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chipotle-aristotle-sonz · 5 months

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Duty and Sacrifice

“The end of love looks like the beginning of war” — Bangambiki Habyarimana

Or, in which Alicent Hightower loves, loathes, resents, and protects.

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“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?"

3k words.

@/joobobby on ao3!

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“In 120 AC, Alicent's second son became involved in an incident where Rhaenyra's son Lucerys took out Aemond's right eye. Alicent, angered, demanded that the same would be done to Lucerys.” (A Wiki of Ice and Fire)

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Alicent had always been a precocious, well-behaved, and proper child. She had always listened. Always obeyed.

She had listened when taught to always be polite, kind, and graceful. She had listened to her Septa when she had told a young Alicent that a woman must simultaneously be the perfect and spitting image of both The Mother and The Maiden. Always loving and protective, merciful, is the Mother. To be prayed to for the wondrous gift that is life. The Maiden is to remain beautiful and innocent; the very embodiment of chastity and purity.

She had obeyed when her father had insisted that she, a girl of four-and-ten, keep the King company after the passing of Queen Aemma. (“You might wear one of your mother’s dresses.”)

She had obeyed when she was to wed and bed the King. When she, the pious Hightower, was to lay there, rigid, and allow His Grace – sweaty, disgusting, brows scrunched in ecstasy – to impregnate her with four royal dragons. (The Maiden represents innocence and chastity. She is prayed to so as to protect a maiden's virtue. The Mother represents motherhood and nurturing. She is prayed to for fertility or compassion, and is depicted as smiling with love, embodying the concept of mercy.)

Meanwhile, as she was twisting and bending herself in all ways imaginable to present as the perfect mother, wife, daughter, and queen, the Lady Alicent had allowed the only good and pure thing in her life, the only thing she truly cherished, to wither away into nothing. (“I want to fly with you on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake,” she had said, gazing up at her, eyes as mischievous as ever.)

Alicent had always been a precocious, well-behaved, and proper child. She had always listened. Always obeyed. The perfect Lady.

“You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!”

Alicent was ripped from her rampaging thoughts plagued with worry and rage by the yelling King Viserys the Peaceful, nearing a dead man walking. The room packed with mourning Velaryons and Targaryens alike was deadly silent, the Lady Laena’s funeral practically forgotten in the face of this new incident. She had been holding Aemond’s hand in an attempt to soothe his wincing while he sat, enduring the poking and prodding of the Maester.

“I'm very sorry, Your Grace.”

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes, Your Grace.”

“That is no answer!”

“It will heal, will it not, maester?” Queen Alicent begged the Maester Kelvyn. ‘Please allow my boy this mercy. Allow me this, O Merciful Mother.’

“The flesh will heal… But the eye is lost, Your Grace.”

The Queen tore her sorrowful eyes away from her marred Aemond, and her newly rage-filled glare bore into her Aegon, hair dishevelled from being torn from his bed. ‘Passed out drunk again, no doubt.’

“Where were you?” She seethed, storming toward her biggest love and regret. ‘You are the eldest child! Why are you incapable of being more like your now-maimed brother, you horrible boy?’

“Me?” The unassuming and confused Aegon mumbled, still attempting to process the events of the evening, and Alicent – suffocating in her disappointment, rage, and fear – slapped the son she loved but could not, for the very life of her, bring herself to like.

“Ow! What was that for?” The part of Alicent that always felt the immense guilt and shame that came with her treatment of her eldest boy softened the Queen ever so slightly. ‘Forgive me, but you need to see. You need to learn. Your lives cannot and will not be forfeit. I won’t allow it. You are the challenge to her throne, my boy, simply by living and breathing.’

“That was nothing compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups, you fool.” ‘Why can’t you be more like him? Like me?'

A fleeting look of sadness and fear passed over Aegon’s face just before the doors swung open to reveal Lord Corlys and Lady Rhaenys, looking for their granddaughters.

As the worried grandparents fretted over Baela and Rhaena, Alicent took the time to truly look at her son. Destined to live his life crippled with sorrow. (Like mother, like son.)

‘I love the very bones of you.’

(The Mother represents motherhood and nurturing. She is depicted as smiling with love, embodying the concept of mercy.)

“Jace? Luke!” Came Rhaenyra’s worried voice all of a sudden. The only person able to tear Alicent’s gaze from Aegon, beautiful anxious eyes roaming the room to find her boys.

The effortlessly perfect mother. ‘It took you long enough. Finally able to pluck yourself from your chambers? Your son needed you while you were off doing Gods know what.’ A bitter and ugly glee frequently wove its way into Alicent’s being any chance she got to best her old friend in anything.

“Show me. Show me. Who did this?” She fretted, cradling the little Luke’s blood-smeared face. ‘Even her worry is better displayed.’

“They attacked me!” Came Aemond’s infuriated voice, the sewn skin around his eye an angry red colour and his face painted with drying blood.

“He attacked Baela!”

“He broke Luke's nose!”

