Chapter Text
The next two days pass slowly. To Rhaenyra’s surprise, no one in her council has asked about the bath and new dress given to Alicent. Rhaenyra assumes they must have heard the murmurs among the servants, but no word is said to her. Rhaenyra hopes their silence continues as the bathes and clean clothing become a weekly occurrence, but she knows this wish is unlikely.
Rhaenyra has not visited Alicent, the last experience too painful to repeat so soon. But Alicent visits her. In fact, Alicent consumes Rhaenyra’s every thought. Her wish for death repeats in Rhaenyra’s mind, and while Rhaenyra is still riddled with hurt from Alicent's lies, the idea of losing her to the other world stings. The idea of living in a world without Alicent is unbearable.
Even when Rhaenyra sleeps, she dreams of Alicent. Alicent with a small baby in her arms, always the same child. A babe with auburn hair and brown eyes. A babe who will grow into a child able to walk the world free of the Targaryen name. Alicent is younger in Rhaenyra’s dreams, and their relationship is not yet sullied by years of relentless fighting.
When Rhaenyra wakes from these dreams, she cries. She cries not for the child in the dream but for the one that grows in Alicent. A child whose fate, Rhaenyra cannot bring herself to question out of fear. Everything is confusing, nothing makes sense. Her hands are tied by the chains of duty, and her eyes are blinded by hurt.
Rhaenyra thinks about Alicent as she stretches her arms out on the cold stone wall, and the wind whips her face. She stands on the parapet, surveying King’s Landing below her. The people look like dolls, yet their anger and their demands take up so much space in Rhaenyra’s mind. She wonders if they would be happier without a ruler. No monarch to protect or subjugate them. Free men.
Just then, Rhaenyra hears booted footsteps behind her. She turns her head to see Addam, and he bows with respect.
“Your Grace, I came to tell you I have successfully returned from my scouting trip,” he says.
Rhaenyra gives a brief smile. “I saw,” she says as she motions to the sky where earlier she had watched Addam fly by on Seasmoke. “I admit that watching you on dragonback, made me consider skipping our council meeting to spend time with Syrax.”
Addam smiles his brilliant teeth and comes to stand near her.
“The scout went smoothly, I hope,” Rhaenyra says. She can tell Addam notices the tension in her body and tries her best to relax.
“It did, your Grace, though I do have a few concerns I wish to share at our meeting today. If you wish, I can speak about them with you now.”
“No need,” Rhaenyra responds, and she continues to look below. She sees two merchants fighting in the street, their hands grasping the same basket of fish. Not enough life in the sea to feed all their hungry mouths.
“Lord Corlys told me of his plan to legitimize you and Alyn as his sons,” Rhaenyra shares. Addam shifts uncomfortably at the comment.
“I believe he intends my brother to become Lord of Driftmark.” His voice is flat, which surprises Rhaenyra.
“Are you jealous?” Rhaenyra asks with the leisure of a friend. The two of them have never spoken much outside of council meetings and riding lessons. Yet, here Addam stands, kind and smiling, and Rhaenrya is in desperate need of distraction.
“No, your Grace,” rushes Addam. “It is just that I am content as a dragon rider.”
“A Velaryon dragon rider,” Rhaenyra corrects, and once again, Addam seems to grow uneasy. Rhaenyra turns to face him. “Addam, you may speak freely with me.”
“I am grateful to the Lord, but truthfully, I am unsure how I feel. I have been a bastard my whole life,” Addam explains.
“I imagine that was difficult,” Rhaenyra responds, the word "bastard" floating around her mind.
“It was.” Addam runs his hand across his forehead. “I watched Lord Corlys with my siblings, your late husband and cousin. He paraded them through the streets, so proud of his heirs.”
“Did he know of you?” Rhaenyra asks, a lump forming in her throat.
“Yes, he knew of his bastard sons,” Addam says with a touch of anger. “He knew but never acknowledged us. We lived a poor life. Had few opportunities to prove ourselves and even less to eat.”
“And your mother?”
“Died when we were young.”
“I’m so sorry,” Rhaenyra whispers. She knows the pain of losing a mother too young. The grief is unimaginable. “To live as a bastard is to live a life with chains around your ankles.”
“Yes, your Grace. Though I believe that the pain is not in parentage but in how we are treated and how we are raised.”
“What do you mean?” Rhaenyra asks, raising an eyebrow at Addam. The lump in her throat has only grown harder as their conversation continues.
