Queen Alicent Hightower
Alicent walked through the Red Keep and could not shake the sensation that she was an imposter. It seemed that at any moment, some old lady-in-waiting who remembered her when she was quite small would peek around the next turn and ask:
"What are you doing, child, in the Queen's chambers?"
Alicent had rehearsed the answer to this question in her head many times, improving it with every iteration, making her tone now careless, as if nothing had happened, now condescending, as if the old court lady herself had fallen into her second childhood. Sometimes she thought of this with a shudder, sometimes with pride in her imaginary and disarming retort, yet the crone never dared to show herself before her eyes.
Instead, one and all parted before her and bowed. Naturally, the daughter of the second man in all the Seven Kingdoms had been accorded due honors before, and Alicent had somehow never pondered that it could be otherwise, but ever since Viserys named her his Queen and wife before the face of gods and men, the bows had become deeper and more frequent, the smiles wider and sweeter, and gazes invariably converged upon her the moment she entered any room. As it turned out, the difference between the station of a young lady of one of the noblest and wealthiest houses and the station of the King's consort was quite substantial.
It was even harder to accustom herself to calling the Sovereign "Viserys" and "my husband"; periodically, even behind closed doors, a formal "Your Grace" would slip from Alicent, and then Viserys would laugh and lightly tap her on the lips with his palm, and in response to her embarrassment would say:
"I shall continue to do so until I break you of this foolishness, my wife."
His wife. The King's wife.
When her father hinted that the King asked of her often, Alicent merely waved it away, attributing the interest to a father's care for a daughter—after all, she and Rhaenyra were inseparable and practically always together; to find one meant to find the other. When her father said the King intended to make her a proposal, Alicent grew frightened and asked her father not to speak nonsense, and Gwayne to stop laughing. When the King came himself and began to confusedly explain his feelings, she wanted either to sink through the earth from embarrassment or to run away and tell everything to Rhaenyra, but to his every question she answered "yes."
Then came two months of nervous and hasty preparations, a ceremony no less exciting and complex—which, save for a pair of incidents, went well—and the first months of life in a new capacity. At first, Alicent looked upon the Red Keep and King's Landing with a completely new gaze, as if something had simultaneously lifted her almost above everyone else and shifted her, changing her angle of view. Familiar corridors looked alien; she scarce recognized halls, rooms, and chambers, and even managed to get lost in them.
Now her legs carried her to one of the smaller staircases leading to the apartments of the royal family members. Behind Alicent's back followed seven ladies-in-waiting, accompanying her everywhere now. She had not managed to become friends with a single one as she had with Rhaenyra, Iolante, or Ellyn: with the first, she had never succeeded in speaking heart-to-heart; the second had departed with Lord Robin and married immediately; and the third preferred to remain in the retinue of the Black Princess—as they now called Rhaenyra. In the end, Alicent remained in the very center of the Seven Kingdoms, surrounded by a whole host of servants, courtiers, and kin (old and new), and yet utterly alone.
Gathering the hem of her dress, the Queen tried to ascend the steps as calmly as possible, watching carefully where she placed her foot. Princess Calla had fallen on another staircase, far steeper than this one, but Alicent had no wish to repeat her fate.
Her father, who as always saw an enemy, a conspirator, and a murderer in every shadow, invariably urged her to caution and advised her to keep reliable people as close as possible. He presented reliable people to her constantly, unobtrusively hinting that it would be good to have this knight in the castle guard, or the daughter of this lord in her retinue, or to invite this septon to read a few sermons in the Royal Sept. Alicent smiled at each one, diligently memorized the name, and afterwards, thinking how to place these people, nervously bit her nails. She could not rid herself of this harmful childhood habit, but one thing gladdened her: the septas could no longer strike her hands with rods.
The staircase led her to the chambers of Prince Aegon. The youngest of her goodbrothers disdained the protection of the Kingsguard, relying in all things upon his sworn shield, who was not only a protector but a personal servant, a shadow following his suzerain everywhere. It was he who met the Queen and her retinue in the antechamber, which seemed to have remained unchanged since the times Prince Baelon the Brave lived here.