As the children continued to yell at each other from their opposing sides, Alicent’s rage built, just as Viserys’ exasperation did; Aemond’s claim that the children attacked him was the only nudge the Queen needed. ‘Of course her greedy bastards would attempt to take my son's dream of a dragon away from him as soon as it was fulfilled.’

“It should be my son telling the tale!” Alicent chimed in angrily.

“He called us–”

“Silence!” For a rotting man, his voice still cut through the air just as a King’s should, demanding to be heard.

“Aemond… I will have the truth of what happened. Now,” said an exhausted Viserys, looking upon the son he barely knew. As if this whole ordeal was just far too much for him to handle.

“What else is there to hear? Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible,” Alicent voiced, a familiar sense of disbelief beginning to build in her. ‘... She’s going to win. Again. Isn’t she.’

“It was a regrettable accident,” came Rhaenyra’s voice next. A voice Alicent found herself beginning to loathe.

(“I never jest about cake.”

A weirwood tree. A history book. Eyes twinkling with mirth. A promise of adventure and cake hanging in the air.)

“Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son.” Alicent could feel frustrated tears begin to well in her eyes.

“It was my sons who were attacked and forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them.”

“What insults?”

And there it was. All too suddenly, the once exasperated King perked up instantly at the mention of his grandchildren, completely alert at the prospect of them in the face of potential danger. The all-too familiar feeling of sinking realisation and disappointment began to swallow the Lady Alicent. Again. ‘No… Please, no, not this. Your son has lost an eye, husband. Please. I know I am no Aemma and they are no Rhaenyra. But I implore you to take my side at least once.

Please. Please. Please. Please—’

“The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.” ‘The sons who share an uncanny resemblance to Ser Strong and not your husband?’

“What?” Viserys looked and sounded to be positively scandalised. If she weren’t so angry and utterly exhausted, the Queen would’ve perhaps started laughing out of complete disbelief.

“He called us bastards,” spoke Jacaerys indignantly, and Alicent had never before been angrier at Rhaenyra’s offspring. ‘You find that to be unfair, boy?’

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders,” Rhaenyra spoke with her head held high, confident in the fact that her father would always save her and always excuse her every misstep. Alicent wasn’t sure if the King even saw them as missteps. ‘She’s too perfect for that.’

“Over an insult? My son has lost an eye,” Alicent says incredulously, already knowing that the matter of Aemond’s eye was completely forgotten by her husband.

(The Father represents judgement and is prayed to for justice. He protects his children.)

“You tell me, boy. Where did you hear this lie?”

“The insult was a training yard bluster. The lot of boys. It was nothing.” Alicent was desperate to return to the more important matter at hand: the loss of her son’s eye… And to deflect from the fact that it was she who spoke of the legitimacy of their births to her children. ‘My husband makes me out to be a crazed fool… Who else do I have to speak with? I will not be made to look mad.’

“Aemond… I asked you a question,” spoke Viserys in a careful manner, with all the seriousness of someone investigating the most heinous of crimes.

“Where is Ser Laenor, I wonder? The boys’ father? Perhaps he might have something to say on the matter,” Ser Criston interjected, sensing the Queen’s distress.

“Yes. Where is Ser Laenor?”

“I do not know, Your Grace. I... could not find sleep. I had gone out to walk,” Rhaenyra spoke, caught off guard and with a note of uncertainty in her voice. ‘A chink in the armour.’

(“I'm no longer a child. I want you,” she said with all the desperation and certainty in the world.

Rhaenyra had always known that her and Daemon were meant to burn together… And burn together they shall. They were of the blood of the dragon.)

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture,” Alicent spoke, too angry to keep any snide comments in check.

But Viserys was not easily deterred: “Aemond… look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?”

(Aemond knew very well who spoke this ‘lie’ to him. But his mother was the only one to have ever truly been there for him. And he was always there for her… He would not betray her. She never understood dragons or their appeal… She was a Hightower.

A dragon is more than a symbol. Without them, the Targaryens are just like everyone else.

A Targaryen with no dragon is no Targaryen. A Targaryen with no dragon does not belong.

But his Hightower mother had held him anyway, and reassured him that he would have a dragon one day.

It has always been them. And Aemond will always remain loyal to his mother; his family.)

“It was Aegon.”

“Me?” The night was indeed proving to be a confusing one for the sluggish Aegon, who watched as his father descended upon him with a fury in his eyes.

“And you, boy? Where did you hear such calumnies? Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!” Yelled Viserys, in turn making Aegon flinch.

“We know, Father. Everyone knows. Just look at them,” said the boy, a hint of sadness in his voice.

Destined to live his life crippled with sorrow.

‘I love the very bones of you.’

This answer proved to be an unsatisfactory one for the King, and he whirled around to face the entire room, preferring to remain in denial. ‘They’re too perfect for any missteps.’

“This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” Viserys the Peaceful bellowed, his cane banging on the floor to punctuate his royal decree.

“That is insufficient. Aemond has been damaged, permanently, My King. “Good will” cannot make him whole,” voiced Alicent in exhaustion, watching as her husband made to leave the room.

“I know Alicent, but I cannot restore his eye.”

