𝕷𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖎𝖗𝖊 ( house of the dragon )

aemon iv

Aemon swiftly exited his seat and began to make his way out of the royal box. Alicent knew where he was going. It wasn't a short walk to the Queen's chambers in the Red Keep. He practically ran, and Alicent, having practically abandoned Rhaenyra, ran after him. Her thick skirts hindered her, and he neglected to slow down even as she called his name behind him.

Aemon seemed too swift for her, but she at least knew where he was headed. She glanced behind and saw Rhaenyra also sprinting after them. Both girls held their skirts as high as possible, running their fastest. Alicent had hoped that the bad news was only that the Queen had another girl, but her hopes were dashed when she arrived at the Queen's doors with Rhaenyra not far behind. Aemon was being held back as he attempted to enter the room. Ser Harrold arrived shortly after, having followed the Princess. Rhaenyra tried to enter the room but was also refused entry.

She demanded, "I am the Princess; you can't refuse me entry to my own mother's rooms."

The Kingsguard knight before her spoke plainly, "The King has commanded that no one enter, not even you, Princess."

Rhaenyra stood in disbelief, looked at Alicent, then at Aemon before sitting herself on the floor directly in front of the doors. "If I am not allowed to enter, then I will be the first to see her when she exits."

Alicent looked at Aemon, who appeared as if he might be sick. The Kingsguard who had held him back let him go as he no longer struggled. "Aemon..." Alicent whispered, her voice barely audible. He stared blankly ahead, then suddenly ran again, down the hallway. Alicent readied herself to follow him.

As Alicent passed the Princess, Rhaenyra grabbed her hand. "Will you not stay?" she asked, almost disappointed.

"I fear Ser Aemon needs some comfort, My Lady," Alicent replied, not waiting for a response. She heard Rhaenyra mumble something as she walked away.

Alicent searched for Aemon through the halls. She had no luck, having lost him, until she heard something break—multiple things breaking. She traced the noise to a room and, as she entered, saw Aemon throwing a vase at the wall.

He was crying, screaming, yelling—everything that expressed his inner turmoil. Alicent stood there, closing the door behind her. She watched him break down, unsure if he even knew she was there. Her suspicions were confirmed when Aemon, preparing to throw another ornate decoration, paused as his eyes landed on her.

"Aemon..." She whispered again, her breath making most of the sound. He looked broken. He dropped the object to the floor and collapsed. His tears overtook him as he fell to the floor. Alicent rushed to him, barely catching him in her arms. He clung to her as if his life depended on it.

Alicent's own tears began to fall as she held the young knight. She felt his pain, though she didn't know exactly what had transpired. It was clear he had learned something she hadn't. "What did you see?" she asked, her voice trembling. She was unable to use her voice fully for fear it would make everything feel too real.

"She..." he began, taking a shallow breath. A sob escaped his mouth. "She's dead." He sobbed again, his composure shattered.

"You don't know that," Alicent tried to sound hopeful through her own sobs.

"I saw the maester leave, Alicent. He was covered in b—" He struggled with the word. "The look he gave me was pity." Alicent had no words. Someone covered in blood never meant anything good.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed too, her tears mingling with his. Her hands held his head to her chest as his arms wrapped around her midsection. She threaded her fingers into his silver hair, holding him close. His arms around her tightened with each sob. She feared he might slip away, but she also feared she might lose him.

They were each afraid the other would slip from their grasp. The only comfort they found was in each other. Their ability to understand one another despite their differences was profound.

Eventually, they ran out of tears and simply sat in silence, still holding on to each other. Aemon's breaths were short and shallow as he tried to regain some composure. He must have suddenly realized where he was and who he was with. He raised his head and removed his arms from around her. Alicent's face showed confusion as he gazed at her. She didn't remove her hands from his head, moving them from the back of his hair to the sides, resting them on his cheeks as she had earlier that day. She couldn't read him as he stared into her eyes.

"I'm sorry..." he muttered, looking at the floor. "My problems are my own, not yours, My Lady. I—"

"Nonsense," Alicent interjected quickly. "I would hate for you to go through this alone." She angled his head back up to look at her. "Please don't think I would ever treat you differently for the emotions you bear."

Aemon looked at her long and hard, and Alicent hoped he could see the genuine feeling behind her eyes. She truly cared for his well-being. She would cry with him forever if it meant he stayed in her arms.

The two eventually regained enough composure to exit the abandoned room they had hidden in. They walked into the hallway of the Queen's chamber door to find Rhaenyra crying into her uncle's shoulder. Her sobs made it clear what she had been informed of.

Aemon confided in Alicent much more frequently in the days following the Queen's death. The following day, the newborn princeling also passed, causing further anguish for everyone. The funeral was no easier for any of them. Aemon had expressed to Alicent his pain at being told he would not stand front and center at the funeral with the rest of the family. He was not her son, after all. Tradition cared only for image, not feelings or emotions. He stood slightly behind Prince Daemon, as befitted his station. This angered Alicent, but nothing could be done. Thankfully, she stood next to him as Rhaenyra commanded her dragon to light the pyre for her mother and brother. She held his hand as he clutched it tightly, and she saw the tears leave his eyes as the dragon fire grew higher and higher.

Following the funeral, Aemon kept to himself again, and Alicent intended to check on him but was unable to, as her father had summoned her.

Alicent entered her father's chambers to find the Grand Maester leaving. Her father stood to greet her and approached her, struggling to hold back tears. Her lip quivered as he moved to embrace her. Hugs from her father were rare but always comforting. "My darling," he spoke softly, his hand caressing her hair as tears flowed from her eyes once more. They stayed in silence for a moment before he kissed her head tenderly and pulled back. "How's Rhaenyra?"

Alicent thought for a moment. Unfortunately, Rhaenyra, deeply saddened by her mother's death, had not spoken much to Alicent. Alicent had been far closer to Aemon the past few days, but her father could not know this. So, she did her best, "She lost her mother." That was all she could say.

"The Queen was well-loved by all. I found myself thinking of your own mother today," her father said, caressing her face to comfort her. The mention of her mother brought back even more pain and thoughts of Aemon and his own mother.

She hoped to abandon these thoughts. "How is His Grace?" she asked quickly.

"Very low," he replied, seeming saddened as well. Perhaps her stern father had some sympathy for the King too? She thought.

"Which is why I sent for you." He added, then turned back to his desk and sat. "I thought you might go to him." Any sense of comfort she had felt faded as she now sensed she had entered a business deal. She understood what he meant by comforting the King. "Offer him comfort." Her own discomfort loomed over her as she was unsure how to feel.

"In his chambers?" she asked, hoping he'd be sensible and refuse. But where else was she supposed to comfort him, she thought. Her father continued to stare at her, not even bothering to answer her question. "I wouldn't know what to say," she practically whispered, peering at her hands and realizing she was picking at her nails.

She brought her hand to her mouth and chewed at the skin surrounding her nails until her father spoke. "Stop that." She pulled her hand away but continued to pick at her fingers with her other hand. "He'll be glad of a visitor." He paid her no mind as he returned to his writing, picking up his quill.

She had no choice; she turned to leave. Upon reaching the door, she stopped as she heard his voice again. "You might wear one of your mother's dresses." But she kept walking after that, only wanting to leave the room.