HOTD: The Rogue's Son-SI Ch.8 (Patreon)

Chapter 8

ALICENT HIGHTOWER

The Hand of the King was a competent man and a competent father. Alicent’s relationship with her father was complicated.

Otto Hightower was not an expressive man, he was driven by duty and had obtained all he had through his own blood, sweat and tears. The man cared for her, yet she could not say if he loved her, and that would always bother her, for she thought many a time, did his father even think of her as a daughter, or simply as a chess piece to pawn off to the highest bidder.

Alicent had woken up early, as she oft would, trying to make time for herself so that she may go to the Sept and pray in solitude, and just as she was about to set off for her prayer, she was informed by one of her father’s servants that he wished to see her.

And so she found herself outside of her father’s solar, her mind buzzing in trepidation on what this sudden call was all about.

She knocked on the door softly.

“Come in,” she heard him answer, knowing that only she would call on him in his office so early.

She entered his solar and found it a good representation of the man, Otto Hightower. It was a dry, dreary, but functional space filled with stacks of books and ledgers, all arranged in an orderly fashion.

Even so early in the morning, he was fully dressed in his robes, writing a missive, which he put to the side as he looked up at her.

“Good morning, Alicent. Come sit, there is something I need to talk to you about,” he said as he beckoned her to sit opposite to him.

“Good morn to you as well, father. May I ask what this is about?” she said, and he nodded.

“It is about Prince Aegon,” he spoke candidly without much.

And she had guessed as much. It was all the court could talk about. Prince Aegon’s presence in the capital was the talk of many rumors, and stories about the Prince could be heard being murmured at every corner of the castle,

As for herself, she was intrigued and impressed by the Prince. He was quite a surprise for her. Despite his relationship with Prince Daemon, the Prince did not exude the same feeling of danger as the Prince.

He was humble and had a tongue as glib and sweet as Prince Daemon, though his intentions until this point seemed rather purely jesty, containing little of the little jibes and taunts often hidden in Prince Daemon’s words.

“You have met him once. What are your thoughts on him?” he asked, and she should have expected as much. The nature of the antagonism between Prince Daemon and her father was well-known across the court, and if the rumors she had heard about the dinner last night were true, he may or may not have gained an ally.

Yet she was also disgusted at herself for being used like this, for being little more than a pawn for him in his and his House’s bid for more power.

“He seems humble and polite enough. I am afraid I have not met him for enough time to make a better judgment,” she replied, and if her lie and anger were seen through her father gave a little indication for it.

“Humble and polite,” he said with a raised brow.

“No son of Daemon Targaryen would ever boast any of these traits, especially one who has achieved as much as he has. You do know of how much power he holds in the Vale,” he asked, and she nodded, frustrated at the role she was being forced to play.

Yet she was his daughter; daughters were often little more than pawns for many in the realm. And at that moment, she wished she had dreams like Rhaenyra, dreams to pluck herself out of the gilded cage she had been placed in, raised, and provided around as a jewel to further the interests of her father and, subsequently, his House.

“I do,” she answered. They had heard many complaints from the lords of the region about it, most of them labelled as frivolous afterword from Lady Jeyne herself, who would name Prince Aegon as only an enforcer of her own will, denying any notion of him ever seeking power over her.

“Good, and you must have heard the rumor about the altercation between the young Prince and his father at dinner last night,” he asked, and she nodded. She had, though she often wondered how much of it was the truth.

“I was able to confirm it from my sources and learned that the rumor is true, and I believe that it could be something to look into further,” he said as his eyes narrowed.

“I do hope you understand what I mean, Alicent,” he added, and she bit her lip and looked down at her bloodied thumb, her old habit reemerging, as she nodded, disgusted at herself.

“I do,” she answered.

“Good, then be on your way. I have taken enough of your time,” he said as he picked up a scroll from the side.

“I know how you prefer to pray in the Sept in solitude,” he added softly, and she wondered which one was the real him, this facade of lovingness or the ruthless politician that saw him little else than but a pawn.

She hoped it was the former, yet inside her heart, she knew that hope would be false.

“Goodbye, Father,” and with that she walked away, tired already of the burdens she carried.

.

.

.

