Dance with her ghosts

“King Viserys I and Queen Alicent were not a conventional couple, the Queen had been a wild and adventurous woman in her youth, just as the King had been calm and controlled and contrary to what was expected, the two formed a balanced couple and they rarely disagreed on things.

By the time the events of the year 114 AC took place, it is said that the King was so furious that he and the Queen were involved in their first major quarrel, it is further said that the King was unwilling to accept a marriage between Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, and only accepted the idea when he realized that marrying his daughter to any other Lord in the Realm would be nothing but stupidity.”

- Mushroom in the book “The Testimony of Mushroom”

“You didn't bleed.” he whispered, darkly, a sudden sobriety settling into his mind. "You're not a maiden."

"No." she whispered back. "But you don't have to worry about that, because dead people don't talk."

Viserys had kept the secret of their wedding night to himself for years, and would hide it for years to come, he had kept it close to his chest, tucked away with the thousand secrets a King must guard, because if Viserys opened mouth, Alicent would go from the Queen to a whore and from a whore to a corpse.

He'd worried for a long time about how his children would turn out, but Alicent drank Moon tea every day, and sometimes, he'd hear her whisper about shunning, about Aegon, and Viserys wondered if she'd have the nerve to name a bastard with such a name as Targaryen.

But then in the year 109 AC the Maester was jubilant, "a pregnancy, my King, a pregnancy" he would say, so excited that the child seemed to be his, not Viserys', Alicent was rigid, a grim smile stretched across her face while Viserys was cold with dread.

In his dreams, his child with Alicent was a boy, sometimes dark-skinned like Corlys, sometimes he had Daemon's mocking smile, sometimes his hair was brown as earth and his eyes dark as night, in those particularly, the boy had horns and wings.

But then Aegon was born, with a wrinkled little face, red from crying, he looked like nothing but a withered potato, but his hair was golden, with strands of hair so fine that when the light fell on his little head, his hair looked like transparent, his eyes, though a nondescript blue, were darkening into a violet that was very reminiscent of his grandfather's eyes.

And then, after him, Helaena, who had so much white hair on her head that her little caps were bristly and fluffy, the sweet little girl who had been born with almost white eyes, so pale a lilac the Maester was sure she was blind.

She wasn't blind, but she was a strange child, always with dirty knees, with matted hair and a smile so bright it was pure light, she didn't speak but loved them through hugs and wet kisses and little garden bugs.

Viserys honestly thought they would stop having children when Helaena was born, Alicent wasn't a bad mother, far from it, she was such a good mother, that sometimes Viserys was resentful that his own mother had died.

But then the turn of the year, the last moon of 113 AC, which was soon replaced by the year 114 AC and the only one who seemed to see hard times was Viserys.

The early days of the year 114 AC were a dark time, Viserys's nights plagued by dreams so gruesome and so bloody that he woke each night with a start, drenched in sweat, his mouth so dry his tongue felt like sandpaper.

And Viserys most certainly didn't have prophetic dreams, he wasn't like Daenys, or Aegon I, or anyone before him, he was just a man who had nightmares about his wife whispering dead don't talk, and then she'd be covered in blood and Viserys's eyes would see only red running down the walls, through his wife's mouth, through his children's hair, on his hands, on everything, so much red, so much blood.

But then the Queen was pregnant for the third time and the dreams stopped and Viserys was sure it had all been imagination and alcohol, and they would have another baby, particularly Viserys wanted another little girl.

But this pregnancy felt different, Alicent was irritated with everything, especially Viserys and at times she looked ready to kill him, she was also big, looking a lot like a watermelon, and she was sore, tired and angry, mostly angry.

And she had isolated herself, not entirely, but she had hidden away. She was running errands, and Viserys didn't even know what they were, at the same time as she was with Aegon, Helaena, and Rhaenyra.

So Otto had come to visit, he always came when the children were close to being born, and every time, Alicent was so tense that Viserys could feel the hardness of her muscles at his fingertips.

She hated her father and Viserys didn't know why, Otto is such a good man, always with the best advice, the best wines and the best information.

Then Otto is stepping closer and whispering I have serious information, my King and Viserys wants to know what it is, because if Otto says it's serious, it certainly is, Daemon, on the other hand, looks murderous, scaring poor Otto like he's a stray dog.

And after that, Daemon seems to take a renewed interest in Viserys's personal life, because he doesn't leave his side for a moment, looking suspiciously bored, and it's good to spend time with his brother, but it's also good to know what Otto knows.

