Chapter Text
The year of the Lord, 1882
April
Otto Hightower has always been an ambitious man, even in his youth it was clear that he was a climber. The third son of a merchant, it was made evident to him as a young man that he would have to make his own way in life. Now, a well educated and cunning man, there was not much Otto would not do to improve his station. To Otto, anything could be made into a sacrifice.
When he goes to his daughter one late evening, she is kneeling at the edge of her bed and her hands are clasped together. She turns away from her prayers as she hears him open her door. He does not move closer, and lingers away from her.
“Father?” Alicent says.
“Daughter, come to my office tomorrow morning. I would like to talk with you.” Otto says plainly.
“Of course.” she nods.
“Good.”
Otto says nothing else, and slips from the room, leaving Alicent alone to talk to her God. Alicent sits to herself and stands up from her knees. They ache from being pressed against the floor for so long. Alicent turns, and sits on the bed, she places her hands in her lap. She wonders to herself, What does he mean to talk about? Without realising it, she has already begun to dig her fingernails into the cuticles. The pain comes and she releases a sharp hiss, and brings the bloodied finger up to inspect it. Blood leaks slowly out from the tear by the nail, and she frowns, knowing her father will be displeased if he sees it.
She releases a shaky breath, and closes her eyes. In moments like this Alicent likes to picture her mother. Alicent can still imagine her hair, red like her own, but as the years have passed it seems harder and harder to see her face. Her mother’s visage becomes blurred in her mind, she cannot make out the details now. There is still comfort in it, in the effort to keep her mother in her heart.
It is late, and with the night the room grows colder and colder, making her shiver. Alicent knows she should go to bed, but she doesn’t know if she can just yet. So, she moves back, and kneels down beside her bed again, ignoring the dull ache in her legs. Clasping her hands together again, she begins to pray.
“Lord, what can I do?” she whispers, eyes screwed, “What must I do?”
-
Alicent feels numb when she steps out of her fathers office the next day. She walks straight up the stairs and back into her room, and kneels beside her bed. Slumping forward, she presses her face into the sheets and tries to feel anything, but she can’t. She is to marry a man she doesn’t know, a friend of her father’s. All she knows of Viserys Targaryen is from what Otto has told her, that he is wealthy, a landowner, and that he has a daughter. Alicent sighs into the bed, and in her head she asks, is this what I must do?
She stays there for a long while, not moving, but actively thinking. Alicent thinks of this man, Viserys and his daughter. The girl is like her, she thinks, without a mother. Perhaps he is kind, perhaps she can find purpose there, she could be a mother to his daughter. No matter all the ways she tries to make herself comfortable with it, she cannot. She does not want it, does not want to be married to a man she does not know. Alicent, though, does not know how to say no to her father. It is an uncomfortable capitulation that she must force herself through.
At supper that evening, Alicent is sitting with her father around the dining table. Gwayne is there too, having come home from his studies at University for the weekend. They eat largely in silence, the sound of cutlery on porcelain is almost deafening to her. What is served is steamed turbot with sauce made with capers, but Alicent cannot taste it. She eats mechanically, because she has no appetite at all. This is just another ordeal she must cope with. Cutting the fish gently with the knife, she pushes some of the white meat of the fish onto the back of her fork, and raises it to her mouth. Otto glances over to her. She freezes as sees a scowl form on his face, fork suspended inches from her mouth.
“Must you do that?” he sneers.
Alicent blinks at him, unsure.
“Your fingers girl, your fingers!”
Her stomach drops, and her eyes fall shamefully down. She places the fork down on the plate and tries to hide her hands by moving them to her lap.
“Why do you destroy yourself? Foolish girl.” Otto says, lips curled down into a sneer.
“Father— “ Gwayne tries, but is shut down with a glare.
“Why do you defend her?” Otto says to his son, “If she tears at her fingers like that no man will want her.”
Gwayne’s eyes meet hers, she can feel the apology in them. Alicent looks away from him, and holds in her tears.
“You are more than old enough to be married— perhaps I should have focused on that sooner.” Otto grumbles.
The fingers on her lap twitch with the urge to tear into her flesh again, but she tries so hard to hold still. I mustn’t , she thinks, I mustn’t, I mustn’t, I mustn’t.
-
May
Her father makes sure that Alicent wears a fine gown of light pink satin the first time she meets Viserys. Her hair is done up and there are flowers on her bonnet. He has given her calfskin gloves to wear on her hands, to cover her damaged fingers.
They travel to the Dragonstone estate by carriage. She tries to stay positive, but the rumbling of the carriage makes her stomach lurch. Otto sits across from her and does not pay her mind, he is busy reading the newspaper printed that morning. She stares out into the unfamiliar countryside, fields and fields that seem to never end.
The size of the house had astounded her when they had stepped out. It was large and imposing, and surrounded by wide swathes of land all around. To her, it seemed like an island in the middle of the endless stretch of the sea. Alicent cannot help but think, this is to be my prison, then.