The sept was her recluse, a place away from all the politicking of the court, a place for her and her secrets only. And as she walked into the sept, the statues of the Seven stood there in all their glory, carved out of finest stone, by experienced hands, the light from the Sun coming through the tinted glass windows illuminated the room in a calming sea of green, and orange, colorings matching her own in many ways.

Yet today, as she walked into the Sept, she found someone else already there. Given that this was the Royal Sept, she was surprised by that, for none in the Royal family ever came to the Sept to pray, especially not so early in the morning.

She slowly walked towards the floor, trying to make sense of who had trespassed in the Royal Sept.

And only when she was a few steps away from them, they suddenly turned back, and she recognized them in an instant.

“Prince Aegon.”

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AEGON TARGARYEN

Aegon had always found comfort in solitude and believed that there was no better friend than one’s own self. To discover and talk to that oneself, one needed solitude, and he often found it in places like the royal Sept.

He was not a devout follower of the Seven, his mother, Lady Rhea, was not religious, and the Royces traditionally followed the Old Gods, the Gods of mountains, rivers, and the seas, the faceless and nameless gods.

Though all Gods were faceless and nameless, the Seven were simply a congregation of seven primary facets of humanity, which then asked them all to mold their lives in such a way to harbor the best traits from each one of the Seven.

He oft wondered which one of the Gods had brought him here, or whether there truly was a God out there anyway, and if so, why had they not stopped the calamity that was set to happen, why were they so cruel to put a soul as gentle as Aemma Arryn through agony.

As he was lost in his thoughts, he suddenly felt a pair of footsteps behind him and turned around, surprised that someone would come to the sept so early in the morning, and immediately recognized the brown eyes and fiery brown hair.

“Prince Aegon,” she seemed surprised as well.

“Lady Alicent,” he said as he greeted her, breaking her out of her trance. She gave him her greeting before apologising.

“I apologize, I was just surprised at finding someone else in the sept so early in the morning,” she said and he waved it away, not minding it at all.

“It is fine,” he said with a smile as she joined him.

“I did not know that you followed the Seven. Doesn’t House Royce follow the Old Gods,” she asked, genuine curiosity lacing her tone, and he shrugged.

“I grew up mostly in the Eyrie rather than Runestone, though I would not easily say that I keep to the Seven,” he added and saw her frown, before she smiled and retorted with a raised brow.

“You are in Sept so early in the morning. I would think that would make you a devout,” she added, and he shook his head.

“I like the quiet of a sept early in the morning. It helps temper me, and as for the Gods, I find it hard to believe in any,” and he did, especially with what he knew, what he was.

And most importantly, what it meant.

“I like the calm of it as well,” she added as she sat down beside him.

“The calm and the nostalgia of it. In here, alone with no other sound around me, I feel as if I can feel my mother’s presence beside me, that she is right there by my side, like the hundreds of times she took me to the sept with her,” she added in a trance, her expression sordid as he recalled how she had rather recently lost her mother.

A shame, for he had heard good things about her.

She seemed to realize that she had spoken too much and turned towards her with a fidgety, flushed face, yet it settled down. The panic vanished from her eyes as their gaze met.

“I..”

“There is no need to say anything, my lady,” he began and saw her playing with her thumb, scraping off at the skin around the nail, a sign of nervousness and apprehension.

“Your thoughts are safe with me; your words will not leave this Sept,” he assured her and saw her relax a bit.

“And I am sorry for your loss. May the Seven bless Lady Hightower,” he continued and saw her face.

“Thank you, my Prince,” she said as both of them sat there in silence once more, and he did not miss how her gaze continued to drift towards him from time to time. Her lips parted and closed in hesitation until he decided to turn towards her.

“I believe you wish to say something to me?” and she seemed taken aback as her mouth opened.

“I apolo...”

“Ask away, my lady. I do not mind,” he said, and she nodded somewhat slowly before beginning.

“No, it was nothing like that. I was just surprised,” she began, making him frown.

“At what?” he asked.

“Just that you are quite different from what I imagined you to be,” and perhaps seeing her mistake, she looked up startled.

And he had an idea of what she thought he would be. Otto Hightower’s feud with Daemon was a thing of much renown. Being Daemon’s son, she must have imagined him to be the second Daemon. The rumors surrounding him would not have helped, of course.