“If I was a bastard by blood but raised by Lord Corlys, passed off as the child of his wife, then I would have been treated with respect. Blood does not make a bastard. It is the opinions of others that create the role.”
Rhaenyra listens intently and ponders his words. A child out of wedlock is a bastard, but Addam is right. Many legitimized children are not sired by their lord fathers. Those children, like Rhaenyra’s children, are not bastards, really. Yet, Rhaenyra thinks her sons might hold other opinions.
“I fear my son would disagree with you,” she sighs.
“Your Grace?” Addam says with shock in his voice.
“For Jace’s entire life, he was raised as heir to the iron throne. But he also never heard an end to the comments on his parentage. True or false, the rumors took their toll on him,” she explains, careful not to confirm Jace’s true parentage. She feels a pang of anger towards Alicent and the constant remarks she made about her children. Rhaenyra wonders if Alicent knew the toll her words had on the boys.
“Rumors grew because of the brown color of his hair,” Addam says.
“He yearned for it to be silver.”
“My brother shaved every day for years to hide the silver.”
Rhaenyra lets out the smallest laugh. “Some see it as a blessing and others a curse,” she says. Addam nods, and they both grow silent.
Rhaenyra thinks of Jace. A small boy with brown hair and brown eyes. She had hoped the next two would favor her, but they didn’t. Three sons, all lacking the Targaryen traits. Sometimes she regrets allowing herself to become pregnant with Lucerys and Joffrey. She tempted fate, and the Gods punished her with their features. She watched them grow, watched her son’s Targaryen blood get pushed aside because their father was not their mother’s husband. She was reckless, beyond acceptance.
Finally Rhaenyra allows herself to think of the topic that has been stirring inside her this entire conversation, the one that formed as a lump in her throat. The babe in Alicent’s belly. Another Targaryen bastard.
Rhaenyra feels so stupid for letting this happen. In fact, she hates herself for it. In another life, she would have stolen Alicent away, married her, and flown across the sea together. Rhaenyra wonders when duty became more important than freedom. When Alicent truly became an enemy and not a friend.
“I fear I must bid farewell, my Grace,” Addam says breaking the silence, and Rhaenyra shakes herself out of the trance.
“Yes. Of course, I am sure you want to get cleaned up before the meeting.”
“I am not used to the smell of dragon.”
“I love it,” Rhaenyra says. She thinks back to her mother complaining about the smell of dragons. About Alicent making the same remarks. She tightens her lips together as she watches Addam begin to leave.
“Thank you, Addam,” Rhaenyra says, and Addam pauses. “…for speaking with me.”
“Of course, my Queen,” he replies.
He turns and leaves, and Rhaenyra stands alone. She’s always alone.
————————————————————————
Since noticing the small swell, Alicent has moved from total ignorance to complete and overwhelming awareness. She thinks of nothing but the life growing inside her and constantly makes sure to keep her hands from her stomach. If she touches the slight bulge, she is overcome with panic. Alicent feels dead, existing like a ghost whose body grows more fragile every day. The leech inside her sucks the life from her, and she hates it, hates the idea of her unborn child.
Alicent’s head twitches when she hears footsteps approach. She turns and sees a figure in the shadows.
“Your Grace?” Alicent questions, her voice rough from crying. The figure moves forward, and instead of Rhaenyra, Prince Jaecerys steps into the light.
His hair is shorter than Alicent has seen in years. He looks older as well, and a scar stretches across his left eyebrow.
Jace glares at Alicent, who sits on the floor of the cell, her body limp and covered by a soft blanket. She wears a clean dress, which is loose on her frail body. The gold chains pool at her feet.
She notices that Jace’s hands are balled tightly into fists, and she wonders if this is how she may meet death. From the blows of a boy she knew from birth. Alicent thinks Jace deserves to hate her. She never ceased questioning his parentage, and for what? To make herself feel more noble, to release herself from jealousy of Rhaenyra. If so, her attempts had failed.
“I did not know you have been given a new dress,” Jace finally spits, but he remains on the other side of the bars. “Did my mother give you that?” This time his voice is tinged with pain.
Alice peers up at him, her face blank.
“Answer me,” Jace says. His voice is harsh, but there is an evident hesitancy with which he speaks.
“Yes,” Alicent mutters.
“Of course she did.” Jace rolls his eyes, frustrated and emotional.
“Why have you —” Alicent begins, but Jace cuts her off.
“I needed to see you.”
“Me?”
