Dance of The Dragonwolf Chapter 39 (Words are like an Arrow) (Patreon)

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' A girl with long brown hair swung her legs over the balcony's edge, steading her arms against the stone beams that supported her back. 

"And what are you doing, girl?" 

She turns slightly, smiling. "Father!" 

He stepped forward, dragging a hand against his face. Lines seeped deep into the sun-tanned skin, and she saw the exhaustion in his gaze. 

"Working hard today, Father?" 

"As hard as a man can to go up a peg on the ladder." Otto Hightower grasped her waist, forcing her backwards so she wasn't so far on the edge. "What've I told you about sitting up so high, Alicent? If you want to have air, sit in the breezeway or go to a lower floor." 

"I like feeling tall. We're higher than anything else in the world. Have you ever thought of that? Even little birds can't fly higher. Even dragons don't go this high." 

Otto chuckled at her pride. "You're right, my dear, dragons go much higher. Just be careful. It'd be a shame for you to fall from this height. You'll be dead before you hit the ground." 

There's a moment of silence. 

"Mother was looking for you," Alicent frowned. "You weren't in your solar. She cried again, so then Gwayne cried, and then the twins had to carry on and on about it. Where were you?" 

With defeat, he sighed. "The library, my girl." Otto placed his hands against the large, finely cut stone and swung his legs over so he could sit. The whole world seemed so much smaller here. "Learning. No matter how old you are, you can always learn more. Education, my girl, intelligence, that's what'll rise you up in the world. It's why I work so hard—to advance our family." 

"So you can be on the council of the King?" 

"Aye, you're a smart girl. Kings need men like me. Our King Jaehaerys is wise, but to be on the council you must be wiser. Better than even a ruler. A king would not have a council if he was enough for the kingdom on his own." 

Alicent adjusted her skirts, wrinkling the pretty fabric between her fingers. "I see." The girl, an eight-year-old, looked across Oldtown. Wisdom won't make Mother stop crying. You're breaking her heart being gone so very much. I don't like it when Mama cries." 

"Helaena is a tender-hearted woman just as all Tyrells are. That's why their sigil is of a flower. You're not like your mother, though, Alicent. You're not a delicate flower. You're a strong stone tower." 

Alicent sighs softly. 

"If I was without boys, I could be just as pleased with you. You're going to do great things, Alicent, I can see it in your face. You ought to be a queen or a princess, not the daughter of a second son." Otto's voice became a bitter sneer, for his true anger was at his own position. Such an ambitious man limited by a brother's rank. He would never be Lord of Hightower or the Port or anything more than a second son. He turned to the girl with the long brown hair. 

"I won't make your mother cry as much. She's a good woman, but she settled. She settled on a man like me. On a second son. A Tyrell could have done better. She didn't reach high enough." 

"Mama says she married you for love." 

"That was her mistake. Daughters are lower than even second sons. But they can marry better. They can have those first sons. They can marry those first sons. Always reach higher, Alicent. Always reach higher." '

*

*

There's a long silence for the pair.

Father glances at her casually, though his voice cuts through her like a sword to the belly. "His Grace told me you've been a great comfort to him in his grieving."

Alicent sips her wine. She had never been allowed wine before, but Viserys had always been quick to allow a taste. She'd acquired a great liking to it, and her companion often sent her fine wines to try from various parts of the world. Her favorite, Arbor Gold, was rarely served in the household before they had come to King's Landing.

"Well?"

"Well what, Father? I am experienced in loss." Alicent smiles tiredly, brushing her plaited hair to the other shoulder. "I've heard from His Grace that you haven't been a great comfort. You've lost a wife, haven't you?"

"Do not," her Father warns her. A lifetime ago, before Jaehaerys, before Mother's passing, Alicent might have taken the wiser course and bit her tongue, for she knew better than to upset her father. Now, however, she would not keep her opinions or thoughts inside to burn away the parts of her kept private.

What more did she have to lose? Father could not send her away to Oldtown without losing favor with the King, nor could he deny her access to the outside world. Alicent was a vital part of the royal household, serving King Viserys, and Father was not foolish enough to risk his position to punish his daughter for an untamed tongue.

