 

Alicent wandered back down to the gardens leading to the Godswood, trying to avoid the eyes that seemed to find her from all directions, the whispers as she passed. Some greeted her with a nod. 

She wished she could find a quiet space to think. She was also starving hungry. After the tourney, Daemon: it felt like she hadn’t eaten in an age. She looked around for a servant carrying refreshments.

Alicent was so distracted that by the time she saw them it was too late. A grey-blue banner, a falcon soaring into a half moon. The Arryns.

Alicent turned on her heel. “Seven Hells just swallow me.” She hissed. 

 “Lady Alicent,” Lady Jeyne said, wrapped in a grey velvet cloak and shoulder-to-shoulder with her kinsmen all wearing their heraldry, stopped before her. “What a pleasure to meet you again.”

Alicent turned, trying not to feel or look intimidated. “Lady Jeyne,” she said. “That you remember me is a great honour.”

Jeyne pressed her lips together. “I could hardly forget you, my lady. My maid spoke of you after you left the Eyrie. It appears you made quite an impression.”

Alicent looked over the solemn gazes of her bannermen. “Well,” she said. “The girl got away far easier than most would allow, as I recall.” 

 “You and your intended share a penchant for making your presence known.” Jeyne said. “And I suppose I should congratulate our Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Alicent smiled, unwilling to give Jeyne the reaction she was looking for. “Your praise is worth more than any finerment, my lady.”

 “What are we discussing?” Laenor slipped into the conversation, hooking his arm through Alicent’s. “How fine the tansy cakes are this year, I suppose?” 

Jeyne looked him up and down. “Ser-?”

 “Laenor,” Laenor said. “Velaryon. You recall that I attended your feast, Lady Jeyne. The one where everyone was strangely upset with each other for some reason but no one would tell me why. The fish was delicious.” 

Jeyne glanced around uncomfortably. “Your humour is perhaps above my head, Ser Laenor. I was speaking privately to Lady Alicent.”

 “We are no longer in the mountains, my lady,” Laenor said pleasantly. “In King’s Landing we fight on even ground.”

Jeyne considered for a moment, then retreated. “I will take my leave.” She said. “To see my dear cousin, as she has just birthed our new heir.”

 “I will see you at the celebration feast, Lady Jeyne,” Alicent said. “I’m sure the Prince will be delighted to see you again.”

Lady Jeyne and her men swept past, a grey cloud that moved towards the upper floors of the Keep. 

Laenor leaned into Alicent. “Now there’s a rose with thorns.”

 “You sound impressed.”

Laenor laughed. “She is a woman ruling the Vale with an iron fist, what’s not to impress? It’s very disappointing that she’s…like that.”

 “Well,” Alicent said. “At least Rhea Royce enjoyed my company.”

 “You saved her from her marriage to Daemon, I’m sure she would be your Champion in battle if you asked.”

Alicent smiled. “The great weight that it is to not choose your spouse. I am glad I will not suffer it in this life.”

Laenor inclined his head. “This life?”

Alicent’s head shot up. “I just mean… I am to marry Daemon and that is the path my life has taken.”

 “I wish you every happiness,” Laenor said. “Though he is a bit absolutely terrifying.”

 “Well,” Alicent said. “He is also quite sweet.”

 “Really?”

 “Yes.”

 “Really?”

 “I swear it.”

Laenor placed a kind hand on Alicent’s shoulder. “You’re very strange.” He said. “But I’m glad we’re friends, all the same.”

 “Sister!” It was Gwayne striding across the gardens, he had changed from his armour, now wearing a green tunic, his hair slicked. It could have been Alicent’s imagination, but she noticed that Laenor’s eyes began to dance upon seeing him. “I have been looking for you everywhere, you weren’t in your chambers.”

 “Ser Gwayne,” Laenor said. “Congratulations on winning your bout.”

Gwayne glanced at him. “Thank you,” he said. “Though I was unhorsed not long after.”

 “You did well.”

 “I thank you,” Gwayne turned his attention back to Alicent. “It’s Father. He’s looking for us.”

 “Oh.” Alicent said.

 “Indeed.”

 “Oh yes,” Laenor said. “I forgot, that was why I sought you out, Lady Alicent. The King summons you, Ser Westerling sent me to bring you to the Great Hall forthwith.”

 “What?”

Gwayne frowned. “Why did you not say?”

 “I got side-tracked.”

 “Well, Father says he must see us now.”

 “The King,” Laenor said. “Needs you now.”

Gwayne looked at him in exasperation. “Alicent needs to have an important conversation with Father.”

 “An audience with the King cannot be gainsaid,” Laenor said. “Do I need to have you locked in the dungeon, Ser Gwayne?”

 “Your jests aren’t funny.”

 “I disagree.” 

Gwayne hooked a hand under Alicent’s shoulder. “We must speak to Father first and get everything out of the way with him. It is a Hightower matter, stay out of it.”

Laenor hooked his own hand under Alicent’s other shoulder. “Lady Alicent is to wed the Prince and is therefore a member of the Royal Family, so her matters are the King’s matters.”

 “Let her go!”

 “You let go.”

 “I would challenge you to fight this moment if you weren’t a mere inexperienced boy!”

 “You could challenge me to a battle of wits, Ser Gwayne, though you are somewhat unarmed.”

Gwayne looked at Alicent in shock. “Did you hear what he just said to me?!”

 “Alright, that’s enough!” Alicent pushed both of them in opposite directions, untethering their grip on her. “Can you two stop behaving like children for a few moments?!”

 Gwayne and Laenor looked at each other, Gwayne glaring, Laenor with a serene smile. 

 “I must speak to my father first,” Alicent said to Laenor. “I need to know what that man is thinking before he acts.”

 “Sounds fair.” Laenor said, nodding.

 “Oh, so when she says it-!” Gwayne huffed. 

 “I will tell Ser Westerling that I passed the message on,” Laenor said. “But I will take my time in finding him.”

 “Thank you, Laenor.”

Gwayne glared at Laenor’s retreating form. “He is more annoying than usual these days.”

 “A nice boy, though.”

 Gwayne scoffed.

 “I like him.” Alicent prompted.

 “Let us go to Father’s chambers.” Gwayne said. “We should get this over and done with.” 

Walking into the Hand’s chamber, Alicent saw that Otto at least appeared calm as he sat at his desk. He seemed to be looking over a pile of ledgers stacked in front of him. He glanced up as Alicent and Gwayne entered.

 “My dear children.” He said. They both flinched slightly at his tone. “Are you excited for the upcoming celebrations?”

They both looked at him somberly, waiting for his outburst.

Otto steepled his hands. “Well?”

 “If you’re going to reprimand me, father,” Alicent said. “Just do so.”

Gwayne hardened his shoulders, preparing to step in. 

 “I am not.” Otto said, lightly. “What’s done is done.”

Alicent and Gwayne exchanged a look of pure shock. 

 “You’re not…angry?”

 “What good will anger do at this point?” Otto said. “You know my feelings towards Daemon. He is a brute and it will be you as his lady wife who bears the brunt of that during your marriage. That should be punishment enough.”

Alicent raised her chin. “He may not love me, but he cares for me.”

 “He cares for only himself.” Otto said. “But that you will learn when he abandons you in Dragonstone while he beds his whores in King’s Landing-”

 “Father-” Gwayne began, protectively. 

“You hold your tongue, boy, unless you require another strike across your face.”

Alicent glanced at Gwayne. Her brother couldn't stop himself from cowering, Otto brought out the scared little child in him like no other could. 

 “What do you care?” Alicent said, tightly. “As long as I am wed to a man of some status. You always wished for our House to run with royal blood and now you may have your wish.”

Otto made a sound that was almost a laugh. “I wished for our House to be great. Do you think that when Ceryse Hightower wed Maegor Targaryen to be humiliated and publicly scorned it brought honour to our House?”

 “Perhaps if she had borne him an heir.”

Otto stood, his hands placed on the table. “Let us speak of heirs,” he said. “The King has his, finally. Only that the boy will never speak, never see. He is deaf, mute, blind and lame on his left side into the bargain.” 

Alicent stared at him. “You lie.”

Otto smiled. “No, daughter.”

Alicent felt a sick feeling creep into her stomach. It was impossible. If only the Queen and the heir would live then surely all would be well, that was what she had believed. Their deaths had been the catalyst to all of the misfortune that had occurred after, so reversing that would be the antidote. And yet, more misfortune had manifested itself.

 “Did you already confirm this rumour?” Gwayne asked, the shock clear on his face. 

 “It is no rumour,” Otto said. “Mellos has inspected him. We will only know more as he grows.”

 “He is still yet a day old,” Alicent said. “Some of these conditions he may grow out of.”

 “He will grow additional ears and eyes, will he, daughter?” Otto enquired. “I admire your optimism.” 

 “Gods,” Gwayne’s head sank. “I pity the King and Queen. How dreadful.” 

 “Oh,” Otto came before them and laid his hands on their shoulders. “Raise your head, my tender-hearted boy. We must all stand fast together now.”

Alicent eyed him. “Why?”

 “On your account, my daughter,” Otto said. “For you are to wed the man who the Realm will be calling to become the next King.”

Gwayne looked uncomfortably at his father. “Prince Baelon is the next King. Even if he is deaf and blind, he is still the heir.”

 “And how do you propose he will be King? Sit at Small Council? Command the Realm’s armies? Fly a dragon? He may not ever even walk.” 

 “King Viserys will ensure his claim is met,” Alicent said. “He loves his children.” Unlike some. 

Otto met her eye. “He will attempt to. He will wed Rhaenyra to Baelon in order to stalwart Baelon’s claim to the throne.”

The news hit Alicent’s soul like a chunk of iron thrown directly into her ribs. “No.” She breathed. “He cannot.”

 “The Queen has already made it her wish. And Viserys will see the wisdom of her words, if he does not want his son to be supplanted.”

 “He will never sacrifice Rhaenyra to a life like that.”

 “A life of what? Queen of the Realm?”

 “He adores her.”

 “He now has two children to adore.” Otto said. “And one is his long-awaited son.”

 “Then,” Gwayne said. “Why not this? Seeing as Prince Baelon is yet unable to be King, allow the throne to go to Daemon.” He smiled at Alicent. “I cannot imagine a better Queen than my sister.”

Alicent felt a lump rise in her throat at his words. 

 “Well,” Otto said. “You have it there exactly, my son.” He turned and stood in front of his writing desk. “I do believe that is our cause.”

Alicent shook her head, looking to the floor. She felt faint-headed as the stone swam before her eyes. “Gods,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

 “Sister?” Gwayne frowned, reaching a hand to steady her.

 “You have tied yourself to the next King,” Otto said. “Not that I applaud your choice. I know drunken thieves and cutpurses who would make better Kings than Daemon, but I trust you will be a steadying influence. And, most importantly,” his eyes glinted. “Your children will be Hightower-blooded heirs to the seat of power. Our House’s name ringing through history.”

Alicent could almost hear the sound of laughter in the distance: a witch’s laughter. 

Here she was rewriting the past, all her schemes and plans and hopes, and she had succeeded in making it worse than it had been the first time. A son born into a life of agony, Rhaenyra’s future eaten away, a power struggle between brothers. Her hourglass did not have enough sand to turn the tides of all that had been set in motion. 

There was a gentle knock at the door. “My Lord Hand? The King awaits Lady Alicent in the Great Hall.” 

Otto smiled at his daughter, not cruelly and not kindly, a simple smile of triumph. 

 “There, my girl,” he said. “You have won your grand moment.” 

The Great Hall was full of people when Alicent, Gwayne and her father entered. The Iron Throne stood like a small mountain underneath the glow of the high windows, the pillars on each side like powerful arms lifting the sweeping stone ceilings carved with the images of dragons, symbols of the Seven, the old and twisting histories of Westeros.

Viserys sat the throne, his golden crown on his head, smiling with indulgence. Alicent was, for a moment, transported back into her former life. The amount of times she had stood here with her children, the many petitions she had seen, the blood that had been spilt on the very stone she now walked on.

There were Houses flanking her on both sides, but she did not have the wherewithal to identify each. She thought she saw Bolton, Lannister, Rhaenys and Corlys wearing their Driftmark blue with Laenor standing not far away with his hands on his sister Laena’s shoulders, the Baratheons, the Starks. She spied Jeyne Arryn standing by one of the pillars, hands folded.

And there, in the middle of the room, stood Daemon. He had changed into his red-sleeved tunic with the leather aketon fastened across his chest. He kept one hand on Dark Sister and stood with his usual arrogance. The only thing that gave his true feelings away were his eyes. They passed over her frame lingeringly and then fixed on her face; a look of possession. 

Alicent realised that her father and Gwayne were no longer walking behind her, that she was making her way down the middle of the room alone. As she reached Daemon, she finally saw her. Rhaenyra. She stood not far from Lady Jeyne Arryn on the right side of the room. 

Otto and Gwayne had taken their places to the left next to the Velaryons. Alicent once again had the strangest feeling that she had been here, in some sense, before. 

 “Welcome, Lady Alicent,” Viserys said, his voice ringing. “I take it that I am to hear a petition from the both of you.”

Daemon looked down at Alicent, facing her as he took her hand. Wordlessly, he was asking her.

Alicent looked up at him, meeting his gaze. 

The two of them made their way forward and stood before the throne. Daemon knelt before his brother. “Your Grace,” he said. “My marriage to Lady Rhea Royce has been dissolved by the Seven-”

There were chatters within the room at his words - many had not known.

 “-and I humbly ask Your Grace’s permission to take a new wife.”

Viserys smiled sagely. “So I see.” He said, glancing at Alicent. “And the lady you wish to wed would be?”

 “The Lady Alicent Hightower.”

Viserys looked over at Otto and Otto nodded once. 

 “I see.” He said, casting his eyes smilingly to Alicent. “And does the lady assent to this proposal of marriage?”

It was a gesture of courtesy that he asked, given that Otto had consented and that was all the requirement demanded. 

Alicent couldn’t help but seek Rhaenyra’s face in the crowd.

Rhaenyra’s eyes were on her, bloodshot, her face unsmiling. She looked like she had been weeping heavily. 

I have not changed my fate. Alicent thought. I have simply given it to another.  

She looked back at Viserys. “I do assent, Your Grace,” Alicent said. “With all my heart.”

Daemon glanced up at her, but she didn’t catch his expression.

Viserys motioned to his brother. “Rise.”

Daemon did so, taking his place beside Alicent.

 “It is my pleasure,” Viserys said. “To grant this union on the day of my son’s birth. May it be a long and happy one.”

The room erupted into applause, some meant with true celebration and some with irony.

Daemon put his hand on Alicent’s waist, his grip an iron vice. Mine, it seemed to say.

 “The feasting to celebrate Prince Baelon’s birth will last for three days,” Viserys said. “Over which time, you are all welcome to use the Red Keep at your pleasure. However, on the third day,” he looked at Alicent and Daemon. “We will celebrate not just the heir but the wedding of my brother and Lady Alicent. They will be married before all by the Faith of the Seven.”

There was more applause, more cheering. Alicent felt as though she could actually hear her brother’s, Laenor’s and even Ser Harwin’s voices amongst them. 

In one part of her heart, she felt a lifting happiness. In the other, she felt a sickening dread at what was to come.

Chapter Text

“I must speak with you.” Alicent whispered to Daemon as they made their way towards the left side of the hall. “It regards-”

 “Congratulations, sister!” Gwayne interrupted her with a tight hug. “I’m happy for you!”

 “Thank you, Gwayne.” Alicent said quickly, patting his shoulder as he released her. “If you’ll forgive us-”

 “And to you,” Gwayne stood before Daemon. “I suppose we will be brothers by marriage, Prince.”

Daemon didn’t say anything, but Alicent could practically read his thoughts. She hid a smile.

She noticed that Daemon was looking behind Gwayne at Otto who shifted forward to meet them. They faced each other wordlessly for a moment.

 “Father-” Alicent and Gwayne began at the same time. 

 “It may become necessary for us to work together from now on,” Otto said. “Rather than separately.”

Daemon regarded him coolly. “And why would that be?”

Alicent resisted the urge to groan.

 “Because you are to wed my only daughter.” Otto said, his teeth gritted. “So perhaps from now on you could show some burgeoning respect to me and my House.”

 “It is your daughter who will wear my House’s colours until death,” Daemon said. “That respect should come from you.”

Otto twitched and Alicent couldn’t even imagine what he truly wanted to say. 

 “You might understand one day.” Otto said, bitingly. “When you have your own children, but for me to give you her in marriage is already an act of mercy. I could have sent her to the Sept.”

Daemon’s thumb brushed the hilt of his sword. His eyes flickered to Alicent. Alicent shook her head firmly. His hand lowered. 

 “Well,” Gwayne said. “I’m glad we’re all getting along.”

 “My congratulations to you, my Prince.” Corlys said, joining the circle with Rhaenys. Laenor and Laena followed closely behind. “I hope this marriage brings both parties more joy than your first.”

Alicent saw Rhaenys smirk.

 “I thank you, Lord Corlys.” Daemon said. His hand found the small of Alicent’s back. She noticed that his grip had not strayed for longer than a moment. “I have no doubt that it will.” 

 “We should perhaps be mindful of any retaliation from the Vale for what could be perceived as an insult.” Otto said.

The congregated group collectively glanced across the room at where the Arryns and their kinsmen stood, all with the exception of Daemon who seemed to be enjoying the looks of consternation he was receiving. 

 “Let them say what they will,” Corlys said finally. “The union has been blessed by the King himself and will be anointed by the Seven. The slight will be forgotten in time.”

 “You have a far more generous mind than I, my lord,” Otto said. “Slights are rarely forgotten by those with little else to do.”

 “Do you speak of yourself?” Daemon said under his breath. Alicent nudged him. 

Across the room Rhaenyra turned and left, ignoring both Jeyne and Viserys’ gaze as it followed her. Alicent wondered if she knew about her brother yet, she wondered if any of the many that now knew of it had even bothered to tell her about the future that was about to fall on her like an iron anchor. 

 “Lady Alicent,” Jason Lannister approached her, shoulder to shoulder with Tyland. “All necessary felicitations to you.” He looked like he was trying to keep from saying what he wished to say; something cutting no doubt.

 “My lord.” Alicent said, taking at least one moment to enjoy herself. “I thank you for your words. I must apologise to you, I was so honoured by your relentless pursuit of me.” She spoke the words loudly enough so that Daemon, who was still in conversation with Corlys, lifted his head slightly.

 “Oh,” Jason glanced at Daemon, panicked. “No, no, not really a ‘pursuit’, I’d say. More of a passing…a passing fancy-”

 “Did you not ask my father if you may officially court me?”

 “I…I did, but-”

 “But you merely intended to have your fun with me and leave?”

Daemon turned, his eyes falling on Jason. 

 “No,” Jason was sweating. “Not at all. Indeed, I thought you a very elegant and beautiful prospect-”

 “My Prince,” Alicent looked at Daemon. “Lord Lannister favours me with such an intimate compliment.”

 “Does he?” Daemon’s tone was dark.

 “Our congratulations!” Tyland intervened to save his brother’s life, hastily steering him to the side. “May you enjoy the greatest happiness together, my Prince, Lady Alicent.”

Daemon and Alicent exchanged a look of amusement as the Lannisters turned their tails and made their retreat. 

Alicent noticed that the Baratheons had not come to congratulate her, in fact she couldn’t see Borros at all. Perhaps that was for the best.

By the time that they finally made it out of the Great Hall after the endless stream of well-wishers from seemingly every House in the entire Realm, the sky was dark. Alicent wordlessly led Daemon through the echoing halls until they reached a quiet passage. The night air blew through the arc of the windows and a gentle rain was falling onto the leaves and grass around them, a pattering and humming sound that rose like woodsmoke.

She turned to him finally as he stood waiting. “Well?” He said. Then, “You look pale.”

Alicent raised her hand to her face. “I’m fine.” She said.

Daemon moved closer, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her face to him. “Have you eaten?”

 “Not yet.”

 “Then go to your chambers and call a servant.”

 “I’m not a child.”

His eyes found the length of the ceiling but he said nothing. 

 “The heir is damaged,” Alicent said. “I heard from my father.”

 “Damaged in what way?” 

 “The Maesters say he is blind and deaf, that he may not walk.” 

Daemon was silent for a moment. She watched his eyes fall on the rain outside, taking her words in. “Are they certain?”

 “I do not see how such reports can be made lightly.” 

Daemon kept his eyes on the rain. “And?”

 “What?”

 “Is that all?” He asked, his face was impossible to discern. “You look as though you have more to say.”

Alicent stabbed her nails into her skin, the sudden pain letting her know that she had drawn blood. “Rhaenyra is to be betrothed to him. My father said that it was the Queen’s wish.”

Daemon was silent again. Alicent would have paid gold to know his thoughts.

 “That woman,” he said finally. “Has more ice in her veins than I would have ever suspected.”

Alicent looked at the ground. “It is a terrible fate that awaits Rhaenyra. And of my affliction.”

Daemon looked at her in the darkness. “How is any of this your fault?”

 “Everything is my fault!” Alicent snapped. “My coming back, my hourglass, my twisting of time. I should have known this unnatural state of affairs would lead to mayhem. And now I am once again her tormentor!” She broke away from him, standing before the flurry of cold rain through the window, bracing herself on the stone sill. “In every life, I am a walking curse!” Her voice broke and the tears that had gathered began to fall. “How foolish was I to be happy, to be arrogant! And now the gods punish me again for it. I have handed my own wretched life to Rhaenyra whose suffering may even outweigh my own. I should never have come back. I should have never accepted the witch’s conditions. I should have never reversed this accursed hourglass! I should have never been born!” Her shoulders trembled as she cried. She was unable to stop them, unable to stop any gasping sob from escaping her lips.

Daemon watched her. His silence rang between them, louder than words. 

 “I know what you are thinking,” Alicent said, turning to face him. “That you have cursed yourself with me. I am still the same wicked Alicent Hightower, the Green Bitch of Oldtown, and I am too selfish, too cowardly, too weak to change my own present, let alone the future. Just say it.” She advanced towards him. “Say it. Admit it.”

Daemon stepped towards her until he was close enough to reach forth and touch. “Did it ever occur to you,” he said. “That this world is a pitiless, bloody parade of death and suffering whether we wish it to be or not?” 

Alicent stared at him. His hands reached her shoulders, his shake forcing her eyes to meet his directly in the half-light. 

 “Baelon’s sickness, Rhaenyra’s suffering, Viserys’ stupidity, Aemma’s misgiving: all of that has already been written by the gods.” He said. “And more havoc they will wreak whether you claw yourself into shreds or whether you don’t.”

 “The common thread is me.” Alicent said, quivering.

 “Then continue destroying yourself,” the anger in Daemon’s voice made her flinch. “Make your fingers bleed, throw yourself against the walls and see what good it does!” 

Alicent swallowed, the tears refused to stop. She put the heel of her hand to her face in attempt to clear them. “I loathe myself.” She said. She had said it out loud for the very first time, something true, something that she had always believed but never dared say. “I’m a bad woman. A bad mother. A terrible Queen. Nothing I do will ever bring joy to anyone. Why was I even made to exist if all I am is an ill-omen? You know of this.” Her wild eyes found his. “You know me, Daemon. You know me of old. You saw it once, in our first lives, you saw me as I am.”

“I will tell you,” Daemon said. “Who you really are.” In the ghosting dimness of the hall, he was the one thing that was solid and true. He pressed both hands against her neck, lifting her face. “You are the hope upon the high tower when all else is lost. You are a single light in the darkness that will never fade. You are the sun above a storm.” His forehead met hers. “Without you, the world ceases its purpose, Alicent. That I know.” 

Alicent closed her eyes, content to rest against him. “It has all come to nothing.”

 “No.” Daemon said. “It has only just begun.”

 “But Rhaenyra-”

 “Will not marry the crippled boy.” Daemon said. “I will not allow it.”

Alicent pulled away to meet his gaze. “If it is the Queen’s wish then Viserys will-”

 “It makes no bones what Viserys and the Queen will or won’t do.” Daemon said. “Because I will be King.”

 “You…still think to be King?”

 “There is no other course,” Daemon said, his eyes were steel. “And you swore to help me, did you not?”

 “I did.” Alicent said, unsteadily. If Daemon became King, he could dissolve the betrothal and set Rhaenyra free. It was, indeed, the only course. No longer a whim but a necessity. 

And especially as it’s Rhaenyra, Alicent thought. She tried to ignore the pangs of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm her. He most likely still loves her above all others and will stop at nothing to save her. He may never love me as he loves her, but I will live with that. I can live with that.

Daemon stroked Alicent’s hair with the edge of his hand. “You are weary,” he murmured. “And will make yourself sick if you stand here in the cold.”

Alicent rubbed her face. “I am fi-” She broke off with a squeak as Daemon lifted her into his arms. 

 “Stubborn.” He finished, striding down the hall. “I will carry you to your chamber if you will not walk.”

 “Daemon!” Alicent tried to squirm free but he held her fast. “What if someone sees?”

 “We are to be wed.” He said. “Let them see.” He carried her past several gaping servants, lords and ladies, soldiers, and then took her up the stairway.

 “They are all staring!” Alicent snapped. “Let me down!”

 “They’re staring because they think my intention is to bed you.”

 “That doesn’t make it better!”

When Daemon reached her chamber, he kicked open the door that stood ajar and it hit the cabinet behind with a bang, startling the maids inside. They were open-mouthed as he brought her over the threshold. “Your mistress hasn’t eaten since dawn.” He set Alicent on her feet. “And you call yourselves her caretakers? Attend her at once.” Alicent gave him a look of exasperation as he turned back towards the door. “I will see you on the morrow, my lady.”

 “Goodnight, my Prince.” Alicent muttered to no one as he was already gone.

.

There was a chill in the air the next day, a mist rising over the godswood and the people of the Realm awoke to Heir’s Day, the first day of celebration, only few truly knowing what kind of heir they were heralding.

Aemma and Viserys kept to their chambers, nursing their boy along with Maesters and wetnurses. The prince's condition was no more or less than it had been the day before and, although knowing dread still hung over Aemma like a cloud, she ignored the terror in her bones for now. She was content in her husband’s arms, her son in hers. 

Otto kept to the Tower of the Hand, poring over the King’s ledgers, running accounts in the early hours with Beesbury. His mind was no longer clouded, it was straight and aligned as an arrow being shot across the sky. He knew now what the future would bring and he must prepare. 

Gwayne awoke in his chambers early, as he usually did, splashed his face with water and went out early to ride in the mist.

Laenor, who did not rise before the sun was high, had not yet stirred. 

Daemon had not rested. He had taken his Gold Cloaks into King's Landing once again, spent the night patrolling, yelling orders, dispersing the smugglers that had again landed at the docks. He made his way back to the Red Keep at dawn as the mist grew. He wanted to crawl into Alicent’s bed, but he restrained himself. She needed her rest. He went to his own chambers to sleep as the sun rose. 

When Alicent awoke she heard the hum of voices floors below her. The Keep was always full of people, but never this many nobles at once. The servants had been calling in their children, their spouses, to help prepare all of the food for all of the grand meals planned and there were not just the evening feasts to think of but breakfasts and lunches, dressing the ladies, fetching the noblemen their horses, running fresh sheets from rooms, clearing the wine glasses that had been left strewn across the grounds the evening before. 

Alicent laid in bed for a while, her mind working. She needed to find Rhaenyra, reassure her. Perhaps she could not tell her everything that she was planning, about her and Daemon, about the plot brewing to supplant her new brother - but she could at least let her know that she wouldn’t be left alone. Alicent wouldn’t let her feel as though she was abandoned here in the Keep as Alicent had been.

Thinking of Daemon, Alicent briefly lifted her fingers to her lips. She wished he was present to sate her desire. Or even just to lay next to her. There was an overwhelming safety in the set of his shoulders, a feeling of protection that she had never known.

She drew herself out of her thoughts forcefully. She needed to stop dwelling on him. She would only get herself hurt if she did not. 

Her maids had prepared her a breakfast that was far larger than usual. Daemon had most likely scared them. Alicent had to force half of it down to avoid their pleas for her to eat more. They dressed her more carefully that morning; a pale, lilac dress with an intricate fastening at the back. She knew they were dying to ask her questions about her upcoming marriage but they did not. 

As Netty twisted her hair to the crown of her head, Alicent saw a figure making her way across the gardens, long silver hair down and dressed simply as if she had risen out of bed and simply thrown something over her shift. 

 “Rhaenyra!” She exclaimed out loud, startling her maid.

 “My lady?”

 “That will do, Netty, thank you.” Alicent stood and raced from the room, down the hall, her hair only half done. She took the stairs two at a time and picked up her skirts to run to the oak wood doors to the gardens. Throwing them open she couldn’t help but cry, “Rhaenyra!”

Rhaenyra’s frame froze and she looked over her shoulder furtively, her body stiff.

Alicent’s breath appeared before her in the air, the rain had lasted all night and now laid on every surface, an opalescent glaze.

Rhaenyra seemed stuck in place for a moment and then she turned and ran, disappearing into the mist.

Alicent watched her go in despair. Her despair quickly turned to irritation. “Rhaenyra!” She called. Then she hissed in frustration. “Gods be good!”

Alicent snatched her long skirts from the ground and began to run after her, almost sliding into a heap on the slippery steps leading to the grass of the castle grounds. She could still see Rhaenyra moving through the mist, just about, a bobbing point of silver.

Alicent was not accustomed to running, but she ran. She listened to the heavy thump of her own feet upon the sodden grass, her pearled shoes now just two heavy slats of rainwater. 

“RHAENYRA!”

Rhaenyra cast her eyes behind her in something like amazement melded with fury. “GO AWAY!”

 “NO!” Alicent huffed, barely able to stay upright just to keep pace with her. “Talk to me!”

 “No!”

 “Rhae…nyra…please!” Alicent gasped. Her legs and arms were becoming heavy and her hair was all but done for, flying about her shoulders like a flame. 

Rhaenyra beat a swift pace towards the woodland, never stopping for a moment.

Alicent followed her as closely as she could, though her breath was beginning to burn in her throat.

A mile away, Harwin, Larys and their men from Harrenhall were congressing near the stables drinking hot mead, laughing and jibing peacefully about the road taken from Harrenhall to the Red Keep when one said, “What’s that over there?”

They all looked to see two figures moving in and out of the thick mist down the slope of the hill.

 “Looks like two ladies.”

 “Ladies running like madness.”

Harwin recognised the silver hair. “Isn’t that the Princess?”

Larys recognised Alicent’s figure, he had admired it many times. “And the Lady Alicent.”

 “What are they doing?”

 “Jesting?”

 “Rhaenyra!” Alicent’s voice could be heard screaming. “Come ba-a-ack!”

The group of soldiers watched them, pivoting their heads slowly as the two pelted headlong into the woods.

 “Should we,” one of the soldiers glanced at Harwin. “Help at all?”

Harwin took a sip of his drink. “That, lads,” he said. “Is a disagreement among women. Do not interfere on pain of your life, lest you lose an eye. Now pretend you saw nothing.”

The soldiers, most of whom were married, nodded and went back to drinking their mead.

Meanwhile, Alicent found it easier to see Rhaenyra as she darted among the trees in the woods, but it was harder to catch up. Her feet began to catch upon stones sticking out from the leaves and tree branches that had fallen.

 “Rhaenyra, please stop!” She choked out with the last of her energy.

 “Since when did you learn how to run?” Rhaenyra snapped behind her, leaping over a fallen tree trunk. “You’re useless at running!”

 “I…know…”

 “Remember when we walked too far to the lake to go swimming? I had to fetch for a guard to carry you back!”

Alicent couldn’t reply. Her throat was on fire, filled with unswallowed saliva, her breathing was so heavy she really thought she would faint. 

Rhaenyra dipped a corner, skirting over a path made between the rocks.

Alicent attempted to follow her, but she caught her foot on the side of the rock. She fell in a lilac-coloured heap with a yelp, leaves flying in all directions from the force. 

Rhaenyra heard her fall and kept running, her anger fuelling her. When she realised that Alicent wasn’t getting up, she slowed her pace and turned.

Alicent was coughing violently, her shoulders shaking. Her ankle was in pain, twisted underneath her. 

Rhaenyra regarded her from a distance. “Are you alright?”

Alicent looked up at her pleadingly. “Please,” she rasped. “Come and talk to me.”

Rhaenyra turned away and began walking. “No.”

 “Rhaenyra, I wanted to tell you!”

 Rhaenyra turned back. “Then why didn’t you?! Because you don’t tell me anything anymore! You’re a stranger!”

 “I didn’t know...how to say it.” Alicent gasped. “I thought you...would be angry with me.”

 Rhaenyra inched forth. “I wouldn’t have been angry if you had just told me in the first place!”

 “I know.”

Rhaenyra looked at Alicent’s bowed head as she struggled to catch her breath, there were leaves and twigs in her hair. “How long?” She asked. “For how long have you and my uncle…been…?”

 “Since the Vale.” Alicent said. “Well…somewhat before that, but I didn’t know he had any serious intentions.”

 “He did not say he would marry you?”

 “Not then.”

 “But you allowed him his way?!” Rhaenyra was horrified. “Alicent, that’s not like you at all.”

 “I have not been myself of late.” 

 “That much is clear.”

 “I am not as I was.” Alicent said. “In fact I…I am come back.”

 “Come back?”

 “Come back to this place. This life.” Alicent raised her head. “I’ve come-” She broke off, the words stuck in her throat.

Behind Rhaenyra, further down the mist-covered field, stood a figure with their face shrouded. Long, dark hair blew in the wind. The witch. 

 “Come where?” Rhaenyra frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Alicent trembled. “I…nothing.” She couldn’t take her eyes from the witch. She had almost disobeyed a condition and, as a result, had almost incurred whatever punishment that disobeyment wrought.

Rhaenyra followed her gaze and turned. There was nothing there. She looked back. “Are you well?”

Alicent swallowed hard. “Can…you…help me up, please? I think I’ve hurt my ankle.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “Gods, you are always injuring something.” She made her way towards her.

Alicent glanced back across the field as Rhaenyra helped her stumble to her feet.

The witch was gone. 

The two girls sat on a log in the woods near the lightning tree which still stood proud near the circle of rocks. The cold air bit through the glenn, but they were still red-faced and sweating from running a mile over the dew, both of their dresses and shoes were dripping wet and muddied. 

 “Do you love him?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent looked at the ground. “I don’t know.”

 “And yet you marry him.” Rhaenyra said, then snorted. “But I suppose he has deflowered you, as the rumour said.”

 “That rumour was false when it was told.” Alicent said. 

 “Well it’s certainly true now, I'd warrant.”

Alicent was quiet. Rhaenyra kicked her heels against the log.

 “Did you,” Alicent felt ridiculous as she said it seeing as they would be married in any other circumstance. “Ever carry a...flame for him?” 