“The venomous woman who poisoned my mother,” Jace growls. Alicent sees through his anger. A hurt boy lashing out, playing confidance as if a role to perform. He never learned to truly deal with his emotions. No one ever taught him. “I do not know what spell you have on my mother, but you need to end it.”
Alicent takes his words as confirmation that he does not know of the babe she carries.
“I have done nothing. I am her prisoner,” Alicent responds, her voice incredibly weak.
“But you’ve always held her attention, even before we arrived here.” Jace steps closer to the cell. Just like the first time Rhaenyra visited Alicent here, the flames of the torches flicker in Jace’s eyes.
“My mother is reckless when it comes to you. Sneaking off to see you in the sept that day. She didn’t even tell us. Her own heir blind to the fact that she put her life at risk…” Jace shakes as he speaks, and Alicent hears the strain in his voice. “And for what? A conversation with the disgraced Dowager Queen.”
Alicent looks at him with almost pity. She sees his youth in his pain.
“She sent Jaehaera away. Did she tell you?” Jace says, his voice rising at the end.
Alicent shakes her head as every fiber of her being tenses. Her granddaughter lives, may even be safe from the war.
“She sent her away, across the narrow sea, to be with my youngest brothers,” Jace explains. “Because even your blood is too important to spill any more than needed.”
Alicent fills with a sense of relief. Part of her, part of Heleana, lives on. All thanks to the mercy of Rhaenyra. Mercy or common decency not to murder a child, Alicent is unsure.
“I mourn the loss of Heleana,” Jace says, and his mention of the name startles Alicent. He appears to be honest in his words, yet he speaks with disgust. “She was good. The rest of your children, your sons that I grew up with, they were cruel. Vile from my earliest memories.”
Alicent doesn’t disagree. Aegon and Aemond had been menaces to Rhaenyra’s boys.
“Did you know, even then, that you would one day try to make him king? Felt confident in your decision when Aegon treated women, even his own sister wife, like objects?”
Alicent winces at his words. She has long regretted allowing the marriage between Aegon and Heleana. She knew it was Targaryen custom to marry cousins, even siblings, though she found it queer. But Heleana and Aegon were never a good match. His cruelty towards women could never be tamed. Alicent knew that, and she let it happen anyway. Maybe she did not have a choice, but still, she hadn’t even fought against it.
Jace seethes at Alicent. His chest rising and falling heavily. Alicent is content to let him get out his anger, to throw insult after insult her way. But suddenly, she feels a familiar wave of nausea come over her.
“What do you want from me?” Alicent whispers, focusing her entire being on remaining upright.
“I want you to stop these games,” Jace says through gritted teeth.
“I am not playing any,” Alicent responds as she breathes deeply.
“She comes down here still to see you. Why?”
Alicent says nothing. She is unsure herself why Rhaenyra visits. Concern for the babe, perhaps, or to make sure Alicent still lives. Maybe to fight or something to do for entertainment.
“You must let her be.” Jace’s words come out slowly, each punctuated with a sense of plea. He appears to be on the verge of tears, and though he tries to hold them back, he cannot fully.
“I have no control over her. The Queen would kill me if she did not find me useful.” Alicent’s voice is soft. The boy’s verging tears trigger her motherly instinct.
“Kill you?” Jace says, exasperated. He shakes his head and sways back and forth. “You are her weakness, Alicent. You always have been.”
The words stab Alicent, and she shutters. Jace wipes a tear that begins to fall. “Please,” he whispers. He looks so scared, so ready to do anything to protect his mother. A mother he has ignored for weeks. Jace turns suddenly and leaves Alicent in the dungeons.
Not a second later, Alicent crawls to the waste pot and vomits. Her body convulses as she heaves up her dinner. She had been doing so well lately with the soothing teas. The tea, she thinks. Alicent eyes the small teapot near the door. She had been preparing to drink it before Jace came to visit her. Now she sits there, sick.
His words wash over her as she hangs her head above the waste pot. Rhaenyra’s weakness, that’s what he called her, and Alicent wonders if he is right. Wonders if their fates have been sealed. If this babe meant to kill her and she is meant to kill Rhaenyra. Not with swords or fire but with heartbreak and cruelty.
————————————————————————
A few days later, after having just finished holding court in the throne room, Rhaenyra walks at a brisk pace through the halls of the Red Keep. Hugh keeps close to her as they finish a conversation from earlier.
“When do you wish me to fly out?” Hugh asks in his gruff voice.
“As soon as possible,” Rhaenyra states. Her words contain an unmissable urgency. “Vhagar must be taken down, and while I had hoped to keep Vermithor guarding the city, there is no longer another option.”