"Do not?" Alicent waved a maid over, motioning to her Father's cupbearer to come to her. The boy, whose name is Alyn Beesbury, poured her another glass, filling her cup. "That's enough. Thank you, Alyn."

"My Lady," the boy says, turning away from her. His eyes are wide with disbelief, though he is thoughtless about what to do with what he sees now. Alicent sips her wine victoriously until it has finished and then slides the goblet away from her.

Father narrows his eyes but stays silent.

"So how is my betrothal to Laenor Velaryon coming along, Papa?"

Her smile is venomous, cruel, and biting. Perhaps she had been Dornishman in another life, surrounded by vipers in a sweltering desert.

"Why would I engage you to a boy when we have great need for a Queen?" Father shakes his head at her, those dark eyes glaring into hers thoughtfully. She wonders why her mother fell in love with those eyes. They were like coal, black as night and cold as the winter, like endless pits.

Alicent's quick and cruel, "Queen Aemma's body has not yet gone cold, and you think to put me on the throne. How ambitious can a man get?"

"And you're not doing the same, daughter? Tell me, what are you doing with the King? It's clear what you intend."

"What I intend? You forced me to visit him--"

"I did nothing you could not stop, you know that, I told you to visit him only once, all the other times for the past three years were all You. You ambitious little--"

Alicent rose. "I am not ambitious with the King." Her voice grew louder, and one of her maidens, Lady Jeyne Cuy, took a step away from her. A jug of water was in her hands, and wide blue eyes darted around. King Viserys was a good friend, a gentle man, but that's all he was to her. It was someone else she desired, someone else's hand she wanted to hold.

Alicent could have laughed at the way the woman stared at Little Alyn Beesbury for guidance: "Go on, Jeyne. Go to your quarters. I won't need you tonight. Alyn, you are dismissed as well."

Jeyne's skirts flutter as she flees. Alyn moves to set down the wine when her Father shouts.

"You do not dismiss my cupbearer, insolent girl! Alyn, you will stay."

Alyn stops, eyes wide and unsure. Alicent could have boxed that boy's ears if he had stood close enough to her. Anger surged through her veins at being so willfully ignored, and she pointed towards the door.

"Go, child, go."

The boy was scarcely the same age as her little brother and much smaller.

"Gods, Father, can you not see inside yourself? Do you not know what you do to those around you? Alyn Beesbury, I say again, go on. Go to your quarters or into King's Landing. Simply go."

There's a boiling rage in her, a cruel one that wants to burn everyone within her reach. An unimaginable fury towards Laena for stealing Aenar's heart, at Aemma Arryn for dying so young without a son, at Viserys for depending on her, and at her Father for not loving her mother. Had he? Had he even cared for her? Does anyone love anyone?

Was there no love in the world at all?

For now, her rage is focused on Father for putting these unkind thoughts in her head since she was a girl and ought to be Queen. He would regret it, she thinks hotly, for if ever Viserys gave her such a position, she would be Lady of the Realm. Even Father could not control her then, and she would wield that power with every grace her father did not have and every strength her mother hadn't given her.

Alyn doesn't move. He's stricken in fear and anxiety, like a mouse backed into a corner by a hungry tomcat, with nowhere to go and no way to get out.

Father looks years old, all wrinkled and exhausted. His shoulders slump, and he doesn't look at her, for she has won. She always wins.

"You're dismissed for the night, Alyn."

He goes in a wave of brown cloth, his boots slapping against the stone floor like swords clashing. Loud. Repetitive. Alicent frowns.

The door slams.

"You've scared him, for the sake of the Gods."

"He's a strong lad, and I'd say I know him better than you. I know what the boy feels."

"Because he pours your wine?" Alicent laughs, shaking her head. She brushes off her skirts. "You don't even know how your own children feel. You don't know how I feel."

"You think me a bad father? You throw the late King in my face constantly. You throw my own children in my face. All I do, I do for you!"

Alicent flinches back as if struck. "For me?"

"For this family."

Her fists clench. She straightens her back.

"Do you really believe that?"

"I know so," her father said without a hint of doubt in his voice. He once again looked proud of himself, as a Hightower should always feel.