Rhaenyra shrugged. “I don’t know.” She hesitated. “He is my uncle, I admired him. I suppose I just became so used to his attentions.” She glanced at Alicent. “Has he told you he loves you?”

 “No.” Alicent said, smiling. “He will never say such a thing.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because he does not.” Alicent said. “He wants a woman capable of child-bearing. And perhaps he does care for me in his own way. But he will never love me like-” she broke off, unable to speak the words. Like he loved you.

Yes, she would never be to Daemon what Rhaenyra had been and she should banish the thought of it from her mind. 

Rhaenyra frowned. “How could he marry you then? That’s just cruel. He should let you alone if he’s simply going to ignore you like he did Rhea.”

Alicent’s heart tugged. “There is something else I must tell you.”

 “What?”

 “Your brother, Baelon,” Alicent said. “I have heard my father speak of his condition. The Maesters are saying he is blind and deaf.”

Rhaenyra stared at her. “My…brother is? Why has my father not said?”

 “I do not know if has been properly discussed yet.”

 “Gods.” Rhaenyra whispered, turning to stare blankly ahead of her. “What does it mean for the succession? Will the Houses bend the knee to a King who cannot see or speak?”

 “They also said he is perhaps lame, as Lord Larys is.”

Rheanyra bit her lip. “I knew my mother looked unwell before the birth, more unwell than she ever has done. But of course my father needed his heir.” She scoffed. “I hope she never gives him another child, not one.” She played with the ends of her hair, twisting it over her finger. “I will speak to my mother when I return. Perhaps the Maesters have exaggerated the condition, you know how they fuss.”

Alicent looked at the side of her face. Should I tell her about the betrothal? Is it the place? The time? Should I be the one to do it?

And yet, what if Viserys changed his mind for some reason? Then she would be riling the situation without cause.

Rhaenyra threw her head back, her eyes closed. “What a series of days.” She whispered. “I am truly tired of secrets and whisperings and plots and plans and heirs. I wish to stop thinking about it all for at least a short time.” She looked at Alicent. “Do you truly wish to make up with me?”

Alicent nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Rhaenyra smiled, her old mischievousness returning. “Then you must do something for me.”

 “What?” Alicent said, warily.

 “You must come into King’s Landing with me.” Rhaenyra said. “For Heir’s Day.”

 “You want to sneak into King’s Landing?” Alicent was aghast.

 “Yes, to join in the celebrations,” Rhaenyra grinned. “It is for my dear brother after all. And I want to get away from this place for just one night and forget it all, forget who I am, forget my name, my position, my future, everything.” Her hand, as it always did, found Alicent’s. “You will come with me, won’t you? You won’t let me go alone? I am the Princess after all, you must take care of me.”

Alicent groaned. “This is a terrible idea.”

 “Just say ‘yes’!”

 “And what about the Heir’s Day feast taking place this night, you do not think we will both be missed?”

 “Come now, we will sneak out after of course.” Rheanyra inched forward. “Wearing disguises.”

 “Did you forget? I already tried that, was caught out and had to tie myself to Jason Lannister for the evening. Is that what you want?”

 “Better disguises than that.” Rhaenyra said. “The castle is so crammed full of strangers at the moment that no one will care if two young lords slip through into the town.”

 “You want to go disguised as lords?” Alicent stared at her. “You’re serious?”

 “There’s nothing to it, all we have to do is hide our hair.” Rhaenyra squinted at her. “You might need to keep your face low, your puffy cheeks and big eyes give you away as a girl.”

 “I’m ignoring that comment about my puffy cheeks.” Alicent said. “Rhaenyra, this plan is fraught with disaster.”

 “So?” Rhaenyra said. “One night. Just one. What harm could it do?”

Alicent finally heaved a sigh. “Very well.” She laughed at the look of excitement on her friend’s face. She was just glad to have her back, just like old times. “Tonight. After the feast. And back before dawn. Promise!”

 “I promise! I promise!” Rhaenyra gripped her sleeve, beaming. “I can’t wait!”

Thinking back on it, had Alicent known what was to befall them in the capital, she would have turned her hourglass right then to undo everything said and set in motion.

Chapter Text

When Alicent remembered the Red Keep, she remembered the darkness, the echo of the halls, the whisperings inside of eaves and under stairways; it had been bright and full of life in her childhood and it had slowly become morose, like a forest left to overgrow and rot in her final years as Queen. As she stepped into the celebratory feast that evening, she was overcome by the opulence. No expense had Viserys spared for his one true heir. The tables were so laden down with food that servants were precariously shifting plates into the corners, balancing flagons in both hands as they were ferried in between tables. 

There was no requirement for a House to sit together, but they always seemed to anyway, forming their small cliques. A House would often wear their colours no matter what the occasion, so the room became a patchwork: a sqaure of red, a triangle of grey, a sprawling of yellow. 

Tonight, Alicent wore her mother’s dress, the very same she had used when turning her attentions to the King at her father’s behest in her previous life. Her maids had curled her hair with hot tongs and rubbed the oil of crushed flowers into her skin. As Alicent moved through the room, she felt eyes turn. She wondered what their thoughts were: if they were thinking how shameless she was after the spectacle of the tourney, if they could see how nervous she had been these past days from her chewed nails and raw fingerbeds. Perhaps they noticed that she was limping slightly after her fall over the rocks earlier. 

Viserys gestured for her as she walked to come and sit at the high table. She was, after all, to be a Targaryen once again. Her father had already taken his seat on his right and it seemed Viserys wanted her to his left. Alicent nodded at her kinsmen from Oldtown - spotting Frederick and his son, Rhys among them- and then mounted the steps to take her seat beside the King.

 “How lovely you look tonight.” Viserys said as she curtsied. “Where you get your looks from I know not.” He looked behind him at Otto, who laughed politely.

 “From her mother, I trust, Your Grace.”

Viserys seemed a little different than he had at the tourney. He was still in good spirits but there was an anxiety to each movement he made. Alicent, having been married to him for many years in her previous life, deduced immediately that he must have been told of Baelon’s condition, he was always like this after some bad news that he was trying to repress. She wondered what he was thinking. 

As Alicent sat, she looked over at Otto’s side to see Laenor, Laena, Rhaenys and Corlys already seated. On her side, however, she was the only one. Daemon and Rhaenyra had not yet arrived. Queen Aemma, she assumed, would still be recovering and not in attendance for the feast; especially as Viserys had offered her his left side which was intended for the Queen.

 “You know, Alicent,” Viserys said, playing with his goblet. “Sometimes I think I am quite different from the rest of my family.”

It was not the first time that Alicent had heard him speak such, but it was the first time in this life.

 “Your Grace?” She said, waiting for him to continue.

 “My father, my mother, my brother,” he said, dryly. “Were all cut from the same cloth. A cloth that mine own daughter appears to have cut herself from too. They are all defiant, raucous, difficult. What happened to me? Oh,” he laughed. “You must think I flatter myself. I do not. I am a boring old King, I often wish I had the talent to walk into a room and cause silence to sweep it. But alas.”

“You have far worthier charms, I am sure, Your Grace.” Alicent said.

 “Hm.” Viserys said flatly. He clearly only suspected she was being polite. 

 “It isn’t always a good quality to sweep a room with silence upon entering.” Alicent said. “I would rather enter a room and then be approached by many friends who wished me goodwill.”

Viserys smiled and met her eyes. “Well, then I wouldn’t recommend sitting the Iron Throne, Alicent. You won’t get many friends or much goodwill.” 

 “You are melancholy tonight I think, Your Grace.”

His face creased. “Well,” he looked as though he was considering whether to tell her or not. “I am perhaps more tired than I was during the games.”

 “Is it the Prince?” Alicent decided to venture. “Or the Queen?”

Viserys hesitated. “My son,” he said. “They say, the Maesters say, he might have some…difficulties in the future. His leg might be lame, or his eyes poor.” Alicent got the feeling that he was santising what he had really been told, she couldn’t imagine that her father hadn’t been eager to give him the brutal truth. “I am simply concerned for him. And the Queen. And, indeed, the Realm.”

 “I am sorry to hear that, Your Grace.” Said Alicent. 

 “Thank you.” He sipped his wine. “I am grateful for your concern.”

 “The gods do not act without reason, I am sure.”

 “Ha!” Viserys said, his voice dry. “I admire your sturdy faith.”

Alicent wondered if she had been any help at all when through the doors strode Daemon. As he descended the steps, the talk at the tables quietened and eyes found him. Watching it from afar, Alicent found it quite remarkable to behold.

 “Now there is someone,” Viserys muttered. “Who has the uncanny ability to still a room.”

 “Fear, no doubt.” Alicent said.

 “Fear, respect. Perhaps they are one and the same.”

 “I think they are very different, Your Grace.”

Viserys reached out and patted her hand just as Daemon reached the high table. Daemon cast a look at both of them, his eyes lingering on their hands. 

 “Brother,” Viserys said. “I’m glad you could pull yourself away from your many duties to join us.”

 “Forgive my lateness.” Daemon said. He sat next to Alicent, his sudden presence made all the skin on her side tingle as it sensed he was near. “I’m glad to see you were keeping my bride company, Your Grace.” 

 “Alicent is a most comforting companion tonight.” Viserys said, smiling. “You are fortunate indeed to have convinced her to marry you, Daemon. An enduring mystery it is to me how you managed that.”

 “And to I.” Alicent thought she heard Otto mutter. 

Daemon smiled, rather tightly, and signalled for wine. Alicent tried to make out his expression. Was he actually annoyed? By that little hand touch? 

Through the doors Rhaenyra bounded, a smile on her face. Alicent already knew how excited she was about the plot to sneak out after the feast, she wished she wouldn’t be so obvious about it. 

 “Daughter,” Viserys said as she reached them. “I was about to send a guard to search the castle.”

 “I was taking a bath, father.” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You know how those maids fuss.”

Viserys gestured to Daemon. “Never have daughters, brother.”

Daemon put his hand on Alicent’s. “My lady and I will take that under consideration.”

Alicent blushed fiercely and tried to cover it by sipping her wine. His affection was often discombobulating, overwhelming: she wasn’t used to a man who acted as though he wanted her at all times. 

Rhaenyra caught Alicent’s eye and winked. Alicent knew that wink well. Whatever her friend had planned, it couldn’t possibly be good. 

The feast commenced and the entertainment began. It seemed that a wandering group of troubadours had been commissioned to perform love songs and poetry. They began by reciting many old rhymes that Alicent had heard from the cradle to the sound of several lutes being strummed. It didn’t seem like many guests were paying attention. People were beginning to change tables, Houses from the Stormlands mixing with Houses from the North, the Reach and the Vale exchanging greetings and pleasantries. 

Daemon looked at Alicent’s plate. “Is that all you’re eating?”

Alicent looked at him, mouth full. “Mmf.” 

 “There are sparrows that eat more than you do.”

Alicent swallowed. “A lady must watch her figure.”

 “What nonsense.” Daemon muttered. 

Behind him, Rhaenyra amused herself by putting a whole chicken’s foot in her mouth and shredding the skin with her teeth. She then showed the inside of her mouth to Alicent.

 “That’s disgusting.” Alicent said. 

Rhaenyra stuck out her chicken-covered tongue. 

 “Rhaenyra, some manners wouldn’t go amiss, I beg you.” Viserys said, tiredly. 

 “Your Grace,” Corlys interjected from the right side of the table. “I was just speaking of this to my wife, but when can we expect Your Grace to pay a visit to Driftmark? It would be considered a great honour for us to have you to look over our fleet of ships. We have commandeered many more since last time you came.”

Viserys looked like he wanted to avoid all notion of going to Driftmark, correctly suspecting it was a further ploy to get him to agree to an army to fight the Free Cities. 

 “When the Queen has fully recovered, my lord.” He said. “We will plan our journey. Won’t we, Otto?”

 “Yes, Your Grace.” Otto said, who also wanted to avoid Driftmark for similar reasons. Alicent knew that her father was throwing that ‘plan’ in a mental cesspit entitled ‘Things I Will Never Do’. 

 “Your Grace,” Jeyne Arryn appeared, conjured from nowhere, at the foot of the high table. “I wish to give Your Grace my congratulations on the birth of our new heir.”

 “Thank you, my lady,” Viserys said. “I heard that you have already seen Aemma and-” he broke off.

 “And Prince Baelon, I did.” Jeyne said. Her eyes caught Alicent’s and Alicent felt like she could already see the far-flung consequences of Baelon’s condition forming into a solid conclusion in her mind. Jeyne was as worried about what a blind and crippled prince meant for the Realm - and her own House - as anyone. “I have often heard that many…illnesses that manifest at birth become things of the past as the years turn. I would not spare much worry on it, Your Grace.”

Corlys and Rhaenys both looked at Viserys quizzically. Alicent realised that among the party, only very few yet knew. 

 “Thank you, Lady Jeyne,” Viserys said hastily. “Those are kind words.” He looked at Alicent. “You visited the Eyrie recently, did you not, Alicent? Perhaps Lady Jeyne can sit with us and speak of-”

 “This table is full.” Daemon said. He met Lady Jeyne’s eye, sitting back in his seat.

 “Daemon-” Viserys began.

 “The Prince speaks true,” Lady Jeyne said. “I am enjoying the chance to sit with my kinsmen and make merry with those I have not seen. I will speak with Lady Alicent at another time.” She curtsied and left. 

Viserys looked over at Daemon, but said nothing. 

 “Your Grace!” A troubadour from the troupe approached with two of his minstrels, dressed in a star-shaped velvet cap and many jingling bells. They bowed so low that their noses almost brushed the stone steps. “At your pleasure, we will honour the fine ladies of your table.”

Viserys seemed grateful for the distraction. “Of course.” He said. “You must.” He laughed as he saw Rhaenys roll her eyes. “You must begin with my fair cousin who sits there.”

Rhaenys gave him a withering look.

The troubadour leapt up the steps and began to recite a love sonnet as Corlys attempted not to laugh. He finished by magicking a red rose from thin air, presenting it to Rhaenys with a flourish. “Princess,” he said. “Your beauty is that of a far-off silver star that dances upon the heavens. Your eyes shimmer as if they are made of the finest jade. Your hair-”

 “Just give me the rose.” Rhaenys cut in. 

Getting the hint, the troubadour handed it to her. She sarcastically flashed it at Viserys who was laughing behind his handkerchief. “I thank you for that, cousin.”

 “I’ll take the rose.” Laenor said. “I’ll give it to a friend.” 

Rhaenys handed it to him under the table without a word. 

 “And now my daughter.” Viserys seemed particularly sadistic that evening. “You must recite a poem for her too.”

 “Father!” Rhaenyra protested. “It’s embarassing.”

 “It’s my wish.”

Rhaenyra sat there with an irritated air as the troubadour began to recite an old poem about peregrines that find each other in the cornfields of summer and then the same barren fields in winter after crossing the world once over.

 “Falcons, falcons. It’s always falcons.” Rhaenyra muttered.

 “Because falcons mate for life.” Laenor said helpfully. 

The troubadour produced a yellow rose and handed it to Rhaenyra who took it quickly, hoping to just get it over with. 

 “Princess Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight,” he said. “Your beauty is like the gentle mist that rises above the ocean. A beauty that will echo through time just as the ebbing song of that eternal tide.” Behind him, the lute reverberated. “In our distant future, men will sing of Princess Rhaenyra, whose loveliness will never be forgotten, whose perfection will be given wings by history.”

There was a smattering of applause. 

 “Who writes this drivel?” Rhaenyra muttered. 

In Alicent’s experience when men wrote of women it was very rarely of their perfection. If she remembered correctly, Rhaenyra had been dubbed ‘Maegor with teats’. She wondered if that was better or worse than the ‘Green Bitch of Oldtown’.

 “There is one more lady at the table.” Corlys, who sometimes just wanted to catch the world aflame and see if it burned, nodded at Alicent. “I would take care with your words though, troubadour, her intended is not known for his sense of humour.”

Alicent almost pitied the troubadour and his minstrels as they simultaneously glanced at Daemon and turned pale. No doubt they hailed from Flea Bottom.

She raised a hand. “No, it’s quite alright, I don’t need a poem.”

 “Alicent,” her father, who may or may not also want to see Daemon irked, prompted. “You should have a poem if the Prince does not object.”

Alicent didn’t look at Daemon’s expression. She didn’t have to. 

Daemon looked at the troubadour. “Get on with it.” He said, his voice alone was a threat.

 “Oh…” the troubadour gathered his courage and looked at Alicent in a sideways sort of way. “Ahem. Fair Lady Alicent, your beauty is like the fresh red berry that springs from, um, the bush-” another glance at Daemon. “-like the purest winter snow that falls like a blanket of ivory upon the land. You are a flower amidst the…uh, the snow-”

 “You mentioned snow.” Corlys said.

 “You did already say snow.” Rhaenyra said. 

Alicent held out her hand. “Won’t you favour me with a rose?” She spoke to end his agony. 

 “Yes, of course.” The rose he handed her was blue. Inspecting it, Alicent could see that the petals had been dipped in something to make it that colour, it smelled faintly of onions. 

 “Thank you.” Alicent said. “You may go.”

Thankful, the troubadours bowed low once again and escaped back to the middle of the room to continue their songs. 

Alicent finally looked at Daemon. “Must you glare at everyone?”

 “I wasn’t glaring.”

 “I know you were.”

 “As if I would care a single whit about those fools reciting their terrible lines.” Daemon muttered. “You insult me.”

Alicent pressed close to his ear. “I would hate to insult you as you are quite the poet yourself. I am your sun above the storm, am I not?”

Daemon’s hand froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. 

Alicent turned back. “You really are wasted as Commander of the City Watch. I wonder if you could find yourself an occupation as a troubadour-”

Daemon put his cup down and spoke so only she could hear. “Make your jests while you can, Lady Alicent. I will see to you later.”

Alicent felt a chill run up her spine. 

The low roar of the voices in the room quietened as a new figure appeared at the doors, immediately recognisable by her long, silver hair which was plaited intricately, cascading down her back. In her arms, she carried a golden swaddle. 

 “Queen Aemma Targaryen, Queen of the Realm!”

Viserys brow furrowed. “What-?”

Rhaenyra glanced down the table at him. “I thought the Maesters said mother was yet too weak to walk.”

The Houses at the tables stood as the Queen passed and, as she approached, the high table stood for her and the baby in her arms. 

Aemma lifted her head resolutely to Viserys. “Do not scold me, husband. I thought what was an Heir’s Day without its heir?”

Viserys eyes landed worriedly on the swaddle even as he forced a smile. “Y-yes, but…my love…to bring the babe-”

 “He is well enough.” Aemma said, firmly. “I thought all would like to lay their eyes upon the next King.”

 “Of course.” Viserys glanced around the room as everyone craned their necks curiously to see. “Well, come, my love. Sit.”

Aemma’s eyes fell on Alicent, who was technically in her seat. Daemon took Alicent’s arm and moved her to his other side. Rhaenyra made room for her so she could sit between the two of them. 

Aemma ascended the steps and, as she did so, Baelon let out something between a cry and a squawk. It sounded strange; bird-like rather than childlike. Alicent saw some at the tables begin to murmur. 

Rhaenyra leaned to kiss her mother as she passed, looking down at her brother. “His eyes are open.” She said. There was worry in her voice. Not worry for the boy, but worry at who would see.

For the first time, Alicent set eyes on Prince Baelon. As thought, both of his eyes were like two pure white marbles. There was a small tuft of silver hair on his head, two tiny red hands curls over his chest. 

Is it my fault that you live? She wondered. I wonder if one day you would thank me or hit me for it if so.

Aemma took her place at the high table and the room seated itself. 

Corlys and Rhaenys couldn’t take their eyes from the swaddle, the realisation dawning. Corlys’s gaze found Alicent and then Daemon. Rhaenys’ eyes also lifted to Daemon. It seemed that they were both, as usual, of one mind. 

Alicent also looked at Daemon, who appeared to be unaffected by all of this. Once again, she wished that the witch had given her the gift of telepathy as well as time travel. 

Aemma cradled Baelon to her chest as the feast continued, rocking him when he made his strange sounds. “There now, my sweet one,” she whispered. “Look at how you are surrounded by all your future subjects who adore you.”

Although many had already approached to congratulate the King, they began to line up again to greet the Queen: this was just a formality, of course, what they really wanted was to see the prince that was making such noises.

Viserys looked like a man who was watching a catastrophe occur in real time but was powerless to stop it. Aemma did not hesitate to push Baelon under the eyes of each lord and lady that approached. If the shock obvious in their expressions concerned her at all then she did not show it. 

Although Alicent herself would never have thought to show the prince’s condition so soon, she did think that she might be able to understand Aemma’s desire to do so. The quicker that the Realm saw his state and saw that his parents stood by him as heir even despite it - the more time they would have to get used to the idea of such a boy as King. She was treating them almost as she was treating Rhaenyra. Giving time to ‘get used to it’ seemed to be her strategy. Acting as though there was no problem at all and challenging all nay-sayers.

It seemed that it was not a strategy that she had discussed with Viserys or anyone else. Although the prince’s eyes were not mentioned, nor were his animal-like outcries, the room descended into quiet whispers as the feast continued.

Alicent felt like many were looking Daemon’s way. 

 The troubadours abandoned their poetry to begin to play their instruments with the minstrels for a dance. Houses intermingled to choose their partners, some staying within their House, others venturing out to a potential future match or a House they’d like to court the favour of. 

Laenor got up. “Excuse me.” He said.

 “Off to find a pretty maid to dance with?” His father asked, teasing.

 “Something like that.” Laenor said. He left the table for the one that House Hightower sat at, making a beeline for Gwayne who had been sitting with his back to the high table and parrying various questions from his family such as when he was going to marry, who he was going to marry, when was he going to stop playing around and marry. 

Laenor took the seat beside him. “Ser Gwayne,” he said. “Enjoying your evening?”

 “It’s fine,” Gwayne said, stress-eating. “This is my and my sister’s extended family from Oldtown. Everyone, this is Ser Laenor Velaryon.”

Everyone regarded Laenor with interest, aware that this was the sole heir to Driftmark. They seemed to approve that Gwayne had made such a prestigious friend.

 Laenor put a hand on Gwayne’s shoulder. “Care to dance?”

 “Very funny.”

 “What?”

 “I obviously cannot dance with a man.”

Laenor looked innocent. “I was just asking if you were inclined to dance at all.”

“Oh.” Gwayne looked flustered. “Well, perhaps I can ask my sister…”

Laenor leaned in so only he could hear his voice. “Or you can follow me into King’s Landing.”

 “What?”

 “There are many fine places to drink in the city. A fair sight more lively than this and with less…challenging company. I happen to know a place on the Street of Sisters where even a nobleman can go undetected.”

 “How does a boy like you know of anything like that?”

Laenor shrugged. “The things I hear.”

 “I cannot just go out drinking like a lout.”

 “Many of these noblemen will be rutting in the streets by the time the night is ended,” Laenor said. “We will be a comparatively mild party.” 

Gwayne glanced around him, mostly at his relatives with whom he didn't really wish to spend any more than the mandated allotment of hours with. “Fine.” He muttered. “A few ales and that’s it.”

 “And the whorehouse.”

 “Don’t make me wash your mouth out, boy.”

Laenor’s eyes glinted. “That might be fun.” 

 “You’re already soused by the sounds of it.”  

 “I’ll meet you by the courtyard gates after the feast.” Laenor said. 

 “Fine.”

 “Oh yes and,” Laenor placed the rose before him. “For you.”

Gwayne looked nervously around them. “Why are you giving me this?”

 “It’s just a rose.”

 “People might see,” He whisked it off the table. “And get the wrong idea.” 

Laenor rolled his eyes. “You care far too much about what people think.”

 “And you care too little.”

 “You can give it to a lady,” Laenor got to his feet. “If you’re able to get up the courage to ask for a dance.”

Gwayne watched him leave, irritation blooming in his chest. His hand held the rose under the table, his palm cutting into the thorns, his heart thumping.

Alicent watched the couples as they joined hands and parted, circling each other across the floor. She felt as though dancing might help release some of her nervous energy. Her ankle still throbbed, but she would at least be able to handle a dance or two. She looked at Daemon, wondering whether to ask him or not. He caught her gaze. She inclined her head to the dancers. Daemon raised his brow. “You enjoy this tiresome pastime, do you?”

 “Why not?”

 “I’ve never seen you dance.”

 “I've danced many times.”

Daemon lounged in his chair. “I’m enjoying my rest having patrolled from here to the East Barracks throughout the day.”

Alicent was annoyed. “You seem to have some energy remaining.”

 “I’m saving my energy until I require it.” He said, his words ominous given his earlier veiled threat. She could already feel his large hands on her, the indent of his sigil ring, his starving bite on her skin.

 “Forgive me,” a voice she recognised brought her attention forward. It was Borros, looking handsome in his Baratheon tunic, only a few visible bruises from yesterday’s games. He was ignoring Daemon completely, it seemed, his gaze on Alicent. “My lady? May I humbly request to have you as my dance partner? I fear I require someone with far more grace than I.” 

Alicent smiled at him, thankful that he didn’t seem to be angry at her for what had happened. “Of course, my lord. It would be my pleasure.”

Daemon stiffened as she rose to her feet and skirted the table, joining hands with Borros on the other side. Alicent decided to pay him no attention at all. She and Borros made their way toward the other dancers and took their places. 

The dance was a simple one, she had danced it many times, but even in the simplicity of their movement Borros glanced down at her feet. “Your right ankle troubles you, my lady?”

 “How did you know?” She was genuinely impressed at his perception.

 “A swordsman learns to read feet.” Borros said. He seemed sheepish. “Although, I probably did not look like much of a swordsman a day hence.”

 “That was not your fault,” Alicent told him. “I…apologise for the Prince’s behaviour.”

Borros shook his head, taking her arms to move her in a circle around him. “There’s no need,” he said. “If you were my betrothed, I would have acted no differently if another man asked for your favour.” 

Alicent sighed. “Men are so difficult.” 

Borros laughed. “I suppose we are. But you ladies are not exactly easy either.”

She thought that he was different than she remembered. Perhaps she had never paid much attention to him in his youth, but she had always thought of him as sombre and unyielding, but now there was a boyish ease to him that was sweet and endearing. She found herself liking him even more than she had.

 “You must have thought me a fool,” Borros said. “Or bull-headed at least for not guessing that you were already intended. You were never loose with your favour. I just thought you were reserved.”

 “No, not at all.” Alicent said. “Nothing had been spoken of.”

 “I hope I can still have you at my side,” Borros spun her to face him. Because of her ankle, he was being gentle with her, the touch of his hand was light. “As friends and allies, of course.”

Alicent smiled at him. “I’d like that very much.”

 “I know you of old, you see.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Borros seemed hesitant. “I met you.” He said. “You may not remember, we were still young. You were with your mother, in the training field at Oldtown. My father and I had stayed a few days at your father’s pleasure. When I was a very young boy nothing interested me except the sword so I took the opportunity to train with some of your bannermen. You were standing with your mother on the opposite side of the field and I wondered why you were smiling at me. My impertinence got the better of me so I stormed up to you in a bluster and demanded to know why you were laughing at me. Your mother bid you tell me what you wished to say as you seemed shy to do so. You said that you had never seen a boy swing a sword so bravely. I was…taken. Even then.”

They had stopped in the middle of the dancers, looking at each other. 

Alicent now thought she did remember. A boy from long ago in Oldtown, hair and eyes dark as the root of a tree, standing before her with his hands on his hips, a tunic covered in dirt. Yes, she remembered.

 “I thought, at the time,” Borros said. “‘I will have her when I’m older, I will make sure of it’. My father was the one who listened to my wishes and put the proposal to your father. I shouldn’t have waited until you turned eighteen to do so. I should have done so from the very beginning. My own fault.” He smiled wanly. “I learned a valuable lesson about trying to wait for the opportune moment, I think. A hard lesson such that it is.” 

Alicent stared at him. “Ser, I-”

A shadow fell over them from behind and she saw Borros rather grudgingly let go of her hands.

 “You may return to your seat.” Daemon said, tersely.

Borros nodded shortly and bowed to Alicent. “I hope we might speak again soon, my lady.” He turned back to the Baratheon's table.

Alicent felt Daemon’s arms encircle her with nearly enough force to lift her from the ground. “What happened to your ankle?” He demanded. “You’re limping.”

Alicent squirmed free from his tight grip. “You swordsmen are so attune to even footwork, if only you were as attune to a woman’s whims.” 

Daemon’s grip found her again. “Is this your revenge on me for refusing a dance?”

 “I accepted the offer of a man who was kind enough to escort me.”

Daemon moved her in time with the other dancers, more roughly than needed, she felt. Alicent stumbled. “Careful, my ankle-”

 “I thought you wished to dance.” Daemon refused to loosen his grip.

Alicent glared at him. “You’re in a foul mood.”

 “I entered the room to see Viserys put his hand on yours,” Daemon drew her in, his strength demolishing her attempt to free herself. “You are truly popular.” 

 “Stop being a child.”

He put his mouth to her ear. “I shall distract myself with the memory of when you were slick between your legs for me last, your nails in my back as you moaned like a whore-”

 “Daemon!” Alicent looked around them, panicked, her face burning. “What if someone hears you?”

 “I couldn’t care less.” Daemon said, his face close to hers. He put a hand to her face, his thumb digging into her cheek. “I will kiss you before all in this room so everyone, including that Baratheon boy, knows to whom you belong.”

 “I am to marry you in two days!” Alicent hissed. “That should be enough for you.”

 “It isn’t.”

 “I am yours,” Alicent said. “As much as a person can be.”

 “You said you didn’t expect my love,” Daemon said. “What did you mean by that?”

Alicent looked at him blankly. Why was he bringing that up all of a sudden? “I-”

 “May I?”

They both looked up to see Rhaenyra standing there. She was smiling at Alicent with intent. She stretched out her hand. “Would the lady care for a dance?”

Daemon and Alicent looked at each other. After a moment, he turned away, letting go of her hands, resigning himself to the fact that he would not be able to commandeer her from Rhaenyra at least.

Rhaenyra grinned as she slipped into his place and took Alicent’s hand. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”

 “No,” Alicent said. “Nothing.”

It was not exactly commonplace for two ladies to dance with each other, but the hour was late, most of the guests were drunk and it amused them greatly to watch the Princess and the Lady Alicent dance with each other.

Viserys and Aemma exchanged an indulgent look as Rhaenyra, playing the part of the man, whirled Alicent’s arm over her head in an exaggerated fashion and Alicent followed her, tossing her hair, playing the pompous lady. The other dancers on the floor moved for them as they spun each other around, completely ignoring the set moves of the dance.

From the sidelines, Alicent thought she heard Laenor cheering and clapping. 

She and Rhaenyra pressed close together and circled and twirled until they were giddy, unable to contain their giggling. 

As the dance ended, the closest tables gave them some high applause, Viserys joining in. For a moment, Alicent forgot every trouble she had, including the growing pain in her ankle. It was fun, for once, she was having fun. 

She now only ever forgot the world when she was intertwined with Daemon. She had forgotten how it felt to have a best friend. She had missed it.

Rhaenyra whispered to her. “I have the disguises. Meet me in my chambers.”

They pulled apart and curtsied low to each other. Alicent attempted not to stagger as she rose. She could try, she supposed, to beg Rhaenyra to postpone this outing on account of her ankle, but a part of her also thought that tonight may be their best option to avoid all detection. The streets would be full and lively, the castle’s defences were down as all the great Houses were within its walls. It would have to be tonight. 

As she returned to her seat she saw a guard cross the room with haste, his white cloak flapping, and make his way to Daemon, bending to speak into his ear. 

Daemon listened briefly and then nodded, waving his hand to dismiss him. He got up from the table. 

 “Leaving so soon?” Viserys said.

 “The Kingsguard have been given a message from my captain,” Daemon said. “There seems to be a disturbance in the city and my Watch is needed.”

 “Can they do without you?” Aemma frowned. “It is bad form to leave during your nephew and future King’s feast.”

Daemon bowed with a politeness that he did not feel at all. “Forgive me, my Queen. The safety of the city is my duty.”

He passed Alicent as he left. “Go to your chambers at a reasonable hour.” He said. “I will come to you if I can spare the time.”

Alicent shot a scowl over her shoulder at him. She didn’t know who he thought he was to suddenly be commanding her this way and that. Had he been this overprotective of Rhaenyra? She doubted it.

  He probably thinks I am much weaker than her and can’t handle myself. She thought. Bidding me to wait for him in my chambers like my only purpose is to warm his bed.

For the first time, Alicent felt a small triumph in the fact that she would be escaping the Red Keep that night with Rhaenyra. She would love to see his face when he realised that she had absconded. How satisfying it would be to have her revenge.

Chapter Text

Alicent left for her chambers just before midnight fell. The feast had dragged on with most of the men in the room becoming heavily drunk and the ladies pulling up chairs and gathering in groups to gossip about the latest developments in their social circles. 

It might have mortified Alicent to know how many times she was mentioned that evening in whispers. It was most in the Vale’s contention that she had used her youth and charms to slip into the Prince’s bed, was secretly pregnant and had negotiated herself a beneficial marriage, cruelly supplanting Lady Rhea who had remained without child due to the Prince’s neglect of his duty.

The Reach, on the other hand, stuck loyally by their Hightower girl and argued that it had been the Prince who had most likely pulled her into a dark corner and had his wicked way with her. The good King had probably heard of it and now desired to appease his Hand with a marriage. They were secretly pleased that one of their own had elevated themselves into royal favour.

The Westerlands and the Stormlands could go either way. They agreed that she was most likely pregnant and that Daemon was most likely at fault for the entire mess - but the mess could have been avoided if Otto had been sensible and betrothed his daughter as soon as she had had her first blood. An unattached, pretty young thing left at the den of a man like Daemon was sure to end up savaged. 

The North had a range of things to say, mostly “Which one’s Alicent?” and “Oh, that one with the hair.” And they had observed that she was too skinny (sturdier women carried healthier babes and were more likely to survive bitter winters), but mostly they were just excited to join in on the flying gossip as they did not often have the occasion to come to King’s Landing and do so. 

Alicent stopped by her chambers to smear some calming salve on her ankle and hoped the swelling would subside. She threw the blue rose on her cabinet to gift to Netty in the morning and then went about manufacturing a small heap under the bedclothes so it would appear as if she was asleep. She knew that her maids would be having their own version of the feast below stairs and Netty would most likely not check in her tonight, but if someone did peer in they would assume they had observed her sleeping.

Alicent then made her way quietly to Rhaenyra’s chambers, thinking of what she would say to the guard that stood outside. When she got there, she could see that there was no guard.

How has she managed that? She thought, wryly. 

Coming into the room, she saw that Rhaenyra was already partly undressed. 

 “It’s about time!” Rhaenyra snapped. “The night is almost gone.”

 “I got away when I could.” Alicent came to stand beside her. “So where are these great disguises?”

Rhaenyra swept an arm towards her bed.