In her opinion, Viserys is a plain looking man. He is not ugly, though quite plump, and she does not favour the fat moustache that sits atop his upper lip. He smiles widely when he sees her, and it reaches his eyes in a way that seems sincere. You do not know me , is what she thinks. Instead, she smiles politely at him and ducks her eyes down.
She watches as Otto and Viserys pull each other in for an embrace, and Viserys leads them into the house, and into the parlour connected to his office.
“How glad I am that you both have come.” Viserys grins as he ushers them through the door.
“Of course.” Otto smiles at him, and looks to Alicent who smiles gently and nods.
“How are you, my friend?” Viserys says, signalling with a hand for them to sit.
Alicent sits next to her father on one of the settees, and Viserys sits across from them.
“Quite well, thank you.” Otto replies.
“Good,” Viserys says, then turns to her “You must be Alicent?”
“Indeed. It is nice to meet you.” she says, nodding politely.
“Likewise.” he grins, “Though we have met before, but you won’t remember, you were just an infant then.”
Alicent forces herself to smile back at him, then her eyes drop down to her hands. She realises that she has begun to anxiously rub the calfskin gloves together, and makes herself stop.
“Do you know how me and your father met?” Viserys asks her.
She shakes her head.
“We were sent to the same boarding school. Otto helped me get out of getting lashed many times.” he chuckles to himself.
“You are my friend, helping was a duty.” Otto says.
“And you are a good friend.” Viserys replies, eyes fond.
“My thanks.”
Viserys looks over to Alicent then, he seems to be considering something. She does not like it, the feeling of being watched.
“And how are you?” he asks.
“I am well, thank you, Mr Targaryen.” she responds demurely.
“Please, you can call me Viserys.”
“Very kind.” Otto says before Alicent can reply.
“How are you, Viserys?” she makes herself ask.
“I am well myself, though my daughter has been giving me trouble.”
“How so?”
“Every time I try to speak to her, she is out on the estate on my horse!” Viserys puts a hand to his belly as he laughs.
Alicent furrows her brow slightly. She had pictured his daughter as a young girl, and is struggling to compute that with the idea of her on horseback.
“How old is she?” she blurts out. Otto’s leg bounces up and down next to her.
“Twenty,” Viserys says, smiling, then sighs “Though it feels like just yesterday she was the little girl, no taller than my waist.”
She does not know what to think about this new information. Viserys pulls a little silver case from his inside pocket and opens it. He opens the case and pulls something out of it. Turning to show Alicent, she sees that it is a small photograph in black and white. She looks youthful, pensive eyes with long pale eyelashes, and a pretty mouth curved into a faint smile.
“My daughter, Rhaenyra.” he says, with a proud smile on his face. The pride she sees in him makes her envious.
“How nice.” she says.
September
Viserys is a kind enough husband, though if anything he is somewhat dull. It is strange for her to be living there with him, with the portraits of her predecessor haunting the hallways she must cross. She often wonders what the rest of her life will look like, when she feels his moustache brush roughly against her neck as he thrusts into her.
It is one of the days Viserys is gone from the house, driven away on his fastest gig to some town for business she doesn’t care to know about. The house is still and quiet and the silence feels maddening. She still feels like an intruder there, unwelcome, and often craves to be at home again.
The daughter does not speak to her often, and she cannot blame her. Alicent resents her freedom, resents the easy way Rhaenyra seems to pass through life. She resents how easy a smile seems to curl on Rhaenyra’s pretty mouth. Alicent most of all resents how much she finds herself looking at it.
She is in her room that she shares with Viserys, sitting on the bed fully dressed in a gown. The curtains are open, and through them she can see the rich grey sky. It is raining, and there are droplets of water on the glass. The sound of it is soothing, she has always liked the rain. Then, she hears something from outside and rises from the bed, it sounded like a laugh. She steps to the window and looks outside. Her breath catches at what she sees.
Rhaenyra is on the back of her father’s horse Balerion. She is laughing wildly as Balerion canters across the grass as the rain beats down on them. Even at a distance, Alicent can see that her gown is soaked through, and how her hair is wet and clings to her face. Balerion slows, and Rhaenyra leans forward to pat him on the neck. Alicent watches as Rhaenyra begins to guide Balerion toward the stables. Alicent’s heart is thudding in her chest as she watches. Rhaenyra’s chest rises and falls from the exertion of riding. The rain rolls down her face, and off the end of her nose.
Rhaenyra turns her head toward the house. Alicent’s breath catches as Rhaenyra’s eyes lock onto her own. She has been caught watching through the window. A strange look flashes across Rhaenyra’s face, but she does not look away quickly. Her eyes linger on Alicent’s as Balerion slowly trots away.
Alicent shudders, and turns away from the window. She goes back to the bed but does not lie down, instead lowering herself to her knees and holding her hands together.
“Lord, why?” she whispers into her gloved hands.