Chapter Text
House Targaryen: The Merits of Regicide | A Study in Royal Ineptitude and Emotional Catharsis
The King was flushed with wine and feeling the warmth of the revelry, beamed across the table at his daughter, Rhaenyra, who had returned from the Stepstones with a hard-earned victory.
Viserys, wiping his brow with a cloth, raised his goblet in the air.
“Ah, but look at our Prince of Dragonstone!"
He said, slurring slightly.
"Our warrior, our conqueror! And yet, my dear daughter—”
He chuckled.
“I hear your victories weren't only the battlefield, eh?”
Queen Alicent stiffened.
Aegon perked up.
Rhaenyra, seated with casual poise, took a sip from her wine and smirked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The court erupted into laughter, a few goblets clinking in drunken merriment.
Viserys chuckled clearly pleased with himself
“Why, I hear you were welcomed most warmly in Dorne! Some might say... enthusiastically.”
"Some might say reverently."
Daemon added with a devilish grin.
The court roared with laughter.
Rhaenys Targaryen touched a finger to her temple, already feeling the oncoming headache.
Viserys slapped Rhaenyra on the back.
“Out spreading the royal seed?” He bellowed. “Hah! You rascal!”
Aegon laughed loudly, his fist pounding on the table.
“Ah, but that’s not all! I am told that had you stayed a month longer, the sands of Dorne would’ve turned black and red! Half the women in Dorne would be sending their children to court!”
Viserys, now thoroughly drunk, wiped tears from his eyes, not noticing his Queen's face reddening.
Tyland Lannister leaned forward, his face flushed with drink.
“Why, if they’d stayed a year, Dorne might’ve been conquered in a generation! By sheer numbers alone!”
Daemon threw his head back and laughed.
"Is that not how Nymeria did it?”
The laughter echoed through the hall.
Rhaenyra smirked over her goblet, her violet eyes sparkling.
“I do like to leave an impression.”
Aegon, doubled over with laughter, Helaena chuckled softly next to him, Aemond clenched his jaw.
Viserys raised his goblet high.
“A second Dornish conquest!”
One of the lords, now tipsy, shouted out,
“A pity His Grace wasn’t there! A Dragon with Three Heads, there's a conquest!”
Another voice rang out louder still:
“And if Prince Aegon had been there, they’d have won it in a moon's turn!”
"A moon's turn? Good Ser, you insult me, nay we'd have won the first day!"
Aegon bellowed.
Viserys reached out and took Aegon and Rhaenyra each by the shoulders and ruffled their heads.
“The Dragon must have three heads, my boys!”
He announced loudly. "A Dragon must have three heads!"
Rhaenys looked between the three Targaryens, her cousin the King, his Alpha daughter the heir, and Aegon the second in line, trying to find... something... some shred of her grandfather the Conciliator's likeness ... and finding that the only thing they shared in common with the Old King was their coloring, and the fact that each one had a cock between their legs.
The hall erupted in cheers and laughter.
“In many ways than one.”
Daemon added, unable to resist, ignoring his cousin Rhaenys' pinched expression of disapproval.
Aegon, now standing, raised his goblet, shouting.
“A toast! A toast To conquest!"
"To Conquest!"
A hundred voices replied.
Alicent's cup remained firmly on the table, the only one to notice was Rhaenys.
But then Viserys turned to Rhaenyra with a gleam in his eye.
“Tell me, my dear, this Dornish love your men keep speaking of...”
Alicent’s face went slack.
Whistles echoed across the hall, and bawdy shouts followed.
Viserys leaned forward.
“I hear she has a big belly!"
Rhaenyra smirked, but her mind was already elsewhere.
Viserys raised his goblet again, slurring.
“Let us toast to the unification of House Martell and House Targaryen!”
Tyland Lannister grinned widely. “A most fruitful alliance!”
Viserys’ smile broadened, and he raised his goblet high again.
“Why, perhaps I shall have a grandson on the Dornish Throne!"
Aegon, still laughing, leaned toward Aemond.
"Shall we send our dear nephew an egg?"
Aemond said nothing, a scowl on his face.
Viserys beamed at his own joke.
“To my grandson, the dragon on the Throne of Dorne!"
The hall roared in approval.
Lord Corlys smirked. And Laenor clutched his stomach while laughing.
Princess Rhaenys palmed her face in exasperation.
I am surrounded by fools.
She thought.
Alicent’s goblet shattered.
The sound echoed across the hall, slicing through the drunken revelry like a blade.
Wine and blood dripped onto the table, pooling beneath her trembling fingers.
The laughter staggered.
Viserys, still grinning turned toward her.
"Are you well, my Queen?"
He asked, still chuckling.
But Alicent did not hear him.
Her breath came too fast.
Her chest tightened, her hands shook, her vision blurred, but not from tears—from the sheer, overwhelming force of everything inside her breaking loose at once.