"Tell me, my dear daughter, what is that you want?" Alicent didn't answer right away. A lump formed on her throat, as if an invisible hand had grasped her white neck. She smiled bitterly instead. Since when did her father care what she wanted? He never cared. He only cared what he wanted himself, not what she wanted.

"Is this a game?" Alicent asked bitterly, flinching away from his extended hand as he tried to touch her. For the first time, he looked hurt by her words, and she wondered if he truly meant it or if it was just another game.

"No game. Tell me what you want, and you shall have it." Alicent looked away from him. Her heart was beating faster at the thought of him, but now the image of him was tainted, the way he rode past her and gave the crown of flowers to Lady Laena, to the one girl that had stolen his heart.

But it wasn't just his flowers that she wanted—no, she wanted much more than her status and blood allowed her to have. She was a Hightower. She wanted to be higher than all of them, higher than her father, Aenar, the King, and even the Dragons of House Targaryen. She deserved it. She knew in her heart that she deserved that much.

"I want Prince Aenar," Alicent finally answered. Looking back at her father, his expression was pleased by her answer.

"That can be arranged, but are you sure you want him, his heart already belongs to Lady Laena and Princess Rhaenyra, my little birds speak of them spending time together, and even kissing in the Weirwood Tree." Her father said with a smile of triumph that Alicent felt as if something had stung her heart, but she refused to show it on her face. Instead, she smiled bitterly.

"Not the Princess." She added quietly with a smile; her father almost didn't hear her.

"Huh?"

"I might be a naive girl, but I have seen the way Prince Aenar looks at the two of them. He looks at Princess Rhaenyra like a brother would look at their little sister, but Lady Laena is the one he truly desires, he looks at her like a man would look at his wife." Alicent knew she shouldn't, but she took joy in knowing that Rhaenyra would always be the second choice.

"That matters little right now, but if you truly want the Prince as your husband. I want you to listen to me."

Viserys Targaryen

With a blow of air from his mouth, he looked at the dragon figure in his hands before placing it on top of a tower overlooking the courtyard of great Valyria.

Viserys took a deep breath, sitting on his chair. It felt difficult as he grabbed a small knife, slowly he moved it to the top of the dragon wing, and with a bit of force, the blade cut through the wood's surface, but not too deep, Viserys slowly moved the blade across the dragon wing, cutting out a snake-like piece from the figure. He did it five more times, and now the wings looked like proper wings with scales, small bits of wood laid on his lap that he pushed away with a wave of his hand.

He looked at the door, almost expecting it to be opened by someone. He looked the other way. Night had engulfed the grieving city of King's Landing, and the bells of the Sept had been ringing since Aemma's death.

"Where is she?" Viserys murmured as if other people were in the chamber with him, but he was all alone; all he could hear was the faint sound of the bells outside and the flickering flames on the hearth.

Viserys sighed wearily, pulling down the dragon figure—this one belonged in front of the gates. His eyes suddenly felt heavy. He blinked several times, shaking his head, trying to get rid of the drowsiness, but as his head slumped down, his eyes closed.

"Ohh, Viserys, Please." Viserys whimpered loudly, opening his eyes as he looked around in panic. He almost fell behind along with his chair, drowning in sweat. He remembered where he was as he took a breather.

"The Heir."

"The Heir of The Iron Throne!"

Viserys covered his ears with his hands, trying to drown out the voices. He tried, but he couldn't.

Their Queen was still alive, and they were all already convinced that Aenar, not his dear Baelon, deserved to be the Heir to the Iron Throne.

Viserys could almost see their faces right now; their wishes came true, all of them smiling, making toasts for Aenar, not grieving for the Queen they lost. And with no heir. Viserys could almost hear them chanting for Prince Aenar.

'Long Live the King.'

'To Baelon Targaryen, the Heir for A Day.' 

"Shut up," Viserys begged, not realizing that he was walking aimlessly around his chamber until he tripped and fell on a mountain of pillows on his bed. Suddenly, there was a knock on his door.

Thank the Seven, Viserys thought in relief, knowing she had finally come. He quickly stood up from his bed, fixing the mattress on the bed.

"Come in." Viserys said with as much of a smile as he could muster right now, which wasn't much, but as the door opened, Viserys grew confused.

"Daemon!" Viserys said the name almost as if Daemon were a stranger. His little brother walked in, holding two bottles of Dornish Wine.