He never has time to get that information, too busy because his wife has the notion that Viserys would kill her to have a baby, just as he did Aemma, even the walls seem to whisper that fact.

Aemma's death, which everyone seems to think was Viserys's fault, was actually a series of unfortunate circumstances that spoke of a succession crisis, a war between the Targaryens and the Velaryons. Viserys was not stupid, he knew that Corlys would put his children on the Throne if he had to, so the need for an heir was urgent.

The point is, Viserys wouldn't do that to Alicent, he had three children, a perfect heiress, two spares and the idea of marrying again was downright repulsive, he wouldn't mind losing a child if it meant his wife was alive.

But Alicent is adamant, she wants Daemon, and only Daemon, and maybe, maybe the children are Targaryen, but not his. He follows them both anyway, into the delivery room, even though it's frowned upon for men to be inside. 

And Daemon enters, Ser Rickard, bloodstained, hands, boots, armor gleaming, standing in the doorway, lets him in with sudden ease, as if he weren't violating years and years of tradition.

He stops Viserys, an iron-glossed hand reaches out and blocks the door, Ser Rickard doesn't look at him, he looks tense, his jaw clenched and the sinews taut over his throat.

 “Ser Rickard, move out of the way.”  orders Viserys, a little impatiently, a little irritated, he is the King, this Keep is his, he has the right to enter everywhere whenever he wants.

 “No.”  the guard replies, and still doesn't look at him, Ser Rickard looks sweaty.

 “No? It is an order, from your King.”  Viserys clarifies, in case Ser Rickard has bumped his head and forgotten that he is a subject of Viserys, that he makes up the Kingsguard, and that his highest duty is to the King of the Seven Kingdoms.

 “My orders are to protect the royal family.”  the guard answers carefully, still not looking at Viserys, looking very pale and very shaky. “From external and internal threats, my King."

Viserys understands what he means, somehow everyone seems to think Viserys is a wife killer, but you are, aren't you, because otherwise I would be alive Aemma whispers in his mind and Viserys shudders.

 “I'm going to find the Maester, Ser Rickard, but I'll be back.”  Viserys replies, he has no time for this now, Ser Rickard looks like he wants to protest, but he nods once, a stiff nod that makes his jaw even tighter and tighter.

Viserys would be very stupid if he didn't notice that Ser Rickard never took his hand off the doorknob.

The stone corridors are endlessly long and Viserys remembers his dreams, of so much blood, of Alicent, bleeding, of the blood that stained the walls and covered everyone Viserys cared for.

The Maester's chambers were close to the King's chambers, in case something bad happened, but the healing rooms, the ones specially reserved for guards, servants or visitors, were close to the kitchens, nearly three flights of stairs down from where Viserys needed to be. 

And where was the Maester when the Queen was in labor?

He finds Maester Mellos in his healing room, his cloak's sleeves rolled up and his hands smeared with blood, a white cloak crumpled on a wooden chair, Viserys remembers he hasn't held a tourney in at least two moons, Alicent being too tired to help him, so how did another one of his damn Kingsguard got hurt?

“Maester?” Viserys asks, still politely, because gods know what would happen if the King lost his mind too.

“My king.” The man exclaims, jumping in place, his hands are smeared with blood and he holds a sewing needle next to a tray of bloodstained water. "Have you come to finish the job?"

That's it, everyone has gone insane in the last few hours and Viserys doesn't know shit.

"What the hell is going on, Mellos?" Viserys snorts the question between clenched teeth. “And don't get tangled up with me or gods help me."

"So you didn't know?" the man asks, genuinely curious, looking very unsure for a few moments. “The Queen cut out Ser Criston Cole's tongue with sewing scissors.”

What did the Queen do?

“What?” Viserys asks, weakly, sure his ears are failing him.

The Maester steps back and Viserys has his first sight of Ser Criston in what seems like days.

Blood was oozing from his half-sewn mouth, his cheeks, always a healthy, brown hue, were pale with two gnarled cuts on either side of his mouth, almost as if someone had placed one hand on his jaw and the other on his jaw and opened it. Two ugly, straight features that left him with a macabre-looking smile, especially with the black line that joined the two parts of his mouth.

The blood on Ser Criston's chin is the same color as Alicent's hair when bathed in the sun, a coppery hue that glistened and made little Aegon take his own curly hair in his chubby little hands and ask why white? for your fun mom.

Still, Ser Criston seemed to have the fury of a caged hound, with brown eyes so furious they looked murderous.

Viserys feels his head buzzing.