“I mean, you are quite different from the rumors about you at court,” she clarified, and he chuckled as she looked down to hide her small flush.

“Well, they were rumors in the end. But I do hope that you found me different in a better way,” he teased, and she quickly nodded her head.

“Of course, my Prince. That was what I meant,” she added.

“Call me Aegon. I do not like being called a Prince, especially by friends,” he added.

“That would not be proper, my Prince,” she replied quickly.

“I am asking you, or do you not consider me a friend?” he asked, putting her in a spot.

“Because I do, especially with how well I know you from Rhaenyra’s letters,” he added with a chuckle, and she really did. He knew much more about Alicent Hightower than she realized. Rhaenyra had written to him many tales about her only friend and their many adventures over the years.

“I would not dare deny your friendship,” she added, and he shrugged as he stood up, as the morning bell rang.

“Are you done with your prayers, Lady Alicent?” he asked and saw her nod.

“I am,” she replied.

“Then why don’t you join me? I am about to go and spar with my cousins in the yard. Perhaps you could see that all the rumors about me are not quite false,” he added, and he saw her nod as she stood up.

“Well, I would be honored,” she said. He began to lead her out of the Sept, and as they walked side by side, he turned towards her.

“And my lady, you are not quite what the rumors made you out to be either,” he began, making her frown.

“For I do not think the rumors did any justice to your beauty.”

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DAEMON TARGARYEN

The family dinner had been a disaster as he had expected it to be. And what family dinner was it, with outsiders in it.

Daemon had always known of the spite that Bronze Bitch had held for him. It had begun to rear its head even before he had said the wedding vows, vows that he was forced to say because of his grandmother and his brother.

And then it had begun soon, she cared little for him, unaware of the honor and prestige of marrying someone like him, a Prince, a Dragonrider. And yet she would deny him his right, deny him the right to his lands, his right as she spurned his council, using him as a damned hired sword to clean up those mongrel mountain clansmen.

He, a Prince of the realm, reduced to a simple knight. Preposterous. She was lucky to be married to him, especially with an attitude like that.

Then the news of the child came, a surprise that he was reluctant to believe, yet Maester confirmed it. And nine months later, he would be insulted once more by both his son and that wretched woman.

Despite his directions, she would name him Aegon, and the boy itself, he could not call it his own blood. Brown of hair, and eyes grey like that wretched woman herself, and so that was it, and he had flown away, believing that if the boy had any of his blood, he would find him and then he would raise him to be a true dragon, to live up to the legacy he was born into.

Yet alas, such a time would never come.

“You were angry last night,” Mysaria's sweet voice entered the room, breaking him out of his trance. He looked up and found her walking into his room, unbothered by the nakedness all around him.

“I was,” he said, reaching for the goblet beside him to quench his thirst.

“I thought you would not come. After all, you were meeting your son for the first time,” she began as the servants walked and began to clear the room, his company from last night were woken up and taken away as Mysaria settled down beside him, her gaze, her body focused solely in him.

Now, here was someone who understood what he was and what he represented: a dynasty that had once ruled over half the world, a dragon rider who descended from the Conqueror himself.

She must have seen his expression sour as her eyes narrowed.

“What happened?” she asked, and he drowned the goblet before placing it beside the bed.

“Nothing, but it seems that boy is too far gone. All that potential wasted by that wretched woman,” he grunted angrily.

“That must have felt like such a loss,” she consoled him, and he nodded.

“He was a disappointment, filled with vitriol against me,” he uttered angrily.

“It was a single meeting. Perhaps you were mistaken,” she added, and he shook his head.

“No, I saw him for what he was. And I am disappointed. If only my brother were to unshackle me from that Bronze Bitch,” he spoke in frustration.

“Do not be sad, my Prince,” she said as she wrapped her arms around his head.

“It is not marriage that makes a woman be with child,” she said.

“You are the Prince of the realm. Pick a woman, and she would gladly bear you a son, one you could raise as you wish,” she said, and the thought was tempting, and god knows he may already have a brood of his own prancing around the city.

But he already had the perfect candidate in mind.

Yet he turned towards her and looked her in the eye.

“We can talk about that later, but today I find myself in need of men,” she frowned and asked with surprise.

“And why do you need men?” she asked.

“To build an army loyal to me.”

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