She was shaking.
Her bleeding hands trembled against the table.
Viserys' head tilts.
"Eh, Alicent, my dear—"
And Alicent screamed.
Not a word. Not a cry. Not a sob.
A feral, raw, agonized scream that tore from the deepest pit of her soul.
A sound that sent goblets toppling, conversations dying, laughter choking to silence.
She moved without thinking, without control.
In one breath, she lunged.
In the next Viserys’ dagger was in her hand.
She had snatched it from his belt as she passed, barely even registering it, barely even feeling the weight of it in her grip.
Gasps rippled through the hall.
Chairs scraped.
Someone shouted.
But nothing could stop her now.
Rhaenyra had only a moment to react before Alicent slammed into her, driving her against the stone wall.
The impact was hard, brutal, a clash of bodies that sent tapestries fluttering.
Rhaenyra’s hand shot up just in time, fingers locking around Alicent’s wrist, stopping the dagger just before it plunged toward her throat.
"Alicent!" Otto Hightower shouted. "Let her go!"
Alicent ignored him.
Their eyes locked.
Alicent’s breath was ragged, her face twisted with an agony so raw it hurt to look at.
Her eyes, Seven save her, her eyes.
Fury. Anguish. Betrayal.
Every ounce of love in Alicent’s heart churned so deep, it had curdled into the kind of pain that could only be answered with violence... apparently.
Princess Rhaenys looked to Viserys, his face was flushed with drink, and twisted in confusion, his mouth agape.
Never before had she wanted to strike the man more than she had now.
Rhaenys looked at the frozen cluster of stunned Kingsguard, a wine goblet still clutched in the hands of one of the Cargyll twins.
"Sieze her!"
The command made them jump.
"Idiots! Sieze the Queen!"
That snapped them out of their daze.
They moved toward the struggling pair.
"Don't."
Rhaenyra said as they approached.
"Your Grace?"
"Don't."
She said again, their footfalls stopped.
Alicent’s eyes never left her's.
The dagger trembled between them.
Rhaenyra’s grip was tight, her strength undeniable, but Alicent did not let go.
"Alicent."
Rhaenyra’s voice was low, careful.
"How dare you," Alicent hissed, her voice was shaking, cracking, splintering.
Rhaenyra sighed,
"Put it down."
The Queen let out a sharp, broken laugh that sent a shudder through the crowd.
"You—" Alicent’s voice wavered, her chest heaving, her grip tightening. "You swore to me."
Rhaenyra’s breath was unsteady, her hands steady.
"Alicent—"
"You swore to me!"
Alicent’s voice cracked.
Rhaenyra’s lips parted, but she said nothing.
Alicent’s teeth clenched.
"You said that I was the only one. That you were mine."
Rhaenyra’s jaw locked.
Tears blurred Alicent’s vision.
"You... you let them-" Her voice broke, "You let them touch you."
Rhaenyra’s grip on her wrist faltered just slightly.
But Alicent was still shaking.
"You—" Alicent’s throat tightened, the words spilling out in a broken, furious sob. "You made me love you."
Rhaenyra’s breath caught.
And then, Alicent said the one damning thing, the one thing that could not be taken back, that no one had dared to say aloud.
"I gave you three children."
The hall gasped.
Aegon staggered, Aemond froze, Helaena only looked on.
"Three perfect children." Alicent sobbed. "Two sons, two perfect sons, and a daughter, a sweet little daughter.
Rhaenyra stilled.
"Do it."
Rhaenyra’s voice was quiet.
She was still pinned against the wall, still holding Alicent’s wrist, still staring at her with a depth that sent shivers down Alicent’s spine.
"What?"
Alicent asked breathlessly.
"If you hate me that much, go on, then finish it. End it,"
Rhaenyra murmured.
"Gods' alone know I've prayed it."
Alicent’s hand trembled.
Rhaenyra's eyes flicker to the dagger.
"If you ever truly loved me, then do it."
Alicent's breath was ragged, gasping, her chest heaving.
"Do it."
Time froze.
And then—
The knife slipped.
Rhaenyra’s grip faltered just slightly.
And in that moment, the blade sliced across her palm.
The pain barely registered. Blood dripped.
Alicent let out a soft, shaking breath.
The dagger clattered to the floor.
Alicent’s legs buckled, before she could collapse entirely, Rhaenyra caught her.
Arms tight, firm, and unyielding.
Alicent let out a sob that rattled through her bones.
And Rhaenyra held her.
Viserys was still gaping stupidly at them.
Aegon swayed on his feet and was caught by Ser Rickard Thorne.
Daemon was grinning like a child at a sweets festival.
Otto Hightower quietly eyed the nearest exit, idly wondering how well an aging Westerosi Lord could blend into the Summer Isles.
And Rhaenys' let out a deep, exhausted sigh, wishing she had stayed on Driftmark.