What the hell did Alicent do now?

"And why on earth would the Queen decide to cut out a Kingsguard's tongue with scissors?" Viserys asks, the Maester shrugs, and Ser Criston looks even more like a beast, baring his bloodstained teeth menacingly, a ball of blood running down his chin and dripping onto his breeches.

“I don't know, my King, I tried to get Ser Criston to write but apparently he has no knowledge of writing.” Viserys feels the headache throb behind his eyes.

"Weren't writing classes mandatory for every Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?" because if Viserys is not mistaken, King Jaehaerys instituted this policy that the White Book should always be maintained and updated, Ser Criston snarls again, his mouth working in a series of words that never come out, just pellets of blood that make their chin look even bloodier.

“Ser Criston did not attend any of the lessons, my King.” Of course the fucking Lord Commander didn't show up to any of the classes.

“Then I'm sure the Queen had good reason to pull out your tongue, Ser Criston.” Viserys concedes, feeling a headache shoot through his skull.

Viserys isn't sure of this, Alicent was never particularly violent and never did anything without a clear reason, she also never asked permission, but always gave him a muttered warning of any particularly dramatic action she was about to take.

Viserys didn't know what was going on, he didn't know what had driven his wife to cut out the tongue of one of her most faithful guards, he didn't know what was going on between her and Daemon or what the hell was going on in the delivery room.

Viserys was, for the first time in years, truly in the dark about what was going on in his own Keep.

“Have you finished the…” Viserys isn't quite sure what the man is doing, because he looks finished, but he doesn't know if he is, so he chooses to gesture to Ser Criston's bloodied face, which is looking increasingly furious.

“There's not much else I can do.” the Maester growls. “The Queen did a very good job for a first time.”

Viserys carefully chooses to ignore this statement.

“That's good, because the Queen is giving birth.” Viserys says. “The midwife says there's a lot of blood, they don't know what's wrong with her.”

“Now now.” the Maester mutters and the end of his sentence sounds a lot like we can't lose another Queen, we can, but Viserys chooses to ignore it because he's not sure if he's heard it or not, Viserys has been avoiding a lot of fights lately. "Let's see the Queen then."

They take the exact route that Viserys did, back to the delivery room, but without passing the Maester's personal quarters, the corridor is suspiciously silent like a tomb.

Considering Viserys's experience with childbirth, and considering that Aemma had such difficult childbirths that her screams echoed in Viserys's ears even after all this time, when she's already dead, her screams are still mockery in Viserys's ears.

“Open the door, Ser Rickard, I have brought a Maester.” he orders, already at the end of his patience, Ser Rickard, on the other hand, looks ready to fight him.

“I have orders, my King, none but Prince Daemon may enter.” the man replies, looking very defiant.

"And whose orders are those, Ser Rickard? Who has more authority than I, the King, in my own Stronghold?” Viserys asks, insanely irritated.

Ser Rickard remains unperturbed, staring straight ahead, jaw tight, hamstrings taut, and a sheen of sweat staining his forehead.

“Ser Rickard, I command you to open the door.” Viserys says, and he doesn't even realize he's screaming, his voice growing louder in the silence of the corridors.

“No.” the Kingsguard replies, imperturbably still.

“Let me in.”

The guard remains painfully still, Ser Rickard not moving for a second, looking like a wall of a man, right hand outstretched over the wooden door and a pale face set in defiance.

There are no screams and Viserys has a Maester, contrary to what Daemon and Alicent might think, a Maester would really help on that front, midwives are experienced, yes, but not really women with any kind of education.

“Open the door now, this is a direct order from your King. Do not make me call Ser Erryk and Ser Steffon to take you to The Black Cells under threat of treason.” Viserys threatens, to Ser Ricakrd.

“You can take me out of here on threat of treason, my King.” Ser Rickard replies, finally looking at Viserys, looking green, as if he is about to be sick, but also determined, as if he is about to fight the battle of his life. “But the Queen has given me an order, and I won't leave my post until someone opens the door from the inside.”

Viserys steps under the closed door and Ser Rickard's hand shoots lightning fast to the doorknob, the Kingsguard would never dare strike the King, but one of them is verging on treason just for defending the Queen, and Viserys would admire that, if it weren't such a big impediment.

Because he feels weak now, a King in his own keep, in his own halls, being prevented from doing anything by one of his guards, who does nothing but remain motionless.

