Chapter Text
Lady Alicent Hightower always made sure she was the first of the Queen’s councillors to occupy the chamber on the days which were ordained for them to meet. She straightened chairs, shuffled papers, put out pots of ink and pens with long grey feathers, acquired for this purpose from the chambers of Grand Maester Orwyle. She had servants bring in flagons of cool water with slices of lemon, arbor gold and hippocras, and today, some soft, crumbling cheese, dried figs, autumn honey and brown bread, and light pleasantly scented candles, some smelling of lavender, some of honey and autumn flowers, to give the often tense council chamber a soothing scent.
It was all as her father had done, after all, and Lady Alicent embodied her role as much as Ser Otto did.
She looked in a polished silver mirror and adjusted the Hand chain about her neck. It was not truly a chain of office, as her father had worn, but more a necklace, a thin gold band of clasping hands, a large hand pendant, solid gold and heavy, hanging between her breasts. The gown she wore was meant not to evoke Ser Otto and his stern, if even presence, but rather to titillate her Queen. It was a soft blue, lambswool for winter, but cut close around her curves, revealing more cleavage than she usually cared to, embroidered with winter roses and dotted with tiny sapphires. It cinched tightly around her waist but spread into a pile of thick skirts around her rear, making it look even larger than it actually was. Her hair hung loose and maiden-like in thick auburn curls, her face painted to make her look flushed and warm despite the increasing chill.
She couldn’t say that her father would approve of her garments, but he would approve of her methods. “Continue my work,” he’d told her in the Red Keep’s courtyard, in drizzling rain, the day after his King’s funeral. He had been brusque from his dismissal but still half in grief over the death of the old King. “Do what you must for our House, even if she brings turmoil. You know better than I how to ensure that.” Ser Otto Hightower had given her a queer look, causing his usually composed daughter to flush.
“I know her very well, father, you know that.” Alicent had said, looking down at her feet.
“I’m very aware. Too aware. You should be more discreet, there are more eyes and ears on Dragonstone than either of you imagine, and I don’t have to tell you about the rats that lurk about this castle.” He had spoken coolly and evenly, but there was tension in his voice. “I will tolerate it as long as it serves us, and I suppose it has. The rest of Westeros may not be so forgiving.”
“To them, I’m simply a pious maiden,” Alicent had spoken quickly, eager to drop this particular line of conversation. It had been sixteen years since she and her father had come to an…understanding about her marriage, yet she still felt he rued the day Viserys rejected all suitors, including her. “The Queen’s childhood companion and lady in waiting. There is nothing untowards about that. Queen Rhaena and Lady Jeyne…”
“...did not sit the Iron Throne,” he had interjected, cutting her off. “You will be under much more scrutiny, and whatever you are to Rhaenyra, you mustn't forget that you are a Hightower first and foremost, and your brother and nephews…”
This time Alicent had cut him off, exasperated with this. Again. “I know. You know my feelings. You have no reason to doubt my support, but if you earnestly expect that I can convince the Queen, still grieving her father, that she must disinherit her sons in favor of my nephews, you must be the biggest fool in the Seven Kingdoms. How many times did Viserys almost sack you for pushing ‘Hightower ambition?’ Do you think it will be somehow different with me?”
Her father had shrugged as servants put the last of his things in the carriage that would take him to the port, a ship and then home to Oldtown. “Wait a year then. Enjoy being a dutiful servant in the meantime, but you mustn't be weak. A weak king needs a strong Hand, that is how it worked under Viserys, and you know as well as I that his daughter…”
“Leave us.” Alicent had growled. Her father had given her a forlorn look, but complied.
A year had indeed passed, and here she was, watching snowflakes fall on the city below her. She sat the polished silver down on a table to the side and poured herself a goblet full of hippocras. She usually chose water, but if she truly was going to needle the succession today, she needed to calm her nerves. Or should I be clearheaded? She stared at the dark red spiced wine in her silver goblet and rapped her fingers nervously against the council table.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the first of her councillors making his way in with a soft step but a rhythmic clack from his cane as he made his way to a seat on Alicent’s left hand. “Lord Larys.” She said, quietly, in greeting. Her Master of Whisperers. Viserys had detested such a position, but her father had kept his…creatures for knowing what was going on about the castle and the city, and Lord Larys had been happy to provide his services to her. A court creature of many years, he left Harrenhal in the control of uncles and cousins after the untimely, tragic deaths of his father and brother. Rhaenyra had nothing but loathing for the man, but he had proved his utility on more than a few occasions, and Alicent had managed to convince her that he would serve her well. He certainly served Alicent well, though he often unnerved her, with his smooth tones and lingering glances, but she could overlook them in gratitude for his information and…
Those are just rumors, she thought, it’s a sin if otherwise, I was already so wroth…
“Lady Hand,” Larys said, with a curt nod. “I trust all of us in the city will be in attendance today.”
