Chapter Text
In the weeks past, Alicent hasn’t left Aegon out of sight for more time than she absolutely has to— any of her children, as a matter of fact. There has been this sense of … wrongness, that pervades her, and she sees enemies in every corner.
Aegon sleeps peacefully as the featherbed envelopes his tiny frame, Helaena and Aemond in their cradles which had been ordered into the queen’s apartments. Ser Criston guards her chambers, turning away all that seek her even now — she needs that little measure of peace. For the first time since Queen Aemma died has she felt like she could live peacefully here — without the ghost of Rhae– the princess’ mother haunting her, screaming as they cut her open for a boy that will never live.
Her children are wondrous, yet they are — brittle, to her. They are babes. Aemond, such a fierce little thing, wary of strangers. Helaena, her gentle lass, so young but still stuck in reveries that leave her shivering. Her Aegon — he had been a sweet, sulky boy, but she had wondered day and night where he disappeared to leave behind the solemn little lad.
She couldn’t lie — the new turn had only aggravated her worries, instead of soothing them, as Aegon abandoned clinging to her with all the trust in the world for astonishing his maesters and tutors. It terrified her, how the Aegon changed and yet—
He is still there, sorrowful and haunted by some enemy she cannot seem to protect him from, what a worthless mother she is— but he is still her little Egg. Not for the first time she thinks—
“Please, Seven Above, he’s just a boy.”
You feel the restlessness in your bones, a strange, recognizable yearning, sentiments not your own calling to you— Sunfyre. When you — woke up, you had tried just once, to ask your mother about your beloved dragon. But as she tried to suppress her aversion— you remembered. Alicent Hightower dislikes dragons intensely. And so any question about Sunfyre was bitten back, as you held your tongue, still dazed that Sunfyre was alive. Alive and well and sulking that the dragonkeepers wouldn’t feed him lamb or venison, rather giving him veal. A delighted mirth fills you, and you struggle not to smile —
You want to fly with Sunfyre, dammit. You want him to prod at you with his tail, and put you on your ass as he shoves his snout at your neck like he is still smaller than a cat. It makes you almost ready to throw an absolute fit, if Mother refuses. You hope she doesn’t, but it won't stop you at all.
Alicent turns to face Aegon, who stared at her with the intensity only a Targayren possesses, an imploring look on his face. She tries her very best to remain unswayed —
(Rhaenyra looked at her so, once. Begging her to abandon her studies to accompany her to the Dragonpit. Beseeching her fly with her. They had been sisters, closer than, even. She misses— Stop.)
— but stubborn Targaryens were ever her weakness.
“May I visit Sunfyre, mama?”
She bites back her instinctive denial, and considers the proposition. Her son’s dragon has been reported to be strange, lately. Growing too fast — almost pining, if she is to believe the strange little dragon keepers and their unwonted advice. He needs his rider, Queen Alicent, they said. As if her son hadn’t lay battling death and lasting damage. It escaped her notice not, how she was never my queen, only Queen Alicent. The only thing that mitigated the insult was how they did not scorn her children and their reverence for Aegon and his golden beast’s so-called bond.
Nevertheless, there is little she has to do, today. The women’s courts are closed, His Grace remains resting from his last leeching, and no more guests are scheduled to arrive. Perhaps, it might even make her son happy if—
“Only if I come with, sweetling. Ser Criston and the Lord Commander will accompany us.”
She doesn’t notice the slight panic in his face before it fades away, only the brilliant smile left behind.