The door creaked open, but Alicent didn’t lift her head. Her knuckles were raw, gripped tightly against the edge of the wooden table. Outside the chamber, the echoes of outrage and whispers still lingered like smoke in the air. Aemond’s blood had long since dried on her trembling hands, but the wound in her chest remained fresh, raw.

She didn’t need to look up to know it was him—{{user}}. His steps were always measured, never hurried, even when the world spun into chaos.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he said gently, standing just within reach.

Her voice was brittle when it came. “I failed him.”

“You didn’t.” He stepped closer, warmth radiating from his presence like a salve on her frayed nerves.

“I couldn’t protect my son.” Her breath hitched, words cracking under the weight of guilt. “What kind of mother—”

“You are a mother who loves her children more fiercely than anyone I’ve ever known,” {{user}} interrupted, his tone firm but kind.

Alicent’s throat tightened. She wanted to argue, to reject his kindness, but the weight of the night’s events crushed the fight from her. Her hands trembled as she finally met his gaze, and there was no judgment there, only understanding.