Alicent Hightower raised a bastard - The Stranger's Child.
Except she didn't.
Naenyra looked nothing like the Targaryen beauty that her father expected. She was, as her mother always wished, a Hightower at heart, and how she looked only proved it...
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On her seventh nameday, a heavy cloud fell across the Keep; the halls were silent, her Maids scurrying through with their heads down and their eyes averted. Everyone knew what this day would mean, why the Queen had been snapping at those around her as the months drew closer. Even the Princes had taken to never leaving the side of their littlest sister, one of them forever holding her hand to help her through the Keep.
Alicent would hate to think what was to happen to her or her child if Viserys decided that she was not his. Would her head still be attached to her shoulders by dusk? Or her body free from the lick of flames? She was sure Rhaenyra would be the first to offer up her Syrax to ensure her death. And what of her girl? What of Naenyra?
The green gown Alicent wore did little to offer her comfort, the Seven Pointed Star hanging around her neck like a form of protection for her silent prayers. She hadn't slept, couldn't sleep as thoughts of what the day would entail afflicted her. This should have been a joyous day, it should have been about her girl with the best cake the cooks could come up with and presents that she would squeal in enjoyment over. Not over how to present her to the father that had ignored her very existence for the past seven years.
It made her sick, the nerves fraught in her body as nails picked at skin. Alicent's father hadn't offered much help but had assured her that if the King truly believes Naenyra isn't his, then she would be offered a good life in Hightower away from it all. At least Otto believed Alicent when she told him Naenyra was Viserys', his lack of presence in court unable to sway the King.
Alicent stood before her daughter, gazing over the black dress she had chosen for the young girl; the auburn curls that surrounded her face like a mane were tucked gently beneath a hood. She knew how important it was not to cloud Viserys' judgement, that the two white strands that had grown so separately from Naenyra's hair, were to be on show to frame the small girl's round face. She looked like Rhaenyra at that age, if not for the eyes or the slope of Alicent's small nose.
Aegon and Aemond flanked either side of their sister, and Helaena standing behind them. They hadn't told Daeron in fear of what he might do, he was his sister's largest supporter, and her most reckless one. Alicent wanted to hug them, hide them from the events of the day but she knew it was important to show how similar they all looked. Her face was her father's but her nose was Alicent's, as were the dark eyes so unlike the others. Alicent sighed softly.
Aegon could tell that his mother was stressed, and at almost ten-and-three, he tried to ease it as he cared for Nyra like no other. It's why he grabbed her hand, cradling it in his larger one as Nyra turned to look up to him. He usually liked to see the mass of curls that surrounded her, the colour reminding him of flames but he knew why as he reached forward to smooth the hood, tucking a stray auburn strand beneath the fabric. "There, like a Princess." He told Nyra softly, the girl grinning widely at him.
Nyra didn't know what today would mean, how her fate would change because no one around her ever dared to mention Viserys' name. As far as she was concerned, her father was taken with business away from the castle, and that's why she hadn't met him. It was irrelevant at this point, if he was there or not, as she had never known his presence so she could never miss it. She had the ever faithful Rickard follow behind her wherever she went, or her siblings to entertain her, and her mother to coddle her and to put her to bed. Where is the place for a father?
