𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 | 𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧.

𝐗𝐕𝐈. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑

«I think, death as the whole concept is just a little funny thing on which people choose to overreact. They say you are either scared of it or accepting it with wide arms, embracing it freely; and none of this can't be normal for mere mortals. I disagree. I think, death is interesting. It means everything and nothing at the same time. I like to watch at the reflection of it in the eyes of dying people, in their last minutes. Isn't that beautiful? I had seen so many final glares, yet my favourite one will be always...»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's diary.

•

When Alicent agreed—agreed? Was it a right word, when she meant that there was no choice to begin with?—on marrying Viserys, she was warned that his health will worsen with each day of their life. Somehow, she just never understood how hard it will be. Because he looked fine, he spoke nicely, and it couldn't be that bad, right?

It was their fourth night together—they fucked only four times, and all of them ended up with her, bearing a kid—when Alicent tried to keep her tears from falling down. Because Viserys hardly moved, and instead of grunts there were terrifying noises in her ear. And smell. The smell of old, dying man that followed him around for the last three years, and only worsened gradually.

When Viserys finished, cumming in her, there was only a silence. He fell asleep, helpless and powerless, on top of her, making it hard to breath. Alicent managed to get out of him, and then she cried for hours, hoping it would be their last time.

Gladly, it was.

But taking care of the king still was her responsibility. And you know what they say: being always around a dying person, the one who is accompanied by death itself, sucks out of your life mercilessly. Alicent understood what that meant only when she once realised how hollowed she looks compared to her past self: thin figure with always watering eyes; she could be taken for the insane woman if not for her title.

So if anyone in the King's Landings counts time for Viserys's death, it is not Otto but her.

'You need to sit with him, Alicent,' her father reminds, voice always alarming, awfully terrifying for her ears. 'What happened? You are spending years with him, surely, you can endure a little bit more.'

'I can't,' her voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

She says that every day.

She can't.

Yet, no one hears.

At least, Viserys is in the wrong state of mind to hear her sobs as she sits by his bedside, no less weak than he is.

'Yes, you can. He is going to die soon. So be nice.'

'No, father, I swear, I–'

They both stop, hearing upcoming steps. Alicent takes time to catch her reflection in the nearest window, and fixes her hair, wiping away tears.

'Good morning, Ser Hightower! Good morning, Alicent!'

It is a few weeks after the catastrophe on the dinner—Alicent thought it was absolutely awful situation, but her father only laughed; at least, this girl is useful sometimes, he said—and Drusilla's face is already much better. Not a trace of an ugly bruise she had.

'Drusilla, dear.'

'I was searching for you,' she smiles at her. 'I wanted to know if you want to spend some time with me? I was planning on visiting the church, and then, maybe...'

'I apologise, Drusilla,' Otto cuts her before Alicent even can say something, 'but Alicent has a very, very important work to do. Taking care of sick people is not that easy, and having time for that is always important.'