บท 4: new hand
———-
I saw Maelor, greeting me with his soft giggles and the innocent gaze of his lilac eyes, just like the first time we met. I see him there, with a bright smile on his face, reaching his chubby little hand out to me.
Slowly, he approached, tears welling in his lilac eyes, and wrapped his small arms around me in a warm hug.
He smelled like Helaena, sweet like flowers. His head rested against my chest, soaking it with his tears.
I hugged him tight, resting my head on his soft silver hair.
I knew this was a dream, but I didn't want to wake up.
I missed him.
He was dead.
I can't hold him anymore. I can't play with him anymore. I can't see his warm gaze or hear his cheerful giggles.
He was gone, and all that remains are the echoes of what once was.
If I wake up, all of this will vanish, leaving me with nothing but a memory.
"M-Maelor." I mourn his name.
That one last chance I had, It worked, and it killed him.
I reflected my death to him.
I tell myself over and over that I had no choice. Even if I had died, he would have still met his end at Bitterbridge. Nothing would have changed.
Still, I couldn't help but wonder if I hadn't been so careless, if I had taken more guards that night, maybe things would be different.
If I remember it right.
My meta knowledge, the only thing set me apart from others, my advantage.
My life relied on it, everyone life relied on it, but it has failed me, in the crucial moment, it slipped through my fingers.
And the thought that one mistake could lead to others' deaths is unbearable.
Jaehaera will die, Helaena will die, Alicent will die, Aegon will die, everyone I care about will die.
But my knowledge could save them all.
Yet, the first time I used it, it failed me.
And Maelor was dead because of it.
"I am…sorry." I started to cry.
I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I wanted to say it a thousand times if it would bring him back. If only words could undo the past, I would repeat them endlessly.
But no. Maelor was dead, and nothing can change that.
Then his head suddenly popped off, the ragged stump of his neck spewing crimson, sticky blood. The blood gushed and dribbled down, soaking his pale skin. Some of the blood sprayed onto my face, warm and wet.
My tears mixed with his blood, the metallic scent filling my nose.
Then I felt my neck being strangled by Maelor's pale hand. His grip tightened, cold and unyielding, cutting off my breath. The pressure around my throat was crushing, my windpipe constricting painfully. I thrashed and writhed, gasping desperately for air, but my hands could only claw feebly at his fingers.
He forced me down to the ground, each agonizing moment making it harder to draw a breath. My vision swam and darkened, and the world began to close in on me.
Panic surged through me, my heart pounding in my chest as the blackness crept in. The warmth of his hand and the stinging cold of his grip combined into an unbearable torment, my life slipping through my fingers with each passing second.
But then I blinked, and Maelor's headless figure changed. Before me was a pale woman with silver hair and haunting purple eyes. Tears welled in those eyes, but her face was twisted with anger. A ribbon-like scar ran from her eye to her jaw. Her grip tightened, and I felt my life slipping away as her tear-streaked, furious face filled my fading vision.
No, I didn't blink. I woke up.
And the pale woman is Helaena.
Helaena was strangling me.
My mother was strangling me.
The pain of her hands tightening around my throat was agonizing, each moment a suffocating struggle for breath. The physical torment was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the horror of knowing that the one causing it was my own mother.
"Give me…my sons back!" Helaena cried, her voice cracking with grief.
What?
"Who are you!" She demanded, her hand trembling as it tightened around my neck.
She knows? How? Was all I could think, my mind blurring from being strangled.
My body felt heavy and numb, my thoughts dissolving into a void of despair.
Just as I was about to lose consciousness, Aegon shoved her aside. I gasped for air, each breath a desperate, ragged gulp, clutching at the precious oxygen that had been denied.
When my vision finally cleared, I saw blood under my nails.
It still took awhile to realize that It was her blood not mine.
Not Maelor's.
Jaehaera stood trembling at my side, tears streaming down her face, her sobs clenching my heart.
"What are you doing!" Aegon shouted as Criston burst in, looking at the scene unfolding.
"Seize her!" Aegon commanded. Criston, though clearly reluctant, carried out his duty.