"My Queen," the knight from Dragon's Haven immediately sprang from the sofa on which he had been dozing.
"Greetings, Ser Dennis," Alicent made it a rule to smile at everyone, regardless of rank and origin. It cost her nothing, and for those around her, it could brighten a day full of cares. In the end, it is written in The Seven-Pointed Star: truly blessed are the kind of heart, for they shall be rewarded. "Prince Aegon is in, I presume?"
"Yes, Your Grace, the Prince is in the study. Shall I announce you?"
"Yes," the Queen nodded, and turning to her ladies, added, "I should like to speak with Prince Aegon alone. You may wait here."
The ladies obediently curtsied, while the returning knight opened one of the doors before her with a bow, allowing her to pass.
Contrary to Alicent's expectations, the study proved not to be a musty, semi-dark room piled with dusty tomes, but a rather spacious and bright chamber with large windows. The walls, of course, were not visible due to the bookcases; the treatises in them were arranged neatly, not haphazardly, and scrolls were kept in special cubbyholes. Only the desk at which the Prince sat seemed an island of chaos, but Alicent attributed this disorder to the fact that her visit had caught Aegon in the midst of his labors.
"My Queen," the Prince greeted her, rising from his seat.
"No, no, I pray you, sit!" Alicent asked. "There is no need, I understand that it must be difficult for you..."
"It is needed, for such are the rules," the Master of Dragons objected, but he availed himself of the offer-command. "What is Your Grace's pleasure?"
Alicent faltered, clasped her hands on her stomach again, and immediately forced herself to lower them.
"I should like to talk."
"I gathered that much. I pray you, any seat of your choice. Perhaps wine? Dornish, Arbor, Pentoshi?"
"Yes, perhaps... Although no! No need, I thank you," the Queen sat thoughtlessly in the first armchair that came to hand and immediately began to crumple her dress. Oh Mother and Father Above, how to begin?
The Prince undoubtedly noticed she was nervous but nobly gave no sign. Others would simply have stared, or tried to make small talk, or encourage, or distract, but Aegon simply returned to his affairs. His desk was piled with books and scrolls covered in Valyrian glyphs—a dialect that remained alien and incomprehensible to Alicent. She had never mastered the high speech of her husband's ancestors, though Rhaenyra had tried to teach her at least something before, and now Viserys did the same; however, the only thing she managed to remember was that to him she was "ābra" or something of that spirit. Prince Aegon, like all the other Targaryens, possessed Valyrian so fluently that sometimes Alicent wondered which language was his mother tongue.
Leaving the Queen to her thoughts and worries, he deftly adjusted a scroll that had managed to unroll, smoothed it out, and continued to copy something from it, occasionally glancing at several others like it. Finally, curiosity overcame her agitation, and Alicent inquired:
"What are you doing?"
"Fulfilling Maester's vows," the Prince answered, not tearing himself away from his papers.
"Did you manage to take them?"
"No. But what prevents me from observing the vow of preserving and multiplying knowledge? Must one be a septon to lead a righteous life?"
"Not at all necessary," Alicent agreed. "Laymen who live by the commandments of the gods pave their way to the golden halls of the Father Above with their pious deeds."
"Where the light is like a river and sweet as honey," Aegon nodded, dipping his quill into the inkwell.
"True. So... what are you multiplying?"
"For now, simply preserving. In the Citadel, we were taught that any knowledge is priceless, and every lost word, every burnt page is an irreparable loss. Therefore, I am copying scrolls from the library of Dragonstone. Many of them are unique and unknown even in the Citadel. I copy them in glyphs, but that is an old script that few remember behind the Black Walls of Volantis, so then I write them in Valyrian but with letters of the Common Tongue, and then translate into Andal."
"What painstaking work," Alicent admired sincerely.
"That is true, it is akin to a jeweler's work. Many scrolls are so decrepit they threaten to crumble in a few years. I took them up first of all."
"And what are you copying now?"