“Daemon, open the door, DAEMON, OPEN THE DOOR, IT IS AN ORDER, FROM YOUR KING, OPEN THE DOOR.” shouts Viserys, slamming his fists into the door, because he knows what the death of a Queen does to a realm, he saw it with his own eyes when Aemma passed away, he saw his daughter wither and the snakes conspire and he won't have that again.

Daemon is shouting something back and Viserys' ears are roaring, as if he's sunk into his bathtub and can't get out.

He is ready for another round of screams when the baby's loud cry is heard, and Viserys lets out a breath of air he didn't even realize he was holding when he hears the cry.

“If I may be frank, my King.” says Ser Rickard, and he looks a little less green, but still so sweaty his hair is plastered to his forehead. "I get the impression the midwives know what they're doing."

Viserys gives him as threatening a look as he gets, which is a lot, considering Ser Rickard flinches and turns even greener, Viserys thinks that was pretty threatening.

“Stay here.” Viserys tells the Maester. “They have a midwife, but I want an opinion from someone who really knows something.”

Mellos nods his head in agreement, he seems to think of something for a moment but doesn't say anything, which Viserys is grateful for, truth be told he is tired of arguing with people who should serve him without question and he he has yet to think of what he will do with Ser Rickard.

It seems days pass before there is any movement in the room, Viserys is so tired he almost misses the high-pitched scream that pierces his ears.

He's about to storm the room when the Kingsguard's hand tightens around the doorknob again, damn his guards stupidly loyal to his wife, hell be it Ser Rickard, and his family, however distant.

Viserys has to wait even longer before Daemon leaves.

And his brother looks awful, his hair is disheveled, escaping the hair tie that held them together perfectly, his face looks decidedly strained, and there's white goo on his face and dried blood on his hands.

Viserys doesn't know if he should be worried or not, after all, it's Daemon, but on the other hand, Alicent's birth.

“It's two boys.” Daemon says, when he finally opens the door, he looks tense, nervous, Viserys would say.

"Let me see them." says Viserys, feeling delighted, twins, how delightful .

Daemon nods once, more silver hair falling from his headband, and he nods to a crib in the corner of the room, looking very hesitant.

Two sons, twins, ah, a blessing to the Targaryen family, a true blessing, the gods must have been mindful of the Targaryens lately, Viserys thinks, alone with himself as he walks the few steps to the cradle.

The first glimpse of the twins is something Viserys will never forget, while one of them is perfect, with a little pink face, small fists with even smaller fingers and half-closed blue eyes, the other is a little monster with gray skin and black scales that do little to hide the deformity of his crooked spine and uneven arms.

It's like his dreams all over again, a child of Alicent, monstrous in his birth and monstrous in his life.

“It's a little monster.” Viserys whispers, softly to himself, but not softly enough because Daemon, beside him, has a furious snarl of expression.

“It's a baby, it's your child.” His brother replies and Viserys cannot understand how Daemon can think that a half-dragon half-man can be considered human, because he is not, he is a monster, with visible deformities that make him a nightmare, a dishonor to the Targaryen name.

"Good thing he's dead, saves us the trouble." Viserys sighs, relieved, his brother's hard eyes turn to him, one eyebrow raised in conspiracy.

“Dead? No, Viserys, he is alive.” Daemon says and reaches out to the little monster, placing one of his fingers in the baby's scaly palm, and to Viserys's surprise, the little monster squeezes his hand back, its little mouth puckering in distaste at being bothered in such a way in his sleep.

Maester Mellos lets out an excited sigh as he leans over the crib.

“I've read many accounts of the monstrous children of the Targaryen family, but I've never seen one myself.” the man says, and looks frightfully close to jumping in the air and clapping his hands. “If we could just open it up, see what makes it different, study the monstrous parts that made up the boy…”

“Study it?” Daemon interrupts, his voice low, ragged with fury, he sounded murderous. "You want to study a Targaryen body as if it were a common pig?"

“A monster like this has been seen before but never there…” Maester Mellos doesn't finish the sentence, because Daemon has drawn his sword across his neck.

Maester Mellos's blood splatters his face, the same that is on Daemon's sword, the same that is a mockery of Viserys's unbroken neck, he does not know what has become of his brother, but he knows that Daemon has grown ever closer. unhappy with him.

“The next one who tries to lay a finger on my nephew will lose his hand.” Daemon hisses, sounding a lot like Caraxes. “He who speaks of him will lose his tongue, and he who dares to think of killing him will lose his head. Did I make myself clear?” Daemon asks, still hissing, the two handmaidens in the room huddle in on themselves, faces red anguished and wet with tears, Ser Arryk nods once in agreement, and the midwife looks suspicious but mutters something like m'prince .

