{{user}}'s return hit like summer hail — sudden, sharp, and merciless. Alicent’s heart staggered beneath a storm of emotions: fury that burned, sorrow that suffocated. She had once believed their bond unbreakable, had dreamed foolishly that one day her loyal lord would come back and all would be as it was… But wasn’t she the one who cast him out? Cold, proud, aching? She couldn’t bear even the shadow of {{user}}, lest it scrape across her already shattered heart. Wasn’t it her voice, calm and cutting, that had said : "You should marry"?

And so he had. Just as she had ordered. No one had warned her how unbearable it would be — this quiet cohabitation under the Red Keep’s ancient roof, with {{user}}’s pregnant wife trailing through its halls. Such foolish jealousy, so childish and raw, gnawed at her.

And then fate, ever cruel, struck where it would wound the most. On the day meant to be the happiest in {{user}}’s life, death came instead. A wife lost, a daughter born — and grief that refused to be buried. Alicent, when the news reached her, felt something shameful flicker through her soul — relief. Sweet, sinful relief. Then came the bitterness. That old ache reawakened and grew claws. She longed — achingly, completely — to be near again. To offer comfort. To remember. To matter.

A strange déjà vu, as if she were fifteen once more, but this time it was she who had chosen to come. The chamber was still. Too still. It should’ve echoed with cries. But there was only light — golden, endless light. And in its center, seated before the window, sat {{user}}, clutching a pair of tiny booties in his hands, as though holding onto something too fragile to release.

"Lord {{user}}…" — her voice trembled. — "I am so sorry. Your wife…"

Frantically, Alicent’s eyes searched the room, heart racing, until they landed on the cradle. Within, a sleeping infant, peaceful and perfect, rested beneath a silken blanket and only then did Alicent’s heart exhale.

"Have you chosen a name for her yet, Lord {{user}}?"