Alicent looked over. She turned back. “No.”

 “Yes.”

 “No, Rhaenyra.”

 “Don’t be craven.”

 “House Blackwood tunics?” Alicent hissed. “Are you mad?”

 “Well we can’t go out in Targaryen colours.”

Alicent stared at the outfits. “How did you even come by these?”

 “Don’t ask me about my methods.” Rhaenyra said.

 “You even have the swords.”

 “We can’t be lords without swords.”

 “These look more like bannermen’s garments.” Alicent muttered.

 “I grabbed what I could.” Rhaenyra said defensively. “You’ll have to wear the bigger size, as you’re taller.” 

 “Why don’t we just wear cloaks?”

 “I stole cloaks too!” Rhaenyra grinned. 

Alicent sighed. “Now I remember why you were such a fearsome opponent.” She muttered.

 “What?”

 “Nothing.” Alicent turned. “Help me with this lacing, I can’t do it by myself.”

Rhaenyra began yanking at the strings. “I hate these. Why can we not just wear tunics? It would be so much simpler.”

 “I am of the same mind, I assure you.” Alicent waited until her lacings were loose and then turned and helped Rhaenyra with hers. 

They slid on the faintly-smelling-of-sweat tunics and trousers complete with a layer of mail, boots that were too large and a pair of caps to hide their hair. 

 “I can barely walk in these.” Alicent said, trudging around.

 “Why is my hair so long?” Rhaenyra muttered, struggling to pin it on top of her head. “Help me with this, Alicent.”

It took them the best part of an hour to get properly dressed and when they had, swords clanging at their sides, they stood before Rhaenyra’s mirror and promptly burst out into wheezing laughter. 

 “We can’t go out like this!” Alicent covered her eyes. “Rhaenyra!” 

 “We look convincing!” Rhaenyra protested.

 “Apart from the fact that you're small as a child and I have breasts.”

 “Apart from that, yes.” Rhaenyra squinted at her chest. “I was hoping the mail would hide them.”

Alicent adjusted her tunic. “You can only really see when I stand to the side.” She glanced outside at the moon. “If we’re going to go then we should go now.” 

 “Alright.” Rhaenyra steeled her shoulders. “Let’s go out my secret way.”

 “Your secret way?”

 “This staircase,” she gestured to the one at the end of her room. “Leads to a door on the outside.”

 “It’s amazing that trust you with such an adjoinment.” Alicent remarked.

 “I know,” Rhaenyra grinned. “They really shouldn’t.”

As they attempted to creep, putting the hoods of their cloaks over their heads, the swords caught the stone walls making horrible raking noises.

 “How do men walk around all day with these ungainly things?” Alicent whispered. “Where did you even get them? Tell me you didn’t steal some poor squire’s sword.”

 “The armoury.” Rhaenyra said, somewhat evasively. “There’s an abundance of them.” She turned a corner and the tip of the sword banged loudly against the edge of the handhold. “Seven Hells!” 

 “My ankle is going to break in these boots.” Alicent muttered.

 “Enough about your confounded ankle.”

 “Which is your fault by the way.”

 “Your fault.”

 “Your fault.”

 “Your fault.” They reached the outside door and sneaked through into the cold night air. It was a sudden reminder that they were really about to escape the Keep. Rhaenyra turned to her. “Alright, from here we must not speak.”

 “I know.” Alicent whispered. 

 “If someone recognises our voices this is all for naught and I’m due another long lecture from my father.”

 “Only a lecture?” Alicent muttered. “My father will send me to the Wall.” 

From the shadows of the Keep crept two smaller-than-usual, cloaked Blackwood bannermen with rusted swords at their side attempting to sneak through the crush of people strewn about the courtyard. 

Luckily, Alicent had predicted the confusion correctly. There were so many people from lords to squires to servants that hardly anyone gave them a second glance as they headed towards the great gates of the Keep. 

Rhaenyra gave her a triumphant looked from under her hood as they walked unfettered. 

As they passed the guards lounging drunkenly by the gate, men who Alicent had seen a hundred times while passing through, they gave a small jeer. 

 “Stopped growing did you, Blackwood boy?” A guard laughed. “Your mother should have fed you more milk from her teat!”

Rhaenyra stifled a laugh.

 “Keep going!” Alicent kept her voice down so only she could hear, put her hands on her shoulders and ferried her away with the sound of laughter at their backs. 

 “They called me small.” Rhaenyra was almost awed that someone had insulted her. 

 “We’re lucky that’s all they noticed.” Alicent said. “Come on!”

The two of them hastened their pace, cutting a path along the tangle of low-thatched houses, a road that would eventually take them to the to the Iron Gate if they followed it for its entirety. They were heading towards the part of the city that bordered Flea Bottom. 

“Forgive us for taking you from the Heir’s Day celebrations, my Prince,” Daemon’s captain said. “You said to alert you immediately if anymore of the smuggler’s boats arrived in Blackwater Rush.” 

Daemon didn’t respond. Changing into his gold-cloaked armour in the guardshouse had actually felt welcome. Alicent was being irksome, more than usual - her smiles and attentions directed seemingly exclusively towards men that weren’t him, including that Baratheon whelp who he should have killed when he had the chance. He couldn’t tell whether she was being intentionally cold or whether she was naturally drifting from him. He would have much preferred to believe that she was punishing him on purpose. 

Perhaps he should have held her for longer the day before. Perhaps she was upset that he hadn’t sufficiently comforted her. The tears that had fallen from her face had ignited a horrible feeling in his chest, one he had never wanted to feel again. Regret.

Was his treatment of her in their previous lives the reason why she felt this way now? Why had he never taken better care of her, even if his previous destiny had led toward Rhaenyra, he might have still shown her pity at the very least. He had let her rot in the Red Keep, never knowing who she really was, what she could have been to him. It became pure agony if he thought on it too long; her years of loneliness. If only he had known.

When Daemon reached the East Barracks, his men were assembled, waiting for him.

 “Three ships docked,” his captain said, speaking loud enough so all could hear. “We took care of one of them in the bay, the others escaped but we tracked them down. The third boat’s crew are still missing somewhere in the city.”

 “Are these the same dogs from before?” Daemon slipped his black gloves over his hands.

 “We think these are a new band, Commander. Slavers. They are picking up girls to sell as whores, perhaps even taking them back across the water to auction.”

Daemon was silent. Slavers searching for prey in his city? “These mongrels need their throats slit.” He said. 

His men thumped their armour in agreement.

 “Just give the word, we will track them down, Commander.”

 “I will lead the search.” Daemon said. “There is many a hiding place between here and the Street of Steel. Our informants will recognise any outsiders. Hammer down the doors and if you get no response, break them in.”

 “Yes, Commander!”

Daemon paused as he headed towards the barrack doors and yet none of his men moved. He turned. “Are your feet lead? We’re leaving now.”

 “Actually…” his Captain hesitated. “We, um, just wished to…”

 “Speak.”

 “We just wanted to congratulate you on your upcoming wedding.”

There was a heartfelt smattering of applause amongst the Gold Cloaks with gruff murmurs of “Congratulations, Commander.” and “Gods give you blessings.”

Daemon, suddenly feeling like a child on his nameday, growled. “You take a keen interest in my personal affairs. Energy you should be directing towards your duties.”

It was fair to say that the Gold Cloaks had also followed the news of Daemon and Alicent’s engagement with much interest, particularly as they had many times agreed as a group that Alicent was the comeliest thing at court. They were strangely proud of their Commander for managing to pull that off, however he had done it. 

As the Gold Cloaks took the road to the Street of Steel, Gwayne and Laenor found themselves walking toward the Street of Silk. The moon was high and around them the celebration for Heir’s Day had escalated into an all-out festival carney with acrobats hopping rooftops for a few coins, scantily-clad women dancing at their windows to entice customers, vendors selling their scrap-meat skewers, the smoke billowing into the black sky. 

 “What about that one?” Laenor nudged Gwayne and nodded up at a woman beckoning men in from the street, long dark tendrils of hair falling over her face.

Gwayne looked ahead of him resolutely. “We are here to drink, not engage ladies of the night.”

 “You can say ‘whores’.”

Gwayne looked uncomfortable. “Some of these girls are young enough to be your sister. You should pity them.”

Laenor threw his arm around his shoulders. “You soft-hearted knight, you.”

 “Get off.”

They found a darkened tavern at the corner of the street and entered, their cloaks disguising the crests on their tunics. No one was paying much attention to them anyway, the place with packed with punters, raucously laughing and singing.

Laenor leaned over to the tavern keeper, placing a coin between them. “Two of your finest ales, my good man.”

The tavern keeper looked him up and down. “Anythin’ for the little lord.”

Laenor looked at Gwayne. “Do I really sound like a lord?”

 “Yes.” Gwayne muttered. “That shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

They chose a corner to sit with their drinks and watched the cacophony of celebration that spilled from the tavern to the streets. Men and women were coming together in the corners, groping each other in the dim.

 “Is this what you had in mind?” Gwayne enquired. “This spectacle?”

 “You’re such an awful snob.”

Gwayne glared down at his drink. “That’s just who I am.”

 “I thought you might be in better humour after the feast, but alas.”

Gwayne cleared his throat. “Forgive me.”

 “Forgiven!” Laenor raised his drink. “To the new Prince!”

 “To the new Prince!”

They clanked their ales and swallowed a mouthful of drink.

 “This is cat piss for sure.” Laenor said.

 “Revolting.” Gwayne said, between gulps. “Think I’ll have another after this.”

 “Me too.” 

Gwayne shook his head. “The new Prince…” he murmured. “As much as I applaud His and Her Grace for standing by their son, I do not know what the future holds with a condition such as his.”

 “I’ll tell you what it holds.” Laenor said, resting his chin on his hand. “It begins with ‘D’ and ends with the Vale getting set on fire.”

 “You’re speaking of the Prince?”

 “I do not see how the question of suitability can be avoided.” Laenor said. “Even if Prince Baelon does ascend the throne, he will need a fine regent to help him rule. A trusted Hand who will compensate for his blindness. He will need to ensure his line with someone.”

Gwayne swilled his ale, his brows knitted. “The Queen thinks to make the Princess his wife.”

Laenor stared at him. “The Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Baelon?” He whistled. “That’s one method, I suppose.”

 “I think it is cruel to both parties.”

 “The Princess might assist his reign,” Laenor said. “And with her tied to her brother she cannot make any outside threats to his throne with her own children. The Queen must wish to reduce those threats to his claim.”

 “Unless the King made the Princess Rhaenyra the heir.”

Laenor raised an eyebrow. “He has a trueborn son, a brother. Two men ahead in the succession. He would never think to put a girl before them. I’m sure his Small Council would eat him alive if he tried.”

 “How foolish.” Gwayne said. “What does it matter if the one who sits the throne is a man or woman? As long as their claim is true.”

 “And what of your sister?” Laenor said. “If Daemon rallies enough support to supplant his nephew, she will be Queen.”

 “Alicent would be a fine Queen,” Gwayne said. “But I don’t want her stuck in the middle of a succession crisis. She is too gentle for that dragon-blooded family.”

 “You Hightowers are gentle creatures.”

Gwayne glared at him. “Only Alicent.”

 “Well, your father is made of ice and bone to be sure, but you are a sweet and timid creature.”

 “I’m not a field mouse.”

 “You could be.” 

 “Then what animal are you?”

 “I’m the barn owl,” Laenor said. “Swooping down to eat you.”

Gwayne snorted with laughter, failing his attempt to hold it back. “I would knock you on your back if we ever sparred, I promise you that.”

 “I believe you.” Laenor said, smiling. 

 “Now that,” a voice said near them. “Is a pretty prospect.”

They both turned toward a woman, dressed in a rust-red dress that was torn up the side, heathery red hair spilling over her freckled shoulders. She was eyeing Gwayne as if he was a piece of meat.

 “This is Gwayne,” Laenor said, poking his thumb at him. “He’s looking for some fun.”

Gwayne gave him a look that was pure poison. He turned back to the woman. “Ah…my friend makes a jest, good lady. It’s not-”

The woman circled her arms around his neck and perched on his lap. “I know exactly what you were looking for, my pretty boy,” she whispered. “You were looking for Aggie.”

 “Let me guess,” Gwayne said, his face flushing a dark red from the neck up. “You’re Aggie?”

 “I am.” She whispered in his ear. “Or I can share the name of your lady love. Whatever my knight requires.” She bit his ear, hard.

Gwayne made a sound of fear as she ran her hand up his chest. “I…I…!”

 “Shh!” She said, placing a finger to his lips. “No more talk. The corner over there is free.”

 “Laenor.” Gwayne squeaked. 

 “Alright,” Laenor held up his hand, recovering from his laughter. “My young lord over there doesn’t require your corner, Aggie. He’s got no coin for it.”

Aggie put an elbow on Gwayne’s shoulder to look Laenor up and down. “With a face like this,” she gestured to Gwayne. “I don’t need a coin. I’ll take him for free.”

 “That’s understandable.” Laenor said. “Gwayne - shall I leave you two to it?”

 “Laenor,” Gwayne said through gritted teeth. “Help me.”

 “Yes, yes, ok, I’m merely jesting. Aggie, we don’t require your service. My friend likes a different kind of partner. A snake rather than a cave.”

Aggie looked at Gwayne sideways. “I thought he was too pretty. It’s always the way.”

Gwayne looked at Laenor in mortification as Aggie clambered off of him. “Why did you say it like that?!”

 “Hush,” Laenor dragged Gwayne to his feet. “Do you want her back on you?”

Gwayne wiped the sweat from his upper lip. “I really thought she was going to…you know, have her way with me.”

Laenor couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, his hands flying to cover his face. “Only Gwayne Hightower could get ravished in a tavern by Aggie!” He howled.

Gwayne’s blush deepened. “I really hate you.” He muttered. “Can we please go home now?”

 “Wait,” Laenor said, putting his hand on his chest. “This isn’t the place I wanted to take you.”

 “The hour is late.”

 “One more stop,” Laenor said. “Just one more. You’ll like it - trust me.”

Alicent and Rhaenyra had veered towards the direction of the singing and shouting, ducking down alleyways and getting lost in the network of streets that all looked the same. Alicent turned back and still saw the distant shape of the Keep. As long as they could still see it, they could find their way back. 

As they wandered, Rhaenyra kept pulling her this way and that towards new curiosities. She wanted to peer at everything, explore every street.

 “Look!” She pointed, tugging at Alicent. “A fortune-teller!”

 “Come now,” Alicent laughed. “We can’t be taken in by that nonsense.” 

An old woman sat atop an upturned pot on a woven mat. She was shrouded in black robes and had two empty holes where her eyes should have been. Next to her a sign read simply: Marriage. Children. Death. Coin Only. 

 “I suppose that is what she foretells.” Alicent said.

Rhaenyra produced two silver coins. “Shall we?”

Alicent felt that maybe, probably, to consult a fortune-teller was not wise, but she wanted Rhaenyra to enjoy her brief moment of freedom as well as she could.

 “Very well.” She sighed. “But only for you. I don’t need one.”

 “Are you not curious?”

 “No,” Alicent said, firmly. “I’m not curious at all.” 

The lady seemed to know they were approaching before they stood in front of her. Her wrinkled lips moved, “Do you wish to know your death, child?”

Rhaenyra smiled and dropped the silver coin in her lap, the old woman whisking it away under her black cowl. “I wish to know,” she said. “If I will ever leave this place. If I will ever see the world.”

The woman smiled a toothless smile. “Leave?” She said. “We all leave this place eventually and see the world through the eyes of the birds.”

Rhaenyra frowned as she cackled. “Well, what can you tell me then?”

 “Marriage. Children. Death.” The woman said.

 “How boring.” Rhaenyra muttered.

 “You did read the sign.” Alicent said.

 “Fine,” Rhaenyra looked up at the old woman. “Speak of my marriage then.”

The old woman paused, her sightless eyes were so empty that Alicent might have believed that she could indeed see just from the intensity that emenanted from them. “I see bones smashed. I see a crown that is too large. I see a man who has been reborn.”

Rhaenyra inclined her head. “Is that all?” She smiled at Alicent. “This is surely folly, is it not?”

Alicent shook her head. “I told you.”

Rhaenyra looked back. “And what of my children? Death?”

 “One coin per prophecy.”

Rhaenyra pouted. “This really is a charlatan’s game.”

 “Don’t waste your coin before we have even gone to the tavern.” Alicent said.

 “You, child,” the old woman’s empty gaze found Alicent. “You are something akin to me.”

 “What do you mean?” Alicent felt a pinprick of anxiety under her sight.

 “You have passed through the veil of time,” she said. “You have been given the gift of immortal regret.”

 “What is she talking about?” Rhaenyra asked.

 “Nonsense of course.” Alicent said, her heart beating fast. “Let’s go, Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra dropped the second silver coin in the woman’s lap. “Tell my friend of her marriage.” She smirked. “If I have to hear mine then you have to hear yours.”

The old woman looked at Alicent. “Do you wish to hear it?”

Alicent nodded, unwillingly. 

 “Your heart will be sawn in half by two sons. Pick the first to find true love and suffer, pick the second to find the burial site of your soul.”

 “Two sons?” Rhaenyra said. 

 “We thank you,” Alicent approached Rhaenyra, keeping her voice low. “Are you satisfied that you wasted your coin?”

 “Come,” Rhaenyra said. “Let us head to the tavern before dawn breaks.”

As they left, Alicent glanced behind her at the old woman, who was smiling inanely after her. 

 “Let go of your past, my Queen,” the old woman said. “Or watch it drag you back to hell.”

Alicent watched her until she disappeared amidst the gathering crowd.

 “So,” Rhaenyra said as Alicent ran to rejoin her. “Which love are you going to pick?”

 “Neither of them sound particularly appealing.”

 “I’m not look forward this husband of mine, I will tell you that.”

 “Especially the smashed bones.”

 “Hopefully that is me smashing his bones.”

 “That would be the ideal marriage.” 

Alicent, once again, wondered if this was the moment she should mention what she knew about the betrothal to Prince Baelon - but Rhaenyra was beaming again, the mood was light. She simply didn’t wish to speak of it.

The closest tavern entrance was overflowing with people. Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra and they both pulled their hoods over their heads, glancing about them. 

 “Pull your shoulders back,” Rhaenyra hissed. “Try to swagger.”

 “I don’t think men walk like that.” Alicent whispered, observing her. “It’s more like this.” She attempted to imitate Daemon’s style of saunter; an overconfident, menacing sway.

 “I’ve never seen anyone walk like that in my life.”

 “Would you two get the fuck out of the way?”

They leaped apart as a group of men pushed past them, smelling strongly of drink and tar.

 “We must be somewhat convincing,” Alicent said. “They didn’t give us a second glance.”

 “Let’s just drink something.” Rhaenyra dug her hand in her coin purse. “Something better than ale.”

She approached the tavern keeper and leaned with more masculine bluster than what was perhaps needed. “Excuse us,” her voice was guttural, someone who had either just recovered from the plague or was attempting to clear their throat. “A drink for my kinsman and I. Perhaps something from Lys or Pentos? Something different from the norm.”

The tavern keeper glared at her. “If you want something foreign then fuck off to Lys or Pentos. You Riverlands boys drink mud anyway, don’t you?”

Rhaenyra looked behind her at Alicent for help.

 “Er,” Alicent made her voice as gravelly as she could, pulling her hood lower. “What’s that?” She pointed to a musty red bottle on the far side of the rickety wall display. “The red one.”

The tavern keeper smirked. “You want Fire Breather?”

Rhaenyra and Alicent glanced at each other.

 “Yes,” Rhaenyra said, so excited that her voice hit a feminine lilt. “We do.”

The tavern keeper rolled his eyes and said something about not to come crawling back to him when their tongues fell off. 

He poured them two jugs and his eyes widened at the gold coin Rhaenyra passed him, his tone becoming more civil. “Stay awhile, my lords, there are plenty of nightly girls in tonight for you to wet your pleasure with.”

 “We might indeed.” Rhaenyra growled and they went to the back of the tavern, pushing past two men who had fallen into a scuffle on the floor. “This is exciting, is it not?” Rhaenyra said as they sat. 

 “I think this is a tooth.” Alicent said, brushing a suspicious white chip from the tabletop. 

 “Alright,” Rhaenyra lifted her jug. “Let’s raise our drinks to the birth of my poor brother.”

Alicent lifted hers. “To the Prince.”

They tapped their jugs and each took a hearty sip. They then turned in unison to spit whatever in hell they had just sipped onto the floor, gagging. 

 “What is that?” Rhaenyra choked.

Tears ran from Alicent’s eyes. “It burns!”

 Rhaenyra attempted to right herself, blinking furiously. “I suppose ‘Fire Breather’ should have been more of a warning.”

Alicent put her hand to her mouth and inspected the red liquid. “We might die if we drink this.”

 “Yes,” Rhaenyra said. “It’s a very bad idea.”

They looked at their drinks, then at each other, then raised the jugs again.

 “To our last night on earth.” Rhaenyra said.

 “See you in the next life, my friend.” Alicent said. 

They took a far more conservative sip than last time and forced themselves to hold it in their mouths before swallowing hard. The liquid, whatever it was, set a path of flame from their throats to their stomach. Stars burst in Alicent’s head and there was, at the end, a lull of relief.

 “It’s not that bad, in fact.” Alicent murmured.

 “Once it’s down.” Rhaenyra agreed and they both took a further drink, wincing at the sensation. 

As they drank the tavern that had seemed so noisy and unruly when Alicent had entered became quaint and cheery. She watched the fights and rutting with amusement, feeling a spinning warmth in her body. 

 “Ugh!” Rhaenyra finally cried out. “I don’t want to go back!” She reached for Alicent across the table. “Say that after this we will head to the dragonpit, mount Syrax and fly to Essos.”

Alicent smiled. “And what would we do there?”

 “Anything,” Rhaenyra said, eyes shining. “You and I could do whatever we wanted. We will find coin on a ship or maybe selling in a marketplace. If we do not like it we will simply fly somewhere else. We will live in a beautiful cave by the ocean and we will…fish!”

 “Fish?”

Alicent rocked her head to the side. “If we live in a cave then we must also keep some manner of livestock.”

 “Chickens.” Rhaenyra said.

 “Pigs.” Alicent said. “Cows.”

 “And,” Rhaenyra said. “We will do as we wish at all times. No horrible tightly-laced dresses or court etiquette or wedding some haughty lord and squeezing out his sons. We will be free.”

Alicent smiled. For some reason, she felt as if she was about to cry. “That sounds wonderful.”

 “Then why not?” Rhaenyra pressed.

 “Because they would track us down.” Alicent said. “Because what do you or I know about keeping chickens or cows.” 

Rhaenyra sat back. “That’s not the reason.” She said. “It’s because you’re scared.”

Alicent looked at the table between them. “Yes,” she said. “I’m scared.”

You must not run away.

 “You must really love my uncle.” Rhaenyra said.

Alicent looked up. “In truth… I don’t know how I feel. He scares me sometimes. And then he makes me feel this lightness. I can’t describe it. All the terrible things I can’t help but imagine, he destroys them for me.”

 “Do you love him,” Rhaenyra said. “Or do you want to become him?”

Alicent was stunned by her words, as if they had been spoken by a Rhaenyra from the future and not the fifteen-year-old she was. 

 “Sometimes,” Rhaenyra said. “I think I only enjoyed his attention because I envied him. He lives free and I live like a captive. I wish I could swing my sword and fly wherever I wanted. I thought that just by being close to him, I could be part of that freedom.”

 “Rhaenyra,” Alicent said. “You of all people deserve to live freely.”

 “And you, Alicent,” Rhaenyra said. “Deserve to live free.”

They were silent. Alicent raised her hand to her face.

 “Stop crying.” Rhaenyra laughed. 

 “I’m sorry.” Alicent put her head in her hand. “I’m sorry, Rhaenyra. I’m sorry.”

 “What? Why are you apologising?”

 “Because,” Alicent said. “I’m destined to curse all around me.”

 “Come now. Come!” Rhaenyra skirted the table to sit beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. “What nonsense.” She tapped the edge of her jug. “This is the Fire Breather speaking for you.”

Alicent rested her head on Rhaenyra’s slight shoulder. “I will save you in this life,” she murmured. “I swear it.”

 “There, there,” Rhaenyra crooned. “You do not need to save me. All with be well.”

Alicent sniffed. 

 “Tell me,” Rhaenyra said. “Did you…you know, bed my uncle?”

Alicent’s head rose upright so quickly she nearly smacked Rhaenyra’s face in doing so. “What?” She said sharply.

 “Did you?” Rhaenyra was grinning. “You did, didn’t you?”

Alicent wiped any stray tears remaining, flustered. “I…well…”

 “You did!”

 “I…did.”

Rhaenyra covered her face with both hands, her eyes peeking out. “What did it feel like?”

 “Rhaenyra!”

 “What? I wish to know! So I can be prepared when I am married.”

 “I…I don’t even know how to…”

 “Tell me, tell me!”

Alicent hid the lower half of her face with her cloak. “It was…” she gave a resigned laugh. “The best sensation in the world.”

 “Alicent!” Rhaenyra's eyes were saucers. 

 “Stop, don’t ask me anymore!”

 “Tell me, what did he do?”

 “No, Rhaenyra, honestly-”

 “Is it true that it hurts the first time?”

 “It does,” Alicent said. “But if he touches you just right, it will feel good every time after.”

They both squealed, dissolving into giggles, holding onto each other. The dawn approached and, whatever was to come, the moment was all that Alicent had wanted.

The place that Laenor had spoken of looked more like a hovel than a whorehouse. Gwayne looked it over with trepidation. “I think it’s closed for the night.” He said.

 “It’s never closed.” Laenor said. “Come.”

 “Laenor, I-”

 “Gwayne,” Laenor said, his voice suddenly sharp. “I am the sole heir to Driftmark and second cousin to the King, am I not?”

Gwayne stared at him, taken aback. “I…yes?”

 “And does that not make me one of your liege lords?”

 “Not exactly-”

 “And how do you think the King would react if he knew you allowed me into this den of iniquity unaccompanied?” 

Their eyes met in the dark.

Laenor grinned. “You may speak.”

 “Perhaps if I kill you now I may further escape any worry I might have in facing the King.” Gwayne said, dryly. “After all, no man knows we were here.”

 “Spare my life for now.” Laenor said. “Let’s go in.”

Gwayne watched him disappear through the broken door and, although he would never have wanted to admit it, a part of him did wish to follow.

The inside of the house was, at first, a tunnel created by broken crates, spilled netting, barnacle-encrusted pieces of plank. The smell of the docks was strong. Further in, the smell became one of jasmine and, to one who knew the smell of it, sex. 

Gwayne heard the sounds of the scores of other people in the violet dark before he saw them. The gentle whispers of lovers, of strangers. The very slight illumination of the candles allowed him to see the flickers of figures. He could feel their gazes reach him and sweep him with an uninvested curiosity.

Laenor put his hand behind his back and interlaced his fingers with Gwayne’s. “Come.”

Gwayne felt every spare drop of blood he had rush to his head as Laenor led him through the darkness. They reached a stage upon which naked dancers spun to a tune that was a mere drumbeat. 

Gwayne, truth be told, had only ever seen a man naked when they stripped their clothes after training. He had never seen anything sensual, anything tender. 

It felt sinful just to see it. His eyes fell, the drumbeat pulsing in his ears. 

Laenor pressed close to his ear. “There is no need for fear,” he whispered. “Everything within these walls remains unspoken of.”

Gwayne couldn’t reply.

Laenor led Gwayne deeper into the house, which was not a house at all but a network of tunnels. There were curtains hung from the stone walls and behind them Gwayne could see all manner of things taking place: things he had never dreamed to see in person. Although he knew he shouldn’t look, that it was wrong, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

Laenor glanced behind him and, upon seeing Gwayne’s transported staring, smiled. 

He brought him into a room with its own curtain, checking quickly to see if the inside was at all occupied. “Here.”

 “W-where are we?” Gwayne could finally speak. 

 “We’re somewhere private.” Laenor said, pulling him deeper inside. “I know you would hate for people to watch.” He stepped closer to him, looking up into his blue eyes. “I wouldn’t mind so much. But I know you.”

Gwayne struggled to catch his breath. “I…don’t know what…impression you have of me, Ser Laenor. But I’m not…I don’t…”

Laenor raised his hand and let the tips of his fingers brush Gwayne’s lips. “It’s alright.” He said, quietly. “I know. You don’t need to hide from me.”

 “I’m…not hiding.”

Laenor smiled sadly. “All you do is hide.”

They looked at each other in the quiet, the distant sounds of the whorehouse, the buzz from the streets above, the simmer of the tallow candles that spat upon the wall. It was a silence that Gwayne didn’t have the power to break, he couldn’t have found a chink in its utterness if he tried.

Laenor leaned close and placed a gentle kiss on his lips, a kiss that didn't ask for anything except a lingering touch. He moved back and let Gwayne process, watching his face, watching his eyes as they clouded. “Don’t cry.” He said.

Gwayne put a hand to his face. “Don’t do this.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because,” Gwayne choked. “It’s wrong.”

 “Why?”

 “Because it is.”

Laenor shook his head. “No,” he said. He reached to move Gwayne's sandy hair from his eyes. “It’s just you and I doing something we want. That’s all.”

He took Gwayne’s shoulders. The man was a head taller than him so he leaned upwards and kissed his cheek, the space between his ear and neck. 

Gwayne let out a pained exhale and turned his face towards him, cupping Laenor’s face, taking him completely by surprise as he kissed him.

The kiss was soft, a taste of desperation, a woven lace of sorrow. 

Laenor, captivated, leaned in for more but Gwayne put a hand on his chest. “Enough.” He whispered.

 “Gwayne,” Laenor watched the man retreat from him in despair. “Do you think it at all possible that you might, for once, act without being consumed with fear?”

Gwayne sat on the hanging bench at the other end of the room and put his head in his hands. “No.”

Laenor raked his hand along his face in frustration. “Why not?!”

Gwayne was silent.

 “By the gods, man. Say something.”

 “When I was young,” Gwayne said, after a silence, his tone light. “I had a squire by the name of Tobias. We were both only boys of fourteen and used to play together like brothers. One day, in jest, the stablemaster observed him kissing my cheek. It wasn’t anything more insidious than a childish curiosity, I’m sure.” He was quiet for a moment. “The stablemaster went to my father who then had Tobias flogged and sent to the Shield Islands to serve upon the longships. My mother begged him to spare me the rod. He did not. But she tried. I think…I think she knew somehow, even then that something was amiss with my desires.” His fingers were wound so tightly around each other that his skin was bone-white. “I will not, ” he hissed. “I will not be responsible for inflicting that kind of misery on anyone again.”

Laenor felt as though his anger might burn an opening in his chest. “What about your misery?”

 “My misery is nothing. I am the son of Oldtown. I will marry a fine lady, my sister will marry the Prince. I will serve my King. Raise my children with kindness. I will obey my father and protect the Reach. I will do my duty.” He lifted his eyes to Laenor. There was a resigned smile on his face, a smile that Laenor chilled Laenor to the core. “Because that, my lord, is the way of things.”

The jugs were finally empty. 

Rhaenyra staggered to her feet, tripping slightly over her cloak. “We…should not tarry.” She slurred. “Dawn is…will be soon.”

Alicent stood and watched the crowded tavern turn into two crowded taverns before her eyes. “Rh-Rhaenyra,” she said. “I can’t walk.”

 “You can walk!” Rhaenyra stumbled towards her, reaching out her hand. “C-come, take my…hand, arm…take something.”

Alicent giggled as she reached for her and Rhaenyra began to laugh along with her.

 “Rhaenyra, your hood.” The cloak had fallen and a lock of silver hair had freed itself from her cap. “You must…hide it.” She clumsily attempted to tuck the lock back in. It was then that a hot, bubbling sensation filled her stomach, making her whole body freeze. “Oh.”

 “What?”

Alicent put a hand to her mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”

 “What?” Rhaenyra looked uncomprehending at first, then her own face cleared in horror. “Gods. Me too.”

The two of them picked their way in a very unladylike fashion through the tavern, groaning and groping for the door. They burst through into the street, promptly fell to their knees in unison and vomited upon the street. 

It was not a particularly unique display in King’s Landing to see two young boys empty their guts from a night of drinking, but they did get sworn at by passers-by for dirtying the entrance to the tavern. 

The two girls attempted to get to their feet only to find themselves falling again upon the street further along and vomiting once more in perfect unison. 

 “We really are going to die.” Rhaenyra groaned. 

 “I can’t believe you talked me into this.” Alicent planted her forehead against the wall of the tavern. 

 “And here I thought we could journey out again tomorrow.”

 “I will drown you in the river.” 

 “Don’t threaten your Prin- fuck.” Rhaenyra put a hand to her chest and vomited one last time, spitting into the dirt. 

 “You do look very Princess-like today.” Alicent remarked. 

 “Is my nose running?”

 “Yes.”

Rhaenyra wiped her nose with the edge of her cloak.

Finally, the two of them staggered to their feet and looked toward where the Red Keep stood above the rooftops of the houses and the smoke.

 “Is that dawn?” Rhaenyra squinted at the bleeding ray of yellow on the horizon.

 “I fear so.” Alicent said, she took her wrist. “Come. We must hurry.”

There was a sudden commotion as three Gold Cloaks barrelled their way along the street, displacing vendors, pushing men down as they went. “Clear the path!”

 “Those are Daemon’s men.” Rhaenyra said.

 “Seven Hells.” Alicent said. “He’s not among them, is he?” The very last thing she needed was for Daemon to find her here. 

 “No,” Rhaenyra squinted. “I do not see him.”

They both turned their backs as the Gold Cloaks passed, pretending to admire the wall behind the tavern. When they had finally gone and the street had settled, their eyes followed their path. 

 “I thought that my uncle left early on some business in the city,” Rhaenyra said. “But I don’t know what that was.”

 “It matters not.” Alicent said. “We’re going home now in any case.”

They went back to walking, making their way towards the Keep.

 “Well, well, what do we have here?”

Rhaenyra and Alicent turned slowly towards the voice that boomed behind them, too direct to be ignored.

Two men, drunkenly tilted to one side. They wore the mustard-yellow tunics and red horse crests of House Bracken.

 “Are they talking to us?” Rhaenyra said.

 “Let’s just go.” Alicent said.

 “Stay your pace, Blackwood filth!” The first Bracken boy that had spoken made his way lopsidedly towards them. “Or are you all as craven as the rumours say?!”

 “He thinks we’re House Blackwood.” Alicent realised all at once, having completely forgotten what she was wearing. 

 “Well,” Rhaenyra said. “Should we fight them?”

Alicent turned to stare at her. “Fight them?!” She echoed. 

 “We must protect our House’s reputation.”

 “We are not House Blackwood bannermen, Rhaenyra!”

The two Bracken boys advanced on them, jeering. “Unsheathe your swords, you river dogs!”