"You can't kill everyone who speaks ill of a baby." whispers Viserys, when the maids are gone and all that's left is a dying wife, a sleeping baby, and another so awake and so misshapen that Viserys can't bear to look at it.

”No.” Daemon replies, cradling the creature in his arms. “But he's a Targaryen, and he could live a thousand years or half a day, and he'd still be a Targaryen.”

“He is a monster.” Viserys replies, orienting himself. "We should kill him, a monster like that has better mercy dead than alive."

"Would you kill your son?" Daemon asks, a calculating look in his eyes, he looks… Viserys doesn't know what he looks like, his brother seems to have reached a difficult and painful conclusion, but a conclusion nonetheless. "Would you kill your son, the blood of your blood? Would you become a kinslayer because you don't want a different child in the family?”

“Yes.” Viserys replies, the word sore on his tongue, he hesitates a bit, but then he looks at the two babies, one as perfect as perfection can be, the other so misshapen it is painful to look at. “Yes, sometimes a King has to make a sacrifice.”

“Leave.” Daemon says through clenched teeth, and he looks furious in a way Viserys has never seen before. “Get out of here now, and pray to the gods, those of the Seven and those of Valyria, to protect you, Viserys, because if I find you, I will…” Daemon trails off, pressing his lips together in a thin line of distaste. His brother looks so furious that Viserys takes a step back.

Mellos's blood soaks his boots and Viserys feels panic squeezing his throat.

“I won't tell you again, Viserys.” Daemon repeats, a low hiss of voice, barely audible. “Leave.”

Viserys swallows hard and chooses wisely not to confront Daemon, he retraces the steps to his private chambers, his mind replaying the night's events, which are like a lot like endless traps, he lies back on his bed and closes his eyes.

It is only when he is lying down that Viserys realizes he never asked how Alicent was doing.

Viserys sleeps.

Viserys wakes up.

Daemon says dracarys to the body of an unnamed bluish Targaryen.

Viserys closes his eyes and pretends not to see Aemma.

He doesn't know when the little monster died.

Alicent is still sleeping.

Viserys sleeps.

Viserys wakes up.

Alicent is still asleep.

Viserys sleeps, Viserys wakes, Viserys drinks wine.

Alicent is still asleep.

Viserys sleeps, Viserys wakes, Viserys drinks wine.

Ser Laenor was caught naked in Lady Arryn's chambers by Daemon.

Viserys lets Daemon handle it.

Daemon looks oddly smug.

Viserys thinks he should go back to sleep.

Viserys sleeps.

Viserys wakes up.

His child is a furious little thing, scowling and a fighter who lets out shrill cries whenever he is hungry, Viserys picks him up and murmurs Baelon into his soft white hair and pretends he doesn't want this to be another woman's child.

Viserys drinks until the wine bottle is nothing more than a misshapen blur.

Viserys faints.

Viserys wakes up, there is vomit on the sheets, Viserys sleeps.

Ser Laenor Velaryon and Lady Jeyne Arryn are married in a hasty wedding in a sept in the Street of Silk, Ser Joffrey and Lady Jessamyn are the witnesses, the four flee, in the middle of the night to the Eyrie on Seasmoke's back.

Viserys writes a letter to Rhaenys.

Viserys drinks wine until his hands stop shaking and then drinks some more because he can't stand the headache Ser Laenor is causing.

Daemon looks delicately smug.

Viserys is suspicious.

Alicent is still asleep.

Viserys sleeps.

Viserys wakes up.

Daemon looks oddly smug when he asks about Rhaenyra's marriage options.

Rhaenyra is definitely glowing.

Viserys lets out a painfully long sigh.

Viserys sleeps.

Viserys wakes up.

Alicent is awake.

Viserys is furious

There is no one to stop Viserys from entering the room Alicent is in, Ser Rickard has been suspiciously absent from Viserys' sight these past few days, which is just as well, because he doesn't know what he would do if he saw the man other than yell at him. 

"Do you have any idea of the mess you've gotten into these last few days?" Viserys asks his wife, as soon as he sees her, Alicent is holding the baby in her arms, she still looks very pale, very tired and definitely in need of a bath, but she is also still wonderfully beautiful as she smiles at Viserys.

“Oh, Viserys, your life would be immensely boring if I didn't cause a little trouble.” Alicent says smiling, and she... Viserys feels his face getting hot with anger, he wants to strangle her, with his bare hands, for she doesn't look the least bit repentant.