“No, because it's been taken.”

“What would you have me do?” He spoke with a tone of voice akin to conversing with a silly little child.

‘Something! Anything!’

And with finality, she spoke: “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her son’s eyes in return.”

Alicent knew it may have been extreme, and that she would later come to regret her actions. It was an ugly thing. But this was her boy. He would not be brushed aside by his own father. And the more the murmurs started sweeping the room, the more desperate the Queen grew.

“My dear wife–”

“He is your son, Viserys. Your blood,” she cried, grasping his hand in distress, pleading with her husband.

“Do not… allow your temper to guide your judgement.” Finally. The king started to sound nervous. ‘You are finally taking me seriously.’

All of a sudden, the Queen hardened. “If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston… bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

“Mother!” Screeched Lucerys, hiding behind his mother’s skirts.

‘Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect–’

“Alicent–”

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son,” she spat, expression stormy and eyes sad.

“You will do no such thing. Stay your hand,” said a panicked Rhaenyra, stroking her boy’s hair. ‘Curly, brown hair.’

“No, you are sworn to me!”

“As your protector, my Queen,” Ser Criston spoke with uncertainty lacing his tone.

‘Alone.’

“Alicent, this matter... is finished. Do you understand?” Viserys spoke slowly, as if trying to placate a misbehaving child… or perhaps calm a wild beast.

The King turned to face the room, and said, “And let it be known: anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.”

“Thank you, Father,” said Rhaenyra, smiling.

‘You disgusting, entitled, and insatiable whore … Nothing has ever been enough for you. Spoilt, greedy Rhaenyra always wants more, more, more. Fuck Daemon in a pleasure house; tempt Ser Criston into warming your bed, and in turn endanger his very being. Lie to me. Swear upon the memory of your mother to convince me of your innocence. Get married to a suitable man only to throw it all away to birth bastard children. And lie. Again and again and again. My son lost his eye to your little monster. And still, you lie… And you’re winning! Just plead the victim and Viserys comes running.’

No longer.

(May the Father judge you justly and protect you: his children. May the Mother guide you, shield you, and love you.)

In a flash, Alicent Hightower grasped her husband’s Valerian steel dagger – passed down through generations of Targaryen royalty – and charged.

She couldn’t see the chaos around her.

She couldn’t hear the yells of her name.

She couldn’t hear the Kingsguard barking orders.

She couldn’t hear her husband, or father.

She couldn’t even see Luke.

She could only see her.

Rhaenyra whirled around just in time to grab Alicent’s arms, pushing her towards the centre of the room as the two old friends warred, anger and unshed tears in their eyes.

“You've gone too far,” spoke Rhaenyra as she struggled to keep her from getting to her boy.

“I? What have I done but what was expected of me? Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law. While you flout all to do as you please.” Alicent’s voice was getting louder by the second.

“Alicent, let her go!” Bellowed Viserys, ever the panicked father. ‘But not for my children… Never for them.’

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It's trampled under your pretty foot again! And now you take my son's eye, and to even that you feel entitled!” She cried, certain she resembled a crazed woman.

“Exhausting, wasn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are,” Rhaenyra seethed, a face full of scorn.

And just as she couldn’t handle it any further, Alicent tore her arms away with a loud cry full of fury and anguish, slicing through the skin of Rhaenyra’s forearm.

A wound so deep it was certain to leave a scar.

‘I love the very bones of you.

I love the very bones of you.’

(“Syrax is growing quickly. She’ll soon be as large as Caraxes.”

“That’s almost large enough to saddle two…”

“I believe I’m quite content as a spectator, thank you.”

“Kneel with me… I find this is a way to be with my mother. Here in the quiet of the Sept, I feel close to her… I know it sounds foolish.”

“I don't think it's foolish. I don't.”

“Good.”

“I am glad you are home. I find I have… few friends lately. I like to believe I'm still the Lady Alicent, but… all anyone sees when they look at me now is “The Queen.””

“I've missed you, too.”

“I want to fly with you on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea, and eat only cake.”

“I’m being serious–”

“I never jest about cake.”)

The divided room gaped in shock as royal blood dripped onto the stone floor, pooling around Rhaenyra’s feet and staining her dress. (The Greens and The Blacks. The Dance of Dragons.)

Aemond walked up to the frozen Alicent, and took her hand in his.

“Do not mourn me, Mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon,” he said softly, resting his head on his mother’s shoulder.

“This proceeding is at an end.” The royal decree.

(May the Father judge you justly and protect you: his children. May the Mother guide you, shield you, and love you.)

The memories of the sweet girl she once knew planted in the garden of Alicent’s mind started to wilt. After all, the end of a love so deep often looks to be the beginning of a terrible bloody war.

Alicent had always been a precocious and well-behaved proper child and Lady. She had always listened, always obeyed. The perfect Lady. But sometimes, even the Gods’ strongest fighters and most devout servants must snap.

#house of the dragon #hotd #alicent hightower #alicent hotd #hotd fanfic #alicent fanfic #alicent hightower fanfic

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