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ONE, Sweet, mourning lamb
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Year 121
The room was tense and suffocating all at once and it became hard to breathe, the weight of grief was too much to bear. The pungent smell of death lingered in the castle as dawn approached slowly, almost at a torturing pace. Alicent sat quietly in her chair despite being addled. She could not rid her mind of the bloody scene she witnessed just hours ago. The sheets, the floor, and even poor, sweet Daena had all been covered in blood. Her own mother's blood to make things worse. It stuck to the young girl, staining her innocence and scarring her mind for years to come. Evalyn was dead and Daena might as well have been too. Alicent wanted to believe if she had recognized the signs earlier, perhaps she could have intervened and spared Daena from such anguish.
But Alicent never thought to start a conversation, or even try to get to know Evalyn, as she was too busy with her own troubles and duties. Or maybe she just never cared to, much preferring to keep her distance from Evalyn and her daughter, who looked too much like Daemon for her liking.
And well, Evalyn had always kept to herself before and after Daemon's departure from King's Landing. She grew isolated more and more as the years went by, sadder by the day, and colder, especially toward Daena.
Sadness consumed both women for different reasons, something they had in common. It's the reason why Alicent believed she could've seen Evalyn suffering in silence because she was too.
The loud sound of the doors shutting brought the Queen out of her reverie, her eyes glancing up from her fidgeting fingers that were damaging the skin around her nails which had barely healed since her childhood.
No one said anything at first.
No one knew what to say.
Alicent caught Viserys' gaze for a slight moment. He looked just as, if not, more disturbed by the situation as she had been. They hadn't spoken since their last conversation after the incident occurred. It was then that Viserys proposed the idea of taking Daena in as their ward, but she knew all responsibility would fall onto her just like their children. She loathed the possibility of having to look after another child, especially one not of her own blood to begin with. You see, the maternal instinct was foreign to her, it had always eluded her grasp. Perhaps, snatched away by the premature onset of motherhood.
