"Hell may have me, but only once it's claimed you, Queenmaker." - Ser Robar Red Mist of House Belmont.
Alicent POV
My eyes were fixed on the crimson carpets sprawled over the throne room leading to the spiralling mess of blades that was the Iron Throne. The monstrosity twisted and melted to form some semblance of a seat; it had always unnerved her. It was as if she could feel the call of the chair, the whispers of power, and the appeal to ambition – the throne that had had Meagor rain down fire on the servants of the gods, the throne that had made men kinslayers, the throne that was now sat by her cowardly husband, the throne that was her son's birthright.
Over which hung the skull of the black dread, the boned horns sprouting from the lizard-like skull, even dead, the beast that her son obsessed over, a beast that he had solicited the murder of a king's guard over, a beast for which he had disobeyed her, a beast which would likely cause him more suffering, as Rheanyra the vicious whore had pulled her puppet father's strings to get her own vengeance. She'd starved herself and used the ploy of a babe to force Viseryes hand to get revenge for her piss-coloured lizard.
My eyes shifted to the view in front of me: all the dragon-riding Volaryons kneeling before the decrepit man who claimed himself to be a king. Oh, how wasted such a title was upon him. Sadly, the title couldn't die of embarrassment like the black dread. How the cripple managed to tame the beast is beyond human comprehension. Perhaps it was a joke by the gods for the sins of Meagor.
Regardless, I had a bigger problem. Viseryes was very close to making a disastrous decision, and right now he was just explaining the situation of his whore daughter to her in-laws, but I know he will act. I must make sure he isn't too rash with my father gone and the fat lout strong in charge. I had little leeway, but there was always a method a woman could use to convince men.
The mere thought of trying to use my body to persuade him made me nauseous; I barely held my vomit at bay to use my body as a whore would; throw away millennia of Hightower pride to humiliate myself in such a manner, one not even my father had dared use when he sent me to comfort the king.
I would be throwing away all my principles – "a wife must not betray her husband" – as was the decree of the father in the seven-pointed star, but there was always an older principle: a mother will march into the seven hells to save her son, so why wouldn't I march into his bed-chamber?
I am a mother first and queen, Hightower; noble last. I'd give my own head for my son. What's another evening of lying flat compared to that? I've done it before. What does intent matter? So what if I whore myself out for my goal? What was it? Aemon always said, "The ends justify the means."
*Tap*
*Tap*
*Tap*
The tapping of the fool's cain awoke me from my thoughts. He was leaving, as were his guards. Now was my chance, so I scurried behind him to his bedchamber.
Viseryes sat idle across from his playset, his eyes locked onto the pristine marble set, the ill imitation of his ancestor's glory which had now vanished into the annals of history, the only remnants of their tyranny being the splintered city-states of their once immense empire and a single dragon lord house ruled by a broken weak man easily swayed and cowed into a shadow of what he should have been. It was no surprise that Balerion died of embarrassment the moment the fool rode the senile old lizard.
Viseryes seemed to ignore my presence, too focused on playing with his dolls, too entrenched in the past to look at what he must do now. I slowly glided towards him, doing my best not to draw his attention till I was in the perfect position.
I stood behind him, my arms draping over my hands, rubbing his chest. As I leaned further down, blowing some air into his ear, I felt his shudder, yet he did not stop me, my face a hair's breadth away from his neck. My hand moved slowly but tentatively towards his nether regions as I kissed and bit his ears gently, trying my best to make him think with the wrong head.
"Darling, don't you believe it is too rash to act against your son? I whispered, my hand having worked its way into his breeches, his leathery skin grazing against my soft hands. A soft moan escaped his lips as his breath became shorter and quicker.
"It's for the best; he'll learn it's for his sister—awhhhh." He broke his own thoughts as his head snapped back and my eyes looked right into his purple ones, my hand sticky with royal heirs. I shifted myself to repositioning to be right in front of him, my hands still having a firm grip on his tiny royal sword.
"My lord husband, he's young; surely Rhaenyra can learn to accept that what happened was an accident, a mistake, something that couldn't be prevented," I said softly, trying my best to soothe him. My legs now draped over his, so I was sitting on his lap, my face moving to his neck.