Around them, the crowd appeared to have parted just enough for them to have their brawl, watching with interest. A Blackwood versus Bracken scuffle was always entertaining.

Rhaenyra adopted her slightly unnerving ‘man voice’ once more. “Do not provoke us unless you wish to sent back to the Trident castrated!”

Alicent dragged her hand across her face. Rhaenyra appeared to have adopted her tactics of de-escalation from Daemon’s teachings.

 “You cunt!” The Bracken on their left pointed his blade at them. “I will carve you in two!”

 “Well met!” Rhaenyra snapped and pulled at the hilt of her sword.

The sword didn’t budge. 

Alicent watched her for a moment and then pulled at the hilt of her own sword. It didn’t move. 

They both looked at each other blankly. Then they looked back at the swords, continuing to tug at the hilts, doubling their strength and then tripling. The swords wouldn’t come from their sheathes no matter how much strength they used. 

The two Brackens exchanged looks in shared confusion. “Hurry up!”

 “Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, almost pleasantly. “Where did you get these swords from again?”

 “Um,” Rhaenyra said. “The armoury.”

 “Where in the armoury?”

 “The…” she looked sheepish. “The, um, wall.”

 “Mounted.” Alicent breathed. “You took mounted swords?”

 “I didn’t know we would have cause to fight!”

 “Of course a mounted sword wouldn’t unsheathe, it’s probably so covered in rust that its blade is fused!”

 “I…can’t be concerned with all these details!”

 “If we die.” Alicent said under her breath. “In my third life I’m getting revenge on you specifically.”

 “Ha!” The Bracken on the right crowed. “These Blackwoods are maidens under their tunics!”

Rhaenyra pulled at her cap. “Did he figure it out?”

 “I think he’s just insulting us.” Alicent said. “Run.”

 “What?”

 “RUN!”

Alicent grabbed Rhaenyra’s shoulder and dragged her down the street, away from the shouts of the crowd, the slurred protests of the Brackens, into the tumult of the crowd.

They were headed away from the sight of the Keep, but that couldn’t be helped as their path forward had been blocked. They ran past the street sellers, the meld of passed-out Smallfolk who had stayed too long into the night and now found their bed in any quiet corner. 

Alicent had the wild idea that perhaps they could loop around, take another straight road from an adjacent street.

The race through the city reminded her of the one she had taken before when she had been escaping Jason Lannister. They were on an eerily similar path.

When they finally halted they were in an area of the city that was blocked on all sides by high walls, a part that was deep in the heart of Flea Bottom. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent knelt on the ground to catch their breath and, all of a sudden, the magic of the Fire Breather cleared and Alicent felt an indescribable pain shoot up her leg. Her ankle. She had managed to take her mind from all this time but the chase had caused the discomfort to bloom once more.

She whispered a curse and brought her leg in front of her, lifting the leg of her trousers. Her ankle looked large and purple.

 “Alicent,” Rhaenyra’s eyes were wide. “Did that happen just now?”

 “It is the injury from this morning,” Alicent set her teeth against the pain. “I fear I have overexerted it.”

 “Can you walk?”

Alicent nodded with a confidence she didn’t feel. “I can. Let us not tarry. We need to find a road back.” She finally caught sight of Rhaenyra. Her hood had fallen and so had her cap. “Rhaenyra, your hair.”

Rhaenyra touched her head. “I lost my cap as we ran.”

Alicent sighed. “It is no matter, just keep your hood up.”

The darkness moved and Alicent finally saw that they were not alone. Three men were sitting in the shadows, cups at their feet, spilled wine dripping from the remains. They were watching the both of them not with the glazed stare of drunkards, but with the keen eyes of prey-seeking dogs.

 “Rhaenyra,” Alicent’s voice fell to a whisper. “We must go now.”

As Alicent pulled herself up, the men also rose to their feet. 

Rhaenyra caught their motion and turned. 

The man that stood in the middle stepped forward. He had a wash of a tan over his red skin, as though he spent most of his time on the deck of a ship. He smiled at them both in an almost accommodating way. 

 “Now,” he said, pointing at Rhaenyra. “That’s very pretty hair, isn’t it?”

Rhaenyra snatched her hood back over her head.

Alicent drew Rhaenyra behind her. “Do not stand in our path,” she said, trying to speak with authority. “We are-”

 “Women.” The man finished. “Those crude garms aren’t fooling anyone, sweet one.”

Alicent swallowed hard. “Let us-”

The man snapped his fingers at the other two. “These will fetch some gold for certain. Especially the little silver one.”

Alicent remembered that she had her hourglass around her neck. Yes, just a few minutes and she might be able to avoid this encounter. She reached for her neck.

She did not see the fourth man, the one that took his place behind her. The hit was so sudden that it was painless. The world thinned, became a slit.

Rhaenyra’s shout, then her scream.

And then nothing.

Chapter Text

Ernes had drawn the short straw. She had been tasked with replacing the logs in the fires, ready for the cold morning. All of her fellow maids were either abed, still feasting on the leftovers from the King’s table or rutting with soldiers. Just because she was one of the youngest amongst them did she often get bullied into submission.

Ernes grumbled to herself as she dragged the sack of logs from room to room. She was surprised by how many of the rooms were empty of the guests that were staying on. They must be enjoying themselves out in the city.

Which is where I should be. Ernes thought, irritably. 

She reached the Princess’s room and glanced up at the guard standing outside. 

 “The Princess sleeps.” He said. “Mind the noise you make.”

 “Yes, Ser.” Ernes turned down the handle to the door quietly. He didn’t have to remind her, she was used to moving unseen. 

She entered the chamber on her toes, bringing the logs with her in her arms. She could see the Princess’s sleeping form in her bed. She looked as if she had crawled underneath the bedclothes completely.

Ernes took the logs to the fire, one by one and then rose, dusting her apron of splinters. 

She then made her way back to the door. The moon was fettered by clouds, it was hard to watch her feet. The slapdash way that the room had been left made Ernes wonder if perhaps the Princess was wanting for a new maid. The maids that served her and her lady companions were always given special treatment: she should really look to elevate herself where she could.

There was a book that had been left upturned on the floor. Ernes bent to retrieve it. In doing so, she didn’t see the handle of the iron plate sticking from the side of the desk, a bedwarmer left unattended. She brought it crashing to the stone, the echoing sound was so loud it made Ernes go still in shock.

The door flew open, the guard stormed in red-faced. “You fool!” He snapped. “What did I say?”

 “F-forgive me.” Ernes whispered, wondering if she would be punished. She looked warily towards the Princess’s bed, but the lump under the bedclothes hadn’t even moved.

Strange, she thought. That sound would have awoken the dead.

The guard was also looking towards the bed in growing concern. “Princess? I hope you were not too disturbed.”

The lump didn’t move or speak.

Ernes glanced at the guard who also looked at her.

They both approached the bed and Ernes leaned forward to look. Even if the Princess was a young girl, the lump was unnaturally small. She drew her courage and lifted the bedclothes. The lump was a bundle of dresses that had been balled together to make it appear as though a person was sleeping.

 “Gods.” Ernes breathed.

 “Fuck.” The guard’s colour drained from his face. 

Ernes looked about the room. It was a mess, but clearly empty. She checked the wardrobe anyway, underneath the bed. “Princess!” She turned to the guard. “You must-!”

The guard had already left to raise the alarm, to search the castle, his job and, indeed, his life in the balance. 

Ernes took one last look around the room and then left, leaving her sack in the middle of the hall as now there were more important things to concern her. She would rally Rhaenyra’s maids to spread the search. No, all the servants in the castle would need to know.

She reached the lower ground and ran the corner, nearly colliding with a young knight who had been strolling in the open air. Despite the situation, Ernes couldn’t help but stare at him. He was extremely handsome.

 “What’s wrong?” The knight asked her, his brow furrowing. “You run as if chased.”

 “Oh, Ser,” Ernes said, her words garbled. “The Princess…the Princess is missing this night. Gone from her chamber!”

 “What?”

 “You must join the other guards who go in search of her.” Ernes said. “Gods willing, she is still somewhere in the castle!”

The knight put his hand to his sword and gripped her shoulder. “Be careful who you tell,” he said, gently but urgently. “If the Princess has been abducted then you might well be alerting the criminal themselves. Go to your mistress’s closest companions and have them search. They might have some idea of her location. And make sure the message gets to the King. He must know of this.”

Ernes nodded furiously, trying to take in all of the information at once.

 “I will join the search. Thank you.” The knight moved around her.

 “Um,” Ernes turned back to him. “Your name, Ser? I have never seen you before!”

 “Because I am from the Stormlands,” he said over his shoulder. “My name is Criston Cole. Now go!”

.

There was an exhausted sense of silence between Laenor and Gwayne as they retraced their steps back to the Keep. The dawn blossomed in the sky, the streets had fallen into a fluctuating quiet. Some taverns and nightly houses were still producing song and laughter and the rest had fallen silent. There were still two nights of celebration to come and some patrons had decided to return home and conserve their energy. 

Gwayne and Laenor did not speak, but that in itself was all there was to say. They matched their paces, falling into step with each other. 

However, not all men felt the need to conserve themselves, even in the face of two more days of indulgence. 

 “Is that Ser Gwayne I spy?”

The voice ripped Gwayne from his reverie. He turned to where Frederick Cuy was sat on an upturned crate, drinking. Around him sat soldiers from his House, Harwin Strong, Borros Baratheon and men wearing Baratheon colours. These were the men who weren’t going to allow things like sleep or the giving out of their organs from an overconsumption of ale halt their celebrations.

Laebor raised a hand, an unusually forced smile on his face. “My lords!” He said. “Forgive us. We-”

 “Come! Sit!” Frederick waved them over.

Gwayne came to stand before them. “The hour is late, sers,” he said. “Or…early, rather.”

 “Indeed.” Frederick said. “No point going home now. Come!”

Laenor and Gwayne exchanged a look, swiftly reaching the conclusion that they would not be able to leave without a fight. They sat. 

Gwayne glanced at Borros who looked far more tired than the rest - and drunker. His shadowed eyes were staring into the depths of his flagon.

 “Oh, don’t mind him.” Frederick said, jovially. “Heartbreak. That’s what that is.”

Borros emitted a dry laugh. “I am such a fool.” He slurred. “Such a fool.”

From the looks on the faces of the men around him, Gwayne got the feeling it was not the first time during the night that he had made such an outburst. 

Harwin swung an arm around Borros. “There, lad,” he said, with more patience than he felt. “Enough about it now.”

 “I love her.” Borros whispered. “I have loved her my whole life…”

 “That’s enough.” Harwin glanced at Gwayne, who didn’t know why he was being glanced at. “Someone might mistake you.”

 “And you certainly don’t want another encounter with,” Frederick raised his eyebrows. “That rogue.”

Borros staggered to his feet, reaching for his sword. “I’ll cut him in two next time! I’ll go back to the castle and challenge him this second! For her! For Al-!”

 “Ah!” Harwin slapped a hand over Borros' mouth. “Don’t get yourself killed, boy.”

Gwayne decided to ignore whatever this was. “Are you thinking of heading back to the castle at any point?”

 “It’s not every day we have a new heir.” Frederick said.

The men around him averted their eyes.

 “Such that he is.” Frederick added. 

 “I hear he is blind as an old man,” one of the soldiers said. “And he cries like his mind is addled.”

 “He is still the heir.” Harwin said.

 “But for how long?” Frederick muttered.

Harwin glanced at him. “Such words could be considered treason.”

 “I merely say what all must thinking.” Frederick said. “All eyes turn towards the younger brother. The violent brute.”

 “The brute has more luck in his blood than a fucking golden god.” Borros muttered, swigging his ale. 

 “Now,” Harwin said. “I’ll not hear insult to the man who gave me a night off from my duties to spend celebrating with my House. He can’t be all bad.”

 “His humour improves now that he has Lady Alicent in his bed.” Laenor said cheerfully.

Everyone turned to him. Borros looked like he was going to be sick.

 “Um,” Laenor amended. “After they are married, of course. Not that…they have already. Because that would be bad. They haven’t. I’ve never seen-”

 “Stop.” Gwayne rested a hand on his shoulder. 

Harwin raised his head. “I hear horses coming.”

 “Horses?”

They all turned in the direction of the Keep and saw three soldiers approach, one led by a white-cloaked Kingsguard. The horses showed no sign of slowing, but Harwin raised his arm before they could pass. 

 “My lord!” He shouted. “Is there some trouble?”

 “Ser Harwin,” the Kingsguard shouted. “Get yourself to the Barracks! The Prince will have need of you!”

 “What need?”

 “It concerns the Princess,” he replied before riding on. “The Princess is missing from the castle!” 

Gwayne and Laenor swung to face each other. Harwin put his hand on his sword. “Who the hell let that happen?” He snapped. “If she is in King’s Landing on a night like this there could be hell to pay.”

 “Do you think she would be so foolish?” Frederick frowned.

 “She’s but a young girl.” Gwayne said.

 “She must have been aided by someone.” Laenor said. 

 “My sister will be out of her mind with worry when she hears of this.” Gwayne said, shaking his head. “I do not wish to be the one to tell her.”

Borros leapt to his feet. “I will not allow her to worry.” He said, swaying only slightly. “I can do that much for her.” He looked at Harwin. “I will go looking in Flea Bottom.”

Harwin nodded. “Very well. I will tell the Prince. I will urge them to look along Muddy Way, there have been reports of slavers in the area recently.”

 “Slavers?” Frederick’s mouth dropped open. “In King’s Landing?”

 “We killed most of them.” Harwin said. “But some still remain. They will try to escape back east with some prizes, I have no doubt. The Prince surely has his men watching Blackwater Rush like hawks. They will not find it an easy thing to slip through.” 

Gwayne straightened. “I will head to the centre of the city. If the Princess was headed in a straight line she might have ended up there.”

 “I’ll go with you.” Laenor said.

 “And we will.” Frederick said with his House Cuy bannerman shouting ‘aye!’ rather drunkenly behind him. 

 “Does the Prince even know that the Princess Rhaenyra is missing yet?” Laenor asked.

 “They should have sent a messenger,” Harwin said. “Best way to find her swiftly is the City Watch. They know every nook and cranny of this labyrinth of streets.”

 “Very well,” Gwayne said. “Let us not tarry. The Princess cannot be left in danger any second longer than necessary.”

 “Agreed.” Harwin said. 

The men hastened their separate ways. Harwin towards the river, Gwayne, Laenor and House Cuy towards the city centre and Borros led his Baratheon men into Flea Bottom. Above them, the dawn had cracked the sky in two.

Now that the dawn had broken, the Gold Cloaks had ceased their nightly patrol. Daemon swept fatigue from his eyes. His body was aching and he was exhausted, but how he loved this filthy city and spending a night ruling over it. The slavers had not been sought out - yet - but his plans for them would keep.

He never tired of how it felt to hunt down his targets and lose himself in the night: it was incomparable.

Incomparable to all except one thing. 

Now that the sun was up, he knew that he had lost his chance to spend a night with Alicent. Her maids would already be awake and soon would be entering her chambers. Daemon sheathed Dark Sister in annoyance. 

When he finally got that woman to Dragonstone he wouldn’t be allowing her a moment of from their bed. Just to think of having her captive to him day and night made him consider forsaking the wedding altogether and taking her there now. They would be married in the Valyrian custom anyway, so a marriage by the Seven was only a show of formality to him. Still, Alicent seemed to put some stock behind the Faith, so he would bear with it. For her. 

 “Commander,” one of his men interrupted his thoughts as a rider approached. “Looks like they’ve come from the Keep.”

Daemon glanced in the rider’s direction and felt his annoyance peak. A face he would very much like to stab and perhaps doing so would help him enjoy the rest of his day. 

The rider held up his hand as he approached. “I greet you, my Prince! I am Ser Criston Cole of the Stormlands!” He dismounted in one motion, giving an obligatory bow. “I have a message of much urgency direct from the King.”

Daemon supposed he should hear the message at least. “Say it then.”

 “It concerns the Princess Rhaenyra,” Criston said. “She has vanished from the Keep.”

Daemon paused for a moment and then turned, heading for his horse. “Fuck.” He muttered. He signalled to his Captain. “Pull every man from the fucking Watch back onto the streets. The Princess is missing and she must be found!”

The Captain nodded, his expression startled. “Yes, my Prin- er, Commander.”

 “Drop everything else, even the hunt for the wanted,” Daemon said. “Spread the word. Finding the Princess is the first and only priority. Nothing else matters. Understood?”

.

When Alicent opened her eyes there was barely any light. It was hard to discern whether this was because of where she was or if it was her injured head. The back of her scalp was hot with pain, the ache that ebbed from it consumed the entirety of her scalp, running down her neck. Whoever had struck her had struck her hard - enough to send her senses dark.

 “Rhaenyra.” She scratched out. “Rhae…nyra?”

 She felt the ground beneath her cheek. She was lying down and couldn’t summon the strength to lift herself. She became aware of murmuring somewhere near her.

Alicent felt tears leap to her eyes. Tears of fear, of anger at herself for being so stupid. She had only wished to spend one carefree night with her old friend. She should have known that carefree nights did not belong to women, that there was no safety for them outside of stone walls. The world in which she and Rhaenyra could drink and laugh as men did was a world made entirely of fantasy. 

She should know that. She should know that by now. 

 “This one’s awake.” 

There was another sudden pain as Alicent was dragged by her hair toward the single light in the room, a candle on the floor. There were four men. The one holding her hair. Three surrounding her. 

 “Good morrow, pretty thing.” The man who had spoken to them first knelt before her. “Sorry about this nasty fellow injuring you so. It’s no way to treat a lady.”

 “They were about to run off like hares in the night.” Said the one holding Alicent’s hair. “I had to do something to stop them.”

 “Where is my friend?” Alicent spoke, it felt, as if through a mouthful of wool.

 “Your friend is fast asleep.” 

The man holding her turned her head to the right where she saw Rhaenyra’s shape lying in the darkness.

 “Have you hurt her?” Alicent felt the tears fall again, they beaded down her face no matter how she tried to stay her nerves.

 “We can’t hurt our prize piece.” The man kneeling said. “She will fetch a fair coin. Even if we can’t get her back to Essos.”

 “With that mad animal hacking his way through every ship at the dock,” another behind him said. “I doubt we would have the opportunity to cross them over.”

 “A great pity as Silver over there would fetch many a gold coin.”

 “It’s of no matter. They’re buying whores here in the city and Silver will still bring us some gold.”

 “Now,” the man holding Alicent’s hair said. “Don’t discount this one. She has a more womanly body. I’m sure we can barter her for a fine sum.”

The man kneeling reached over and drew his hand over Alicent’s breasts. “I can barely see with those ridiculous clothes on.”

 “Disrobe her.”

As they stripped her, Alicent tried to find a place in her mind to go.

She had done it before. Whenever a man had touched her against her will: Jeffrey, Viserys for years on end. When Larys had leered at her as she sat bared before him. She had always found a place in her mind to travel: where she could come out of her own body and observe it from afar. 

At least it’s happening to me and not Rhaenyra. 

 “There.” One of the men whistled. “What a beauty.”

Hands were on her. Alicent clamped her mouth closed. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of begging them to stop when she knew that they wouldn’t. 

The man behind her tied her arms tightly with what felt like fabric. He knotted it expertly; so much so that she truly couldn’t move. 

 “What do you think?” The kneeling man was practically salivating. “Should we try her out?”

 “As long as you don’t ruin her.”

 “I won’t ruin her.”

 “You ruined the last.”

 “That one was already sickly.” He brought his hand up to Alicent’s cheek. “This one’s full of health.”

I’m not here. Alicent thought. My body is here but I am somewhere else.

 “If you’re trying her then I want the Silver.” The man behind him said, the voice that came from the right.

 “I want a bite of this one.” The one on the left nodded at Alicent.

 “If we all start sampling the merchandise then they’ll be in tatters by the time we reach a buyer.” The one holding Alicent snapped. “We need to make enough coin to survive while the Watch keeps the docks under lockdown.”

 “She can still use her mouth.” The kneeling man argued.

 “What about Silver?”

 “Wake her.”

 “You will leave her alone!” Alicent spat. “You won’t touch-!”

The strike exploded in her vision, a thousand hot pinpricks of light. Her cheek instantly went numb and she tasted blood upon her tongue. 

 “Not the face, fool!” The man holding her snapped at the man who had struck her. “If you’re going to hit her then hit somewhere that can be covered!”

Alicent spat the blood upon the dirt.

 “She had better not have lost a tooth!”

 “Who cares?” The kneeling man got to his feet. “We’ll find more. This city’s crawling with fresh meat.”

Alicent had not seen her hourglass stripped from her, nor felt it around her neck at all. She wondered if it had been dropped where she had first been attacked or if it had fallen from her at some point as they dragged her. 

If they raped Rhaenyra, she would not be able to reverse the damage. So then, what good was she? 

She had to protect Rhaenyra. For everyone’s sake. For the King, the Queen, the Realm. For Daemon. If Daemon learned that Rhaenyra had been violated, he would be furious that she had not stopped it, she was sure. Rhaenyra was his real love, after all. And she was just the woman he had selected for his second life, the woman he would tire of. 

And to protect Rhaenyra was her duty, in any case. She was still the Princess and Alicent was… Alicent. The foolish. The unlucky. The cursed. 

She would have to roll the dice if she wished to stop them. If she did not then they would do what men like them always did regardless. 

 “You are strangers to this place indeed,” Alicent said. “To not recognise the Princess of the Realm.”

She watched their faces through the candle’s flickering, their minds at work. 

 “The Princess?” 

 "Lies."

 “I suppose she has the colouring for it. Silver hair. Jorick?”

 “I’m sure there are many royal bastards in this city.” The one called Jorick, the first man, snarled. “Who’s to say any girl with silver hair is the Princess?”

 “Why do you think we were dressed as men?” Alicent demanded, as demanding as she could be with a mouth filling again with blood. “We left the Keep in disguise, but we tarried. Do you know how many soldiers will be tearing this place asunder? You wish to leave by the docks unscathed? This entire city will be at a standstill until the Princess is found.”

 “Then we should kill them both.” Jorick said to the others. “Before they are found in our keeping.”

 “Wait.” The man who had been holding her knelt to the ground to look at her. He had one long scar across his forehead that looked as though it had been sewn clumsily shut. “Then who might you be if that’s the Princess?”

 “I am…a maid. The Princess’s maid. My name is Netty.” Alicent said. “And I would not speak if only to save my own life and perhaps make some coin. And you, sirs, you will leave this county richer than kings if you would only heed me.”

The scarred man eyed her. “You don’t fool me, girl. You speak to save her and to save yourself.”

 “I don’t wish to see her die.” Alicent said. “But I happen to know that the King will part with a mountain of gold to see his daughter returned. All you need is a messenger.”

 “Which would be you, I suppose.”

 “You can trust me.”

The scarred man smiled and leaned close to her face. “Nice try, maid.” He snatched her hair again. “If you want to work your mouth then work it around the shaft of my cock.”

The other men laughed.

Alicent spat the blood in her mouth on the floor between them. “Very well, you do not trust me.” She said. “Then send a palace informant with the message. Arrange for the gold to be put on a ship at the docks. Once you board, you can throw the Princess and I overboard. The King’s ships will rescue us.”

The men exchanged looks.

 “That sounds like a great manner of work.” One muttered. “For a gain that might get us killed into the bargain.”

 “I still say we kill them both, to be safe.” Jorick said.

 “That is starting to sound like an appealing option.” The scarred man looked down at Alicent. “We could strangle them both right now.”

Alicent refused to accept defeat. “It is the Princess’s presence that gets you killed.” She said. “Look at her, she is unconcious and saw hardly anything of your faces. If she is found dead, the castle and the Watch will howl for revenge and they will round up every man like you for the slaughter, display you on the walls of the Keep. But me, I am just a maid. Take me alone.”

The scarred man snorted. “What a brave little servant you are.”

 “She has a point.” One of the men behind him muttered. “She will still fetch us some coin, or be our bedmate as we wait out this dock barricade.” He glanced towards Rhaenyra. “If we leave that one here, none will be any the wiser.”

 “I still say she’s not the fucking Princess.” Jorick snapped.

The scarred man rose to his feet. “I think the girl speaks true,” he said. “She is about the right age, the looks are right. It would almost be too strange a coincidence if she wasn’t.”

 “It feels like leaving a hill of gold untouched to just leave her here!”

 “Don’t be a fool. She’s a posion plant. We’d be gutted before we ever touched a reward. What are our rules? No royalty.”

 “So then?”

 “She didn’t see our faces, did she?”

 “Even if she did, the blow we gave her would have shifted them.”

They looked down at Alicent simultaneously. “Just the maid then.”

 “Just the maid.”

Alicent let them drag her to her feet. Setting pressure on her ankle was so agonising that she couldn’t help but cry out. The bindings around her arms loosened.

 “Better get her something to cover herself.” Jorick sneered. 

 “Or keep her accustomed to having her clothes off.”

 “A naked woman attracts too much attention.”

 Jorick turned to one of the men behind him. “Give her your shirt.”

 “What?”

 “Hurry.”

The man grumbled, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it over Alicent. The ragged, disgusting thing barely covered her. “I’d had better get that back.”

 “Don’t worry, she won’t need it where she’s going.”

 “Let’s take her to that whorehouse we passed through earlier. There were many girls there with their legs chained, the young ones.”

 “We could even hide there. The City Watch leaves the whorehouses alone.”

Alicent hobbled to follow them, casting one last look at Rhaenyra. She’s safe. She soothed herself. She will be alright and that is enough.

.

Harwin had found a patrol of Gold Cloaks already stationed on River Row. He had left after seeing how strong their guard was. Daemon was complicated, both as a Commander and as a man, Harwin often disagreed with his tactics of punishment. However, he had to hand it to him: his strategies were always simple but highly effective. No slaver would be escaping via the docks, that was for sure. 

Harwin had taken the road back to Flea Bottom. It was easier to see in the dawn, easier to navigate the streets. 

He didn’t have a plan in mind, but he thought that a watch over the main roads would be effective. Anything that was travelling down the alleys would eventually have to cross his path. 

He would have never expected, though, to be the one to see her. 

At first, as he walked, he saw a clutch of women standing in a circle around something. He thought it looked like a child at first. Then he saw the silver hair.

Harwin’s pace quickened to a run, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword.

 “Clear the way!” He shouted, his soldier’s voice. The women flew to each side.

Harwin could hardly believe his eyes. He knelt before Rhaenyra, peering at her face earnestly. “Princess?” He whispered. He glanced down at her feet that were dirtied and bleeding. “Seven Hells.” He breathed.

When he had heard she had absconded he had expected a mischievous child to return, chin in the air, her eyes arrogant of the danger that she had put herself in.

The Princess was trembling. She looked up at him with eyes filled with terror. She studied him for a moment as if trying to place him and then, when she did, tears began to form. “Ser Harwin,” she said. “Please…Alicent…you have to save her.”

Harwin shook his head. “Come now,” he said, gently, putting his arms underneath her, lifting her up to his chest. “Lady Alicent waits for you back at the castle. We will go there now.”

 “No!” Rhaenyra cried.

The women still lingering around them were muttering to each other. Words like ‘princess’ and ‘run away’ in the air. 

 “She is not at the castle,” Rhaenyra began to sob. “She came into…into the city with…with me. They took her. I pretended to be out of my senses but…but I…I was too scared…I…didn’t…she…”

Harwin stared down at her. The Lady Alicent had been with her? Why the hell hadn’t the messenger shared that? Why had no one known?

 “It’s my fault!” Rhaenyra pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. “If she’s dead or hurt then it’s my fault!”

 “Hush now,” Harwin said with a calm he didn’t feel. “We will spread the word. But first, you must go to the castle.”

 “You’re wasting time taking me back! You should be looking for her!”

 “You’re still the Princess.” Harwin said, firmly. “The priority is your safety.”

Rhaenyra glared up at him. Even though she was bruised, shivering, had dried blood on her face, tears running from her eyes in a stream; she looked fearsome. “I command you to find her now. I came from there.” She pointed behind them towards the innermost corner of Flea Bottom. “They had us in some kind of…alley. It was covered from above, there was no light. But they took her somewhere. I know not. She,” Rhaenyra swallowed hard. “She sacrificed herself for me. She convinced them to take her and leave me be.”

 “Smart like her father.” Harwin said. Though not quite smart enough not to indulge you in the first place.

He began walking back towards the castle, Rhaenyra in his arms. 

 “What are you doing? I told you to go and look for her! I commanded it!”

 “And I am respectfully declining your command.”

 “You can’t do that!”

 “You can have the King punish me later.” Harwin said. “For now, I’m taking you back to safety. Now tell me about those who took her. Who are they?”

 “One was called Jorick,” Rhaenyra said, immediately. “And one had a scar. The other two didn’t speak much, I didn’t hear their names.” She fought to remember. “When I came to my senses they were speaking of…going back across the water. Selling us.”

Harwin felt his blood turn to ice, but he didn’t let his voice give anything away. “That’s enough for me to pass to the Watch, Princess. Thank you.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes, the sun was burning them. “Gods, please let her be alright.” She whispered desperately, though she didn’t know who she was begging - the gods, Harwin, something else. “Please.”

It was harder to travel by daylight. Alicent was slammed into the side of the wall as the men hid from a passing group of Gold Cloaks. Through her swimming head, she could hear their shouts. 

 “Princess!” 

 “Princess Rhaenyra!”

 “Fuck me,” Jorick hissed, his voice coming from somewhere above. “She really must have been the Princess, that shrimp.”

 “Good thing we left her like that.”

 “We should have killed her so she wouldn’t talk.”

 “No,” the scarred man caressed Alicent’s cheek. “Little Netty was right. Too much fuss if we did that. The sooner they find her the sooner the heavy Watch on this fucking city lifts.”

They waited as the Gold Cloaks interrogated the tavern keeper through the wall, waited for them to pick up and go on their way so they could move.

Alicent heard them speak from above her on the bridge.

 “Don’t bother with the usual patrol,” one was saying. “Finding the Princess Rhaenyra is our first and only priority. The Commander said so himself.”

When the dust had settled, they moved on. Alicent was being half carried, half dragged on account of her ankle. Her vision blurred as it tried to connect one street to the other.

 First and only. She thought. Of course. I already knew that. His first and only.

It didn’t even hurt. She felt like it was something striking a numb wound. 

As they reached the end of an alley, her captors paused upon seeing a crowded street. 

 “How the fuck do we get through there with her?” 

 “We left it too late. We should have only moved by night.”

They looked down at Alicent consideringly.

 “She’d be less noticeable if she walked.”

They dropped Alicent on her feet and she let out a yelp, stumbling.

Jorick snatched her throat. “Shut up, you stupid fucking whore.”

Alicent looked into his eyes. “Make me shut up, you stupid fucking mongrel.”

The scarred man laughed. “I think I like her.”

Jorick’s hand tightened around Alicent’s throat. “I should beat the taste out of you.”

 “Later.” The scarred man said. “It would draw too much attention if you did it now.”

Jorick’s hand uncurled from her throat and Alicent regained her breath with a ragged inhale.

From behind the wall of the alley, she saw a flash of yellow, a somewhat dirtied tunic, a sword. A man she recognised instantly.

It was as if the gods themselves had made him appear. 

Borros. 

He looked as if he was on patrol, shading his eyes in the sun. Behind him she could see his Baratheon men.

It was either die now or later.

 “Borros!” She screamed with the last of her strength. “Help me! ”

Jorick’s hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late.

Borros turned towards the noise, the fatigue leaving his face in an instant. He looked directly into the alley and saw her. Her long, reddish-brown hair an arrow to his heart. 

Unable to speak for a moment, Borros could only draw his sword on pure reaction.

 “Lady Alicent?!” His hand shot into the air. “With me!”

The Baratheon men were at his side instantly, shouting, drawing their swords. Borros took the middle position, levelling his sword at the men. “Unhand the lady at once, you wretch!” He spat. “My men will slice you to ribbons if you tarry!”

The slavers seemed frozen by the confusion. Jorick drew a knife, one ran for it and two Baratheon men broke from the pack to follow him, slamming him into the ground instantly. One drew their sword and slit his neck open, blood gushing into a pool upon the dirt. 

Around them, the people were giving them a wide berth, intrigued by the sudden commotion.

Alicent froze as she felt Jorick’s blade against her neck. “No closer!” He spat. “Or she dies!”

Borros ground his teeth, he was so angry he was shaking. “You miserable worm!” He hissed. “When I get to you-”

Alicent made a slight sound as the blade dug into her skin.

Borros cursed. “We will come no further, but you cannot possibly survive a fight with all of my men.”

 “The girl won’t survive either!”

“Keep your knife at her neck.” The scarred man hissed. “They won’t attack as long as she is threatened.”

 “So much for her being a simple maid.” Jorick snarled.

Alicent smiled. It was a smile that unnerved them all, even Borros who, in the midst of his anger, was thrown by it. 

 “You shouldn’t be so fooled by words,” she said. “You fucking imbecile.” 

 “You worthless bitch!”

The crowd had grown, all waiting to witness what would become of the stand-off. The road they stood on was direct to the Iron Gate and it was a popular one, many walked it daily. 

Although it was humiliating to be seen barely robed and wounded by half of King’s Landing, Alicent had felt her care leave her when they had left Rhaenyra unharmed.

Nothing mattered anyway. 

She was about to marry a man who would never truly love her and she had done her duty to the Realm by shielding the Princess. What else was there to think on? 

Borros advanced a slight step. “Put her down,” he said, the level nature of his tone couldn’t disguise his fury. “And we will let you run.”

 “Why should we believe you?”

 “Because all I require is the lady’s safety.”

The slavers glanced at each other. “Then lay down your weapons.” The scarred one said. “And she will go free.”

Borros glanced at Alicent and then raised his hand. “Very well. We will.” He looked over his shoulder at his men. “Do it.”

The Baratheons seemed reluctant to obey, but they did. 

 “You too, boy.”

Borros grunted, his eyes promising murder. He bent down and deposited his sword on the ground. “There.” He said. “Now let her go.”

 “And take five paces back.”

 “Don’t push your luck!”

 “Don’t forget there’s a knife at her throat!”

Borros hesitated for only a moment. He took three steps back.

 “More, boy.”

 “We are far enough away.”

 “We said five!”

 “We won’t…” Borros said, then trailed off. His eyes fell on something behind them. He almost smiled. “Seven Hells bend me and break me.”

Alicent heard the unsheathing of a sword from behind her, a metallic spit. Then there was a hot rain upon her head. Blood and matter. 

The knife fell from her neck because the arm that held it did. She heard the bone crack. More warm blood spattered on her face.

Her hands were at her mouth as she looked above her. 

Daemon was holding Jorick by the neck as the slaver screamed, poising his sword at his throat. The blade met his mouth, carving it in two.

The scarred man, the last one standing, attempted to run.

