Bonus - 150 stones
---------
The Godswood, Red Keep.
Summer in King's Landing always carried a hint of warmth.
In the wood of the Red Keep, the marigolds Queen Alicent had planted with her own hands filled the air with fragrance.
Queen Alicent Hightower reclined on a chaise padded with velvet, her green gown spilling around her like moss.
Her palm rested lightly on the swell of her belly, ripe with new life, heavier and fuller than when she had carried Aegon, Aemond, or Helaena.
Grand Maester Mellos had confirmed it last week, pronouncing his verdict to the Queen:
"A sign of twins, blessed by the Seven."
Twins.
The word had sent Viserys into raptures.
The King, past fifty and frail of frame, had dragged himself to her chambers and held her hand while he spoke a thousand tender things.
His words carried her, for a moment, back eighteen years to the days when she was first a bride.
Then, Viserys would still read her poems, walk with her hand in hand through the gardens at dusk, and tell her that her face was a rose unfurling in spring.
Three months ago, Viserys had lain beside her with a gentleness she had almost forgotten.
"Perhaps we should speak again of the succession," he had murmured.
Alicent had said nothing, only stroked the wasted back of his hand.
But her heart had thundered.
How many years?
Since the day she bore Aegon, her father Otto had repeated: Your son is the rightful heir; primogeniture is the bedrock of the Seven Kingdoms.
Yet Viserys saw only Rhaenyra, the daughter who bore the face of his first Queen, Aemma.
Now, was the wheel turning back to its proper course?
"Your Grace."
A soft voice broke her reverie.
Alicent looked up. Aelyn Rogar stood at the end of the garden path, her silver hair pouring like liquid mercury in the summer sun, her summer-blue eyes bright.
She wore a Lysene gown of pale gold, collar and cuffs stitched with tiny pearls.
"Aelyn," Alicent smiled, beckoning.
"Come sit; do not hover there."
Aelyn dipped in a graceful curtsey before settling on the chair a lady-in-waiting brought forward.
Her gaze fell to Alicent's belly, wonder shining in her eyes.
"Your Grace, your womb… forgive me, but it seems more than one child stirs within."
Alicent's smile widened.
"Grand Maester says twins."
"The Seven be praised!" Aelyn folded her hands, devout. Since coming to Westeros, she had converted to the Faith of the Seven.
"It must be an omen. The Targaryen family will welcome new blood."
The words rang sweet in Alicent's ears.
She studied the girl who would soon be her daughter-by-marriage, silver hair, violet-blue eyes, classic Valyrian features, every gesture polished, every word measured, flawlessly lovely.
Though House Rogar was not one of the forty old Valyrian dragonlord families, it had spent generations in Lys, owned banks, and commanded vast wealth.
Lysandro Rogar was a Magister of Lys and one of the three Triarchs of the Triarchy.
And Aelyn was his youngest sister.
A perfect marriage pact: coin for Aegon, ships and eastern swords for the Greens.
"Where is Aegon?" Alicent asked suddenly.
"Why did he not escort you?"
For an instant, Aelyn's smile faltered.
She recovered at once, murmuring, "The Prince said some matters of state required him; he will pay his respects later."
State matters?
Alicent knew her eldest too well. Aegon's patience ended where ledgers began.
Whatever "state matters" occupied him now was likely a serving girl in some tower room.
Irritation flared. The change of heir hung in the balance; Viserys had wavered before and might waver again. Any scandal could tip the King's fragile resolve.
"Your Grace?" Aelyn prompted gently.
Alicent returned, forcing a smile.
"It is nothing. I am… merely tired."
Aelyn rose at once. "Then I shall not weary you further. May the Seven keep you and the princes within you safe."
Alicent nodded, watching her go, back straight, step light. She saw herself at that age.
Too perfect… the girl was flawless to the point of falseness.
A quarter-hour later, Aegon arrived, tardy and tousled.
His silver curls were mussed, eyes sleep-puffed; the collar of his white doublet gaped, shirt beneath creased.
He offered a languid bow. "Mother. Aelyn said you wished for me?"
Alicent did not answer at once. She studied her heir, eighteen, an age for sharp steel, yet his eyes held only languor and indulgence.
He had the Targaryen comeliness, but dissipation dulled it.
"Aelyn just left," Alicent said evenly.
"Oh." Aegon dropped into the chair she had vacated, plucked grapes from the dish, and popped them into his mouth.
"What did she bring you? Lysene perfume? Myrish lace?"
Alicent fixed him with a stare.
"She asked after the babes and me I carry. And you, my son, what do you ask after?"
Aegon's chewing slowed; he met her gaze.
"I have worries enough, Mother." He shrugged.
"Father drags me to the council to hear dukes complain, the Small Council bicker. Harvests in the Reach, wildlings beyond the Wall, feuds between lords, reavers from the Iron Islands… tedious."
"So you drown tedium in women?" Alicent's voice chilled.
