Dream Of Winter | C. Stark & H. Targaryen

Empty Garden

She resists the laugh that builds up. He managed to drag her form her stupor. And for that she's thankful.

Alicent's eyes meet Aegon's, and for a moment, a flicker of understanding passes between them.

She knows the pain he harbors, the neglect he experienced under Viserys' rule.

But she also knows that the situation is far from simple, and her son's apparent happiness at his father's demise is merely a cover for deeper emotions.

"Aegon, my son, do not burden yourself with the weight of pretense. I can see through your words. Your pain is real, and it is valid."

How can one man be responsible for so much pain. A weak undecisive pig. A stain on the Targaryen legacy.

Aegon's facade begins to crack, his mask slipping as he meets his mother's gaze. His eyes betray a mix of relief, confusion, and uncertainty.

Her eldest's voice trembling. "I... I don't know how to feel, Mother. Part of me resents him, but part of me... part of me is lost without his approval."

She approaches her boy, her first boy, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering a comforting touch.

"It's alright to feel conflicted. Your father's passing does not erase the pain you endured, nor does it provide all the answers. But turning to vices like drinking will not ease your pain; it will only mask it temporarily."

She says what she would have liked to hear when her own mother passed. It's virtually blasphemous to equate Viserys to her loving caring mother. But grief is multi-faceted. It's unrelenting. And it's unexplainable.

Aegon's eyes well up with tears, and he struggles to maintain his composure.
"I don't want to become him... I don't want to drown my sorrows in wine or stop caring about anything like he did."

"You have the strength within you, Aegon, to forge your own path. You are not destined to repeat his mistakes. Let your pain be a catalyst for growth, not a source of self-destruction."

Aegon leans into her embrace, finally allowing himself to release the emotions he had suppressed for so long. Alicent holds him tightly, offering solace and reassurance.

**

The Queen enters the sept, the hallowed space filled with an aura of tranquility and reverence.

Daeron, her youngest son, Helaena, her daughter, and her grandchildren, Rickon and her namesake Alicent, are seated together in a small alcove, their heads bowed in prayer.

Her good-son Cregan is a considerable distance away from the statues of the Seven, though his presence here is in itself a suprise.

Alicent quietly approaches him, her steps light and graceful, mindful not to disturb the solemnity of the moment.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

The Warden bows lightly and addresses her "The children wished to see the Great Sept. To pray ... for their grandfather. Helaena couldn't deny them, your grace."

It's a tad difficult explaining to toddlers the complexities of the world. Their grandsire's demise is the greatest boon they could fathom. Though she likes that they share her devotion. And that Cregan seems to hold the same contempt for her late husband.

"I see. As long as we're in private you may do away with the formalities. We are family."

It's perhaps a leap, but she's strangely sentimental today. No reason springs to mind why that may be so.

"I feel that could create some confusion, your grace. My daughter refuses to believe her name isn't hers alone. She's declared her uniqueness and will cling to it tooth and nail." Cregan's tone carries a hunt of amusement.