“I have not heard otherwise.” She said, with a cool but pleasant smile. Grand Maester Orwyle entered as she spoke, grey and nervous and hurrying. He had a neat stack of reports from the Rookery, and thumbed through them as he took his seat at Alicent’s right hand. Alicent’s smile for him was warmest, he was the councillor she was fondest of, a sharp historical mind and Oldtown born and bred, the Hand and the Grand Maester had much in common. Rhaenyra had wanted to replace him with her Maester on Dragonstone, Gerardys, but Alicent had sternly insisted on keeping him. The Conclave would be furious if one of their own was so unceremoniously dismissed, for reasons of naught but fondness for a Dragonstone Maester. A Hightower would never forget the Citadel, thousands of oaths sworn in centuries past had ensured it, and Alicent wouldn’t dare break them for a lover’s whim. Orwyle returned her smile and continued to organize his reports.
Lord Gunthor Massey entered next, a dawdling, unimpressive figure, that she could only genuinely describe as one of Rhaenyra’s lickspittles. Alicent frowned as he looked about the room half in confusion. “Am I late? Did the rest leave?” He said, glancing around the room, hapless and wide-eyed. Alicent never quite knew if he was as empty-headed as he appeared, or trying to irritate her. The Narrow Sea Houses despised Hightower influence and had hoped that the death of Viserys would lead to the replacement of Ser Otto’s allies with some more of their own number in the court…but they had found themselves disappointed by Rhaenyra and her decision to not only elevate Alicent to Hand, but give her the same amount of duties her father had held. His position as Master of Laws was merely an indication of Rhaenyra’s affection for her handmaid, his youngest daughter Elinda, and Alicent had been open throughout the whole of his tenure that she could find a more suitable and loyal candidate.
Rhaenyra wasn’t pleased by that. Alicent had wanted to keep on her father’s Master of Laws, Jasper Wylde, whose knowledge of Andal legal tomes was second only to his prowess in the bedchamber, but Wylde had given her a curt request to be relieved of his duties after Rhaenyra took the throne. He cited a desire to return to his lands, but Alicent suspected the copy of the proceedings of the Great Council of 101 he had left open in his chambers as he departed the city had more to do with his sudden absence.
Alicent picked at her fingernails. That was a problem for another day. The realm accepts her, she told herself, the realm accepts us. But as Massey grumbled his way to a seat furthest away from her on the right, she wondered.
Lord Corlys Velaryon was indisposed, winter on the Narrow Sea meant he needed to attend to the repair and function of his vessels, the half-Velaryon, half-Royal Fleet Rhaenyra’s father had allowed him to possess. Lady Alicent wasn’t fond of continuing this policy, but Rhaenyra’s throne was undergirded by Velaryon sails, so she felt forced to keep it in place. She had hoped ending her father’s ridiculous spat with him by inviting him to the Small Council to his rightful place as Master of Ships would help make the man more pliable, but he wasn’t. Alicent got the impression he struggled to take orders from any woman that wasn’t the Princess Rhaenys, and with her governing Driftmark in his absence, Alicent could have no one to soften the blows of new policies and new edicts. Alicent was relieved of his absence at the best of times, but she was especially glad of it today, if the Council was to deal with the question of his…”grandchildren.”
That left her Master of Coin Ser Tyland Lannister to arrive last, with a yawn and a jape as usual. “Sorry to keep you indisposed, my lords and lady. They don’t tell us when you leave Casterly Rock that it becomes much harder to come up with gold when you can’t merely dig it out of the ground. I spent last night scraping at the walls of my bedchamber hoping our Queen’s ancestors had missed some great deposit.” He smiled but Alicent rolled her eyes. Not one of his best. Alicent did enjoy the company of Ser Tyland, he was good for a laugh, he had a certain Lannister charm about him, even if he did give her a look or two that suggested he didn’t quite fully understand the nature of her relationship with Rhaenyra, and he did have a head for figures.
She had never cared for Viserys’s old Master of Coin, Lord Beesbury with his nodding off in council and his hostility towards House Hightower over some ridiculous slight her uncle had caused when she was a girl. She had sent him off the day she was appointed, and after saying some choice words about how swapping one Hightower for another would bring ruin and accusing her of poisoning Viserys the same way her father poisoned Prince Baelon, she regretted not finding some pretense to shove him in the dungeons and take his lands for the Crown.