Aegon's face changed. He set the grapes aside and straightened.
"Who told you? The Hand? Ser Criston?"
"No one needed to." Alicent rose, belly heavy, yet every inch the Queen.
She walked up to Aegon and stared into his eyes.
"Aegon, look at me."
Aegon reluctantly lifted his gaze.
SLAP!
The crisp sound rang through the garden.
Aegon's head snapped sideways; he clutched his cheek, disbelief flooding his eyes.
"Mother?! You, "
"That slap was to wake you up." Alicent's voice trembled, not from weakness, but from fury.
"Do you know what time this is? Your father is thinking of naming a new Heir Apparent! How many years, Aegon? Years we've waited for this chance, and you? And you're still out there chasing every skirt, not caring in the least?"
Aegon's lips twitched, then curled into a cold laugh.
"So?"
"Just because Father might, might, change his mind and name me heir, I'm supposed to become someone else? Become the Prince you and Otto want?"
Alicent spoke softly, trying to reason.
"You could at least show respect to your betrothed! You shouldn't flaunt those women in front of her. Aelyn Rogar comes from a Great House; her dowry could fund an army! And she's beautiful. Where does she fall short? Compared with your serving girls? Are those women nobler than Aelyn?!"
Aegon went dead white. He shot to his feet.
"You know? You've always known?"
"Of course I know!" Alicent closed her eyes for a moment.
"Three bastards, two girls, and a boy, shipped off to distant cousins in the Reach. You thought you'd covered it so neatly?"
"If Otto hadn't hidden it for you, the scandal would've swept the Seven Kingdoms."
"At least Rhaenyra claims her children!" Aegon shouted.
"At least she dares to keep them by her side! And me? I'm not allowed even to look at mine!"
"I never wanted the crown, I only wanted to live my own life."
A deathly hush fell over the garden.
Alicent saw her son's red-rimmed eyes and realized: perhaps Aegon never cared for the Iron Throne at all.
The knowledge struck her with a strange panic.
At last, the Queen spoke, weariness in her voice.
"Aegon, listen. I never loved your father either."
Aegon stayed silent.
"I was fifteen when I wed Viserys; he was thirty-nine. He was the King, and I was a daughter of House Hightower. Our marriage was politics from the start, my father Otto's scheme to secure our House."
"Did I love him? Perhaps when I was very, very young. But that love was ground away by time, by Rhaenyra, by disappointment after disappointment."
She turned to her son.
"Still, I became his Queen, bore you four, soon six, children. I fulfilled the Queen's duties and upheld the Crown's dignity. However much I hurt, I smiled beside your father in public, kept vigil at his sickbed. Because that is my responsibility, my fate as a Hightower and a Targaryen Queen."
Aegon remained silent.
"Aelyn may not like you," Alicent admitted with a bitter smile.
"You're no fool, my son. Of course, she doesn't. This marriage is as much a political stake for her and House Rogar as for us."
"Yet she will play the Princess, guard your honor in public, give you lawful heirs. That is enough."
Aegon shook his head.
"Not enough. If I ever sit the Iron Throne, I want more than 'enough.'"
"Then what do you want?" Alicent stepped close and touched his face.
"Love? Sincerity?"
"Aegon, you were born a Prince; those have always been luxuries. Your father loved Rhaenyra so much that he flouted the law, tradition, and every Great Lord's counsel. And look where it has brought us. Now royal prestige rots, the family splits, and every lordling watches for Targaryen cracks."
Alicent cupped his cheeks and softened her voice.
"Listen. Right now, your father wavers. For the first time, he truly weighs naming you Heir Apparent. This is the chance we've waited years to seize."
"So I beg you. Even if it's only a pretense, pretend."
"Be kind to Aelyn, pay heed at Small Council Meetings, stop dallying and getting serving girls with child. Once the Iron Throne is truly yours, bed a hundred lovers for all I care, but not now."
Aegon lowered his head; silver hair hid his face.
Just as Alicent thought he had listened, he lifted an ironic smile.
"Mother, do you truly believe Father will change his mind?"
"He, "
"He won't," Aegon cut in.
"I'm the substitute he's forced to accept, Rhaenyra's fallback after she bungled everything. But if she repents, if she bows her head, Father will forgive her. He will. In his heart, she always comes first."
"He had eighteen years to name me Heir and never did... Why consider a change now? Think, Mother."
With that, he turned and walked away.
Alicent stood alone, hand pressed to her belly, feeling the life within.
The garden sank back into quiet. She remembered Viserys' words months ago, the rare doubt flickering in his eyes.
And she remembered every time the King had chosen Rhaenyra over her.
"Seven Gods," the Queen whispered, whether to them or to the child inside, she did not know.
"Let this time… be different."
-----
A/N:
If you are enjoying the start of the story.
Drop some stones to help this book reach higher.
You can read upto 20+ Chapters. + Images
You can also read "+2 Free Chapters".
www.patreon.com/
LastDreamer