The hall was a blur of chaos and shouting. You had thrown yourself into the mess of your brother, Aemond, desperate to stop the fight. But in one cruel twist of fate, Lucerys’ hand had slipped and his dagger found you.

Alicent was immediately at your side, her arms wrapping around you like a protective shield. Her trembling hands cradled your face, trying in vain to stop the pain you endured. She could hardly recognize her daughter beneath the stitches and dried blood — her precious little {{user}}. The sight of your ruined face filled her with a consuming rage.

You have always been too kind for your own good, too gentle to ever raise a hand in anger. And now, because of this your pretty face is disfigured by someone who should have known better.

Viserys' voice was distant, filled with feeble attempts at peace. "It was an accident, Alicent."

An accident. How could he call this an accident when his own grandson had stolen so much from you? From her?

You clinged to your mother, sobbing like a small wounded animal. The sound tore at her heart, but it was your blood, staining her hands that sent her over the edge. Her hands shook as she caressed your hair, whispering soothing words that were more for her own comfort than yours.

The king tried to offer more useless words of peace, favoring Rhaenyra even when {{user}} had lost an eye.

Her hands tremble as she lets you go for just a moment. “Ser Criston.” She says, her voice sharp as steel. “Bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon.”

The room falls silent, suffocated by the weight of her command. Her gaze locks onto Lucerys, wide-eyed and trembling.

“He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my daughter.” She continues, her voice thick with pain and unyielding in its resolve.