King's Landing, The Crownslands
Queen Alicent knelt, praying to the Seven before her—begging them to save her Aegon from the evil path her husband and that rogue brother of his were leading him down. Aegon was but an innocent child, doing his duty by obeying his father and king, as any son should. A son must always follow his father. A king must be honored. Therefore, she prayed that her Aegon might be forgiven for walking the evil path of magic.
Alicent had tried all she could to persuade Viserys to bring Aegon back from Dragonstone, but her lord husband had refused to listen—as he had done repeatedly over the past few years.
And that alone proved it—magic was evil. It had changed the King, led him astray from sound counsel—counsel of wise men of the Faith, the Citadel, and lords of the realm. Alicent opened her eyes as the tears she had been holding back finally slipped free.
What was she to do?
Her father was gone, and in his absence, many lords questioned her authority. And her father's constant pressure—his demands that she make Viserys see the folly of dismissing him as Hand—was taking its toll on her. For years now, Alicent had found herself increasingly isolated, trapped in a court so loyal to Viserys that their blind devotion kept them from seeing the light of the Seven.
Viserys's illness also seemed to be fading—strangely—ever since his brother came back, and it is almost gone now after he claimed the dragon again. Maesters had tried to discover the cause, but the King had refused every attempt by the Grand Maester and the delegation from the Citadel to examine him further.
Alicent wiped her tears and stood. After bowing once more to the statues of the Seven, she made her way out of the Sept of King's Landing.
The Sept was still unfinished, but Alicent could already envision it: a grand sanctuary from where the light of the Seven would shine down on lords and smallfolk alike.
Outside, her wheelhouse awaited, with Ser Criston Cole in his white cloak standing guard, ever alert. He was a good knight—honorable and devout. Danger wouldn't dare come near her with him nearby. Normally, it was Ser Harrold who escorted her, though her father and Ser Harrold had never seen eye to eye. But Ser Harrold was now bedridden with a high fever.
The maesters had yet to determine the cause, but they were confident he would soon rise again to serve the King and the royal family.
"To the Red Keep, Your Grace?" Ser Criston asked, helping her into the wheelhouse.
"Aye, Ser. I have already sent food to the smallfolk with Septa Alicent, so we shall make our way to the Red Keep," she replied.
Ser Criston nodded, closed the door, and Alicent heard the muffled commands he gave to the man in command of the horses of the wheelhouse and to the retinue of the guards who traveled with her. She leaned back into her seat, taking a moment of much-needed respite.
With a thousand thoughts swirling through her mind, Alicent didn't know when her eyes slipped shut. But soon she was flying—soaring through clouds with wings no less. She didn't panic like before, but simply wished to wake and not be here.
And she did. At least she has found a way to wake up from that dream.
With a sharp jolt, she stirred awake inside the wheelhouse. The same dream again—always the same—whenever her mind wandered to thoughts of escape. Must she find no peace, even in sleep?
A knock on the door of the wheelhouse signaled that they had arrived at the Red Keep.
Her wheelhouse came to a stop just beside the stables, and the stench of dung and urine immediately assaulted Alicent's nose, making her wrinkle it in distaste. Without delay, she made her way through the gate beside the Hand's Tower toward the middle bailey. That tower had once belonged to her father, until Viserys, in his folly, dismissed him—for offering wise counsel regarding her lord husband. Rhaenyra had only ever been a temporary heir, a placeholder until Viserys had a trueborn son to squash the overgrown ambitions of Daemon. The moment Aegon was born, he should have been named Crown Prince.
Alicent continued on toward Maegor's Holdfast with Ser Criston close behind. When they reached her chambers, she was surprised to find her brother standing beside the door, leaning against the wall, whistling a tune she remembered from their childhood in Oldtown.
"Gwayne, what are you doing here?" she asked, startling her brother out of his rhythm. For a brief moment, a flicker of irritation crossed his face, but he quickly schooled his expression. Straightening, he nodded politely to Ser Criston and gave her a slight bow of respect, acknowledging her as queen.
"Sister," he said, "Father's words have arrived. Shall we speak inside?" He opened the chamber door and gestured for her to enter. Alicent nodded—she had been expecting a message.
Once inside, with the door firmly closed behind them, Alicent glanced toward the doors where Ser Criston was standing guard just outside. Though she trusted him, her father preferred to keep future plans strictly within the family—or among those few he considered worthy. Ser Criston had not yet earned that trust.
"Did it come by letter?" she asked, trying to suppress the urge to bring her hand to her mouth—a nervous habit her father detested. A queen should not fidget like a common girl.
Gwayne noticed her restraint but made no comment. He merely raised an eyebrow and answered, "No. One of his men delivered the message personally." He took a seat by the window. "Father asked after you and the children—how you all fare. And," he added with a faint smile, "how long he must wait before being named Hand of the King again."
"I'm working on that," Alicent replied, her tone a mix of irritation and determination. "But Viserys is still stubbornly claiming that Lyonel Strong is doing a fine job—as if that dull brute could ever compare to Father." She shook her head. "Helaena still won't let anyone touch her except me and Viserys. No wet nurse, no maid. But she's healthy. As is Aemond, though he's strong-willed and far more obstinate than his older brother ever was. As for Aegon, I only know that he's in good health and has begun his studies with the maester at Dragonstone. Viserys tells me nothing more."
She paused, then added with a note of concern, "And Rhaenyra, of course, is off dallying with her uncle. You know how she is. Has Father heard nothing about what they're teaching Aegon? Has the maester at Dragonstone not sent any word?"
Gwayne shook his head. "He would, if he could. But the ravens have stopped coming from Dragonstone. And if by the gods they do come, they never carry word of what's actually happening there. Father's words, not mine," he added. "He suspects the reason may lie in the last report we received from the maester stationed there."
"You mean Daemon's obsession with pursuing death?" Alicent asked, incredulous. She still remembered the thrill in her father's letter, the way each word had practically vibrated with satisfaction. Otto had always viewed Daemon as a danger—and perhaps now, at last, a self-destructive one. But alas, the Seven seem to have a task even for that Rogue.
"Aye. What if Daemon killed the maester for failing to heal him?" Gwayne mused darkly.
"He's a rogue, not a mad executioner," Alicent replied with a sigh. "He doesn't kill everything he sees, regardless of what Father has filled your head with."
She waved the thought away, changing the subject. "Anyway, anything else? What about Driftmark? Did Father say what's happening on that forsaken island?"
"Nye. Only rumors. Each more absurd than the last," Gwayne said, crossing his arms. "Though he did say their latest attempt to ferry septons to the island failed. Again."
Alicent's brows knit together. "How many ships this time?"
"Five. All filled with trained men. Vanished overnight. Not a soul knows what happened. That sorcerer must be sacrificing hundreds to fuel his dark magic. Not a single Septon or Septa has landed on Driftmark since his return. It's as if the sea itself swallows them the moment they set sail with the intent to reach the island." He scowled. "That bastard…"
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