Viserys expected his brother to reek of wine, but his lips seemed clean, and he didn't seem to have been drinking.

"Why are you here?" Viserys asked, trying not to sound disappointed. He hadn't expected his brother to visit him since Aemma and his son's death; his brother had yet to say a word to him. He knew Aenar was with Rhaenyra, so he knew his daughter wasn't alone in her grieving. She needed more support than he did; Viserys knew that.

If his brother noticed his unfriendly tone, then he did not comment. "Can I come in?" Viserys wondered if he should come in. He knew Alicent might come to his chamber to talk to him, and he didn't want his brother around when that happened, but he remembered that his brother knew how this felt; he knew what losing the woman you love felt, so reluctantly, he motioned for his brother to step inside.

Daemon did so, closing the door behind him before walking further into the room, grabbing a chair, and bringing it near the model of Valyria that Viserys had started making since the day he put the crown on his head.

"Brother," Daemon finally spoke, his voice sounding tired, offering him the bottle of wine. Viserys looked at him and then at the wine as if expecting him to have hidden motives before accepting the bottle, sitting down heavily.

Viserys said nothing as he and his brother took a sip from the wine; he felt the bitter liquor slide down his throat. He wished to be drunk right now. He sighed, enjoying the taste before looking at his brother. "I expected you to be out there somewhere. I didn't expect you to be here." Viserys mused as he took another sip, now tasting sweeter than before.

"Where were you expecting me? On a brothel perhaps." Daemon snarled, and Viserys almost laughed.

"The old you, Yes. But I knew you would never leave your son and my daughter alone at such a dark hour." Viserys said gravely, showing appreciation, as he took another sip from the bottle, this time until the liquor slid down his jaw and dripped into the dragon figure below, turning it red.

"W-Where is my daughter?" Viserys asked once he stopped drinking, but still keeping the bottle near his lips, tripping a little on his words as he hunged down his head, looking at the hole of the bottle and the wine, red like blood.

'Viserys, what are they doing- No- No, Viserys, Pleaseee.'

"She is with Aenar and Lady Laena, brother," Daemon said with a little smile, a smile that was never far away every time he talked about his son, something Viserys envied; he wished he had his own son, his sweet Baelon.

Viserys kept staring at the wine before looking up at him; with a deep breath, he started drinking, drinking, drinking- "Enough." Daemon stopped him, forcefully taking the bottle from his hands, some falling on Viserys's face as he started coughing, using his sleeve to clean his face; the dragon figure had turned fully red from the wine.

"Is not going to help." Daemon said gravely with a hushed tone as Viserys finally got rid of his coughing before looking at him with a questioning gaze.

"What won't help?"

"The wine is not going to drown what you feel right now. I-I tried the same. I felt guilty, and I thought of drinking all the pain away, but one night. I went too far, and Aenar found me drunk in my chambers. The look he gave me-" Daemon stopped talking as he looked down on his hands. He looked ashamed of himself; Viserys had never seen his brother like this since the day they lost their mother so many years ago. His brother was always proud and tough, so for him to show shame, Viserys wondered if Aenar had caught his father doing something...repulsive.

"I have never seen him look so disappointed with me, and from that day, I swore that I would never get drunk again. It's not your fault, Viserys." Daemon said the words with difficulty. He was never good at grieving; he would much rather grieve his own way by fighting or flying around with Caraxes, but he knew his brother needed company. He would do the same for him as his brother did when he lost Lyanna. He would be there for him.

Daemon was always grateful for what his brother did that day. If he hadn't come, he would have left Aenar alone for much longer; he didn't want to imagine it.

It's not your fault, Viserys murmured. The words repeated in his head, but all he could remember was Aemma begging him not to let the Maester open up her belly.

Her screams, her blood, and the bed had turned red; Viserys felt tears rolling down his face as he reached and grabbed the wine bottle, trying to take a sip from the wine; he almost poked his cheeks with the tip of the bottle, until he found his mouth and drank.

He looked around. His head started feeling heavier, and there was something on his stomach; he felt like he would vomit.

"We all are here for you, Viserys." Daemon reminded him softly, patting him on the back, but Viserys remembered the crowd's words. He could hear them clearer now. Celebrating the new Heir, he wondered if Daemon could hear them.