“You cut out Ser Criston's tongue, converted Ser Rickard to the Sept of Queen Alicent's supporters, and made me write a letter that will make us an enemy of Rhaenys.” Viserys says hysterically to his wife. "We don't want Rhaenys as an enemy, and what did you do this for? To marry Rhaenyra to Daemon?”

Alicent huffs and then rolls her eyes, looking very bored.

“Ser Criston was a problem I solved, and you're welcome for that.” his wife answers, sounding smug. “Ser Rickard… I did not expect this.” She shrugs, running her finger down their youngest son's face. “Rhaenys will not be our enemy, and I did what I did because I wanted Rhaenyra to be happy.”

Viserys is running a hand over his forehead and wondering, for what seems like the thousandth time, if he made the right choice when he decided to marry again.

Everything is very simple for Alicent, it seems that in her adventurous and wild head, there are no political games, enemies or nefarious plots to usurp the crown, she simply seems to do things as if consequences do not exist.

“Rhaenyra was born to be Queen, happiness does not always go with the crown." Viserys chooses to answer because it's true, Viserys had everything, a wife he loved, a wonderful daughter and no responsibilities, and then they took the crown from Rhaenys and put it on his head, so now, all Viserys had was a mass of faded memories that haunted his dreams.

“Indeed, but the crown is a heavy burden to bear in a loveless marriage.” Alicent replies, painfully stiff, and they both know, as much as they have three children, none of them were born of love like Rhaenyra, they were all born of duty.

“Still, Ser Laenor was the perfect candidate, he would placate Corlys and keep the Velaryons happy while his grandsons were destined to sit on the throne.” Viserys replies, because of all the Lords available, Laenor was the safe choice, the one who would not create complications and friction and would not generate a revolt.

“Laenor couldn't put a child on Rhaenyra even if they did a butterfly position.” Alicent replies and Viserys feels his face burn with embarrassment, this is how Aegon was made, and it has never been quicker.

“That, is not the case at hand, Alicent, Laenor may or may not have children, we are on the verge of a rebellion with the Velaryons and we cannot have a family feud.” Viserys says, because Grandfather, in his final moments, always said, all that can kill a Targaryen is a Targaryen .

"And we might have a succession crisis?" Alicent asks, and she looks furious. "What would Rhaenyra do then, when she couldn't have a child soon? Would she get pregnant by just anyone and pray that her children were born more Targaryen than common? What would she do, Viserys?”

“She could be married for a few years and then they could get on with their own lives.” Viserys claims, after all, Rhaenyra was a strong woman, surely, killing her husband would not be difficult.

Alicent laughs.

“And then she would marry Daemon not six moons later and Rhaenys would be glad, of course, she would attend their wedding with nothing but Fire and Blood.” Alicent nearly spits in her face. “Be smart for once in your life, Viserys, Rhaenyra and Laenor's marriage would be doomed from the moment Septon declared them wed, marrying her to Daemon is the best idea.”

“Rhaenyra is my daughter.” he says to a bedridden Alicent. “You might think you can decide her fate, but you can't, she's my daughter and I'm her King, I say who she marries" as he's yelling at her, his voice echoing off the stone walls, Alicent scoffs.

“Your daughter?” she asks, softly, sounding furious. “And where were you Viserys? ”Where were you? When your daughter cried for her mother, or when your daughter bled for the first time, or when she was so lonely she read essosi economics books to keep herself distracted, where in the Seven Hells were you when she learned to use a sword or when she giggled at the knights in the training yard? WHERE WERE YOU VISERYS? WHERE?” Alicent is screaming back, her screams are a lot like roars, she's getting paler and paler, the baby in her arms is whimpering but not crying, her son is barely ten days old and he's already hearing screams.

And indeed, Viserys wonders, where was he?

He chooses not to answer Alicent and turns to leave the room.

“Your son's name is Aemond, after Daemon, but don't tell him, he tends to get smug about things like that.” Alicent says, but Viserys is so angry with her that all he can do is slam the door on his way out.

They both know he's right, Alicent shouldn't have cut out Ser Criston's tongue, Ser Rickard should be loyal to the crown, and Rhaenyra should marry Laenor Velaryon, because in the end, happiness at court is an illusion created by fools. 

But they both also know that Rhaenyra will marry Daemon by the end of the week, after all, what other suitor would she have? A Lannister? A Tyrell? No, they cannot empower people who don't understand dragons.

Daemon will have to serve and Viserys has never been more grumpy about it.