It was, she knew, a conundrum as to why she, her children and her
father were still alive, imprisoned as they were, and not unduly
mistreated.
Rhaenyra was dead, and good riddance to that grasping, usurping
cunt, but Daemon sat atop the Iron Throne as Regent for his son
Aegon. And the very fact that Daemon had not had them put to death
the very moment Rhaenyra breathed her last was something which
Alicent found, confusing, to say the least.
She would have expected the Rogue Prince to act as his heart
desired the moment he had full and unrestricted access to the levers
of power, the moment he sat upon the Iron Throne with none to
gainsay his every whim and desire.
The only reason that really made sense to her was that she and hers
were being kept alive for some grand gesture on Daemon's part. Oh,
not for them to be pardoned, not for them to be allowed to join the
Silent Sisters or to take the Black, no, she feared Daemon had some
sort of elaborately staged event planned that would culminate in their
deaths, and probably by the most gruesome of means.
And if she knew Daemon, this event would only come once the war
was over, he would use this to rub everyone's faces in his victory, his
success. And so, with the war still rumbling on, she, her children and
her father were safe for now, or at least safe enough, because with
Daemon, you could never be truly sure. He could appear in the next
minute at the head of a coterie of guards and drag them all out to be
beheaded or eaten by his dragon.
The news of Daeron's death had hit her hard, harder than she had
expected it would, he had always been the brightest and kindest of
her sons and would have grown to be a fine knight and lord. But that
cunt's greed had robbed her of him, just as it had robbed Aegon of
his crown, and of most of his life if she was honest, her firstborn's
condition was not improving, and in truth it was deteriorating. Aegon
would, it saddened her to know, never be a proper king after his
wounding. And that struck a fear in her heart, for she knew that her
son's condition, would be a major issue. And she would not put it
past ambitious lords to decide that Aegon was unworthy of the crown
and have him removed, passing the crown to Aemond.
Of course all of this was dependent on the Greens actually winning
the war, and though this did look unlikely, it was not impossible. As
her Septon had said 'where there is life, there is hope', and her good
Septon had said much more than that, in private anyways.
She, and the Septon, had successfully petitioned for her to be
allowed out once a day to pray in the Sept of the Red Keep, with the
Septon of course to guide her prayers to the Seven who are one.
And Alicent dutifully kneeled and lit candles before all seven of the
Gods, even the Stranger, while during their whispered prayers the
Septon gave her news of the war and its progress.
And more that than in reality, the Septon was a conduit for
communication to Lord Strong, the Master of Whispers and through
him to Lord Ormund Hightower and Ser Criston Cole. And though the
Septon told her little of actual detail in relation to their plans and
future moves, the fact that they were bothering to communicate with
her at all gave her at least some hope that all was not lost, in spite of
everything
The Septon did provide some details to her, facts that were not
immediately pertinent to the war, and which if betrayed would not
harm their cause. For example, Lord Borros Baratheon was refusing
to wed any of his daughters to Aemond until all this was over and the
Blacks were defeated, for an idiot he was being remarkably shrewd,
if frustrating. Getting Ameond married would strengthen the alliance
with the Stromlands and might even curb the boys' numerous
excesses.
Alicent knew that her middle son would have no doubt fathered a
slew of bastards by now, and he would give this fact no more thought
than the contents of his chamber pot of a morning. He would never
understand much beyond his immediate needs or pleasure, of that
Alicent knew.
And these thoughts brought he back to her fears for Aegon, and by
extension Aemond… neither of her eldest sons were…..suitable as
Kings, for different reasons. Oh, she loved them as only a mother
could but years of courtly life and lessons from her father had long
ago removed the blinkers from her eyes and mind. Power was a
game exercised by the spending of lives, the lives of those in one's
way, or those no longer of advantage to the players.
Aegon's inability to produce any more sons and his de facto crippling
would make him to many eyes a King not worthy of the Iron Throne.
And what of his ability to actually sit upon that huge pile of melted,
twisted, sharp swords? With his wounds Aegon could barely stand
up un-aided, let alone assume his proper place upon the throne. And
how would that look to the Lords and the smallfolk alike? A King who
could not sit atop his throne? Her Aegon was, as her heart lurched
as she admitted it, a dead man walking, should they overcome the
Blacks he would in all likelihood never assume his rightful place
again. And Aemond? That foolish, arrogant and stupid second son of
hers, whose actions at the prompting of the plainest of Lord
Baratheon's daughters had trigged this war into full scale
bloodshed?
He might have a better chance, but he would sooner or later anger
enough powerful Lords that they would conspire to do away with
him. And maybe even before he assumed the mantle of King of the
Seven Kingdoms, for was he not with Ser Criston Cole and Lord
Ormund Hightower? Both of those men would have little time for
Aemond's….behavior and neither would like to see someone of
Aemond's demeanor atop the Iron Throne.
And she knew both of them, Cole well, Ormund less so, but both
men were ambitious and likely to not let anything like Kingslaying
stay their hands, though they would ensure that its stain would never
taint them. Ser Cole had already been one of the driving forces in
placing the crown on Aegon's head, and for all his supposed loyalty
to her cause, he had once espoused the cause of that usurping cunt
Rhaenyra with equal, or mayhaps ever greater fervor.
She, she did not trust either of them, despite these men being the
greatest leaders of her Son's cause in this war, and that was the sad
reality of it all. If that bitch Rhaenyra had just accepted her place
none of this would have happened, and both of them would have
gone with their lives unmolested.
She laughed a bitter laugh in her head at comparing her and
Rhaenyra's situations, but with a sour twist of though she realized
they had more in common than either of them would ever admit to.
Rhaenyra had been disposed of by Daemon the moment she had
ceased to be of use to him, or as the Septon had whispered one
morn before the statue of the Smith, the moment she had decided to
dispense with Daemon's services and shorten him by a head.
Her two eldest sons would be disposed of by her supposed
supporters as neither of them were likely to meet these 'supporters'
criteria for being King. They would give her son's cause their fullest
support up until either they had a potential peace that allowed them
to keep their heads, positions and power, an unlikely event she
knew. Or, until they had secured victory over Daemon and felt secure
in their power and prestige.
Then Aegon and Aemond would find their days numbered, and there
was little she could do about it, her father, for all his loyalty to their
family was a broken man, unlikely to ever be able to command the
forces or loyalty of House Hightower, its vassals and allies. And he
was above all a player of the Game, he would know its realities and
act accordingly, family and blood ties be dammed. Oh, he was
unlikely to take an active part, but by his likely inaction he would be
to her mind as guilty as the knives in the dark who would carry out
the killings.
Not that they would likely use knives, poison was the most likely
murder weapon here, especially for Aegon, who required medication
and Milk of the poppy every day to just survive. For Aemond, she
would not put it past an enraged father or husband being 'allowed' to
fatally assault her son.
So while she yet hoped that Daemon would be defeated and thrown
down from where he had presumed to elevate himself, and her line
restored to the Iron Throne, this joyous outcome was unlikely to be
that joyous in truth.
And for what seemed like the thousandth time Alicent cursed
Rhaenyra with all of her breath for starting this dammed war.