Daenys Velaryon is the oldest child of Rhaenyra and Laenor Velaryon, but she shares the same true lineage as her brothers Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey. As the oldest child of the heir to the throne, she has duties to fulfill, duties that she is ex...
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Year: 129 AC
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"Tell me your name?"
The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms stood in her chambers, awaiting an answer from the trembling wraith of a girl in front of her.
"It's Dyana, Your Grace. If...i-if it pleases you..." the girl finally managed to choke out, the words, a fragile plea, escaping her lips as if coerced. Her eyes, wide and glistening with tears, betrayed a vulnerability that the queen could taste in the air. Her fear was a visceral physical thing, and Alicent could almost see it perched on her shoulder, digging its claws into her.
Alicent studied Dyana with an intensity that bordered on the forensic. The intricacies of power played out in the silence between them, the unspoken exchange of authority and submission. Yet, despite the grandeur of her title, Alicent sensed a kindred fragility in the girl before her.
"Dyana," the queen allowed herself a soft wistful smile. "What a pretty name...I understand you've found yourself in some trouble?"
At her words, the girl lowered her head in shame, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face unrestrained. She took a deep shuddering breath before she spoke.
"I-I was fetching the Prince his wine, and I put it on his table, and when I turned around..." the trembling had started again, or perhaps it had never stopped. "I...I didn't see him."
Alicent just watched the girl, her heart almost cleaving in sympathy.
"I didn't see him. I asked him to stop, Your Grace...I did, truly..." The girl was struggling to breathe now, choking on her tears as she tried to explain. "You-you must believe me."
Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Alicent pulled the shaking girl into her embrace, her hand at the back of her head, pressing her into her shoulder. She allowed the young maid to sob into her, giving her some semblance of comfort she hoped.
Blood did not betray blood and Alicent only knew how to love based on how she had been loved, how she had been taught. Which was to say, Otto Hightower was a poor master and Alicent a miserable pupil, suffering greatly under his tutelage.
She held Dyana against her tightly, and as the girl shook in her arms, it was strangely reminiscent of the way her own father had held her when he was leaving her all alone in King's Landing after her marriage to the king. In fact, this whole situation was strangely reminiscent. She had been Dyana once, although the crime against her had been performed under the guise of lawful marriage. She had been Dyana and her father had held her against him, stifling her sobs when really in some way he was responsible for her suffering. Alicent too felt responsible, in some way, Aegon was her blood after all, although she liked to think that some of what made him so obscenely himself came from his father, or perhaps it came from her father. It didn't really matter in the end though, because here she was, holding yet another little girl who had been hurt because a man more powerful than her decided to exercise his will.