“As you wish, my Queen,” Hugh responds. Rhaenyra can sense his nerves as he stares ahead of them.
“I have a bundle packed and ready for you to take,” Rhaenyra says, and Hugh nods.
Rhaenyra stops abruptly and puts a hand on Hugh’s shoulder.
“I believe you are more than capable of this task. Vermithor chose you for your bravery.” Rhaenyra makes her voice sound confident and strong, an attempt to ease Hugh. Inside, she is unsure if anything can be done to take down the formidable Vhagar.
“Thank, your Grace,” Hugh responds, a gentle smile peaking out through his beard. They begin walking again. “I was curious if you had heard more news about the dragon Sheepstealer—”
Hugh is cut off by hurried footsteps and a sudden shout.
“Your Grace,” Mysaria interjects. She is out of breath.
“What?” Rhaenyra asks, her body on edge at the sight of the flustered woman.
“Alicent,” Mysaria manages to get out through pants. Her eyes meet Rhaenyra’s, which shine with panic.
Rhaenyra and Mysaria take off for the dungeons leaving Hugh alone in the corridor. Rhaenyra’s pulse thumps in her ears as she moves swiftly. The door to the dungeons is open, and a knight is standing guard nearby. The two women rush down the stairs towards Alicent’s cell.
Rhaenyra’s heart stops when she sees the scene in front of her. Maester Gerardys hovers to the side of the cell, a look of apprehension on his face. The cell door is open wide, and two knights are inside with Alicent. They each hold one of her arms, trying to lift her from the ground as she fights against their strength. Alicent struggles to free herself from their grip, and her eyes are fixed on the ground.
Rhaenyra’s eyes dart to where Alicent stares. The earth drops from underneath Rhaenyra as she sees spots of bright red blood. She quickly follows the drops from the floor to a stain on the front of Alicent’s dress. Blood right between her legs. A smear of blood lays across her cheek. The smell stings Rhaenyra’s nose, and she moves into action.
“Don’t touch her,” Rhaenyra bellows as she rushes into the cell. She shoves the knights aside as a primal sense of horror and rage comes over her. The knights back off quickly, Alicent drooping against Rhaenyra’s body as the knights let go. Rhaenyra is beside Alicent, crouching down and placing both hands on her shoulders. Rhaenyra searches Alicent’s expression.
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra whispers. Her eyes are filling with tears, she cannot help it.
“It’s over,” Alicent says in a hushed voice. Her eyes are dry.
A chill runs down Rhaenyra's body like icy water from a stream. She doesn’t need Alicent to clarify what “it” is. She knows. She can tell from the stain.
“Gerardys, he should examine you,” Rhaenyra begins, glancing quickly toward the maester.
“No, please,” Alicent says, panic dripping from her words. Rhaenyra’s heart twists, and she swallows her tears. She looks up at Mysaria and then stands. Alicent leans against her legs as Rhaenyra turns to the knights standing around, staring.
Leave us,“ Rhaenyra shouts. “All of you.”
Mysaria nods and moves at once while the knights hesitate, Rhaenyra’s protector most anxious not to leave. But after a glare from Rhaenyra, they all go.
“Your Grace, are you sure?” Maester Garerdys asks meekly as he begins to move.
“I am sure,” Rhaenyra says, and she turns her gaze back down to Alicent.
Soon, they are alone in the dark cell. Alicent’s face is blank, and her body is limp. She leans all her weight against Rhaenyra. A pile at the Queen’s feet.
Rhaenyra’s heart breaks. She can’t breathe. She can’t think. The blood, the emotionless state of Alicent, the knights grabbing her. Everything is so shocking that Rhaenyra can barely hold onto the moment enough to grasp reality. She lowers her hand to Alicent’s shoulder.
“Are you… do you need….” Rhaenyra tries to get out the right words but cannot.
“I didn’t do this…,” Alicent says, her tone flat as she stares ahead. Rhaenyra lets herself wonder if Alicent actually wanted the babe.
“I’m sorry, Alicent,” Rhaenyra whispers, her hand still lingering against the other woman’s body.
Alicent doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she shakes as her hand slowly slides around Rhaenyra’s leg.
“Forgive me,” Alicent whispers, and she burrows her face into Rhaenyra’s dress.
Rhaenyra runs her hands through Alicent’s hair, unsure what Alicent’s plea means. Rhaenyra's eyes fill with tears. Somehow she is the one between the two of them that is crying. She is the one standing, letting everything sink in.