As Criston restrained her, Helaena cried out, "He is not our son!" She looked at me, pointing her finger at me.
"You are not my son!"
Her words struck me like a shard of ice thrust into my chest, breaking what was left of my heart with a cold.
A tear traced down my face, followed by another and then another, and then another, until I was fully aware that I was crying.
Then Jaehaera hugged me, her tears soaking my chest, and Aegon wrapped his arms around us. Jaehaera smelled like lavender. Though I was still unfamiliar with the scent of wine on Aegon…
"You are my son."
I no longer felt dizzy.
———-
I haven't slept well since, and neither have any of us. We all had dark circles under our eyes.
Jaehaera wasn't as cheerful as before.
Sometime Aegon cried in his sleep, and Helaena…
Helaena…
She was tormented by voices only she could hear, haunted by visions only she could see.
Sometimes she laughed, sometimes she cursed, sometimes she wept.
She refused to sleep, hurting herself to stay awake, and was only put to rest by an essence of Nightshade, only to wake up again, screaming.
She was chained in her own chamber to prevent her from causing further harm.
Jaehaera and I were move to Aegon's room after she tried to strangled me.
I missed the old Helaena, the one who used to gently hug me in her warm hug.
Now, all I see is Lady Stoneheart.
———-
Aegon sat silently in his chair. Before him sat his small council, with Otto to his right and Criston to his left.
The seat was finely made, with a high back adorned with dragon carvings, adorned with gold, and polished armrests providing ample support. The upholstery, a blend of silk and velvet, covered plush cushions as soft as a cloud, offering luxurious comfort. It was a comfortable seat, one he could remain in all day.
He wondered why others so craved the Iron Throne. It was a hard, uncomfortable, and ugly chair, and he found no pleasure sitting on it.
The throne he never wanted, nor did his father wish him to, had now cost him his son.
He could still feel the warmth and softness of his son's last embrace.
If only he had known it would be the last.
Aegon's heart was filled with sadness and grief, which quickly turned to rage.
They took his son's head.
Maelor's body started to decay, but his head is still missing, and his son will be burned whole, not headless.
"Any news?" Aegon questioned, knowing it was bad and will be worsen.
The North and The Vale had side with the pretender. The Reach was in rebellion, The Reach, which his Hand had expected to support his cause, was in rebellion.
Yesterday, he lost all support from the Riverlands.
"The envoys have successfully reached the Trirachy. We can expect their fleet to lift the blockade of the Velaryon ships." Otto said proudly, though it angered Aegon.
His Hand was a coward, attempting to win the war with quills and ink, begging for support like a beggar, even from the foes of the realm.
Aegon wanted blood, not ink. He wanted revenge.
"Expect? Now, you want me to wait? To hope?" Aegon asked sarcastically.
With his Hand's cowardice making him appear weak, they would call him the king who waits.
"We have to be patient, Your Grace." Otto answered politely, their relationship was cold since his Hand failed to bring Maelor's head back.
"So you want me to wait?" Aegon asked again, his voice cold and hard as he handed his empty glass to Jaehaerys for a refill.
After Maelor's death, Aegon made his son, Jaehaerys, his cupbearer, either to keep him close out of a dread of losing yet another child or perhaps because only his children could bring a light and peace to his otherwise gloomy heart.
"Yes, Your Grace." No he thought.
"How long do you want me to wait? Until I lose another son?" Aegon took a drink, emptied his glass, and handed it over to be refilled.
He had waited long enough. If he kept waiting, when would his revenge ever come.
"No." Suddenly, Aegon wrenched the linked hands chain from Otto's neck with such violence that Otto's head crashed against the table, leaving a deep mark on his forehead as blood oozed from the fresh wound.
Shattered pieces of golden hands clattered to the floor.
This act shocked almost everyone in the council, with the Queen Dowager being the most horrified of all.
"Aegon!" Alicent screamed, rushing to her father, now stripped of his title and reduced to nothing but a second son.
"My new Hand will be a steel fist." Aegon declared, turning to Ser Criston and thrusting the remaining of the broken chain into his Kingsguard Commander's hand.