Daemon turned his attention to him. His sword pierced the underside of his arm, running straight through with an ease that could be compared to pushing a hot pin through butter. 

Alicent had seen Daemon fight before. At the tourney he had bloodied each opponent. This was completely different. She barely recognised him as the man she knew.

Alicent felt Borros lift her into his arms and carry her to safety. She wiped blood from her eyes. 

 “My lady,” Borros’ face was pained. “How…?” He swallowed his question. “Are you alright?”

Alicent looked back at the alley. The scene had become so brutal that many of the Smallfolk had turned away. The gore was even too much for them. It was evident that Daemon was drawing out his attack on Jorick and the scarred man, hacking them to death piece by piece. 

Borros reached carefully behind her head to draw her face back to his. “My lady,” he said. “It’s better that you don’t look.” He took his cape from his shoulder and pulled it around hers. Seeing the constellation of bruises on her arms, the purple bruise on her cheek, he fought to control himself. “Death is too kind for that scum.”

 “That is a fair sight more than death.” Alicent remarked at the murder scene.

The Baratheons surrounded her. Borros lifted her into his arms once more.

 “Let’s get you to the castle and to a Maester.” He said. 

Gold Cloaks had also begun to congregate, watching their Commander. Though they had seen him in a frenzy before, it had never been as gratuitous as this.

When Daemon’s sword finally halted, there was nothing that would be instantly recognisable as human left in that alleyway. The men had died a torturous death, although, in that moment, it still wasn’t even close to enough. 

Daemon let his sword fall at his side. His breathing was heavy, despite the fact that the men had not been a challenge to kill. 

He emerged from the alley, covered in blood. He approached Borros, who was holding Alicent tightly. 

Alicent didn’t want to look at his face. She couldn’t. 

“I will take her, my Prince,” Borros said. “I’ll make sure she-”

Daemon sheathed Dark Sister, cutting him off. “Give me,” his voice made all the soldiers present take a slight step back. “My wife.”

Borros glanced at Alicent and then lifted her to him. “She is…hurt, my Prince,” he said. “I beg you to be careful.”

Daemon didn’t respond, but his jaw tightened. 

He brought Alicent to his chest. Alicent’s hands shakily found his shoulders, which were slick with blood. She stared at the ground before them as he walked.

Daemon brought his gold cloak from his shoulder with one hand and wrapped it around her, almost covering her completely.

Alicent risked a glance at his face. Then looked away.

She shouldn’t speak.

What would she even say?

 “Is Rhaenyra safe?” She asked finally. “I…tried to protect her. I did. I’m sorry-”

“Alicent.” Daemon said. She had never heard such anger in his tone. “If you say one more word, the last shred of my sanity will vanish. That I swear to you.”

Alicent did not say another word. 

At the gates of the Keep, Otto was waiting, standing in the yard speaking urgently with Harwin. When he saw Daemon carrying his daughter, Borros, the Baratheon escort, the Gold Cloaks: he almost, almost lost his composure completely.

 “Alicent!” He ran to her, like he hadn’t run to her since she was a tiny child. “My girl.” As he reached her, he lifted his hand to her face. He balked at the dark bruise.

Harwin breathed a heavy sigh of relief, planting his head in his hand. 

Daemon looked down at Otto with a look that made Otto go cold. “Fetch a fucking Maester.” He said quietly. “And someone who will take her to her chamber and lock the door.” 

Alicent turned to stare at him.

Otto set his mouth in a line. He snapped at a servant close by, “A Maester to wait in my daughter’s chamber now.”

Harwin stepped forward. “I will take her, my Prince.” He said. 

Daemon hesitated, then placed Alicent into Harwin’s arms. Alicent expected him to be rough in his anger, but he placed her like she was made of the thinnest glass. 

 “Where are you going?” Otto asked him to no reply.

Daemon had turned and headed back the way he had come, back into the city.

All eyes fell on Alicent. 

She swallowed the dryness in her throat. “Is Rhaenyra safe?”

 “The Princess is resting,” Harwin said gently. “Thanks to you.”

Otto scoffed. “You should never have allowed such folly in the first-!”

 “My Lord Hand,” Harwin said. “The child is injured.”

Otto rounded on him. “Do not counsel me in how to mind my children, Ser Harwin!”

 “Her lord is her husband to-be,” Harwin said. “Not her father any longer. The Prince asks I take her to her chamber.” He turned and carried Alicent towards the Keep.

 “Thank you, Ser Harwin.” Alicent whispered.

 “I have only postponed the inevitable, Lady Alicent.” Harwin reminded her. 

 “Where is Rhaenyra?”

He looked uncomfortable. “The Princess is uninjured but for a few scratches on her feet and a cut to her head,” he looked down at her. “She is currently in an audience with the King and Queen.”

Alicent winced. “Poor Rhaenyra.”

 “‘Poor Rhaenyra’.” Harwin echoed. “It is you who will have to bear the Prince’s wrath, whatever it may be. You should spare some pity for yourself.”

.

Daemon returned to the East Barracks to total silence. It wasn’t because none of his men were assembled, the men who knew that he had found his betrothed captured had returned there, expecting further orders. He was flanked by those who had followed him from the Keep. 

Daemon was silent as he wiped his face clean of blood in the water pitcher.

They all watched him with trepidation, too afraid to even exchange glances with each other. 

Daemon finally turned, making them all jump to attention.

 “Every man,” he said. “Every woman with even the faintest connection to this underground slave trade. I want them on their knees in the centre of this city by nightfall.” He walked to the middle of the room. “And when they are gathered, we will set them and their kin aflame.”

The gathered Gold Cloaks stared at him. 

 “My Prince-” one ventured.

Dark Sister, her blade still bloodied, found the speaker’s throat. “Challenge me,” Daemon said, his tone never changing. “At your peril.” 

It would be spoken of, that night, by those who took down the history of the Realm. How Prince Daemon, on the eve of his wedding to the Lady Alicent, had rounded up guilty men to suspected innocents and burned them at a pyre, alive. It was known as the Night of Screams, the echo of which could be heard from one end of the city to the other. Even Maegor had never beget such brutality, they would say. But Prince Daemon did - as revenge for his lady love. 

Chapter Text

The morning of Prince Daemon and Lady Alicent’s marriage broke with a rainfall. The rain put out the last of the embers on the pyre that Daemon’s men had built the night before, the bleached bones pecked at by crows, some gathered by the Smallfolk as grisly momentos. 

Alicent awoke in the early hours of the morning, having slept all day the day before. Some of the ache in her body was gone. The Maesters had wrapped her ankle with a cooling ointment; the swelling had gone down somewhat and the shooting pain had subsided.

Rising from her bed with a deep sigh she saw that she was not alone.

In the armchair slept Daemon, the same as he had done when they were at Runestone, his armour shed around him as though he had come directly from his duties on the City Watch. She could smell the scent of burning emanating from him and wondered if he had come from riding Caraxes. His hair and skin wore residue from his patrol: blood and soot. 

She watched him for a moment. He must have already been to see Rhaenyra. All must be well if he was here with her now.

He had scared her half to death the day before, but he had saved her. She wondered if, in some secret part of her, she had always believed that he would.

Alicent slipped from the bed, pulling her white robe around her shoulders to cover herself. She applied minimal pressure to her ankle as she limped over to him. 

Bending down towards his face, she brushed a hand over his rough skin, across his cheek. Daemon’s eyes opened instantly.

Alicent smiled at him. “Did you go out dragon-riding?”

Daemon didn’t respond, his eyes were immediate steel. 

Alicent straightened. “Don’t tell me you’re still upset with-”

Daemon rose to his feet in one swift motion and she fell back unsteadily, alarmed.

He advanced on her, lifting her face to look at him, pressing into her cheek with his hand.

 “Daemon!” Alicent’s voice was muffled through the pressure. “What-?”

 “Explain yourself.” His face was inches from hers, his fury so palpable that Alicent could feel heat coming from his body. “Speak.”

She wrung her hands. “Daemon, my cheek-”

His grip loosened, his hand lowering, but he didn’t retreat. He crowded her, his body an insurmountable obstacle. 

 “I…” Alicent struggled to find the words she wanted to say, the explanation that she had already gone over in her head. “I thought that all we would do was venture into King’s Landing for an hour or two. We wore disguises. We did not know what would be waiting for us.”

Daemon laughed humourlessly, his fingers lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose in frayed disbelief. “You didn’t know. Even with the experience of an entire lifetime behind you. You didn’t know.”

 “It wasn’t to be expected!”

 “A city known for its lawlessness,” Daemon’s voice was taut. “You wander into it, unescorted, unprotected, and you are surprised when such things befall you?”

 “I thought to escort Rhaenyra. I wanted to keep her safe.”

 “ You can’t even keep yourself safe! ” Daemon shouted at her, gripping her shoulder. “Have you learned nothing at all from your past?”

 “At least they left Rhaenyra be,” Alicent said, looking up at him defiantly. “That should be enough for both of us. She is your first and only priority.”

Daemon wasn’t used to being this furious and not drawing his sword. His hands moved to Alicent’s face again, this time he cupped it firmly, his thumb imprinting itself across her lower jaw. “I have spent the night setting this city to the torch for you,” he said. “And I would do so again. Every night. Every city on this grey rock.” He loomed over her. “Do not mistake my intentions in doing so.”

Alicent reached for his hand around her face. “You do not have to conceal your true feelings,” she said. “It’s fine. I will marry you anyway.”

Daemon gritted his teeth. “I thank you for your forbearance.” He said. “It doesn’t matter any longer what you want.” He pulled away from her, but didn’t give her any space to pass. “From now on, you are forbidden from leaving the Keep unless you are accompanied. Either by me or at the very least two armed guards. The same will go for any other castle you enter, you will keep only to your chambers unless I am present.”

Alicent stared up at him, her temper flaring. “How dare you say such a thing? You do not have the authority to command me!”

 “Yes,” Daemon said. “I do. As your husband, I can command you as I please.”

 “And did you ever command Rhaenyra in this way?”

 “You are not Rhaenyra!” Daemon snapped. “You belong entirely to me, not the Realm or the throne. How many times must I say it? You are mine. You may find it easier to start acting like it.”

Alicent reeled back. “So I am only an object in your eyes.”

 “Think what you will.”

His response incensed her. “You are being completely unreasonable.”

 “You are the last person I will come to for cues on reason.” His voice was dry. “You have proven, so far, to have very little of it.”

 “I will not obey your ridiculous demands. You promised me that you would not let me languish helplessly, that you would allow me to live as I wished!”

 “You also said you expected my protection.” Daemon said. “You have it. So now you must bear it.”

 “So you will only fullfil that part of our agreement?”

 “We never had any agreement,” Daemon’s voice was low. “I never agreed to anything except that I would marry you. Which I will. And you’ll be lucky if I do not attach a chain to you in our bed on Dragonstone so I can be sure that you are kept securely.”

 “You will not do anything of the sort!” Alicent spat. “Why do you hinder me in this way? Why can you not act as my ally?”

 “Because you act foolishly.” Daemon said. “And I refuse to be a part of it.”

 “I act foolishly?” Alicent countered. “And what of your behaviour? You are as jealous as a child and you would rather satisfy your own temper than consider what is best.”

 “Like you, you mean?” Daemon smirked. “Honour, duty. Piffle. It’s guilt that drives you, nothing more.”

 “That’s…not completely so.”

 “Your guilt pushes you to act against your own interests,” he said. “Why did those slavers abandon Rhaenyra on the street but take you?”

 “Because I convinced them to.” Alicent said. “I thought it better I than her. She is still a young child, I have lived a lifetime. Even if they raped me or beat me, at least she would be spared. It’s better if it’s me.”

Daemon would have preferred for someone to take a hammer to his bones rather than hear her words. He fought for control over himself. He approached her again and Alicent made a small sound of fear as he backed her into the bed. She had the wild thought that he might actually strangle her - his presence spoke of violence. 

 “Hear me,” Daemon said. “You will never, never, utter those words again as long as you live.”

Alicent met his eyes unsteadily.

 “Tell me you understand.”

 “I,” Alicent whispered. “Understand.”

Daemon drew back. He took something from the inside of his tunic and placed it on her cabinet. Seeing it, Alicent instinctively reached for the place at her neck where it wasn’t. “My hourglass.” She looked up at him. “You found it?”

 “No.” He said. “When I was first brought back to life I awoke to the thing already in my hand. Last night it appeared the very same way.”

 “It returns to you?” Alicent frowned. Come to think of it, Daemon had been the one who had been gifted the hourglass in the first instance. Could the witch have meant for him to be its intended user?

 “For whatever reason.” Daemon said. “You should reattach it to yourself, for all the good it does. You would clearly bend the path of time to undo pointless conversations but for some reason your own kidnapping does not warrant the same consideration.”

Alicent set her mouth. “It was lost to me after they,” she glanced at him. “After they hit me.”

Daemon wondered if he shouldn’t reignite King’s Landing once more that very night. “Nothing like that will ever befall you again.” He said. His eyes fell on the purple bruise on her cheek. Catching his gaze, Alicent reached up to touch it.

 “It will heal.” She said.

Daemon came close once more, his hand hovered over her face as if he worried that his hands were too coarse to touch her injury and might hurt her further. “Have the Maesters inspected this properly?”

 “It is only a bruise.”

 “Alicent,” Daemon attempted to find the right words. “Do you know…how it felt to see you like that? Half-robed and wounded with a knife to your throat? Do you have any idea-?”

 “I know,” Alicent said. “It was humiliating for you, as I am to be your wife.”

Daemon’s hand fell to his side. He exhaled, his frustration and exhaustion reaching a new height. “If I cared what people thought then I would perhaps be persuaded to become a man worthy of you.”

Alicent looked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

He moved away having said most of what he had wanted to say, some of what he hadn't and a fair share of what he knew he shouldn't but couldn't help if he tried. “I am to see Viserys.” He said. “Remain abed, rest. Our wedding will be held at noon and these tedious Sept ceremonies are long.”

 “Do they not say,” Alicent said, watching him reach for his sword on the table and reattach it to his belt. “That it is bad luck for the man and woman to see each other on the day of the wedding before the ceremony?”

Daemon turned to look at her. “Bad luck?” He said. “It’s a bit late for us, wouldn’t you say?”

.

Viserys had thought it before, but now once again wondered if he should simply cease his attempts at giving largescale celebrations in his Realm. If it wasn’t Daemon trying his last nerve at a tourney by beating the first sons of his allies half to death, it was Rhaenyra escaping in the dead of night. 

The day before, after Rhaenyra had been brought back to the castle to much fuss and a thorough inspection by the Maesters (who determined that she had only injured the temple of her head and the soles of her feet), both Viserys and Aemma had been free to descend upon her.

They had embraced her, kissed her, and then, unable to control herself any longer, Aemma had snapped.

 “What were you thinking, Rhaenyra?!” She had shaken her daughter’s shoulders, her nails digging in. “Sneaking out in the night, leaving a decoy in your bedroom like some kind of runaway? Do you have any idea the kind of trouble you made for all around you? The knight meant to be guarding you will now be punished, the maids who were tasked with your care also. Do you have any regard at all for them?”

 “I do!” Rhaenyra raised her head, fighting back her tears. “If you wish to punish someone then do so only to me, it was my plan!”

 “You are the Princess. Your life does not just belong to you but the Realm. And what of little Alicent?” Aemma, who had begun pacing, now wheeled around to face her. “She is still being searched for as we speak! She could be dead.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t stop the tears after all. “She’s not dead! She can't be.” 

 “Alicent has always been a sensible and dutiful girl,” Aemma said. “She may have been remiss in her duty to keep you safe, but I know she was powerless against your obstinacy.” 

 “She was not remiss,” Rhaenyra said, quietly. “She protected me. She persuaded those men to take her instead of me. She did so without even a second thought.”

Aemma and Viserys looked at each other.

 “Gods be good.” Viserys said. 

 “We must pray that she is not harmed.” Aemma said. “That she is found safe.”

 “Do you see what your antics bring about?” Viserys demanded, coming forward. “This pain for your family, your friends? Do you think you exist above us all in a place where there is no duty, no responsibility?”

 “I just wanted one night.” Rhaenyra’s voice was small. “Just one. To live as I wished.”

 “Do you think,” Viserys said. “That I attend endless Small Councils and hear petitions because it’s what I want? It is because I am King. Because our duty is to the people, to the future of the Realm.”

 “Exactly.” Aemma said. “And you shall learn that from this day on.” Viserys glanced at her with sudden concern, but she continued. “On the day of your brother’s fifteenth birthday, you will be wed to him. Your father and I have agreed on it. You might as well know of it now.”

They hadn’t, in all truth, agreed on it, but Viserys did not contradict her. 

Perhaps, he thought. This is for the best. And this conversation should happen sooner rather than later.

Rhaenyra looked from her mother to her father, uncomprehending. “Wed? What do you mean?” Her voice rose a pitch in panic. “Wed to Baelon? That…you can’t-! When I am older he will still be a child!”

 “You will be young enough to bear children.” Aemma said. “Which is what is required of you.”

 “He is blind!” The words burst from Rhaenyra’s mouth, though she had not bid them. “He’s a cripple!”

 “He is your King!” The colour flew to Aemma’s cheeks and Viserys raised a hand to calm her. “Your future King. Your future husband. I suggest that you acquaint yourself with the notion now.”

Rhaenyra looked at Viserys, her eyes pleading. “Father,” she said. “Please!”

Viserys almost gave in just by the look in her eyes, but his wife’s hand reached out and took his arm. Aemma nodded at him, asking for his support.

 “You are right, Rhaenyra,” Viserys said. “Your brother is a cripple. The Maesters say he will never see nor hear. He will need a strong foundation around him to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And you are the strongest of all of us. You will guide him, teach him. If anything should happen to me in later years, you will be his Regent while he comes of age. Your marriage to him would ensure that the throne passes to him peacefully. No one will dare trample his claim.”

 “And it will offset the further threat,” Aemma continued. “Of Daemon.”

Viserys gave her a look. “Daemon has not the temperament nor patience for the throne, my love. Of that I am certain.”

Aemma met his eyes. “We must be vigilant all the same, Viserys,” she said. “Some may look to your brother as a rival to Baelon’s birthright.” She turned to Rhaenyra. “That is why you must give your brother as many children as possible when the time comes. I’m sure Daemon will not tarry to have many of his own.”

Rhaenyra stared down at her interlaced hands. “Mother, father,” she whispered. “I know I have erred. I know that I have been irresponsible and foolish and I will never do anything of the sort again, but,” she broke into a sob. “Please don’t do this. I will not be able to endure it. I know I will not.”

Viserys put his head in the palm of his hand, trying not to let his resolve break.

Aemma came to sit beside Rhaenyra, taking her hands gently. “My daughter,” she said. “Duty is not easy. Sacrifice can only be made by the strong. The crown is heavy indeed, but you are worthy of it. As our daughter, the daughter of the Realm. This is how we serve our people and serve them we must.”

Aemma leaned forward and kissed Rhaenyra’s forehead, wrapping her arms around her as she cried. She caught Viserys’ eye. 

Viserys managed a smile, trying to quell the unease he felt in his bones.

.

That morning, the Small Council had been summoned by Otto, a last-minute measure, with, according to him, some important items to discuss.

Lyonel was the first to arrive and Daemon was the last. He had come from Alicent’s bedchamber, leaving his bloody armour behind him in an act that was more than certain to frighten the maids, and he came to sit in his place on his brother’s left side.

 “You are not one for time-keeping, brother.” Viserys said.

 “I ask your forgiveness,” Daemon seated himself. “As it is the morning of my wedding I did think there would be some brief reprieve from my duties.”

From behind Otto’s chair he was both surprised and annoyed to see Criston Cole standing to attention. The man managed to elevate himself in every life, it seemed. It would be harder to kill him quietly, more than Daemon would have hoped.

 “Yes, indeed,” Viserys tried to lighten the mood. “I hope we can all offer our congratulations to my brother for this, the day of his wedding.”

Corlys, Tyland, Beesbury and Lyonel all inclined their heads, muttering something along the lines of ‘our congratulations, my Prince’.

The incident of Alicent and Rhaenyra's dramatic rescue from peril after their flight from the castle was left heavy and unspoken of in the air. 

Viserys decided he would broach it quickly and painlessly.

 “I would like you all to know that my Grand Maester is not in attendance today because he is mixing healing tonics for both the Princess and the Lady Alicent,” Viserys forced a smile. “Girls of this age are certainly a trial in itself, are they not?”

 “I am glad the Princess and the Lady Alicent returned safe.” Beesbury said. “One wonders how such folly was ventured in the first-”

 “It matters not.” Viserys cut in. “The matter has been attended to and resolved.” He looked at Otto for help. “Is that not so?”

Otto looked at Daemon who met his gaze steadily. “The matter,” he said. “Is not entirely resolved, Your Grace. Perhaps the Prince could shed some light on his actions this night just gone?”

 “What actions would those be, Lord Hand?” Daemon asked lightly.

 “You rounded up at least a hundred men and burned them.” Otto said. “On a pyre in the middle of King’s Landing. And you did it while they still lived.”

Viserys put his forehead on his closed fist.

Daemon made a motion to suggest that he should continue. “And?”

 “Your methods are, once again, questionable at best.”

 “Daemon,” Viserys said, despairingly. “Why did you do such a thing?”

 “The Princess and the Lady Alicent fell victim to a gang of slave traders,” Daemon said. “Men who travel from here to every shore to capture women and girls to sell in Essos. My men and I tracked down the network that has been allowing them to procure and stay hidden - and I burned them. And I would burn them again, if I could.”

The room was silent.

Finally, Corlys spoke. “This act,” he said. “May deter future slavers from landing upon our shore.”

 “It might also cause some to wonder if the City Watch is there to protect the people of the Realm at all.” Tyland said. “To burn them all in the same night? Such sweeping measures may have resulted in the deaths of innocents.”

 “I’m glad you’re suddenly so concerned about protecting the people of the Realm, Lord Tyland,” Daemon said. “You might consider turning your attention to the Westerlands where your family’s seat profits from the mines while its poorest starve.” 

Tyland flinched and Viserys raised a hand. “Please, no personal attacks.”

 “You have caused the people to fear and loathe you.” Otto said.

 “They may join the long and enduring line of those who do.” Daemon said. 

 “As Alicent’s father,” Otto continued. “I understand your ire at her unfortunate encounter. But I would not allow my personal feelings to distort the consideration of my duty.”

 “My job is to cleanse the city of criminals and human scum,” Daemon said. “What do personal feelings have to do with it?”

 “You’re saying you acted purely out of an act of duty?”

Daemon was quiet for a moment. “Duty and honour. Honour and duty. This is the tripe you have hammered so deeply into your own child that she is barely able to see herself as flesh and blood. Would that she had had a father who taught her that she is worth preserving.”

The Council seemed unable to look at anything except the table - with the exception of Corlys who looked between the two men with interest. 

 “Come,” Viserys said. “The two of you will be kin by this eve. Let’s not create a rift by arguing.”

Otto and Daemon glared at each other. The idea of becoming kin was clearly equally unpalatable to both parties. 

 “Daemon,” Viserys said. “If you are to carry out such a mass execution in future, I would like the particulars first.” 

 “As you wish, Your Grace,” Daemon said, to Viserys’ surprise. “In the ensuing days, I shall deliver the message to my Captain and Ser Harwin who will be splitting my duties and overseeing the Watch in my absence.”

 “Your absence?” Viserys frowned.

 “Indeed,” Daemon said. “My bride and I are for Dragonstone upon the morrow. We will be gone some weeks.”

 “You will not stay at court?”

 “I wish to see my wife settled into her new home.” Daemon said. “I would be accused of neglect if I abandoned her in an unfamiliar place.”

Viserys considered. Perhaps Daemon taking a break from court life would be to everyone’s benefit. With all that had happened, some peace wouldn’t go amiss. 

 “As you wish, brother.” Viserys smiled. “Yes, I don’t think anyone would begrudge you a few weeks.”

 “A few weeks to a month.” Daemon said.

 “So long?”

 “Well,” Daemon smiled. “I intend to ensure my wife is with child before I return to King’s Landing. Such things require my undivided attention.”

 “Heavens.” Murmured Beesbury.

Otto looked sick. 

 “Yes, well, um,” Viserys changed the subject swiftly. “Good. I’m glad that’s settled. Otto, was there something else?”

Otto regained his composure and nodded. “The newborn Prince, Your Grace.” He said. “After the feast, it’s suffice to say that more than a few tongues were wagging in regards to the condition of Prince Baelon’s eyes. Given that the situation is now brought to light, I thought it might do well to discuss it.”

That was the very last thing that Viserys wished to do.

 “Yes,” he set his mouth in another forced smile. “Indeed. Well. As you know, my lords, there were some complications to the Prince’s birth and…well, he is indeed blind.”

Corlys and Lyonel exchanged looks. “Only blind, Your Grace?” Lyonel asked.

 “They are not certain as to how the other elements to his condition might manifest but it could be that he is also deaf and may walk with some difficulty.” Viserys spoke rapidly. “Time will tell as to how this develops.”

 “There are some arrangements, however, that the King has put in place to ensure the line of succession.” Otto seemed to be quite enjoying himself. “The Princess Rhaenyra will wed her brother upon his fifteenth nameday.”

The Council was quiet, some looking at each other. Corlys looked at Daemon whose gaze turned to Viserys.

 “Do you think that’s wise, brother?” Daemon asked. “The Princess Rhaenyra will be thirty years of age by the time she weds. The childbed can be cruel to mothers at any age, but her chance of danger will only increase with time.”

 “Many women birth healthy babes at such an age,” Viserys said, not wanting to think on it. “And Rhaenyra is stronger than most.”

 “What if, forgive me,” Corlys said. “The Princess instead wed into a prestigious House, birthed a child and that child wed the Prince Baelon instead? The ages would be more aligned.”

 “That is, of course,” Lyonel said. “Hoping that the child was a daughter rather than a son. If the Princess beget a healthy son then-” He broke off, seeing Viserys’ expression. 

Then the Realm would wish the throne to go to him instead.

 “Might I make the suggestion,” Beesbury said. “That rather than Princess Rhaenyra, one of Prince Daemon’s children be betrothed to Prince Baelon?” 

Daemon looked irritated. “I’ll thank you for not marrying off my children before they are born, my lord.”

 “It would still leave the question of the Princess’s marriage open,” Tyland said. “Unless, I mean…” All looked at him and he seemed to wish that he had never spoken. “Well, assuming that Prince Baelon is the heir.”  

Viserys’ voice was cold. “And why wouldn’t my son be the heir, Lord Lannister?”

Tyland clamped his mouth shut. “No…I…of course he is the heir.”

 “Considering the difficult position in which we find ourselves,” Otto said. “I applaud Your Grace for making a challenging but necessary choice to ensure the Realm has a peaceful succession.”

Daemon narrowed his eyes at him across the table. He could almost see the little wheels turning in Otto’s mind. There was no possibility that Otto thought this was a good plan, so he must be pushing Viserys towards it for reasons of his own.

Daemon didn’t have to think long for the answer, all of Otto’s motives were so obvious. He wanted Hightower blood to enter the line of succession.

And, what was worse, in that regard they found themselves falling grudgingly on the same side for once as Daemon's children would also be Alicent's. Daemon was sickened just by the thought of sharing an allyship or a family alliance with Otto Hightower. 

 “Thank you, Otto.” Viserys said. His eyes swept the table. “My son,” he said. “Is my heir and the Princess has given her consent to the union. Whether Prince Baelon is blind, deaf or has two heads, he is your future King and my daughter your future Queen. I hope all can become accustomed to the way of things.”

The Council murmured their assent. Corlys sat back in his chair, his eyes wandering to the view outside.

Otto seemed triumphant. “Well said, Your Grace,” he said. “Now, while we are all here, I would like to go through some matters of taxation and accounting.” There were a few small sighs from the Council and Daemon lounged back in his chair, already bored. “I shall not linger too long as I must make myself ready for my daughter’s wedding.”

Corlys fell into step with Daemon as they left the council room. They were walking in the direction of the gardens. The rain had ceased, it was to be a bright and chill autumn day. 

 “These are strange times, my Prince.” Corlys said. 

 “No stranger than those that have come before.” Daemon replied.

 “You are a man of ambition,” Corlys said. “Men of ambition are often restless.”

 “My resolution is to settle into place.” Daemon said.

 “Well,” said Corlys. “Marriage to a good woman will do that to you. I know that well.” He paused and turned to face Daemon. Behind them, the breeze blew dead leaves onto the stones. “I hope you know, my Prince, the presence of you and your lady wife would be welcome at Driftmark whenever you had need of a break from city life.”

 “I thank you,” Daemon said. “Driftmark is only a short flight from Dragonstone. I will make the journey when Alicent is fully recovered.”

Corlys glanced behind him at the effervescent canopy of green, red and gold; a dying garden that was somehow in full bloom. “Sometimes I envy the King,” he said. “He is of an optimistic disposition. I wish I was more optimistic on occasion.” He looked at Daemon. “You are more of my mind, I think, my Prince.”

Daemon didn’t respond.

 “The Velaryon House and the Targaryen House are intertwined in their destinies.” Corlys said. “I hope to always be a friend to the Crown. To whomever that crown might fall on. Whoever may be worthy of it.”

Daemon took his meaning. “I may yet have need of your friendship, Lord Corlys.”

 “Well,” Corlys said. “If ever you do, you should be in no confusion that you have it.” He turned towards the staircase. “I must ready myself,” he said. “For your wedding.”

 “And I.” Daemon glanced down at the dried blood in his hands.

 “Yes,” Corlys said. “You smell of a funeral pyre. I recommend some soap.”

He left. 

Daemon lingered a little longer. He turned towards the gardens of the Keep and, briefly, contemplated his future. 

.

Gwayne, Laenor, Frederick and the rest of House Cuy made it back to the Keep with hours to spare until the wedding. It seemed that not only had the message not reached them that the Princess had been found, but also the message that Lady Alicent was missing and also found had not been passed along. This might have had something to do with the fact that no one had bothered to send one to them.

Their search had taken them twice around the walls of the city. They had even witnessed the infamous Night of Screams from afar and wondered if it was a large celebratory bonfire for Prince Baelon's birth.

It had been upon returning to the Keep for more intel that a startled Kingsguard had informed them of the series of events. Gwayne had immediately demanded to see his sister and was then reminded that she would be preparing for her wedding and couldn’t be disturbed.

 “Every day,” Gwayne muttered, stripping his filthy tunic off in the training house. “I’m reminded that I hate this place.”

 “Look on the bright side,” Laenor said. “At least we spent some valuable time all as one.” 

 “How are you so chipper?” Gwayne attempted to rub the dirt from his hair.

 “I haven’t slept in two days.” Laenor said, smiling brightly. “And I don’t know where I am.”

 “I’m too old for this.” Frederick said, washing his face with water from the pitcher.

As the Royal Sept of the Keep was prepared for the celebration and the gathered Houses dressed in their finest clothes for the ceremony, the bride herself sat before her mirror as her maids intricately wove her hair into lacing curls behind her head. 

On her cabinet, sat her hourglass.

After some consideration, Alicent reattached the hourglass around her neck.

In the grand tradition that weddings often carried, ones that spoke of disaster, she had no idea how much she would have need of it.

Chapter Text

 “Don’t fret, my lady,” Netty murmured. In her hands she held a small bowl filled with powder. She smoothed it underneath Alicent’s eye, careful to mind the slight cut upon her bruise at the top of her cheekbone. “You will be so beautiful in your dress, hardly anyone will notice.”

Alicent raised a hand. “Thank you, Netty. It’s fine.”

 “I think it’s better than it was.”

Alicent examined herself in the mirror. The bruise was still fairly obvious, the powder had only dulled the shine of it, but it couldn’t be helped. Her ankle still twinged when in contact with the ground, the ointment had reduced it back to its normal size, though a dark redness still remained.

There was a knock at the door and one of the maids answered. Otto stood at the threshold. “I trust my daughter is almost readied?”

 “Father,” Alicent rose to her feet, surprised that he had come to her room rather than meet her at the entrance to the Sept as was the tradition. “What is it?”

He swept his eyes over her. “Can they do nothing about the bruise on your face?”

 “It needs time to heal.” Alicent said. “I don’t mind it.”

Otto turned toward the opened door and beckoned the servant in. He held the handles of a wooden trunk in his hands; it was emblazoned with a carving of the Hightower crest. “I brought you something.”

Alicent walked towards the trunk, already suspecting the contents. Otto lifted the lid to reveal a dress of white samite, a bodice of swan-like delicacy fashioned to barely brush the shoulders. The sleeves folded over top were designed to hang low on the wearer, nearly reaching the floor, the insides of them were a pale gold.

Alicent looked at her father who was staring at the dress. “Your mother’s.” He said, simply.

 “Her wedding gown?”

He nodded.

 “It’s beautiful.” Alicent said.

 “You may wear it if you wish.”

 “I was simply going to wear the pale gown I already own,” Alicent said. “But this is much finer.”

 “You will look like her ghost when you put this on.” Otto’s voice was grim. “Sometimes I think…you are her. In a strange way. When I see your face in certain lights.”

Alicent shook her head. “I don’t have her goodness.”

 “No,” Otto said. “You are more like me in that way. Your mother was a saint.” He reached out his hand and picked up a sleeve, letting it fall. “The only woman I ever loved.”

Alicent watched him. “You never were the same after she died.” She murmured, speaking almost to herself. “You became something far colder.”

 “Love,” Otto said. “Is an illogical emotion. You might sacrifice all the power, gold and advantage you have for it and still end up with nothing in your hand.”

 “It can also save you.” Alicent said.

 “Not in my experience.” Otto said.

 “Can I ask you something, father?” Alicent said. “What is the point of a legacy if it does not lead to a life well-lived?”

Otto straightened. “That would depend, daughter, on what you consider to be a well-lived life.”

 “A life of love?”

 “Love cannot always be constant,” Otto said. “Lovers betray each other all the time. Love wanes as the years pass. It fades into memory and becomes consideration and tolerance.” He met her eyes. “Do you truly believe that the Prince loves you?”

 “No.” Alicent said. “But he knows me.”

 “He will only hurt you in the end.” Otto said. “He will make you suffer upon that island, all alone. And not before you have given him enough children to suit his desire for a bloodline, his great ambition.”

 “I suppose I am used to being used by men with great ambition.” Alicent said pointedly. 

 “I will not contend this point with you.” Otto said, looking away. “You have made your bed.” He glanced towards her maids who still flitted around the room, tidying. “The pace of this world might move quicker than we think. Your new position is likely to bring our House to new heights considering all that has happened to make it so.”

 “You’re welcome.”

 “Do not congratulate yourself.” Otto said. “Fate has reached out to play its role. You have still acted with indecency.”

 “I thank you for your kind words on this day.” Alicent said, shortly. “I will meet you at the Sept, father.”

