𓂃 ⠀⠀♰ ⠀ two headed mother .
synopsis: alicent can’t take the life that she has been handed, pleading to the gods to change her fate.
cw: mentions of age gap and forced relationship, self-harm, religious guilt, angst, alicent hates her life, also lowkey didn’t proof read this oops.
The heat crept up Alicent’s skin as her fingertips lingered against the flames of her candles. The wax had been melting for so long that it had begun to drip onto the oak surface beneath them. Her thoughts had been racing for hours, running through the various mistakes she could have made that led her to this point. Wet salt slid down her sullen cheeks, the same one that used to support her euphoric smile upon the sight of her Rhaenyra. What a fool she had been. You must be a fool to lose the love of your sick, pathetic life. It was as though she couldn’t stop crying over the thought alone. There had never been a pair of brown eyes that looked so blue. The lady of sorrows, people called her. It was even apparent in the way she floated through King’s Landing. She moved with a hole in her heart, one that was once filled with secret touches and childish giggles.
In the days since the marriage was established, since she lost Rhaenyra, Alicent had pushed herself out of the world. She could barely make it out of bed, swearing that a deathly illness had fallen upon her, but it was not difficult to diagnose the true cause. The maesters knew, her father knew, she knew. The poor girl was fatally in love with Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Realm's Delight. So there she lay in bed, wondering if she’d ever move on from the girl of dragons and promise, and the answer was always no. Because how could she? Rhaenyra was like no other. She was ethereal. She was intimidating. She was tantalizing, and once she was Alicent’s. It was damn near impossible not to think about the faint kisses the girls used to share, tempting the boundaries that were forced upon them. The Faith of the Seven would hate to see one of their virgin, pure-eyed daughters with another woman. It was wrong, and she knew it. The Maiden likely looked down upon her with disgust every time their blushing lips brushed against one another.
Sweet, ruined Alicent. She was fated to a life that was not hers. The eyes of Viserys Targaryen were not what she longed for. The touch of his decrepit hands was not what she craved. The auburn girl pushed her scarred fingertip into the flame before her, dismissing the burning sensation of the man standing behind her. If it hurt badly enough, then maybe it would be as though he never laid a hand on her. Maybe if she closed her eyes, then the soft hands of her paramour would be felt. She knew it was improbable to feel that again, but at least she could pretend. She could always pretend that Rhaenyra had not shunned her, as if she could not realize that all of this was not of Alicent’s choice. When she shut her eyes, the tears pouring down her now pale face, she saw her there. It was as though the two never parted.
And yet, the fantasy of her lost love was not enough to pull her away from reality. She was still married to Viserys, and he was nevertheless standing behind her with his grasp on her frail shoulders. Alicent pushed herself away from the desk, muttering some apology that presumably fell upon deaf ears, running as swiftly as she could towards the Grand Sept. The Mother Above was all she had left. While she often feared how the Maiden regarded her, especially with her ever-present love for another woman, the Mother offered boundless divine compassion. Maybe she understood to some degree. It was less that Alicent craved mercy, and more that she wanted to feel like there was someone or something beside her, guiding her back up when she fell. In the silky, white dress of an angel, Alicent fell to her knees where her hands clasped before her. The cloth fell around her like a pearly pool, the stone beneath her tainting its unadulterated shade. “My Mother Above, please tell me if I am doing right by my family. Have I made a mistake in listening to my father? Please,” she begged in a near whisper.
Plenty of voices ran laps around her mind, but none of them were of those she desperately ought to hear from. “You know she hates you,” a voice cried out gravely in her thoughts. Her hands rose to her ears, pressing hard enough that perhaps the noises would fall silent. But they never stopped. Voices of doubt and devastation plagued her, even as she yelled for help and cried for tenderness. It was fruitless. She was doomed to follow this path that was thrust upon her, without Rhaenyra. Without anyone.
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