"We are done with writing letters."
Criston was stunned, unprepared for the king's sudden decision to make him Hand. Doubt weighed on him, he feared he might end up like Ser Ryam.
But, he will do it. He will do it for his king. He will do it for Aegon, the king he had crowned, the one he had taught and trained since childhood…
the son he never had.
He will bring him victory.
He will be the Hand
"It is not for you to plead for support from your lords, like a beggar pleading for alms. You are the lawful king of Westeros, and those who deny it are traitors. It is past time they learned the price of treason." Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and Hand of the King, reassured his king as he wore the linked hands chain.
Aegon looked into his new Hand's eyes and opened his mouth to speak.
"———-"
alicent pov:
Alicent Hightower stood at the edge of the grand chamber, her heart heavy with the weight of the recent turmoil. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the walls, mirroring the darkness that had enveloped her family. The once-stately halls of the Red Keep now seemed a prison, each step echoing with the grim realities that had overtaken her life.
She had not slept well since the death of Maelor. The guilt and grief were all-consuming, clouding her thoughts and dreams. The anguished cries of her daughter Helaena, now a shattered soul consumed by madness, haunted her every waking moment. Helaena's descent into despair was a tragedy Alicent had never anticipated, and the strain of seeing her daughter suffer so cruelly was unbearable.
In the small council chamber, Aegon sat brooding in his opulent seat, his face a mask of sorrow and fury. The once-comfortable chair, adorned with dragon carvings and luxurious upholstery, seemed to only emphasize the burden of his kingship. His rage and grief had transformed him into a figure she scarcely recognized. The loss of Maelor had changed him irrevocably, driving him to the edge of sanity.
Otto's dismissal had shocked Alicent. The old man, who had been a steadfast pillar of their family's power, was now nothing more than a fallen figure, his status and dignity shattered. Aegon's rage had been swift and brutal, and Alicent's heart had ached at the sight of her father, now stripped of his title and reduced to a mere casualty in the King's quest for vengeance.
She had rushed to her father's side as Aegon's fury erupted, her heart pounding with a mixture of horror and helplessness. The sight of Otto's bloodied forehead had made her stomach churn, and the sound of the golden chain breaking had been a painful echo of the fractured state of their family.
Her eyes had been drawn to Ser Criston Cole, who stood there stunned, the remnants of the broken chain thrust into his hand. His expression was a mix of disbelief and determination, and Alicent could see the weight of the responsibility that had just been placed upon him. Criston's ascension to Hand was both a shock and a grim reassurance. Aegon was done with diplomacy, with seeking support from allies; he now wanted action, and Criston was to be the steel fist of his wrath.
Alicent felt a pang of fear for what this new course of action meant. The kingdom was already fractured, and Aegon's thirst for retribution would only widen the rifts. She worried for what Criston's new role would entail, knowing that the newly appointed Hand's methods might only exacerbate the suffering and chaos.
As the council meeting concluded, Alicent retreated to her private quarters, seeking solace in the stillness of her surroundings. She sat by the window, the night air cold against her skin, and gazed out over the city that seemed to be teetering on the brink of destruction. The stars above, once a comforting sight, now felt distant and indifferent.
Her thoughts turned to her children—Jaehaera, who was no longer the bright and cheerful girl she once knew, now shadowed by the trauma; and Helaena, who was lost in a torment she couldn't begin to understand. The burden of their suffering weighed heavily on Alicent's soul, and the future seemed as dark as the night sky.
She clasped her hands together, a silent plea for guidance and forgiveness. In the privacy of her chamber, she allowed herself to weep openly, the tears mingling with the quiet desperation she felt. The prayers she offered to the Mother were not just for forgiveness for her own sins but for the salvation of her family and her kingdom.
.
In the stillness of the night, Alicent Hightower understood that their world had changed irrevocably. The love she once felt for her family and the hope she harbored for their future seemed distant and frail. The price of power and the cost of betrayal had left deep scars, and the road to redemption seemed obscured by shadows of doubt and despair.
All she could do was pray—pray for strength, for her family, and for a sliver of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.
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