It seemed at first as though Otto would leave, and then he turned back to her. He reached out and put his hand under her chin. “I do,” he said, quietly. “Care for you. I have always, in my own way. You may not have seen it, but I tried to…set a course for you in this world that would bring you happiness.”

Alicent reached up and touched the back of his hand. “Did you ever really love me, father?”

Otto sighed heavily. “You imbecile.” He said, moving away. “I will see you when you are readied.” 

The incident of Alicent and Rhaenyra’s flight from the castle had not gone over the heads of the gathered Houses at the Keep. The story had been distorted as it passed from mouth to ear of each receiver until it became a work that was entirely fictional with only the key details remaining accurate. 

The story, as far as most of the Westerosi nobles were aware, was that Alicent had attempted to flee the Keep with the aid of her close companion, the Princess. She was, no doubt, absconding in terror on account of her forced marriage to Daemon Targaryen, orchestrated by the King and the Hand to save her honour. The two girls had been apprehended by Harwin Strong and Borros Baratheon respectively, found in the company of men who they had paid to board a ship that would take Alicent to a foreign shore (what shore no one was exactly certain of, some said Lys, others Braavos, some speculated that the ship would only cruise the coastline and take her to a hiding place in the Reach). 

After being taken back to the Keep, the Prince had no doubt seen fit to make sure she would never attempt such a thing again - the dark bruise visible for all to see on her cheek would be further proof of this. 

The rumour was not believed by all - many from the Vale including Lady Jeyne who had seen the affection between the two of them did not think that Alicent would flee her marriage. Also, they did not like her enough to feel sympathy for her. 

The rumour was heavily endorsed, though, by many of the other Houses including those of the Reach who saw Alicent as something akin to a martyr in her unfortunate situation. 

Rhea Royce, who arrived to many whispers and sideways glances, scoffed when Jeyne relayed to her the gossip from the past few days. 

 “Alicent run away?” She had said. “I doubt it. For whatever reason she actually enjoys that rabid dog.”

 “The rumour is amusing, however,” Jeyne had said. “I feel no need to correct the errant tongues if they wish to paint the Prince as nothing more than an animal.”

 “I worry only for Lady Alicent.” Rhea said. 

 “I suppose someone has to.” Jeyne had replied.

The Royal Sept had been lit from within by many candles, despite the brightness of the cold sun as it shone through the stained glass windows. Crystal outlines of the seven deities were reflected in the light stone like reflections upon clear water. The assembled numbers fit easily within its walls, even though the number of noble visitors to the capital had only grown since the first day. 

Standing at the head of the assembly on the left-hand side were the royal family: Viserys, Aemma, Rhaenyra. Baelon had not been brought to the ceremony, although his presence was an unspoken weight within the room. Alongside them stood the Velaryons and the Arryns. Many shot looks and passed whispers about the presence of Lady Rhea Royce, the woman who had been cast aside and scorned. If Rhea noticed their eyes on her, she did not make it known.

On the bride’s side there stood House Hightower front and centre with Gwayne closest to the long aisle. House Cuy, House Beesbury, House Redwyne all crowding the front lines. 

Towards the back, the Lannisters looked politely bored, the Houses of the North including the Starks looked slightly less politely bored and House Baratheon had a sombre air hanging over it - mostly on account of Borros who had an expression that suggested it was the day of his execution rather than a wedding.

All eyes eventually fell on Daemon, who was waiting at the altar. He had dressed up somewhat for the occasion, which meant he wasn't covered in other men's blood for a change, the red and black cloak of his house over his shoulders. 

Alicent walked from her chambers to the entrance of the Sept in her mother’s wedding gown. 

She couldn’t pinpoint her anxiety. Her stomach was a ball of nerves. 

The last time she had been married here, she had been full of nothingness: like a ball that contained only air. She had done her best to only feel gratitude towards Viserys for choosing her. Her new life as Queen had seemed like a blessed burden rather than just a burden.

These pre-wedding feelings, like butterflies inside her, were completely new.

Otto met her at the entrance, before the high wooden doors, his expression unknowable. He brought a green cloak sewn with the Hightower crest over her shoulders. 

Behind Alicent, Netty and the rest of her maids watched fondly. Netty even wiped a tear from her eye. 

The Gold Cloaks were also unexpectedly present, lined up against the wall. They all gave Alicent rather uncharacteristically shy nods of appreciation. 

 “Well?” Otto offered her his arm. 

 “Well what?” Alicent took it. 

 “Regretting your rash decision?”

Alicent sighed. “Even whilst giving me away you cannot cease your jabs.”

The Sept doors opened.

 “You look very beautiful.” Otto said. “Like your mother.” 

The Royal Sept appeared to Alicent like a mirage from a dream: at least two hundred people gathered and all turned towards her. It had been a long time since she had been under that kind of scrutiny and, as their eyes followed her down the aisle, she thought that it had been less terrifying to be held at knifepoint in the street than to have them all stare at her. 

Her eyes lifted to Daemon, who was watching her also. His gaze went from her skirts, to her bodice, to her face. He gave her his small, ironic smile.

How is it that he isn’t afraid of anything? Alicent thought as she stopped before the altar. I will find his weakness one day.  

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rhaenyra looking at her. 

The Royal Septon raised his arms. “ Under the sight of our good King, we observe the matrimony on this day of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Alicent Hightower!”

Alicent could hear whisperings either side of her. 

Look at her face!

He really did give her a beating for her escape.

She set her mouth in a line.

The Septon turned to Daemon. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Otto slipped the green cloak from Alicent’s shoulders. Taking all the time in the world to do so, Daemon descended the steps towards Alicent. When he reached her, he took his Targaryen cloak from his shoulders and draped it over hers with an unusual gentleness. 

She felt the warmth from his hands and he slipped it over her. His skin was always impossibly hot. Alicent didn’t look into his searing eyes, afraid that it would be too much in that moment to meet his gaze. 

Daemon reached forward and took Alicent’s hand, leading her up the steps towards the Septon. The bright daylight fell on her as she walked. 

Behind her, Otto gave a deep sigh and Gwayne held back tears. 

“I ask that you face one another.” The Septon said.

Alicent and Daemon turned towards each other. Alicent got the feeling that Daemon was silently amused at how nervous she looked. 

“On this beneficient day in time,” the Septon said. “The congregated will give its blessings over to the Seven at this matrimony between two of the great Houses of our Realm: House Targaryen and House Hightower.”

Alicent stole a glance at the crowd. She caught Viserys smiling in what appeared to be genuine happiness, Laenor trying not to fall asleep on his feet and Rhaenyra once again. She looked like she had been crying. 

 “Good people,” the Septon continued. “We will begin by giving seven prayers, followed by seven songs and then the betrothed will exchange seven-”

 “No need.” Daemon said. “Just get on with it.” 

The congregation went awash with silence. 

Alicent put her hand to her face. So did Viserys. 

 “Uh…” the Septon was thrown. “My Prince-?”

 “Bind our hands now.” Daemon said. “My lady is injured and cannot stand for that long.”

 “Um, but…it is custom-”

Daemon glanced at him. A warning.

 “I…yes, yes, of course,” the Septon glared at Alicent like it was her fault. “I will make an exception as the lady is unwell.”

Alicent gave Daemon a withering look. He smiled back. Around them, people began muttering to each other again. 

 “I, um, ask that you both lift your right hands for the ceremonial binding.”

Alicent and Daemon did so; Alicent placed her hand atop his. It looked small in comparison. She couldn’t help but feel comforted by the touch of his skin. 

The Septon lifted the binding cloth underneath their hands and wrapped it twice around. “I ask you, Prince Daemon, to recite these words to your bride. Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger, I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” 

Daemon spoke, “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine.” He sought out Alicent with his voice, causing her to raise her head to him. “From this day,” he said, firmly. “Until the end of my days.”

 “Lady Alicent,” the Septon said. “I ask you to recite the same blessings and oath in your turn.”

 “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger,” Alicent said, her voice sounding loud in her own ears. “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

“In the sight of the Seven,” the Septon said. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. They are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

Alicent looked down at her and Daemon’s bound hands. She briefly closed her eyes and when she opened them she saw that the Septon was looking expectantly at Daemon.

 “Prince Daemon, I ask that you give your-”

 “With this kiss,” Daemon said, cutting him off. “I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife.”

 “With this kiss,” Alicent said. “I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband.”

He brought his mouth to hers and there was sudden heat, perhaps only the sunlight, and it stormed through Alicent’s chest. 

They broke apart to a roar of applause from the crowd. To all, it had been an unexpectedly touching ceremony to witness. Anyone would have thought they were actually in love with each other.

The Septon gave his final blessing, “I present to you, good people of the Realm and to our good King, these joined souls are husband and wife. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

The gathered Houses began to cheer for them, including Gwayne who raised his hands high to applaud. Viserys and Aemma were smiling as they joined in, Aemma with a more reserved expression. Corlys and Rhaenys nodded their approval at both Alicent and Daemon.

At the back of the room, Borros kept his real feelings hidden upon seeing how happy and radiant Alicent looked standing there upon the altar.

And, strangely, Alicent did find herself happy.

Hand in hand with Daemon, the sun beaming down on her head, the Realm before them, for that singular moment, she felt true happiness for the first time since the very beginnings of her first life.

.

The ensuing feast was almost as grand as the one that had been held for Heir’s Day. Torches blazed along the walls of the great room, minstrels played a merry tune and the mood was light. There was more mingling now that the Realm's Houses had all shared the Keep for the past few days, less of a segregation as to which House sat where. 

Alicent noticed that Gwayne, House Cuy, House Strong and the Baratheons all sat together and Laenor had wedged himself on their table also. The laughter from their corner was loud and the Cuy and Strong Houses appeared to be arm-wrestling. Borros was on his fourth wine. 

Next to her, Daemon kept his hand on her knee firmly. “Are you in any pain?” He asked, quietly.

 “I’m fine.” Alicent said.

 “You’re always ‘fine’.”

 “The ceremony wasn’t too long thanks to your rudeness.”

 “I didn’t care to hear that old goat droning on endlessly.” 

 “And here I thought you would be eager to give your seven blessings.”

 “You don’t really believe in all of that nonsense, do you?”

 “I do.”

Daemon made a sound of scorn into his wine.

 “Just as you believe in the Old Gods.”

He looked away. “The Old Gods have some bearing on the history of Valyria.” He turned back to her. “As my wife, I now expect you to learn Valyrian histories, so you are aware.”

 “Do you?” Alicent said. “As my husband, I expect you to recite blessings to the Seven daily.”

 “I’m glad to see my lady is still full of such humour after exhausting herself in the company of ruffians and slavers just a day hence.”

 “Forgiveness is not one of your better qualities, is it?” 

Daemon made an ironic noise. “Is this Alicent Hightower lecturing me on forgiveness?”

Alicent brought her cup to her lips. “Get your hand off my knee.”

His grip tightened. “Indeed,” he said. “I think I’ll keep it there.” 

The music picked up and more people began to take hands and dance. Alicent looked across the high table at where Viserys and Aemma sat. “Have you spoken to the King about reconsidering Rhaenyra’s betrothal to her brother?”

 “I wouldn’t count on any success in that corner.” Daemon said. “His mind is set. Especially now he sees how dangerous the ground is for his succession.”

Alicent lifted a hand to her hourglass. “Do you feel like,” she said, slowly. “The past is repeating itself?”

Daemon gave her a look. “Do you recall us getting married in your previous life?”

 “I mean,” Alicent said. “Once again, there is this question of succession. Even though the past changed, we are yet again in this position. Nothing came to pass as it had done, but I feel as if we stand in the same place. Why is that? A trick of time? A failing on our part to change it?”

 “Why think of it?” Daemon said. “It merely is what it is.”

 “I can’t believe you’re so offhand about it.”

 “The more you try and seize the hands of fate,” Daemon said. “The more you will be pulled apart by them.”

Alicent squinted at him. “You do come out with some pretty words every now and then. A future as a court poet truly does escape you.”

Daemon smiled at her pleasantly. “Has my wife forgotten that she will be completely at my mercy a few hours from now in our bedchamber with all of these prying eyes done away with?”

 “Why?” Alicent lifted her chin. “What will you do to me, husband? I wish to know.”

 “Come closer, I will tell you.”

 “I won’t get any closer to you, you are already close enough.”

His hand dug into her leg. “I do love when you toy with me,” he said, pressing close to her ear. “It makes me want to put my tongue in your cunt until you drip your sweetness into my mouth.”

Alicent watched the cheerful dancers, her colour rising. “You have made your point.”

Daemon drew away, triumphant at his win. “Look how she blushes.”

I can’t believe I just married this lust-driven rogue. Alicent thought with chagrin. I will need an extra bedchamber just to get any sleep.

Through the doors of the hall, a royal wetnurse appeared carrying a swaddle that was Prince Baelon. All eyes turned toward him as he entered, lords and ladies leaning into mutter to each other.

Aemma stood with a smile and took the babe into her arms as Viserys sat there with a far more uncomfortable smile.

Rhaenyra, unable to bear it any longer, rose from her seat and came to stand behind Alicent. “Congratulations on your wedding day, my lady,” she forced a smile. “I am…happy for you.”

Alicent also stood, quickly. “I thank you, Princess.” She said. She spoke to Daemon, “I will be a moment, husband.”

Daemon looked between the two of them before turning away. “Do not tarry.” Was all he said.

Alicent wondered if he wished that it was Rhaenyra he was marrying instead. She thought it better not to ask him.

She and Rhaenyra went through the open windowed doors to stand upon the balcony. The afternoon had simmered into a fair dusk, a mellow sun set low in the sky like half of a ripe orange. Alicent could taste jasmine in the air.

 “Are you alright?” Alicent watched as Rhaenyra braced herself on the balcony’s edge. “Was your mother quite angry?”

 “She was.” Rhaenyra didn’t face her. “And she…informed me that I am to be betrothed to my newborn brother on his fifteenth nameday.” 

 “Gods be good.” Alicent said. In that moment, she was dishonest - pretending the news was new. 

Rhaenyra laughed shortly. “Do not pity me. I do not deserve it-”

 “Rhaenyra-”

 Rhaenyra turned to her, she looked older somehow. “I do not know how to ask for your forgiveness in a way that would allow you to forgive me,” she approached her, taking her hand. “But I am sorry for what I did. Forcing you to leave the Keep with me. I was wrong.”

Alicent put her hand over hers. “I left willingly.”

 “But I persuaded you.”

 “You couldn’t have known what would happen.”

 “You said it was a bad idea and I ignored you,” Rhaenyra said. Her bloodshot eyes began to well once again with tears. “I am a poor excuse for a friend.”

Unable to bear her contrition, Alicent embraced her. “Do not speak so.” She said. “You are my dearest friend.”

Rhaenyra put her arms around her. “And you are mine.” She whispered. “I’m sorry, Alicent.”

 “Do not apologise.”

 “I’m sorry.” Rhaenyra drew back from her. “I heard you…give yourself to those men. To save me.”

Alicent stared at her. “You were awake?”

Rhaenyra nodded, smiling bitterly. “Yet too afraid to make a sound.”

 “Thank the gods you didn’t.”

 “You shouldn’t have sacrificed yourself like that.”

 “Rhaenyra, you are the Princess-”

 “Don’t!” Rhaenyra snapped, suddenly angry, pulling away. “Do not say things like ‘you are the Princess’. That doesn’t make me feel any better!”

Alicent was quiet. Then, “And I love you.” She said. 

Rhaenyra met her eyes. “I love you too. Best of all.”

Alicent took her hands once again.

 “I suppose it is too late to fly to Essos now you are married.”

Alicent smiled. “Perhaps one day.”

Rhaenyra’s smile faltered as she thought of her future. “Yes,” she managed. “One day.”

The two left back for the high table with joined hands. 

 “I like your dress.” Rhaenyra said.

 “My mother’s.” Said Alicent.

 “I like the sleeves.”

Alicent took a moment to flap her arms like those of a dragon and Rhaenyra giggled. 

As they reached the table, Aemma turned around to Alicent. “Come, my child.” She said.

Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra, who met her eyes briefly, and walked forward. “Yes, my Queen?”

 “I wish you good tidings on this day.” Aemma said. “You have joined our family.”

 “Thank you, my Queen.”

 “I was…hesitant upon hearing of the match.” Aemma said. “But I think you will be a steadying influence.” She cast a glance at Daemon across the table. “As much as is possible.”

 “I hope to be my lord husband’s peace as much as possible.” Alicent said. She was good at acting dutiful, even though she was only half telling the truth. She did quite enjoy tormenting Daemon when the opportunity arose.

Aemma smiled. “And you see, the Prince is happy for you too.” She lifted the swaddle to Alicent who leaned down to smile at the baby.

Despite his poor eyes that gave her much grief to look upon, he was a beautiful child. He reminded her of her own had in her previous life: Targaryen babies were always delicate, pale and pretty as flowers. Then they grew up. 

 “I have arranged a special gift for you,” Aemma said. “Something to help you in your new marriage.”

 “You needn’t have, my Queen.”

 “No, no,” Aemma said. “I insist. It is a special concoction that the Maesters mixed for me upon my marriage day. It helps with the residual pain a maiden experiences after her first night and proves to be helpful in conceiving a child.”

 “Oh.” Alicent said. She had never heard of such a thing before. Something inside her, perhaps it was her inherited sense of mistrust from her father, began to sense danger. “Thank you.”

 “I will have it sent to your marital chamber.” Aemma said. Her voice was saccharine and her eyes were kindly, but Alicent had already lived one lifetime as a wicked queen and she felt like she recognised her look. “Enjoy it.”

 “I will. Thank you, my Queen.”

Alicent went to sit beside Daemon once more. He could tell that something had disturbed her because she avoided his eyes.

 “What?” He asked simply.

Alicent glanced along the high table. “Later.” She said. 

Viserys suddenly stood, raising a hush around the room. The dancers parted out of respect and the music ceased. “I will not tarry your feasting for long, my good people! I would simply like to take this moment to congratulate my brother and his bride.”

The room cheered, quite drunkenly, many raising their large flagons high. 

 “And I would like to also present a gift to my brother upon this auspicious day,” Viserys paused, turning to Daemon. “The gift of our family's ancestral halls of Dragonstone. I pass it in its entirety to Daemon and, one day, his own children.”

Alicent was stunned. Dragonstone belonged to the heir, as far as she understood Targaryen tradition. She looked to Daemon who, for once, was completely caught off guard. 

Daemon stood immediately, raising his cup. “I thank Your Grace for his generosity. I accept with all my heart.”

Alicent quickly stood too and raised her cup. “We thank you for the honour of your gift, Your Grace.”

The room applauded as the mutterings rose in volume. Corlys and Rhaenys in particular had a moment of pointed conversation through an exchange of raised cups. 

Aemma looked frozen in her seat. She did not applaud. It was clear in that moment that she had not been made aware of this gift before it was given. As Viserys sat back down next to her, she set her eyes on him icily. “You make a gift of our son’s inheritance to your brother?”

Viserys leaned close. “It is as you said, my love. If Daemon covets the throne at all then we must protect our son’s seat. Daemon will think himself well-compensated with Dragonstone.”

She was aghast. “That was your reason for this?”

 “It’s a good plan, is it not?” Viserys said, cheerfully. “After all, my grandsire gave Dragonstone to his older sister when she had need of it. It isn’t necessarily the seat of the heir.”

 “It is the seat of the heir.” Aemma hissed, keeping her voice so no one could hear but him. “Baelon is already in want of support and now he loses his ancestral rights?”

Viserys frowned. “Please, Aemma,” he reached for her. “Don’t be so angry. You have it completely wrong.”

 “What is this but an endorsement of Daemon as your heir? What is the Realm to think?”

 “I have already made it clear who my heir is.” Viserys replied, keeping his tone calm. “Come now. You’re being quite unreasonable.”

Aemma felt herself go pale with fury as she sat there. The dancers began to swim before her eyes.

Meanwhile, Daemon and Alicent exchanged wordless communication as their hands joined under the table. Alicent could feel Daemon’s excitement through his skin and she was happy for him. All his life, he had pined for Dragonstone and now it was his. Truly his. 

 “Congratulations, husband.” She whispered.

Daemon leaned into her and caught her lips with his. “It seems you are a charm that brings me luck.”

 “Out of all the misfortune I have brought others, you must be thrilled at this development.”

Daemon tucked a hand underneath her cheek. “Never call yourself cursed again.” He said, his voice soft, his eyes soft. 

Gwayne approached the high table, clapping, slightly drunk. He was followed by Laenor who was more than slightly drunk.

 “Congratulations, sister!” He beamed.

Alicent stood from the table and skirted it to hug him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You must visit us in Dragonstone, brother.”

 “When we are not at home.” Was Daemon’s comment from behind her.

 “I will!” Gwayne smiled, looking at Daemon. “Brother,” he said. “I look forward to getting to know you.”

Daemon wasn’t sure what to say to this as no one had ever shared this sentiment before. 

 “I know you already.” Laenor slurred. “But maybe…the two of us…could get to know each other…even more.”

 “Laenor,” Alicent put her hands on his shoulders. “Please sit down.”

He threw himself down on the floor.

 “Not there, fool!” Gwayne yanked him upright by his collar. 

 “He needs his bed.” Alicent said.

 “He needs a leash and a curfew.” Gwayne muttered. 

 “Take him back to the table, Gwayne, see that he eats something to offset his stupor.” Alicent watched them go. “They are fine friends, which is what I hoped they would become.”

 “‘Friends’.” Daemon echoed.

She looked around. “Yes, friends.”

 “Ha!” Daemon said, truly amused. “You Hightowers and your lack of imagination.”

 “What?”

He raised his brow.

Alicent frowned and looked back at Laenor and Gwayne. She then looked back at him. “No.”

He smirked.

 “No. They are just friends.”

 “Indeed,” Daemon said. “As you and I are just friends.”

 “I’m sure you are wrong.”

 “But I’m not.” 

 “I’m sure you are.”

 “I’m not.”

She seated herself beside him again. “Am I that blind?”

Daemon set his cup down. “Blinder than my nephew.” He muttered. 

As if on cue, Baelon began to cry. They were the odd, squawking cries that he had made before. It was as if they scratched the air, managing to silence even the minstrels for a brief moment. 

The room remained loud, much wine and ale had been drunk, some of the lesser Houses were beginning to cavort together, standing on tables and singing songs.

As Baelon’s cries screeched through the air, a young man wearing the colours of House Vypren began to imitate them, making his own strange sounds in the same intonation. His friends snickered as he matched the animal-like pitch.

It was a brief and passing moment, but Aemma caught it.

She rose to her feet and, shaking, pointed her finger at the man. “Do you dare mock your Prince, boy?!”

This time, the music halted altogether. Everyone in the room stopped whatever they had been doing and turned to stare.

The boy from House Vypren went visibly pale. He staggered down from the table and knelt quickly upon the stone. “F-forgive me, my Queen. A jest was all it was.”

 “A jest?” Aemma whispered. She looked about her at the silent room. “A jest?!” Her voice rang powerfully around the walls, resonating. “Is that what your future King is to you? A jest?!”

Viserys rose to his feet and put a hand on her shoulder. “Please, calm yourself, my love,” he whispered to her and then rounded on the boy. “Take this insolent away. Three days in the stocks!” He met the eyes of the lord of the Vypren House who readily nodded his consent. 

 “Three days in the stocks?” Aemma turned to Viserys. “For insulting your son and heir?”

Viserys looked confused. “I…that is a fair punishment for an error of this nature, my Queen.”

Aemma ripped her arm out of his grip. She staggered back, Baelon in one hand, and both Rhaenyra and Corlys reached to stop her from tumbling over. She rose up again, breathing heavily. “I want that boy dead!”

Viserys’ mouth fell open. He struggled to compose himself. “My love…please, be reasonable.”

The boy who had made the insult was trembling. “My…my King, please have mercy! I did not mean to offend!”

Viserys lowered his voice as he spoke to Aemma. “He is a mere boy of fifteen or sixteen, my dear. There is no need for blood to be shed. We will…ask House Vypren to punish him upon his return, I am sure they will-”

 “That is an insult!” Aemma spat, so incensed that she was still staggering about. “An insult! To you and me, and-!” She seemed to notice all at once that everyone was looking at her. Her eyes found Daemon. “Prince Daemon,” she said. “I command you to take that boy’s life. Now.”

Alicent’s hand flew to Daemon’s arm. He dislodged it as he rose slowly to his feet, but he did not move any further. He glanced at the kneeling boy and looked back at her. “I’m not in the habit of cutting down crying children, my Queen.”

 “Even if they insult your future King?” 

Daemon was silent, his eyes moved to Viserys.

 “I order you,” Aemma snapped. “As Commander of the City Watch, you will do your duty.”

Daemon folded his arm across his sword belt. “If the King bids me,” he said, slowly. “I will take his life.”

Viserys put his hands up, a pleading tone escaping him. “Let us all collect ourselves!” He said. “No irrevocable harm has been done here.” He looked pleadingly at Aemma. “My love, I beg you-”

 “Ser Criston.” Aemma turned to the knight who stood at the end of the high table. “I command you to take his life.”

Criston paused for a moment and then drew his sword.

Alicent felt Daemon reach for her and he pulled her behind him as Criston’s blade struck the boy’s neck with one great arc of a slash, so fast that the boy did not even cry out. Blood spattered across the stones, some landing upon the high table not far from Daemon’s feet. 

Criston then picked up the boy’s severed head with one bloody hand. “Shall I burn this, my Queen?” He asked, his tone light.

Viserys looked at the scene in abject horror, Rhaenyra was covering her mouth. The Houses all stared at the beheaded corpse, the blood. Some sank back down in their seats as others made headway towards the doors.

Aemma drew herself up. “That,” she cast her eyes around the room. “Is how you serve your reigning House, my good people.” She caught Daemon in her sight and her gaze was undiluted poison. 

Alicent felt her heart hammer as she looked upon the beheaded boy's slumped body. She reached for her hourglass.

Daemon caught her wrist. “No.” He said.

She looked up at him. “But-”

Daemon’s expression was one of pure satisfaction. “Don’t you see,” he murmured. “This is fate.”

Alicent took in the room, the mortified expressions of the people who just moments before had been light with merriment. They looked towards Aemma and Viserys with a fear that they had never before had for their gentle, peaceful King and Queen.

And then they looked at Daemon and Alicent. Another piece of the future fell into place.

Chapter Text

The following excerpt is taken from the diaries of Maester Mellos during the reign of King Viserys I, 112 AC.

‘Though the final day of the celebration marking the birth of King Viserys’ male heir was an occasion for jubilation throughout the Realm and the festivities were concluded with a much spoken-of union between the King’s brother, the Rogue Prince, and his Hand’s only daughter; the joy felt was marred by the execution of young Rolf Vypren, squire to House Vypren, after an insult was made to the newly-born Prince Baelon. Queen Aemma ordered for the punishment to be death for his errant tongue and it was Ser Criston Cole [of the Stormlands] who raised his sword and took the boy’s head. From that day on, Ser Criston was named as Prince Baelon’s sworn Protector by the Queen and elevated himself from the obscurity of his birth. The boy’s [Rolf’s]  head was skewered on a spike outside the castle walls and set alight on Queen Aemma’s orders for all the Realm to see what would befall he who made insult [to the young Prince]. The billowing smoke blackened the height of the castle walls causing the men and women of King’s Landing to jest that the day of the Rogue Prince’s wedding was black as a Targaryen crest, allowing for the moniker ‘the Black Wedding’. Despite this, the singing and dancing carried on throughout the streets [of King’s Landing]... and deep into the night…’

.

The feast had finished in little-interrupted silence. Some did not even dare to place their cups too loudly upon the table lest it cause another upset.

The high table was deathly quiet but for the sound of forks and knives scratching upon plates. Every now and again Baelon would make another odd cry which only heightened the tense atmosphere.

Alicent glanced to her side at Daemon who ate and drank like nothing had happened. When she caught Rhaenyra’s eye across the high table she saw her confusion, a burgeoning fear. She had never seen a thing like that happen safe within the walls of the Keep, nor had she ever witnessed her mother act in such a way.

Viserys kept his eyes trained on his meal, his pleasant humour completely gone.

The only two people in the room who appeared to be in good spirits were Queen Aemma herself and Otto Hightower.

Otto had anticipated more of a fight to clear the way for his bloodline to enter the contention of the succession. It was hard to win hearts and minds away from the usual way of things - for the throne to pass from father to son. However, it seemed that the fight would mostly be taken from his hands with Aemma leading the charge. He met Alicent’s eye across the table and the gentle smile on his face disturbed her greatly.

Alicent tried not to look at the dark bloodsmear on the stone before them, at the spatter that made an almost perfect path towards her and Daemon’s seats. 

As the sun hid, the guests began to make their excuses and leave. They approached the high table with a low bow or a curtsy, a few sentences of congratulation to Daemon and Alicent, one secretive look at Aemma as she held Baelon tightly and then they left the hall for either their rooms or the long journey back to their own lands. They would consider their loyalties, they would bide their time. 

For some, the decision was easier than for others. 

 “Lady Alicent,” Borros Baratheon approached the high table, swaying only slightly as he stood before her. “I am for Storm’s End this night. I hope I will one day receive you there? It is quite beautiful this time of year, and in the winter.”

Alicent ignored the chill she was getting from her right side where Daemon was sitting. “I thank you, Borros,” she smiled at him. “I owe you my life, I think. I never did thank you properly for your help to me.”

Borros couldn’t hide the blush that coloured his face, though he attempted to hide it by scratching his forehead as he spoke. “I would have readily given my life to see you safe, Lady-”

 “Yes,” Daemon sliced in. “I too am grateful that you assisted in the safe-keeping of my lady wife.” His hand found Alicent’s on the table and covered it. “With more practice, you may even improve your swordsmanship for the future.”

Borros forced himself to smile genially and not draw his sword right there and then. “Thank you, my Prince.” He said, shortly and turned back to Alicent. “I mean it, Lady Alicent, you are welcome at Storm’s End whenever you have need of it. You and…your…family.” He seemed to have difficulty finishing the sentence, not wishing to use the word ‘husband’. 

Alicent nodded. “I may one day take you at your word, my lord.”

Borros bowed and, squaring his shoulders, left with the rest of his House. 

Alicent took a sip of wine and waited for the comment that would follow. 3…2…

 “You will visit Storm’s End, will you?” Daemon said, irritably. “I wonder when that will be.”

Alicent turned to him, meeting his eye. “The day you irk me for the last time, I suppose.”

 “The law would be in my favour if I dragged you back to Dragonstone by your hair.” 

 “You would lose a hand if you tried such a thing.”

Daemon regarded her, fondness in his expression. He loved it when she threatened him with violence. His eyes went to the sweep of her bodice, her breasts visible under the line of her gown. Surely, it was about time this so-called celebratory feast was over with. 

The feast ended before midnight, which was not the tradition for a wedding feast which would usually continue until the sun rose, but seemed a necessity as the guests had thinned to only the Targaryens at the high table, the Strongs and the Hightowers: and a sleeping, drunk Laenor leaning heavily on Gwayne’s shoulder. 

 “Ser Harwin,” Aemma summoned him before the family could leave along with the rest. “A moment.”

Harwin, with a certain wariness, got to his feet and approached the high table with a bow. “My Queen?”

 “I wouldn’t normally have you abandon your duties on the City Watch,” Aemma said. “But I am in need of your strength and loyalty. My daughter has shown that she has a somewhat adventurous nature,” at this she smiled almost indulgently at Rhaenyra “I need her to have a sworn protector to shield her from this folly - and to make sure all threat to her is vanquished forthwith. Her current guard has proven to be completely unsuitable for the task.”

Rhaenyra dug her fingers into her skirts at the new prospect of being followed night and day by a guard who would essentially be a spy for her mother. More confinement. The walls of her life grew smaller and smaller with each passing day.

Harwin glanced at Rhaenyra and then bowed again. “It would be my honour, of course, my Queen.”

 “Good.” Aemma looked across the table at Daemon. “I assume there is no argument this time from you?” Her voice when she spoke to him was ice-cold.

Daemon smiled in return. “The Gold Cloaks of the City Watch are free to renounce their service whenever they choose, my Queen. I don’t believe we endorse slavery in Westeros.” 

 “Ah!” Alicent rose quickly to her feet upon seeing Aemma’s eyes flash with fury. “My…lord husband and I should perhaps be…proceeding…” she trailed away, realising that the next tradition would be the leading to the marital chamber. She grew red in front of their stares. “Um…to our…”

Daemon stood beside her. “With Your Grace’s permission,” he said. “My wife and I will leave to continue our wedding celebrations in privacy.”

Viserys nodded. His expression was still grim but he managed to smile. “I…hope you had a good time, the both of you. You have my good tidings on this day.”

Alicent felt her heart tug at his expression. Poor Viserys. On some level, she had forgiven him for taking the many years of her life as he had and turning them into a loveless misery; on another level she hadn’t forgiven at all. But, he had always tried - even at the expense of all logic and reason - to do the right thing by those he loved. 

Aemma directed her smile at Alicent, saying simply. “Good night to you, child.”

Alicent curtsied and went to say goodbye to Gwayne who stood next to the table, holding Laenor upright with one arm. 

 “I am for Dragonstone tomorrow morning, brother.”

 “And I for Oldtown, sister.”

Alicent leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I will miss you until we meet again.”

Gwayne swallowed, telling himself he would not cry. “And I will miss you.” On his shoulder, Laenor let out a loud snore, ruining the moment. “And Laenor will miss you.” Gwayne snapped. “If he doesn’t drown in a puddle later.”

Alicent put a hand on his shoulder. “You should visit Driftmark to see Ser Laenor every once in a while.”

 “And why would I do that?”

 “Alicent,” Otto was beside her suddenly and Gwayne instinctively drew back. “You will write to me during the next few months to impart all the details of your new seat at Dragonstone. You may be in need of the company of letters, your husband will no doubt be gallivanting off to his paramours after he has had his fill of married life.”

 “Thank you, father,” Alicent said, dryly. “I can already tell your correspondence will be of great comfort in my lonely hours.”

 “I will write to you too.” Gwayne said. “I will tell you all the foolish things Frederick says and how many times Uncle Hobert attempts to marry me to the nearest unattached maiden.”

Laenor’s eyes flew open suddenly. “I will also write to you.”

 “Gods.” Gwayne said, startled. 

 “And if you have need of a companion, I will fly to you on Seasmoke.”

Alicent smiled. “Thank you, Ser Laenor.”

 “And then I can fly to Oldtown,” Laenor said, squeezing Gwayne’s other shoulder that he wasn’t resting on. “To see Gwayne.”

 “You really don’t have to do that.” Gwayne said.

 “I want to.”

 “It’s fine, honestly.”

 “It will be a wonderful time.”

 “Don’t come.”

 “I’m coming.”

