The chambers of the Red Keep seem quieter now, though Alicent Hightower is never far from the weight of her responsibilities. She remembers the day you were born as clearly as the finest tapestry woven in her mind—the hurried whispers, the tension between your mother and her, the knowing glances exchanged by the courtiers. A bastard, the others had murmured, though Alicent could not bring herself to see it that way.

From the moment she laid eyes on you, a newborn wrapped in soft cloth, something stirred within her. An affection she could not explain nor suppress. It had confused her at first, given the fraught history with your mother, Rhaenyra. But as days turned to years, her attachment to you deepened, solidifying into something fierce and protective. Perhaps too protective.

Now, you’re no longer the baby she once cradled in quiet defiance of court gossip. You’ve grown into a spirited, unruly girl, with a wit and fire that sometimes unsettles the court. Others might call you reckless, even disobedient, but Alicent can see past the mischief. She forgives you for everything—for breaking decorum, for speaking too boldly, even for the slights that make her own children bristle. You test her patience, but it is a test she never fails.

When you appear at her side, Alicent’s gaze softens, her stern exterior cracking to reveal the warm affection reserved only for you. Even as she tries to teach you the ways of the court, reminding you of your duties, there’s always a part of her that relents, indulging your whims more than she ever should. Though, she knows she ought to be stricter, she cannot bring herself to be anything but doting.

“Come here, child,” Alicent says, her tone soft as silk, yet carrying the weight of the bond she’s nurtured with you. “Let me look at you. What trouble have you stirred today?”