"The Heir."

"The Heir of The Iron Throne!"

"At least someone is happy tonight." Viserys mumbled before he could stop himself. Daemon looked at him strangely.

"What?"

"L-Let's face it, Daemon," Viserys said with a slight stutter as he put down the bottle of wine that fell to the side, spilling out the wine on the carpet as he looked at his brother with half-opened eyes, his face slightly flushed from the wine, his body rocking against the chair that creaked every time he moved.

"Your son will be King one day, Daemon. Tell me you are not in some way happy to hear that. I heard the audience, as did you. Chanting Aenar's name, calling him 'The Heir of The Iron Throne'. My Aemma was in her labor and they all seemed to have already made up their minds." Daemon's soft gaze turned into a glare. He looked the same as he used to be a long time ago, but somehow, he restrained himself from doing anything; his hand itched badly. A slap may help Viserys. He knew Viserys was drunk and was grieving, so he would let this one slide.

"My son has nothing to do with this. You can't blame him for what some lord thinks or says. We are Dragons; everyone else is below us, and our words is Law. Their opinion doesn't matter to us." Daemon hissed, leaning his face closer, glaring at his brother for saying such stupid things; if they got angry every time they heard something they didn't like from the others, then they might as well burn half of King's Landing,

"I-Is not r-r-really an o-opinion a-anymore. Is it?" Viserys stammered, sounding angry, his voice rising as he reached around before finding the edge of his bed and standing up, his hand almost sliding through the sharp end of the bed's wooden frame as he stood up, but he could feel it digging into his palm. He looked down at Daemon, who quickly stood up from his chair.

"Aemma and Baelon are dead. I have no heir. You are my only Heir, and I know you have wanted your son on my throne, Daemon. Their opinions are the truth. They already decided that my son wasn't worth it before he was even born. They want your son because he is so Perfect." Viserys laughed bitterly.

Daemon wrinkled his nose, his brother reeking of alcohol, but Daemon turned red from anger as he stepped closer, now only half a step away from him.

"Brother?" Daemon hissed with a low, threatening voice; Viserys flinched; he had never seen his brother glare at him like this ever before.

Daemon realized that his brother was jealous and envious of him and Aenar. Daemon had everything Viserys wanted: his looks, his sword, his bravery, the love of the small people, and a son that everyone loved.

"Aenar, is your nephew. He's there for your daughter, he loves her, and you talk of him as if he was some dark sheep of our family. Is not his fault-" KNOCK.

"Come In," his brother said in a hurry. Before Daemon could utter a single word, the door opened, and Lady Alicent walked inside, holding a book under her arm.

"Why is she here?" Daemon asked harshly right away, looking at his brother over his shoulder, who seemed relieved to see her walking inside. Daemon wondered why he looked at her that way before looking back at the lady wearing all green.

"I'm sorry, my Prince. I can come back later." Alicent offered, sounding hurt, but Viserys quickly shook his head, walking past Daemon and placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"No, you arrived just in time. Daemon was about to leave." Viserys said, reliving, completely ignoring the look his brother gave him, a look of betrayal.

"Lēkia (Brother)," Daemon called him. His expression shattered as Viserys motioned for him to leave his chamber.

"Thank you for your time, Daemon, but I want you to leave."

Daemon almost couldn't believe what he was hearing, but his brother was the King, and he seemed to have already made up his mind.

"Do not do anything stupid, Viserys. You will regret it." Daemon hissed with a hushed tone before walking past him. His eyes flickered at Lady Alicent, who wore a smile of triumph on her face as he walked past her, and he heard her close the door as he walked away.

In the next chapter, Viserys will make the worst decision of his Life. Can you guess which decision it is? When Alicent said that Aenar doesn't really love Rhaenyra, that's just what SHE thinks. 

Daemon tries to help Viserys, but he is not in the best mental state, especially after agreeing to cut up Aemma on a slim chance that his son would be born and live. After what happened, Viserys can't help but feel angry that the lords of his kingdom had already made up their minds on who should sit on the Throne after he kicks the bucket, and he takes the anger he feels on Aenar.

Chapter 40 (Visery's Decision) will come out on 9-10 April.

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