"Accident couldn't be prevented; she must accept it." I heard him repeat in a more distant tone; his eyes that had been transfixed on me now seemed distant and hollow. His face seemed to contort into a flurry of emotions from sorrow to rage to guilt; a cold fury seemed to take over him. A hard shove pushed the floor, my teeth biting down on my tongue as my back hit the solid floor.
"RHEANYRA WILL NEVER HAVE TO ACCEPT ANY ACCIDENT EVER AGAIN. SHE'S MY DAUGHTER, AEMMA'S DAUGHTER. SHE'LL HAVE WHAT SHE WANTS, AND YOUR SHALLOW WHORING OF YOURSELF WON'T DISSUADE ME. I MAY HAVE LET YOU SPREAD YOUR LEGS TO BE QUEEN, BUT YOUR CUNT WON'T MAKE ME ABANDON MY DAUGHTER. NOTHING WILL," he bellowed with a fury I was unaware he ever had. His fragile frame now seemed as sturdy as the Titan of Braavos, his meek voice as confident as a king's should be, his violet eyes burning with fury.
Did this humiliation mean nothing? Did I initiate for nought? Did I hold back my vomit for nothing? Was I so useless that I couldn't even persuade the most easily swayed person in court? Was I so useless to my son? What was I worth? Oh, Father, Aemon, how I wish you were here... I found myself instinctively crawling further away from him.
"GUARDS!" he screamed, smashing the hilt of his cane into the floor. The doors burst open as two King's guards ran into the chamber. I only caught the white cloaks from the corner of my eye, my attention still mainly focused on Viseryes. "Remove the Queen from my chamber; I wish to be alone," he demanded. Before I even knew what was happening, I was dragged out of the chamber.
*THUD*
The chamber door slammed shut behind me; the two guards now stood in front of the chamber, blocking any path forward I had for what was the Queen, but a pretty bird in a gilded cage? How laughable. The most powerful woman in the seven kingdoms, and all I could do was try to whore myself out to borrow some of my husband's power, for that was the story of all queens, was it not? Just pretty puppets dancing to the tune of their father and husbands. What had I ever done of my own volition?
Was free will merely for men? Were all women bound to be toys and dolls? Could I do nought? Were only Targaryen women allowed autonomy? Was this the curse by the gods for my sex? I was no Visenya to defy the king. I had nothing. Is that why Aemon didn't trust me? Is that why he did as he pleased when I told him not to? Was I unworthy from the start? Could a child see it before I ever did?
Before I even knew it, I felt myself running, running across the keep, my body moving on its own until I was in front of an all-too-familiar door in front of the Sept, so my body brought me here. Did it well. Who better to determine my autonomy than those who gave it to me in the first place? I found myself pushing open the door slowly, the memories of my failures flashing in my mind.
I let Aemon down; I slapped Adella and dismissed her as my lady-in-waiting. I was angry about what? Appearances to make Viseryes like us enough to change his mind. Why does that matter? He'd never change his mind. Why was I concerned about trying to get him to willingly change? Aemon wasn't. A child could see the futility of my path before I saw it myself. If I couldn't convince the fool, then I'd take what I wanted myself. "Power is not given but taken," isn't that what Aemon always said? Well then, let me show Westeros what a true queen could do. Visenya usurped for her son, and so too shall I.
I found myself walking to a statue with no candles adorning it; a small coating of dust covered its stone frame. No one prayed to this one, Mother Father Smith; all fools, they don't matter. Justice, mercy, perseverance – all just illusions. The only reality is the one that all are equal in; from kings to street sweepers, all must dance with the Stranger.
I threw myself before the statue before the stranger, my knees hitting the cold floor. "Save Aemon; give him the reprieve he needs. Don't take him now, please. I beg of you; all must come to you, but not all must come so soon. Let him grow, and he will send you thousands in his place, lord of the seventh circle. Take the whore and her father, but please leave my son." I begged and pleaded with death. I felt the warmth leave me slowly but surely; it all drained from me, and I felt my heart jump into my throat as my core felt empty, hollow and cold. Yet I knew he had heard me; whether he accepted it, though, was all up to him.
-The End-
see didn't take that long to update ill try to be consistent. though I am stuck for chapter 3 of this arc on whos pov to do so ill let you tell me whos you wish to see in the comments Rheanyes, Leanor or Leana who do you want to give a POV to?
Tell me in the comments also how did you like this let me know
Been a long time since I did an Alicent pov huh