"I suppose you will find it terribly tedious. These are the 'Statutes' of Baleinix Agnaris. He was the First Archon of the City of Valyria in the sixty-fourth year of the Civil Peace. That is about six centuries before the Conquest. Of course, if I have determined the era correctly."
"I am certain you have."
"Who knows... Chronology in the Old Freehold began anew after every civil war, and ancestors often did not deem it necessary to clarify which era of Peace was current—it was all clear to them. But I doubt you came to recall my niece's history lessons," the Prince set aside the paper covered in ancient squiggles and leaned back in his chair expectantly.
Alicent swallowed nervously, clenched and unclenched her fingers. In the end, she would have to say it anyway, so better to do it now.
"I am with child," she announced, and was surprised herself by the calmness in her voice.
"It is hard to expect a different result a few months after a wedding," Aegon remarked; if surprise flickered in his green eyes, it was brief. "Viserys said he almost moved into your bedchamber. Has the Grand Maester examined you?"
"No, Maester Orwyle."
"Do you not trust Mellos?" the Prince chuckled.
"Maester Orwyle has been charged with the care of my health. The Grand Maester approved it."
"The Grand Maester periodically forgets that, besides participating in Small Council meetings, he is personally responsible for the health of the royal family. Instead, he occupies himself only with ravens, missives, and other diplomacy."
"Those are also his duties," Alicent reminded him gently.
"Let us leave Mellos be," the Prince waved it away, clearly irritated by his behavior. "Let us return to your condition. Are you certain?"
"I? Perchance... Maester Orwyle says the term is short, but all the signs are present."
"Does my brother know?"
"Not yet."
"Then why do you speak of it now with me, and not with him?" the Prince's eyebrows arched in surprise. Alicent noticed only now that they were lighter than Viserys's—almost white.
And indeed, why? Because everything—the proposal, and the marriage, and now this too—happened faster than she expected? Perhaps, but not only for that reason; in the end, her duty to her family bade her marry well, she accepted it and, she supposed, fulfilled it with honor, and it was hard to imagine anything more successful than a marriage to a King. Children? Well, the septas had told her where they come from, and, the gods are witness, she and Viserys did everything so that it would end as it should.
"Because I am afraid," she confessed.
"And of what? Daemon is fully satisfied with our little family agreement and will not violate it so long as Viserys observes it."
"I speak not of politics," Alicent shook her head and lied.
Naturally, she knew of what transpired at court and in the Small Council: her father had begun to initiate her into part of his plans some time ago; moreover, maids and ladies-in-waiting brought rumors on the hems of their dresses, and in every piece of gossip there was a valuable grain of truth that could be used. All who had ears heard of Viserys's rifts with the Prince of Dragonstone, and everyone knew (unofficially, of course) the terms of their peace agreement, but only Alicent was the sole person at court whom it touched directly. She crossed her arms over her as yet barely noticeable belly, hidden by the ruffles of her dress, striving to shield the life dawning (or already dawned?) within her from the sorrows and dangers of this world.
"Simply... I am afraid," she confessed after a pause.
"You can be understood," Aegon tilted his head to the side, and the Queen fancied something inexorably draconic in the gesture. "I do not think the fates of the previous women of our house who gave birth will comfort you: Calla, Aemma, my mother, and yours too, as far as I know. I myself can hardly help you—I can heal wounds, recognize poison from Leng itself, but childbirth... Regrettably, I can help you with naught but comfort. All is in the hands of the gods, but I am certain that all will be well."
Alicent shifted her gaze to her stomach again, which had not changed a whit in a mere minute.
"You know, Prince, when my mother died, everyone spoke to me in riddles. 'She has gone,' they said, or 'she has fallen asleep.' I already understood that Mama was no more... but everyone tried to shield me from it. And I wanted but a drop of sympathy. For someone to comfort me. So thank you."
"It is the least I can do."
"It is more than many would do."
"You simply haven't gladdened Viserys yet," Aegon chuckled. "Tell him. Perhaps this time we can do without a tourney."
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