Otto grabbed Alicent’s arm and pulled her to the side, her ankle twinging as it dragged over the floor. “I want you to counsel the Prince wisely,” Otto said. “Use all the charms you must to convince him to keep in the King’s favour as much as possible. No more violent acts in the capital. And keep Lord Corlys close at your side. I believe he is of our same mind.”

 “What mind would that be, father?”

His hand dug into her. “The one that works in your favour.” He said. 

Alicent lifted her arm away from him. “I will take your thoughts under consideration.”

Otto looked like he wanted to say something more. Alicent wondered what would come out of his mouth. More reproves, a line about loyalty to her own House over the Targaryen clan. Perhaps he would return to sentimentality as ordinary fathers did: perhaps he would tell her he did love her after all and was proud of her.

Alicent waited. Otto said no more. He raised his eyes over her mother’s dress and then he turned and left.

The room was all but empty. Alicent could see Daemon and Rhaenyra speaking in the corner. Watching them, their heads close together, she felt an unwanted sting as if someone had slapped her hard across the face. It was hard to see the both of them together, to remember that they were the ones truly intended and she had ingratiated herself between them as an interloper. She was destined to be a villainess in every life, it seemed. Daemon’s face was turned away from her. She wondered what it looked like, what loving expression he was making. 

 “Alicent,” Viserys interrupted her masochistic observation as she stood, unable to take her eyes from the two of them. “Could I…have your ear a moment?”

Alicent turned to him in surprise. “Yes, Your Grace?”

 “I just…” Viserys looked pained. He looked around them to check that Aemma had left with Baelon back to their chambers. “I wish to apologise to you.”

Alicent shook her head. “There’s no need to-”

 “Indeed, there is a need,” Viserys said. “It was an unwarranted act. It should never have taken place at your wedding day feast. Especially after the recent danger you were in, I was hoping to make this day a reward for your troubles.” He gave a short, sarcastic laugh. “I failed heartily in that, I know. My own…weakness.” He looked down at the ground between them.

He looked vulnerable to her. His shrinking presence reminded her of how he had looked in the throes of his disease: bent and shrivelled. He played anxiously with the rings on his fingers, just as Rhaenyra often did. 

Alicent placed her hand on his out of pure instinct to stop his fidgeting. The sudden touch had jumped out of her body and came as a surprise to them both.

Viserys glanced down at their hands wordlessly and Alicent quickly removed her hers. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” she said. “Sometimes I see the Princess do the same thing. It was merely a force of habit.”

Viserys smiled, placing his hand where hers had fallen. “You have a comforting touch, Alicent,” he said. “Though it might sound strange to say.”

You have told me so before. Alicent thought. Though that was a you that existed in another life.

 “You are not weak, Your Grace,” Alicent said. “You are kind.”

 “We have had a conversation similar to this before, as I recall.” Viserys said. “I truly am a bore, repeating myself all the time.”

 “You are very hard on yourself.”

Viserys smiled, his eyes searching her face. “You do look very pretty today, Alicent,” he said. “My brother is a man with more than his fair share of luck to have you.”

Alicent laughed.

 “Brother.” Daemon said from behind them both, a clear edge to his voice. “Alicent and I are leaving.”

 “Oh, of course.” Viserys said. He nodded at Alicent. “I wish you many happy days at Dragonstone, Alicent. It’s a fair prospect.”

 “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Daemon snatched her arm and headed towards the doors with her. He was angry, that much was clear, acting like a complete child once again. Alicent glared up at him, half irritated and half despairing. This ridiculous show of possessiveness was becoming a trial and a half.

 “Daemon,” she wrenched her arm away as they reached the corridor. “Do not pull me like a prisoner.”

 “I thought you were looking to change your fate but it seems that you seek your former pastures.”

 “You’re laughable.” Alicent scoffed. 

Before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her face and flattened her against the wall. They were alone in the corridor, expected to proceed to their separate chambers to dress and bathe for their marriage bed, the traditions of the marital chamber pared down in Viserys' time to preserve dignity. However, it didn’t seem likely that they would get that far. 

Daemon’s kiss nearly suffocated her, his hand didn’t allow her face to turn from him. Alicent protested against his mouth as best she could, he wouldn’t give her a moment of relief. His tongue was purposefully intrusive, not satisfied until all she could taste was him. She dug her nails into his neck to demand he let her go. When he finally did, Alicent gasped for air. 

 “Then laugh.” He hissed.

Alicent shoved him away, only causing herself to stagger backward a few steps down the corridor. “You animal!” She spat. 

Daemon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I welcome your ire, wife. It only serves to excite me.”

 “Don’t speak to me.”

 “That will be difficult as we are to spend the night together.”

 “I must return to my chambers to bathe.” Alicent made a sound as the ground left her feet and she found herself suspended in the air, Daemon’s arms around her.

 “You are clean enough.” He said.

Alicent squirmed to be free of him as he carried her, to no avail whatsoever. He had an iron grip. The marital chamber was up a number of stairs and she tried to use the flat stone bannister to unleash herself.

 “If you struggle any longer,” Daemon said. “I will place you over this ledge now rather than take you to a private chamber.”

 “You’re revolting.” Alicent snapped.

Daemon dropped her to her feet and pushed the back of her neck so she was bent over the bannister. She inhaled sharply as she felt him lift her skirts with impatience, his hands seeking her out.

 “Daemon, stop!” She whispered desperately, unable to push herself up from his pressure. “This castle crawls with people tonight!”

 “Did you think it was a mere threat?” He asked. He snatched the hand that was bracing her and pressed the palm against him; she could feel him through the heavy, dark material he wore. He was hard as stone. He pleasured himself a moment with the helpless flat of her hand, groaning at the contact, her flush and sweating skin burning through his clothes. He had waited for her long enough. He placed a knee between her legs, spreading them.

 “Daemon-!” Alicent broke off as she heard a door open somewhere above them, the murmur of voices. It could be a passing maid or it could be her father, her brother, any lord or lady from any of the Houses. “I…won’t struggle any longer,” she said, panicked. “You can have me all you like in our chamber.”

Daemon paused. He pulled her hair, straightening her and pressed close to her ear. “Beg me.” He said.

Alicent flushed angrily. “Beg you for what?”

 “Beg me to take you to our chamber and fuck you,” she could hear the smile in his voice and it made her think violent thoughts. “Until you can no longer stand.”

She pressed her lips together. The murmurs grew louder from upstairs.

 “I advise you to decide fast,” Daemon taunted. “What your dignity is worth.”

Alicent made a decision. “I beg you,” she whispered furiously. “To take me to our chamber and fuck me until I can’t stand.” She met his eyes above her. “My lord husband.”

Daemon swallowed hard. He was sweating. 

Lord and Lady Beesbury rounded the corner to descend the stairs. It was a nighttime ritual for them to take a turn about the gardens together before their slumber. They passed, on the way, the newly-married Prince Daemon and Alicent Hightower. The young couple looked slightly more dishevelled than they had done during the feast and they walked side by side up the stairs with a silent urgency.

 “Ah, my Prince,” Lord Beesbury greeted him. “And your new lady wife. How good it is to see you two so felicitously joined.”

Daemon and Alicent looked at them with glazed expressions.

 “Um, thank you.” Alicent said.

 “Yes, thank you.” Daemon muttered, putting his hand at the small of Alicent’s back and attempting to move them on.

 “I remember,” Lord Beesbury continued with both Daemon and Alicent turning unwillingly towards him. “When we got married.”

 Lady Beesbury laughed. “Many years ago now.”

 “How…nice.” Alicent managed as Daemon tried to leave again. 

 “It was in the summer,” Lord Beesbury began to reminisce and Daemon put his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “I can recall it as all of the flowers in the hills near Honeyholt were in full bloom.”

 “You old man,” Lady Beesbury rolled her eyes. “We wed in the spring.”

 “Ah, yes.” Lord Beesbury said. “ Now I can recall. Because your father was so eager for the wedding to take place he moved the day closer.”

 “And because your sister’s wedding was to be in the summer.” Lady Beesbury said. “And she did not wish to be outshone.” She laughed. “I care not for such things now but in those days it did create an awful fuss!”

She began to laugh and Alicent attempted to join in with a half-hearted ‘haha’ as Daemon paced behind her. 

 “Oh, while you’re here, my Prince,” Lord Beesbury said. “There are some matters relating to the expenses from the last account balance taken from the City Watch’s ledger that I must speak to you about. A few instances of, in my opinion, over-expense. Now I can understand that it can be an, at times, costly thing to repair armour and purchase the necessary-”

 “Lord Beesbury,” Alicent spoke before Daemon could say something she would need to turn her hourglass to undo. “If you’ll forgive us, we are…in something of a hurry.”

Lady Beesbury lightly whacked her husband’s arm. “It’s the hour after their wedding feast, dear.” She said.

 “Of course!” Lord Beesbury said, laughing. “How could I forget? I will let you-”

 Daemon and Alicent vanished around the corner with a speed that made them appear as a blur.

Lord and Lady Beesbury looked at each other, smiling. “Young people in love.” Lady Beesbury said. “What a wonderful thing.”

.

After she had watched Aemma leave the wedding feast with her brother, Rhaenyra had thought to bid goodbye to Alicent once more - and her uncle. In truth, what she really wanted was a few words of comfort, a sympathetic ear. The events of the evening and their gravity were not lost on her. Blood had been spilled and spilled without good reason - making clear that any acts of rebellion, including Rhaenyra’s own, would not be tolerated.

Rhaenyra approached her uncle, choosing to speak to him in High Valyrian. “I have not congratulated you properly yet, uncle.”

Daemon turned to her. “You have been distracted, I think.”

 “Yes,” Rhaenyra looked at the floor. “It almost feels as though I am being suffocated.” She looked up at him. “You have heard of my mother’s plan to wed me to my brother?”

Daemon nodded once.

Rhaenyra looked down once more. “I do not know what to do.” She said, honestly.

 “You need not act, for now,” Daemon said. “There are many years between now and your wedding day.”

Rhaenyra nodded, biting down on her lip. “Long years.” She said. “Years that I might have wished to spend doing something else.”

Daemon looked at her bent head. “Misery was never something I wished for you,” he said, quietly. “And it feels as though I have spent a lifetime attempting to parry it only to cause it once again tenfold.”

Rhaenyra frowned at him. “A lifetime? All of this madness has only happened within the past week.”

Daemon approached her, coming close. “I care for you, Rhaenyra,” he said . “I always will. You are the delight of my House, the delight of my brother. Mine also. I won’t allow you to be trapped forever. I want to see you live free, as you were meant to.”

Rhaenyra stared at him. “What are you saying?” In her surprise, she switched into the common tongue. 

 “I’m telling you,” Daemon replied in kind. “That I am on your side.”

Rhaenyra smiled at him.

 “But,” Daemon said and she was alarmed by the sudden shift in his tone. “Leave Alicent out of any future scheme you might have.”

She fell back a step. “I…do not wish for Alicent to be hurt in any instance.”

 “Good.” Daemon followed her, again closing the distance between them. “Because if Alicent is injured once more by following you into danger,” he kept his voice low. “I will not forgive you, Rhaenyra.”

.

The Red Keep’s marital chamber was low-lit, quiet, well-insulated and plush. It was only used on the first night after a royal wedding, cleaned discreetly by maids who were told never to speak of what they saw the morning after its use and then it was abandoned again until the next time. It was a relatively small room, the diamond-shaped windows emitted a gentle purple light. The canopy over the bed was a heavy sea-green velvet and so was the rug on the floor; the tapestries on the walls depicted ancient battles - something that most couples spending the night found amusing. That they would be rutting and breaking maidenheads before a grand imagining of the Burning of Harrenhall. 

Alicent lingered before the effigy that sat atop the mantle of the fireplace. It depicted the Maiden, the symbol of purity. 

 “I wonder,” she said. “If this is the best face of the Seven for this particular room.”

Daemon undid the clasp of his tunic and threw it to the floor. “They should have the Warrior instead.” He remarked. “A symbol of conquest.”

Alicent turned to him. “They should have the Stranger.” She said. “Because no one ever dares speak to him. He must be lonesome.”

 “And watching the marital bed would curb his loneliness, would it?” Daemon ran his eyes over her. What control he had over his faculties dissolved as she wandered over to him.

 “I think so.” Alicent said.

He looked handsome, he always had. His silver hair the longest that she had ever seen it. Had it always reached that low over his shoulders?

And what was better was that now she was in control. 

Alicent avoided his arms and slipped onto the bed, reaching to undo the golden ties in her hair. She let her hair fall around her shoulders, drinking in his eyes on her, a gaze that was molten. She pretended to struggle at her bodice.

 “I am in need of a servant.” She said. “One with gentle hands.”

Daemon fought with his pride for a moment before stepping forward. 

 “Hurry.” Alicent said. “Before I see fit to punish you, servant boy.”

Daemon clicked his tongue, acting as if her words hadn’t hardened his erection unbearably. “Your insolence isn’t as comely as you think it is.”

His hands loosened the lacings at her bodice. They were so tight that he fumbled, completely unused to the delicate work. ‘Fuck’ Alicent heard him mutter under his breath as he struggled and she covered her mouth to hide her laughter.

 “It shows great restraint that you don’t break them as last time.” She remarked.

 “This dress is your mother’s,” he said. “Is it not?”

His words were completely unexpected. 

She twisted around to look at him directly. “Yes.” She said. “How did you know?”

 “I heard you telling Rhaenyra.” He said, looking back down and endeavouring with the knots. “Do you suppose I would ruin it?”

Alicent stared at him, speechless. She then felt something, that she had thought was immovable, move inside the worn fissures of her soul. A wall tumbled, a defence blown through, showering rock and debris.

Daemon met her eyes and she turned away quickly, terrified that he would see her expression.

Gods, no. She did not know who she was really pleading to. The Seven, her mother, the witch, her own self. Please don’t allow me to love him. I cannot. For my own preservation, my own sanity, I cannot. I will not. 

And yet, that which had moved could not so easily be placed back. The touch of his hands was suddenly onerous, it oppressed the air in her lungs. 

Alicent pulled away from him, finding herself at the other end of the bed, frozen.

He does not love you. Don’t do this to yourself. Do not willingly fall into suffering once again.

 “Alicent?” Daemon said, confused as to why she had torn away. “What is it?”

 “What were you speaking to Rhaenyra about?” Alicent snapped. Yes. She would trap herself underneath hopelessness again and snuff out all thoughts of love like a candle’s flame met with a crush of cold air. She would step upon the love that ran, harried and bleeding, through her heart.

Daemon was silent for a moment and then said, “That isn’t for you to know.”

Ah, there it was.

Alicent drew in a breath sharply as the pain of jealousy hit and then turned into stone, the fortifications of the wall she had built beginning to realign. Do you see? She asked her own self. Now enough of this nonsense. 

Alicent stood, facing away from him. “I see.”

Daemon watched her. “Why would you wish to know what we spoke of?”

 “I do not.”

 “Then why ask?”

 “I am merely curious. You were speaking for some time.”

 “And I am curious,” Daemon said, with growing annoyance. “At why you cannot seem to help yourself when it comes to putting your hands all over Viserys, smiling at him that sweetly.”

Alicent turned, unable to believe that this man was truly that petty. “I was hardly ‘putting my hands all over-’”

 “Caressing him might be a better way to describe it.”

 “You’re a fool.”

 “I?” Daemon came around the bed to block her exit. “I am? You’re the fool if you cannot see what you yourself are doing.”

 “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened. “He called you pretty.”

Alicent took a moment to realise that he was serious before she burst out into peals of laughter. “Oh, you cannot be the same man who single-handedly fought the Free Cities.”

 “Mock me at your peril.” Daemon advanced. 

He stepped forward and, underneath his foot, the floorboard shifted. They both looked down at where it had dislodged, back up at each other and then back down again. 

 “What is it?” Alicent asked.

The floor in the bedchamber was not made of stone as most of the other rooms were. It had an elevated floor made by heavy oak wood slats. This was an easy thing to remember as the bed, which was often given to vigorous movement due to the nature of its use, would cause the wooden floor to creak rhythmically underneath it.

Daemon knelt and pulled the floorboard upwards. There had been a space cleared in the gap between the stone and wood. In the space, there was a glass bottle with a note attached to the neck.

He brought it up and turned the note. 

 “‘For the next visitors. May they enjoy their night of passion’,” he read. “‘Signed Alyssa and Rogar’.” 

Alicent stood. “Queen Regent Alyssa and Rogar Baratheon?”

Daemon lifted the bottle, examining it. The contents appeared to be wine. “Shall we?”

 “Should we?”

 “Why not?”

 “Is it not about a hundred years ago that the two wed?”

 “Sixty at least.” Daemon undid the stopper and sniffed the contents. “It smells like dust and Lys grapes.”

They looked at each other.

 “I suppose it couldn’t kill us.” Alicent said. “I still have another turn of my hourglass in case we realise its poison.”

 “In that case,” Daemon said. “Let’s enjoy our night of passion.”

They sat upon opposite ends of the bed. Daemon at the top, facing towards the fireplace. Alicent at the bottom, near the windows. They were effectively turned away from each other, but Alicent didn’t wish to close the distance. 

 “You keep it for yourself.” She said. “I do not need any more wine.”

 “Indulge me,” Daemon said. “If you do not wish to drink then you must answer a question.”

Alicent glanced at him. “Fine.”

He extended the bottle towards her. “Do you still love Viserys?”

Alicent smiled. She didn’t need to drink. “I do not.” She said. “Have I not told you before? We were never in love.”

Daemon placed the bottle between them, his hand grasping the neck. He looked contemplative. “Then why do you seek his company?”

 “He sought mine.”

 “He likes you,” Daemon said, looking away. “That much is obvious.”

 “As only a companion,” Alicent said. “In the very beginning, we were good companions. We got along.” 

 “Unlike us.”

 “Yes, unlike us.”

They were quiet for a moment.

Alicent wondered if she should ask him do you still love Rhaenyra but she didn’t want to hear his answer in that moment. She knew she should ask, that it would help her, but she couldn’t. 

 “It’s my turn,” she said. “Do you miss your first life? And your children?”

 “That’s two questions.”

 “You asked me two.”

Daemon didn’t look at her. “I have let go of the past.” He said.

 “What does that mean?”

 “It means, unlike you I refuse to let my first life dictate the actions of my second.”

 “Very well. But you could still be given to miss it.”

Daemon paused. “I miss my daughters.”

 “Baela and Rhaena.” Alicent remembered their names.

 “Yes.” He said. “I never had the chance to know my sons.”

 “They said,” Alicent spoke. “That Aegon was quiet and kind.”

Daemon looked at her. “Kind?”

 “Yes.”

He snorted. “I wonder where he got that from.”

 “I too.”

Daemon fidgeted with the stopper. “I suppose I should ask what befell them all.”

Alicent was quiet.

 “How they all met their end.”

 “I do not know the fates of all of them.” Alicent said. “Some were only rumour.”

 “Did my daughters live?”

 “They did.”

Daemon’s shoulders fell slightly, as if a weight had been lifted from them. “Good.” He said, simply. 

 “I like to think,” Alicent said. “That perhaps our first life still exists somewhere else, suspended in the heavens.”

 “And you,” Daemon said. “What was your death?”

Alicent paused, then reached across the bed and took the bottle from him.

Daemon raised his brow. “You won’t tell me?”

Alicent tipped the contents of the bottle into her mouth. The taste was so acidic that her lips curled. “Ugh.” She said. “This should have stayed hidden.”

Daemon seemed perturbed that she hadn’t responded to him. “I would bet that someone poisoned you.” He said.

 “No,” Alicent said. “And I take offence to the notion.”

 “Was it,” he looked at her again. “Violent?”

 “It was long.” Alicent hesitated. “I wanted to ask. My son, Aemond. I know he died at your hands. What was his death like?”

Daemon reached across and took the bottle from her.

 “Daemon!”

 “I’m allowed to abstain if you are.” He drank from the bottle and considered. “It’s better than it looks.”

 “Fine,” Alicent said. “Don’t tell me.”

 “I don’t plan to.”

 “Why not?”

 “Because of the way you would look at me.”

 “It was a different world then.” 

 “All the same.”

She was annoyed. “Very well. Let’s not speak of deaths.”

 “As you wish.”

They were quiet again. 

 “What should we do,” Alicent said. “With regards to Baelon and Aemma? And Rhaenyra?”

 “What do you mean?”

 “You said you would become King.” Alicent’s eyes flew to the door to affirm it was closed.

“Yes,” Daemon said. “That's beyond question. The Queen herself has made even I seem temperate and reasonable by comparison.”

 “There are many who still find you a terrifying prospect.”

 “Kings should be feared,” Daemon said. “As long as they foresee a fairer future under me than my nephew with the Queen lording over him: that is all the Houses of the Realm should require.”

 “Kings must also inspire loyalty,” Alicent said. “To have a hold over their subjects. They must ingratiate themselves.”

 “I couldn’t snake about the place whispering promises in people’s ears like your father,” Daemon said. “I don’t have the stomach for it.” 

 “It’s a good thing you married into a family who will do it for you then.”

Alicent noticed that the frame of the canopy beside her was not etched with some intricate patter as it appeared at first glance. It was covered in small notches, some of them appeared to be tallies. What the number of the tally was meant to represent, she didn’t want to think of. But others were initials, carved names and words.

She reached forward and smoothed her fingers over the indents. 

 “Aemon,” she read. “Is Jocelyn’s…” she squinted. “What does that word say?”

Daemon leaned over the bed to see. He smirked as he read it.

 “What does it say?”

 “Līve.” He said. “It means whore.”

 “Oh.” Alicent let her hand fall from the post, her face heating. There was another carving above her head, some words in the centre of a heart. “Baelon,” she read. “And Alyssa. Never to be parted.”

Daemon followed her gaze, his eyes falling upon the carving. He turned his eyes back to the bottle.

 “You never do speak of your parents.” Alicent said.

Daemon was silent. 

 “Why not?”

 “What is there to say?”

 “Tell me about your mother.”

 “I can hardly remember her anymore.”

 “Do you remember what she was like?”

 “I just recall that all were terrified of her.”

 “Sounds like someone I know.”

 “My father was more…patient. And then after she died, he changed considerably.”

Alicent smiled sympathetically. “Mine own father changed after my mother died.”

 “It’s a truly wretched thing.” Daemon said. “Love.”

 “The most wretched thing.” Alicent agreed. “But hard to live without it.”

 “No,” Daemon said. “It’s far easier without it.”

 “What of your father then? Was he more like Viserys?”

Daemon was conscious that they were approaching dangerous ground. It was ground that he had never wished to see or speak of again. “He liked Viserys more.” He said. “Which should come as no surprise.”

 “And you were your mother’s favourite?”

  My poor second son. My sweet boy.

 “I suppose.” Daemon said.

 “I know they said that your father was-”

 “Enough about him.” He snapped, his hands tightening to fists. “I do not wish to speak of him.”

Alicent stared at him. She thought he was proud of his legacy, he could drone on about Targaryen legends, histories and battles endlessly. She would have thought he would have wanted to speak of his famous father, Baelon the Brave. 

 “Is it too painful?” She ventured.

 “No,” Daemon’s voice was strained, irritable. “It isn’t too painful, I would simply rather discuss something other than my parents on my wedding night.”

They fell into silence for a moment. Then Daemon put the bottle on the bedside cabinet with finality. “Come here, Alicent.”

Alicent hesitated and then stood. Avoiding the chunk of floorboard still missing, she made her way in front of him and stood before him, her wedding dress, half unfastened, hung loose around her shoulders. 

Daemon looked up at her, his arms reached up around her waist, tugging her into him. From his seated position he was at eyeline with her breasts, just above him the curve of her delicate clavicle, her neck. She was so impossibly alluring, how was it that she didn’t even seem to know?

Alicent leaned down, placing her lips at his ear. “We haven’t finished playing.” She murmured and then picked up the bottle from the cabinet. “Tell me,” she said. “How many women have you had?”

Daemon smiled. “You will need to be more specific with the use of the word ‘had’.”

 “How many women have you ever,” Alicent hesitated. “Had as lovers?”

 “One or two.”

 “So little?”

 “There was Mysaria. Then Laena.”

 “Not Rhaenyra?”

 “I would never have described her as my lover at any point,” Daemon said. “We were married shortly after we found each other again.”

 “Then how many women have you bedded?”

 “Oh,” Daemon said. “Is that what you really wanted to know?”

 “How many?”

 “I do not know the number.” He said, his arrogant smirk returned. "There are too many to remember."

She shoved the bottle at him. “Then drink.”

He drank. 

 “Then how many men have you bedded?” He returned the question. 

Alicent shrugged lightly. “In my first life? Two.”

His brow immediately furrowed. “I thought you only ever laid with Viserys.”

 “Hm.” Alicent said.

He gripped her arm. “Who is the other?”

Alicent extended her arm for the wine but he held it out of her reach behind him. “Tell me.”

 “No.”

 “Tell me.”

 “No,” Alicent played with the ends of his silver hair. “Guess.”

Daemon glared at her. “You didn’t bed Harwin Strong as well, did you?”

She giggled. “No.”

 “Well I know it can’t be Laenor, although he has developed a taste for Hightowers.”

 “It was someone you don’t care for.”

 “That doesn’t narrow it down.”

Alicent put her hand under his chin and tipped his head back. “What does it matter, dear husband?” She crooned. “In this life, I have had only you.”

 “Is that annoying tone of voice intended to endear you to me?”

Alicent ran her hands along his chest, applying pressure only to her fingertips. She then wrapped her arms around his neck and seated herself atop him. “Do you not find me endearing?”

Daemon put his hand behind her head and pressed her mouth into his, a lingering kiss. “No.” He said against her lips. 

 “Then perhaps you need more of this.”

She leaned forward, her breasts in his face, and took the bottle of wine from his hand. She then put it to his mouth. “Open.” She said, her voice gentle.

Daemon’s eyes darkened with lust at her tone. He opened his mouth.

Alicent put the bottle to his lips and tipped it. It was still over halfway full.

She watched him drink it, his jaw clenched, his throat moving. When seconds passed and she still hadn’t released him, he glanced up at her. She smiled at him. “Sweet boy.”

Daemon’s hand dug into her waist, his grip so firm it almost hurt. As she forced him to drink the rest he found himself struggling to breathe. Alicent watched him with interest as he began to cough back what air he could, but he did not stop drinking. He did not move the bottle, he did not disobey.

He was hers to do with as she liked, at her mercy, which was where he ached to be.

When the bottle was empty, Alicent finally allowed it to leave his mouth. Daemon coughed hard, his breath heavy. Alicent leaned down to his parted mouth that was now stained dark red. “That’s a pretty colour on you.” She said and met his parted lips with a sweet kiss. Daemon opened his mouth wider, desperate to have as much of her as he could. He clung to her as she rocked against him, an act of torture as he was now so hard beneath her that it was becoming an agony to move. 

Alicent broke their kiss and tugged at the loose shirt he wore beneath his tunic, she had now seen it many times. “Remove this.”

Daemon obliged immediately, slipping it over his head. 

Little did Alicent know, she had made a grave mistake. 

The wine, which to the anointed was known as Lover’s Lips in Lys, was no ordinary wine. It was made from a certain grape that grew best near saltwater, a grape so dark that it appeared as a hunk of charcoal from the vine. They were not sweet to eat, they were acidic and dry. However, they made good wine. This wine was known for one thing. Men in Lys would drink a copious amount of it the night before they were to spend with their paramour as it would keep a man ‘at his peak’ for longer during the act. 

One would only need about half a cup before being able to sustain himself for at least a few hours. Any more than that and the man would experience a fever-pitch of ravenous desire that would confound the senses completely. Too much of Lover’s Lips could make a man impossible to satiate for sometimes an entire day long. 

Although Daemon had, in his time, built up a fair tolerance to the addlements of wine having spent most of his youth and adulthood drinking it most days: he was not above the temporary insanity that an entire bottle of Lover’s Lips could inflict.

Many years from that day, when the bottle had been left to be discovered by Alyssa and Rogar as a sort of joke to their kin who would follow in their footsteps to that room, they had written a warning that said as much and, if Daemon had bothered the note over, he might have read it and Alicent might not have made the decision she had. 

In any case, now it was far too late. 

Still blissfully unaware of what she had just set in motion, Alicent was toying with her husband, thoroughly enjoying herself. 

She put her teeth to the skin of his neck, enamoured with how his pulse hammered against her as she bit him. Daemon groaned as he felt an exquisite pain at her bite. He turned his head, putting his face in her long, brown hair.

 “Alicent,” he whispered, his voice almost lost it was so quiet. “My Alicent.”

Her fingers raced over his back. She was taken out of her reverie slightly by how many scars he had, she had never looked properly before, but there were many of all different shapes. She would have to ask him about each one someday. 

Alicent pulled away, pushing her hair from her face. “Alright,” she said. “Help me take this dress-”

Daemon’s hand gripped her throat, cutting her off, his fingers splaying up onto the side of her jaw. His other hand pulled her dress down. Already loosened, it fell around her hips, displaying her slip.

Alicent was shocked at his sudden aggression when he had been so pliable just moments before. She tried to uncurl his hand from her, but he wouldn’t let her go.

 “Daemon,” she said sharply. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at her, his eyes two dark pools filled with nothing but the sight of her. 

 “Don’t you remember what I promised you?” He said. “Until you cannot stand.” 

Alicent stared down at him, a chill escaping down her back. “What-?”

He wrenched her from her sitting position and she found herself facing upwards on the plush bed, the floor creaking beneath them. Daemon did not show the same respect to her slip that he had shown to her mother’s dress, ripping it down her shoulders.

Alicent only managed to let out a small yelp before he began to take her. He was too strong, her hands moved uselessly over his arms, his shoulders as he held her. He let go of her face and locked both wrists above her head with one hand, his other between her legs, his fingers readying her for him.

 “Mmm!” Alicent protested through his savage kisses. “Daemon,” she couldn’t catch her breath. “I…please…”

He buried himself inside her with a moan that spoke of the days he had waited for her, every time she had turned away from him, every moment he had yearned for just this. 

Alicent’s panting turned into cries. The pleasure was so great that her body acted on pure instinct. Her legs wrapped around him and Daemon grunted in satisfaction, his pressure on top of her making it impossible for her to shift away. 

When the first orgasm sent lights pealing through her vision, her mind became insensible, his name tore from her mouth. 

Daemon did not stop. He couldn’t and he didn’t want to. Alicent realised his pace hadn’t slowed at all and clawed her nails across his back. Daemon only made a sound of gratitude, hoping she would dig in harder next time.

Alicent didn’t even know how much time had passed at the point that he flipped her on her stomach, lifting her hips. He lifted her head, gripping her neck, and then he continued on.

Alicent couldn’t put any more sentences together, couldn’t form any coherence at all. Just when she thought she had reached the very peak of ecstasy, that it could not be possible to feel anything more, a new wave overlapped the old. She screamed his name over and over, so loud that she was certain the entire Keep could hear, sweat dripped from every inch of her.

When he finally brought her upright to straddle him, she sank in his grip, spent, her noises had become animalistic.

Daemon pressed his mouth to her slick skin, speaking Valyrian words that she could not understand, a string of curses that would have made his ancestors blush. He lifted her hand to his lips as he thrust mercilessly inside her and he kissed her fingers, the tip of each felt his tongue. He savoured each taste he met.

When he was finally, truly sated and allowed Alicent to drop back on the bed in an exhausted heap, the sun was already high in the sky.

Chapter Text

Alicent awoke plotting revenge. Her entire body ached, her stomach muscles, her thighs, her calves, her shoulders from an entire night of bracing them on Daemon’s shoulders. But most of all. Most of all.

She gritted her teeth. Everything between her legs felt tender, her inner thighs tingled as she twisted around in the bed to glare at Daemon who slept so soundly and peacefully that she wondered if she should just strangle him. 

Poison is too quick. She thought as he snored lightly beneath her.

Be it a day she must wait or a week, or a month. She would have her revenge on him. That much, she could promise. 

Alicent sank down next to him, too tired to keep sitting upright. On cue, Daemon’s eyes opened. He looked at her in the daylight for a moment and then his arm reached for her, pulling her into his chest. His burning-hot skin met her cold back and shoulders. Still half-asleep and searching for comfort, Daemon nestled his face in her hair, breathing in her scent.

Alicent lay in his arms, glaring at nothing. His arms felt nice, she supposed. She drew her hand across them, ending at his fingers that wrapped around her forearm. 

His breath deepened and she felt him fall back to sleep against her. 

She closed her eyes. She felt so warm when he held her. Safe. 

There was a tentative knock at a door.

Alicent’s eyes flew open and she turned to look over Daemon’s shoulder at the door.

 “Um,” the voice came from what sounded like a young girl, a maid. “Forgive me. I have a gift from the Queen. May I enter, my Prince?”

Alicent cleared her throat. “Leave it by the door!” She called out.

 “Oh!” The voice sounded surprised to have heard her instead. “Y-yes, my lady!”

Alicent wrenched herself free from Daemon, having to use the very last shreds of her energy to heave herself upright. Daemon made a sound of annoyance, but stayed sleeping.

Alicent attempted to stand and found she could not. She turned around to scowl once again at Daemon pointedly.

She reached for the bedpost, gripping it with all her might and drew herself up, every muscle in her legs screaming. She snatched a woollen blanket from the end of the bed to cover herself.

 “I hate stupid Targaryens.” Alicent muttered as she shuffled toward the door. “Would the Doom had snuffed them all out.”

Making it finally to the door, Alicent opened it slightly and, checking the maid had left the vicinity, quickly grabbed the letter and bottle sitting on the stone. Gods only knew what a state she looked. She didn’t even want to imagine it. 

Alicent brought the so-called gift inside, placing the bottle on the table and opening the letter that was closed with an unmarked seal.

 ‘My gift to the Lady Alicent, as the wife of my dear brother by marriage’, Aemma had written. ‘This will be a helpmeet to you after your wedding night. Take it with my regards and love to you as part of our family.’

Alicent closed the letter, putting it on the table. Her attention turned to the bottle. The glass was frosted, but the liquid looked slightly blue. She undid the stopper and put her nose to it.

As she had suspected, this was no friendly gift. Alicent lifted the bottle again to look at it. In her previous life, she had been given to drink moon tea to avoid unwanted pregnancy, just as she had dispensed moon tea to the maids that Aegon had pulled into his bed. She knew the smell.

However, she had to admit: this smell was slightly different. There was a floral note to it that she couldn’t place, she had never smelled that kind of flower before. Was it simply a case of the mixing or preparation being done differently? Alicent didn’t know.

What she did know was two things. The first, Aemma didn’t wish her to bear any children who would prove challenges to her son’s place - that was glaringly obvious.

The second, and what Alicent hadn’t truly stopped to consider, was that she didn’t really know her enemy at all. 

Aemma had always been kind to her in her previous life, motherly even. When Alicent had lost her own mother, Aemma had taken her into her arms, stroked her hair and comforted her, disregarding rank and title.

She had liked her. And now the woman wanted her womb barren and would send a potion on the morning after her marriage to make sure it was done.

Alicent tried to summon the hard hate that she should feel for the queen, but she couldn’t. There was pity and there was sorrow, but she did not hate her. 

Maybe it was because she felt like she recognised her of old.

The only solace in all this was that at least she knew that Aemma, in kind, had no idea who Alicent was either. The woman saw her as an innocent and foolish girl of eighteen with no experience of the world at all. She would never have sent moon tea to Alicent as part of a bold-faced insult; she did not expect Alicent to know what the concoction was at all and, admittedly, if this had been sent to her in her first life at this same time - she would not have known it. 

Good. She thought Let her believe I am a fool. It’s far better that way.

Daemon stirred and Alicent quickly took the bottle and emptied its contents into the fireplace, the dry wood drinking it in. She did not want Daemon to know of this. If he thought that Aemma had tried to destroy their child before it was born, she shuddered to think what his remedy would be. All reason and strategy might leave him at that moment. And they needed time to think of their next step without causing more of a rift than had already been struck.

Alicent touched her lower belly, feeling a small pain in her abdomen; a bloated sensation. She had not had her blood once since returning to the past, though weeks had now gone by. She looked at Daemon’s sleeping form and sighed to herself. He had bedded her so many times that only more weeks would reveal if it was the onset of her blood that was causing the pain - or a babe.

She put the empty bottle outside of the room so the maid could bring it back to Aemma. Let the woman think she had drank it. The letter she folded within her wedding dress which lay abandoned on the floor.

Then, wearily, she crawled back in bed next to Daemon in an attempt to soothe her aching body for a further few hours.

Daemon’s eyes flickered open as she lay beside him. She noticed him looking at her and ignored him, turning away. 

His hand found her thigh and he squeezed, making her squeak in a rather undignified way. The effect of the Lover’s Lips had not, it seemed, worn off. 

 “Good morrow, wife.” He spoke into her neck, the hand at her thigh wandering inwards. “Open your legs.”

 “Get your hands off me, Daemon.” Alicent pulled out of his reach. “You truly are an animal if your lust still wants at this hour.”

He made a sleepy sound of amusement. “You are pretty when you’re scolding me.”

 “Do you realise that I am barely able to move?”

He feigned innocence. “What does that have to do with me?”

 “I have done my duty on our wedding night. Be satisfied with that.”

 “You will not be relieved of this duty for the next fifty years at least,” Daemon said. He roused himself a little more and flexed his arms. “Better to acquaint yourself with it now.”

 “Daemon-”

He broke her off with a kiss to her lips, tasting of the wine still. He brought his hands up the sides of her body, cupping her breasts. He licked the space between her collarbones, up to her neck. His hand went in search of her again underneath the sheets.

Alicent grabbed his wrist. “I am sore there!” She hissed. “Listen to me for a change!”

Daemon regarded her. “Even if I was more rough-handed than usual, you did scream for more.”

 “I was saying your name.”

 “I took it as encouragement.”

Alicent resented how bright he looked that morning. He was practically glowing while she was a haggard mess. She attempted to comb through the tangle of hair with her fingers and he caught her hands, his grip closing around them. 

 “It’s already midday.” Alicent said.

 “Dragonstone is just a short flight away.”

 “You cannot expect me to ride a dragon in this condition.”

 “Caraxes is the fastest mount you could hope for,” Daemon said. “It will be quick.”

She winced as he stroked her, his fingers as tactile as usual, then felt an even stronger twinge of irritation at the look on his face. “Stop smiling.” She said. 

 “I did warn you what I would do.”

 “I wonder if there was something in that wine.” Alicent mused. 

 “The wine that you forced down my throat?”

The mere memory of feeding him the wine while he choked helplessly made Alicent wonder if maybe she did have a little energy left for him. “Well,” she said. “You seemed somewhat thirsty.”

Daemon moved a lock of hair from her eyes, brushing it aside with a touch that he did not immediately relinquish. The back of his finger brushed her lips. “Gevie.” He murmured.

 “What does that mean?”

He didn’t respond.

It’s an insult, I just know it.

He was gentle - this time. He waited until she was ready, until she was sighing, writhing underneath his fingers. It was both agony and ecstasy as he entered her, rocked her, every muscle in her lower body throbbing. Her tenderness became slight pain as his pace became demanding. He pressed himself deep into her as he finished. Alicent held him close, not wishing to release him. 

It’s far too late to undo what I feel for him. She thought. Perhaps I should embrace this road to devastation. 

They laid side by side in the bright room, heady with the afterglow. 

 “Daemon,” Alicent said, eventually filling the long silence.

 “What?”

 “Should we…write our names?”

 “Where?”

She pointed at the bedpost where the Targaryens and their wives and husbands of the past had notched their names and marked their presence. “There.”

Daemon rose from the bed and began to dress. “You wish to join those lovelorn fools?”

Alicent slid over to the bedpost and read all of the carvings once again. Whoever had made the tally, she felt like she could relate to them now. “Do you have a dagger?”

There came the sound of a dagger unsheathing behind her, taken from his discarded belt. Of course you do.

He handed it to her and she grasped the handle, etching in their names with care alongside the names and initials of the many before them. She had never carved joined names into a tree alongside a lover as most young lovers did - indeed, she had never had a love where declaration was encouraged as much as secrecy or suppressed by the practical nature of duty. She had lost her maidenhood to a man who was sick with grief, healing from sores. She had never done most things that young lovers did.

Certainly, she would have never wanted her name next to Viserys’ or Criston’s. 

And yet, there it was alongside Daemon’s. It would sit there for the future. She had finally left something of her heart behind to be read. 

Alicent knew something of what entailed when a wife joined her husband’s household. Usually, she would take some of her own maids, her favourites, to her new home and, depending on the climate, dresses and personal items would be packed. 

This was not the case for a bride of Dragonstone, particularly if that bride was a non-Targaryen. The dresses she wore, the jewellery and even the way her hair was styled would be dictated by the customs of the Targaryen House. The maids would be girls from the fishing village and surrounding islands who would impart to her the traditions. Her ladies would be from the Houses sworn as vassals to House Targaryen. 

Now that Alicent thought about it, she hadn’t met any of the sworn Houses before. She vaguely remembered seeing House Celtigar’s colours during the wedding feast and was sure that they had been part of the long line of well-wishers. But, from what she recalled, they had not made any special remark about their future acquaintance with her - which was strange as they would be her vassals. She also could only remember one man as the attendee, alone and older, a severe expression on his face. She would have thought that the entire House would show for the tourney and the wedding day. 

Alicent had quizzed Daemon throughout breakfast (which was practically lunch) until he grew visibly bored of the subject. 

 “That old fool, Bartimos.” He said. “He’s an eel.”

 “Does he ever visit Dragonstone?”

 “He manages our coffers,” Daemon said. “Or something like that.”

Alicent stared at him as he ate. “You don’t know?”

Daemon shrugged. “He seems reliable enough. He’s certainly miserly so I expect we are not losing any coin.”

 “You don’t know how much is in your coffers?”

 “Should I?”

 “Yes, Daemon. You should.”

 “Why does it matter?” He said. “If we were ever in need, we would get whatever we required from the Crown.”

 “Your solution is to incur debt with the royal account?”

 “It’s a Targaryen Crown and a Targaryen seat.” Daemon said. “What’s the harm?”

 “Yes, but if any other House were to rise to power outside of war, wouldn’t Dragonstone owe them a hefty sum?”

Daemon frowned. “And in what instance do you see that occurring?”

 “None, but I still think Dragonstone shouldn’t be beholden to a system of debt. Surely Celtigar agrees.”

 “All Celtigar knows is how to pinch money,” Daemon said. “He spoke last time of raising taxes on the island.”

 “By how much?”

 “I didn’t ask.” Daemon said.

 “You didn’t ask.” Alicent echoed.

 “His family has always dealt with those kinds of things,” Daemon said. “Our House doesn’t become involved in the petty squabbles they might have over money with the villagers.”

 “But have you been managing the situation?”

 “As Commander of the Watch in King’s Landing? No.”

 “Then who has?”

 He looked at her like it should be obvious. “Celtigar.”

 “Why?”

 “I told you. His House manages these things.”

Alicent recalled something her father had said in her first life about Daemon on the Small Council, one of the few sentences that hadn’t consisted of the words ‘fool’ or ‘brute’. Give the man a war table and he can lead an army to victory. Give him an account book and he uses it as tinder for the fireplace.

 “Perhaps someone should look into it.” She said. 

 “Well,” Daemon said, with a smile. “Such matters would be the province of the Lady of Dragonstone.” 

.

The lack of preparation needed meant that they could leave immediately. Alicent wondered briefly if she might knock on Rhaenyra’s door before she did so but decided against it in the end - they had left things in a good place and hopefully she would visit soon, or Rhaenyra could visit her. 

They left with a new legend for the maids and squires to gossip over (the story of how all who slept in the tower closest to the marital chamber had been kept awake by Alicent’s screams, one of those being House Strong who had all emerged from their chambers the next morning with dark circles under their eyes).

The new masters of Dragonstone left the dragonpit with the sun still shining bright.

Alicent thought that perhaps this time the ride upon Caraxes may not be so terrifying - she had done it once before after all. There was a pit in her stomach as she mounted him once more, her whole body lighting up with warnings of danger, her muscles still feeling as though they had been stretched to their utmost limits.

She seated herself gingerly in front of Daemon, who wrapped her with the chain, securing it with a final tug. His arms passed in front of Alicent, his loud command to Caraxes startling her.

Daemon was in a hurry to get home and she couldn’t say she blamed him.

The last week or so of court life had taken a toll on both of them. Some time away from Aemma, from Viserys, from Rhaenyra, the unfortunate Prince Baelon and the whispers of other nobles was warranted. 

And yet, Alicent felt much trepidation about what awaited her in her new home which was, as she would come to discover, entirely too much of an understatement of what was to come. 

Caraxes swooned underneath her, raising his neck and letting out a piercing screech. 

He ascended into the bright sky, the unnaturally fast and powerful gain in distance from the ground made Alicent close her eyes tightly and take a few bracing breaths. 

When she opened them, they were heading into a waterless, white ocean of sky, strips of clouds racing past, battering wind snatching her every breath from her mouth, the sun on her right and the doll’s house of King’s Landing beneath her. 

Daemon had arrived causing chaos on Dragonstone quite a few times now. Notable examples included when, in his first life, he had arrived with a woman called Mysaria and a small army of Gold Cloaks, declaring his intention of marriage to this unknown prostitute and nearly plunging the entire island into a war with their King.

Another instance had been when he had showed up suddenly with Rhaenyra and they married the same day with the sudden announcement that they would be living there from now on, causing a sudden scramble to find the necessary help and preparations made while the new royal masters slept peacefully in their marriage bed. 

This was to be the latest event in the series, in a new life, where Daemon would make all in Dragonstone rue their Targaryen lords once more.

For one, he wasn’t fond of writing ahead to inform anyone of anything ever, so when he and Alicent touched down with Caraxes below Dragonmont, the Dragonkeepers were not entirely sure who Alicent was. 

Alicent had, despite the airborne terror she still battled, had been fascinated when Dragonstone had appeared from behind gathered clouds. It was a grim and fearsome-looking place: the dragon-shaped towers bared their teeth and spread their claws out towards a grey-green sea with white crests that swept a coastline of sand. The constant roar of the ocean could almost be mistaken for the roar of those stone dragons. The volcano that seeped smoke, air that smelled of brimstone, and, even with the sun behind them, the climate was cool and balmy. The castle itself could only be accessed by walking what seemed to be a thousand stairs lined with gargoyles that had suspiciously dragon-like features.

Alicent dismounted with some difficulty, staggering on the rock but resisting the urge to fall to her knees despite their shaking. She gathered all of her strength and smiled at the Dragonkeepers, inclining her head.

They, about three of them in their monastic tunics, all stared back at her with blank expressions.

Daemon dismounted after her. He raised his arm to the Dragonkeepers who all bowed to him in unison. Daemon gestured to Alicent. “This is my wife.” He said and, with no further introduction, stalked off towards the castle with a final pat to Caraxes’ side.

Alicent and the Dragonkeepers looked at each other like the two unrelated sides of a family with nothing to say to each other. Alicent gave a final nod and followed Daemon down the mountain.

 “Daemon,” she said, catching up with him. “Don’t you think you might have explained things a little to them?”

 “I promise you, they care not what I do with my time.” Daemon said. “They dedicate themselves to the dragons.”

 “Even so.” Alicent muttered.

A heavy wind rushed between them and her still-throbbing ankle rolled on the sloping path. Daemon caught the underside of her arm before she could fall. 

When they finally made it to the sand, a tide was coming in and the moon was becoming visible behind the clouds.

 “I see you brought that useless thing.” Daemon gestured to the hourglass that hung from Alicent’s neck. 

 “Of course. I bring it with me everywhere.”

 “And what do you imagine you’ll need it for?”

 “In case I have to reverse time,” Alicent tired of this same argument. "What else?"

 “I hope you will at least consider the notion that while you’re here there will be no need for you to undo time.” Daemon said. “This is your new home.”

Alicent looked up at the castle. The darkening sky behind it offset a ghoulish glow upon the stone walls. The dragons looked as if they might come to life at any moment. 

It was beautiful:ghastly and beautiful - but it didn’t feel like a home quite yet.

The stairs leading to the castle of Dragonstone were another thing in a long list of questions that Alicent had for the Targaryen dynasty. Her family’s seat in Oldtown was known as the highest point in the region and had a huge number of stairs - but this was ridiculous.

From above them, the eyes of the dragons bared down upon her so she consistently had a feeling like she was about to be eaten. 

Daemon, meanwhile, was practically humming as he climbed the steps. Of course he felt at home in this dark and terrifying place. 

Alicent put up her hand, unable to stand the ache in her legs any longer. “Wait,” she huffed. “Just…one moment to catch my breath.”

 “I wondered how long you would last.” Daemon glanced behind them. “We’ve barely left the sand.”

 “We must have climbed at least a hundred steps!”

 “Stamina is not a strength of yours, wife.”

 “I just need a moment.”

Daemon, predictably, didn’t want to spare a moment. “Come, I will carry you.”

Alicent’s face reddened. “I do not wish to be carried like a child. Particularly in front of all these strangers.”

Daemon looked about the empty steps. “Yes, this great crowd of onlookers.”

 “You know what I mean.” She pointed to the castle. “It’s embarrassing.”

 “Is it less embarrassing to faint in front of them to your mind?” Daemon’s voice was dry. “If you wish to walk, I won’t stop you.”

 “I wish to walk.” Alicent straightened. “Alright, I’m fine now.”

They continued on and Alicent set her teeth as the ache in her legs started to grow, her ankle began to hurt upon each contact it made with the ground. She didn’t want to stop again and give Daemon the satisfaction of seeing her cave in, however.

Also, she wanted to prove that she wasn’t completely useless-

Alicent’s determined thoughts faltered as her foot caught the stone step and her ankle twinged painfully as it twisted. She paused a moment, gathering herself and attempted to continue on.

Daemon wordlessly dragged her into his arms and lifted her from the ground. Alicent opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. 

She fidgeted with her skirts as he carried her. “I, um,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “I thank you.”

 “If you can open your mouth to thank me,” Daemon said flatly. “Then try asking me to help you when you require it.”

For some reason, Alicent’s mind flashed back to Aemma’s moon tea that she had discarded. Should she have told him? She risked a glance at his face. It was too late now, anyway. He would be angry that she had withheld it from him. 

Now that she thought about it, most of the time Daemon was stepping in, saving her, acting as a shield. If she leaned on him too much he would get sick of her. He would yearn for the days that he had a vivacious, independent wife like Rhaenyra who had his dragon’s blood. 

She had to start being useful to him in some capacity if she wished for his affection to remain constant. 

When they finally reached the top of the steps, the wind had picked up. Daemon set Alicent gently to her feet on the stone before the stone door that was taller than fifty men standing on top of each other, a rugged dragon’s tail curled around the topmost corners and ending at the base. Alicent looked up once again at the glowing dragon’s eyes above her.

At the door stood two knights in black cloaks. Alicent couldn’t remember how many knights Dragonstone had kept in her first life, she recalled around thirty strong. The real strength of their House was their dragons and their navy - but she knew their garrison would carry numbers of five hundred men-at-arms or thereabouts. She had sat for many hours on Aegon’s Small Council as they had discussed how best to defeat them. They were small, but mighty - she recalled them saying.

The two knights bowed as Daemon and Alicent approached. 

 “Fetch Prall.” He said. “He can meet us in the Great Hall. He will have some things to discuss with my wife.”

Although neither of the two knights said the word wife?! out loud; the desire to do so was clear in their eyes. Their gaze fell on Alicent, looking her up and down. 

Alicent smiled and nodded, unsure what else to do. 

News, it seemed, did not travel fast to this black and feral island.

Walking through the various halls and passageways - the stone walls of which were warm to the touch - Alicent was blown away by the arcane architecture of the castle. There were many Houses proud of the symbols of their crest. The Baratheons hung antlers wherever they could and no Lannister left their chambers without a lion emblazoned somewhere on their person - but the Targaryens inserted a dragon wherever there happened to be three inches of liminal space. 

The Great Hall that Daemon had mentioned was also in the shape of a dragon, in order to enter it you had to pass through a stone dragon’s open maw through heavy red doors. The walls were ridged like the inside of a dragon’s stomach with different dragon-shaped faces chiselled into the walls. Two platforms were raised within the room, blazing torches set on either side. On the topmost platform sat a stone throne that was scaled like dragon’s hide, rocks like jagged teeth bursting as if from the earth during an eruption on either side. 

 “That seat is for the Prince of Dragonstone.” Alicent said, looking at Daemon.

His eyes were on the throne too, a look of conquest that she knew well. He turned to her. “Or his wife.” He said. “When she wants to intimidate her guests.”

Alicent smiled. “I do not think I would look very intimidating regardless of what throne I sat on.”

Daemon closed the distance between them. “I think you underestimate your ability to strike fear into a man’s heart.”

 “Do you speak for yourself?”

He tipped up her chin and kissed her, his arm finding her waist.

 “My Prince!”

Alicent pulled from him upon hearing the voice coming from behind them. It was an old Maester in grey robes. He had bright blue eyes, very blue, and a grey beard that ended in a wisp. He had originally only been looking at Daemon but, quickly, his attention shifted to Alicent. “And…his guest.” He bowed. 

 “Maester Prall,” Daemon said. “This is your new mistress, the Lady of Dragonstone and my wife, Lady Alicent.” 

Prall’s eyes widened a fraction and Alicent sympathised with his confusion. “I…” he looked again at Alicent, this time in shock. “I…greet you, my lady.”

 “Prall manages the household while we are away,” Daemon said to Alicent. “Duties that shall now fall to you.”

Alicent thought that he could have, perhaps, put it a touch more tactfully than that. She wanted to give the impression that she was amiable and willing to adapt to custom, not that she was shouldering her way in. She wondered if Prall would be at all resentful that a stranger from the capital was suddenly taking over his position-

 “Excellent!” Prall clapped his hands, his eyes shining. “Lady Alicent, we are now in your capable hands!”

 “Oh,” Alicent was startled. “Of course. I look forward to getting to know you, Maester Prall.”

Prall looked back at Daemon. “I am surprised that Lord Celtigar did not mention this upon his return. He is lately back from the capital on account of the heir’s birth. I trust all was well with the King's child?”

Alicent and Daemon were both silent for a moment.

 “Yes,” Daemon said, finally. “All was well. And Celtigar’s mind is so full of the clinking of coin I’m not surprised all else escapes his notice.”

Alicent also thought it was strange that Lord Celtigar had not spread any word of their marriage if he was aware of it - but she did not know how things worked on Dragonstone. It was clear that communication was unreliable.

 “My wife will need maids and ladies and whatever else,” Daemon said. “Fetch more girls from the village and summon the daughters of our vassal Houses. They can greet her on the morrow.” He glanced at Alicent’s dress - a blue dress underneath her pale green travelling cloak lined with fur. “And she will need clothing that befits her new position.”

 “I will summon our dressmaker and I’m sure the maids will help prepare the garms left by Princesses Daella and Daenerys and Queen Alysanne.”

Alicent was slightly alarmed that she was to be wearing these dead women’s clothes, but she supposed that this was the way of things. 

 “Good.” Daemon said. “We will retire for now. My wife will receive you in the morning.”

 “Very good, my Prince.” Prall bowed and smiled at Alicent. He had a gleam in his eyes like someone who had just seen his workload dissolve before him. 

Daemon led Alicent towards the door and then stopped. “And, make it known to all,” he said. “My brother the King has passed Dragonstone into my name. From now on this island answers to no one but me.”

Prall, once again, could not conceal his shock at this news although he valiantly tried. Passing Dragonstone to Prince Daemon a day after the heir’s birth was not a choice that he would have expected the King, any king, to make. He bowed. “I will inscribe it in our records and make sure ravens reach our vassal houses, my Prince.” He said.

Daemon nodded. The blaze of the torches shone in his eyes. Alicent admired his iron-wrought will: he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted. She wished she could be more like that. 

The black walls of the bedroom intended for the lord and lady of the castle looked as though they had been hammered into the mountain. The bed was the largest that Alicent had ever seen - there would be room enough in it for ten people - and was set before a cavernous fireplace which had been set within, shockingly, the mouth of a stone dragon with it’s fangs bared. As she walked forward she noticed that the feet of the bed were dragon’s claws. There was no symmetry to the pattern of the floor, criss-crossing lines and symbols as if someone had taken a hammer to it in some kind of crazed state. 

Apart from the bed, there was an ornate stone writing desk, a wardrobe to the far corner, a large, flat windowsill upon which one could fit themselves to look out at the ocean and a silver basin for washing. 

Daemon started the fire in the fireplace - hardly necessary as the walls simmered with a volcanic heat that ebbed throughout the room. Alicent was grateful to remove her cloak and began to strip off her dress. She had travelled with nothing so had no nightclothes.

 “What am I to wear to bed?” She asked Daemon.

The predictable answer came back, “Nothing.”

Alicent repressed a sigh. “I will wear my slip.” She said. “But first, I need to wash. Could you fetch a maid for water?”

Daemon gestured to a tasseled rope that hung next to the bed. “This will call help whenever you have need of it.”

Alicent frowned and came to tug on the rope. From somewhere above them, the deep rumble of a heavy bell echoed. The sound seemed to run the length of the walls.

 “How ingenious.” She murmured.

Daemon smiled. “This place was crafted by dragonlords. They favour practicality.”

Alicent was about to enquire how practical it was to have a door lined with razor-sharp dragon’s teeth but didn’t. 

A servant appeared at the door, not a maid but a young boy. “My Prince?” He stepped into the room, his eyes meeting and then ignoring Alicent. “How may I assist you?”

Daemon gestured at Alicent. “My wife needs to bathe, fetch a maid.”

Once again, the boy swivelled to stare at Alicent in disbelief before gathering himself, quickly nodding and vanishing. 

 “You know,” Alicent said, after he had left. “It might have been advisable to inform your homestead before bringing me here.”

Daemon stretched out on the bed. “Why?”

 “Because everyone who looks at me thinks I’m nothing more than your whore.” 

Daemon smirked. “Well-”

 “I do not need your insolence.” 

 “All will know by morning who you are,” Daemon said. “If there’s one thing I know about Prall it’s that the old man gossips like a fishwife.” 

A maid returned to the room. She curtsied as she entered. “My Prince and…” she looked at Alicent. “My lady.” She lifted her arms to the door, indicating that Alicent should follow her. “This way.”

Alicent glanced at Daemon. “Where…am I going?”

 “You’ll see.” He said. 

The maid took Alicent down a narrow set of stairs just off of the bedroom. Now that the walls were so close together, the heat picked up and Alicent began to sweat. She was glad to only be dressed in her slip. 

The maid showed her into a dark, barely-lit room and struck a light upon the wall behind her. The torch that she lit was set within crimson glass. The room was bathed in red light when Alicent’s eyes adjusted: a deep well of a tub that had been fashioned as the belly of a dragon. There was enough space underneath to light a fire.

The maid passed her and pulled a heavy chain above them. The tub rushed with water that steam rose from immediately: it came directly from the network of hot springs underneath and around Dragonmont, clean and fresh and, to Alicent’s shock, hot without the need for fire.

 “Would you like the blaze, my lady?” The maid indicated the firepit underneath them.

 “Oh…this is hot enough.” It was hotter than the baths she took in King’s Landing, that was for sure. 

The maid placed a pot of something pink and granulated next to the tub. Alicent looked around for the oils of flowers and saw nothing. 

 “Where do you keep your oils?” She asked.

 “Oh,” the maid said. “You have no need for oils, my lady. The water is full of purifying ore,” she gestured to the pink substance. “You might wish to add this to your bath.”

 “What is it?”

 “It’s salt from the mountains, my lady. It draws impurities from the skin.”

 “Um, thank you.”

The maid turned and left the room, surprising her. Usually maids stayed to help their mistress wash. Alicent tried not to think of it as a snub. 

She stripped off her slip and sank into the water which, upon first contact, was far too hot to bear but, upon sitting in for a long while, she began to relax. Adding the salt to the bath, Alicent even felt a change in her body as if all the knots in her muscles were suddenly untied, her ankle even felt improved.

What is this place? She thought. I can’t figure out whether they’re madmen or geniuses, this family.

She dipped her head underneath the water, hoping the heat would rid the grease from her hair. 

She heard the door slide open and she straightened, expecting the maid. It was Daemon. 

 “I thought you might like the bath.” He said.

Alicent tapped the pipe from which the water flowed. “This should be in every home in the Realm.”

 “Unfortunately not every home in the Realm has a mountain spewing flame atop it.”

He began to strip, lifting his shirt over his head.

 “Do you mean to interrupt my bath?”

 “I mean to bathe.”

 “As long as bathing is all you do.”

 “You suspect me of having another motive?” He entered the bath, his presence suddenly filling the tub. Alicent felt her desire reignite itself at his sudden closeness, the wet bareness of his skin.

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t you?” The heat of the water made both of their faces flush.

Daemon ran his eyes over her. For once, he felt as if all was right. Here he was, in his home with his bride. Here nothing could harm Alicent, nor could she easily leave. He had her. He could enjoy her, hold her, seek comfort from her as he liked and no one could come in between. 

He had never thought he could feel a sense of peace within the calm. He usually found peace within chaos. 

When Alicent kissed him, every last thought vanished from his mind, evaporating with the steam around them.

.

 “And the stairs to the Sea Dragon Tower,” Prall was saying. “Which is also shaped like a dragon.”

Alicent followed behind him. The tour had dragged on for about an hour now and she still felt no more confidence in navigating the many corridors as she had done an hour earlier. She was also wearing one of Princess Daella’s old dresses, which was too large around the hips for her and too small around the bust so she was constantly having to regulate her breathing as to not suffocate. The dress was red, pearled at the bodice with flouncing cuffs and a heavily-layered skirt: a style from an age ago. If she had worn this to the fashionable court of King’s Landing or even High Garden, she would have been snickered at. Her maids had inserted small pearls in her hair and they had also braided it in a style similar to how Rhaenyra wore it. Alicent wasn’t sure if it suited her.

 “And this,” Prall brought her to a room that reminded Alicent of the deck of a ship. “Is the Galleon Room, where many of our ledgers and matters of business are kept. Both Lord Celtigar and occasionally Lord Corlys use this room to help conduct the Targaryens’ business. Of course, typically Lord Corlys only advises on matters of shipwrighting.”

Alicent entered the room. It had reminded her of a ship because of its arrow-like shape with a vast window with a wide-open view of the sea crashing against the cliff face. The desk that pointed away from the window was gigantic and stacked with papers. Turning a few over she noticed that they were accounts. “Who manages the House’s finances?” She asked.

 “Well,” Prall said pleasantly. “That would be you, my lady, now that you are come. Of course it is Lord Celtigar who has been looking over the books for us.”

Alicent seated herself at the desk. “Forgive me,” she said. “Do you mind if I look over these?”

 “Not at all!” Prall sang, brimming with excitement at the fact that she might actually take the figures off his hands as well as the household management. “I will bring you some tea!”

Alicent flicked through the accounts, organising them by date. She was alarmed at the huge amounts of gold she saw being sent from Dragonstone’s coffers, all of which were accounted for with descriptions such as ‘dragonpit’, ‘weaponry’, ‘ship build’ and, worryingly, ‘Daemon’.

The tea that Prall brought her tasted slightly of iron, but she didn’t mention it.

 “Prall,” she said. “Do you happen to know how much coin we keep in our coffers?”

Prall kept his smile but began to fidget nervously. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m old, my lady. What did you say?”

Alicent had the suspicion he had heard her fine. “How much coin,” she said. “Do we have in the coffers?”

 “Oh,” Prall began to sweat. “You mean…now?”

 “Yes, now.”

 “Well,” he said. “Yes. The coin. In the coffers.”

Alicent rubbed her temple in a very Otto Hightower-like way. “Do we have anything in the coffers?”

 “Well,” Prall said. “No.”

 “Nothing?”

 “No.”

 “We don’t have any coin there at all?”

 “We don’t.”

 “Why not?”

 “That,” Prall raised his eyebrows to suggest that he couldn’t wait to say it out loud. “That would be a question for the Celtigars. Bartimos Celtigar handles such matters.”

 “You’re telling me we have no gold because of him?” Alicent raised the parchment. “Because he allows these expenses?” 

 “Well,” Prall said. “I do know that we are in huge debt to the Crown, which is of no matter of course, seeing as King Viserys would never forsake us. The expenses are made at the order of Lord Celtigar and he also dictates how much Dragonstone’s coffers make from the tax paid by the island folk and the income from war conquests.” 

Alicent stared at the accounts before her. Something wasn’t right here. 

Dragonstone had no coin because they had spent it and were in debt, but yet Lord Celtigar was both allowing expenses and replenishing the coffers on his terms? 

 “Of course,” Prall rushed to add context. “There are still many valuable items within the halls of Dragonstone, but in terms of coin…we are beholden to the decisions of Lord Celtigar.” He smiled. “But now, the Prince has married and Dragonstone has a lady to oversee such things.”

The hope in his eyes made Alicent think that he had been waiting for this day to come for quite some time. 

The ladies from the vassal Houses to House Targaryen had arrived: House Celtigar of Claw Isle, House Bar Emmon of Sharp Point and House Sunglass of Sweetport Sound. They had been informed of Lady Alicent’s existence and shipped to Dragonstone that same morning on the Prince’s order, forming a line in the Great Hall just after noon.

Alicent had spent the day drowning in sheets that covered financial intakes, taxes and petitions from the islanders that had gone unanswered and since collected dust.

Prall ushered her into the Great Hall and swept his arms towards three young women standing before the raised platform of the room.

 “Lady Alicent of Dragonstone greets you,” he said to the three girls, obviously enjoying the title. The three girls curtsied in unison. “Lady Alicent, I present Lady Koline Celtigar, Lady Bryn Bar Emmon and Lady Shelyse Sunglass.”

 “I greet you.” Alicent smiled at all of them. The Bar Emmon girl looked slightly older than her with a very daring, short cut to her hair that was usually reserved for page boys, but she gave Alicent an open and honest smile.

The Sunglass girl was a tiny blonde with splotches of freckles on her face. She kept her eyes trained on the stone floor.

The final girl, Koline, raised her chin high in the air as she looked Alicent up and down. She was beautiful with long jet-black hair, striking eyes. “Lady Alicent,” she said, her voice like cut glass. “I can’t tell you what an honour it is to meet you.”

 “Thank you.” Alicent smiled. “I owe much to your father, Lady Koline, as he has been taking care of Dragonstone’s affairs of late.”

Prall gave Alicent a sideways glance.

 “Yes,” Koline said. “The Celtigars and the Targaryens have a long history. Our House also survived the Doom. Did you know that, Lady Alicent?”

 “I’m sure I did hear it somewhere.” Alicent replied. 

 “We have been vassals to this House longer than time allows its record,” Koline said. “And would so hate to see its fine history diluted by someone who was not worthy of its seat. Valyrian blood may not be important to some, but around these islands, it is integral to who we accept as our masters.”

The room was quiet. Prall looked as though he wanted to speak but was unsure if he should. Bryn and Shelyse didn’t seem to know where to look, but shifted uncomfortably.

Alicent regarded Koline levelly. “A fine speech.” She said. She took a step closer. “When the Royal Septon declared my lord husband, Prince Daemon Targaryen and I one soul and one flesh before the Seven, I adopted it. But my Hightower blood, lesser though it may be in your eyes, descends from the First Men when my ancestors ruled the land as kings just as Targaryens did in Old Valyria.” She paused and laughed. “Forgive me, the Targaryens didn’t rule as kings back then. You see, I need to improve my knowledge of history.” She brought her gaze back to Koline’s face. “And the Celtigars certainly didn’t if the Targaryens did not.” She turned to Prall. “Could you arrange for some tea, Maester? These fine ladies and I should become better acquainted with each other.” She swept her eyes over them. “I do hope we can all become great friends,” she took in Koline’s burning expression. “And adjust to the new way of things.”

Chapter Text

 “What an interesting necklace,” Alicent said to Lady Bryn as the four of them sat in the broad light of the high window. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”

 “Oh.” Bryn touched the tooth-shaped pendant that hung halfway down her chest. “I fashioned it myself, my lady. From dragonglass.” 

 “Dragonglass?”

 “Dragonglass rises naturally from the sea around Dragonstone.” Koline cut in. She looked at Alicent. “As all who live here know.”

 “Well, Lady Alicent is new to this place, Koline.” Bryn said through gritted teeth. “So it would be understandable if she didn’t know that.”

Koline sipped her tea. “Forgive me.” 

It seemed their earlier altercation had cowed her slightly, but Alicent sensed that neither the animosity or the insolence was at an end. She thought that it might be best at this point to attempt an olive branch.

 “I am new to this place, as Lady Bryn says,” she smiled. “But as Lady of Dragonstone, I must learn how to be useful in my new role and I may be in need of all of your help.”

 “Of course, my lady.” Bryn smiled back, nudging Koline under the table.

Koline’s smile appeared to be fake but at least it was present. “Of course.” She echoed.

They both looked at Shelyse, who was staring at her tea.

 “Shelyse, say something for once.” Koline sighed.

Shelyse didn’t respond.

Alicent looked from her to the others awkwardly.

 “Sorry,” Bryn said. “She does this often.” She reached across and patted her knee. “Shel. Shelyse. Shel.”

Shelyse started as if someone had stuck her with a hot pin. “Yes!” She jumped to her feet and the tea went all over her skirt.

Koline rolled her eyes. “You’re utterly hopeless.”

 “Please forgive her, my lady!” Bryn jumped to her feet and began to dab Shelyse with her own sleeve. “She is…so unaccustomed to company-”

 “Why don’t you speak the truth?” Koline snapped. “She’s a halfwit.”