“I see I’ve displeased our Lady Hand,” Tyland said, taking the last seat on the left, across from Massey. He reached for a Dornish olive and popped in his mouth, spitting out of the pit. “My chance to earn her hand in marriage grows dimmer by the day.” He poured himself a cup of wine. Tyland had offered her a proposal at the last council meeting when she suggested better interest on the Crown’s loan to House Lannister. Rhaenyra, who had not been paying attention up to that point, threatened to dismiss him if he bothered the Hand again, but rather than make another scene, Alicent brushed it off with the same simple piety that had oft served her well.
“I hate to disappoint you, Ser Tyland, but you know I’ve devoted my life to the service of the Faith and her grace. I swore a vow before the Maiden.” She’d also done something else before the Maiden that same day in that Dragonstone Sept, but that was between her and her Queen.
“Oh I know, Lady Alicent, you’re practically a Septa.” Alicent flushed but Tyland smirked. Damn him. “Speaking of her grace, will she be attending today or shall we simply get into business?”
“We can wait a few more minutes, the Queen is riding her dragon today and I suspect she’s been held up by the snow.” Alicent had suggested it, in spite of the weather. Rhaenyra did love to ride her dragon, but neither she nor the beast cared for the cold, so the two of them had sat together in inactivity since the snows began to fall. On most days, Alicent did not mind. Rhaenyra was hers, always hers, and she had always been more than a bit lazy, and when she wasn’t, always of her own mind, and of late, that mind had kept her inclined towards sitting about, drinking and feasting. Alicent was happy to do all of the actual work of governance for the Queen as she sat about listening to a singer or laughing at her fool or reading an old Valyrian scroll or trying a new dish for the winter feasts and holy days Alicent always loved to turn into court spectacle. Alicent loved always being able to find Rhaenyra to huddle under the furs with or share a hot cup of spiced wine, and she did always manage to drag her towards small council meetings whenever she called for them, even if half the time Rhaenyra just sat disinterested, chewing on cheese and trying to change the subject to something more to her tastes: useless wars, public festivals where she could be showered in praise, how to not go to the Sept for an important ceremony. But today…she wanted her not disinterested, but in a good mood, raised spirits…something to…
Her heart sank when the door opened again. It wasn’t Rhaenyra, gracefully hurrying in those tight riding leathers of hers, long braid bouncing. It was the last person she wanted to see.
The bastard, she thought. “Prince Jacaerys,” she said, evenly but coldly. “What business do you have with the council?”
His brown eyes met hers, and for a moment they were locked in a steely gaze, the rest of the council chamber averting their eyes and staying quiet as stone. “My mother is indisposed. I’m here to represent her at the council.”
Never. “That is my duty, Prince Jacaerys. The Hand speaks with the Queen’s voice. You should be concerning yourself with other duties. Your seat on Dragonstone…”
“...is far and difficult to reach with winter seas. You know my mother wanted me to take a more active interest in governance, especially now that…”
“She also wanted you to take a more active interest in your High Valyrian lectures, but instead you’ve primarily focused on riding your dragon.” And annoying me. Jacaerys was always doted on by his mother, and even though by all accounts he was growing into a fine young man, he resented Alicent’s place at Rhaenyra’s side and was always chiming in with his own ideas on how to govern the realm. Rhaenyra indulged him, or perhaps more accurately was unconcerned with such matters, but it made Alicent’s duties as Hand much more difficult to fill.
Jaecerys snarled at Alicent’s barb and sat in Rhaenyra’s seat at the end of the table, his voice nervous but outraged. “My mother wants me to gain experience with governance. Take it up with her when she returns.” Alicent flushed red, the whole council staring at her. To act more forcefully would create an even more perilous situation and would end up as a brutal fight with Rhaenyra, yet to let him stay would embarrass her in front of her council. She channeled her father the best she could and decided that a little public fealty to her monarch’s wishes was the lesser of the two evils in front of her.
She nodded and in a more polite tone half apologized to the Prince. “I will discuss it with her, but she does make a point. Stay for the time being, until she arrives.”
She could not possibly discuss the succession today , with him of all people sitting in her council chamber, so the council prattled on about unimportant business for an hour, counting coppers, a new Bracken and Blackwood dispute, food for the North in the winter. Jaecerys, to his credit, was not totally useless, though he bickered with her more than his mother ever had or would. When it looked as if Lord Massey was about to fall asleep, Alicent dismissed them all and scheduled another meeting in three days, where hopefully the Queen and Lord Corlys could attend. Jacaerys practically ran out of the room, not before turning his chin up at his mother’s lover.
She watched his long, dark brown hair bounce over his shoulders as he departed, and picked at her nail again. She felt a twinge of guilt, as she always did when she fought with the boy. She knew it couldn’t be helped, Rhaenyra had told her time and time again. Ser Laenor couldn’t fill his duties in the marriage bed, something that filled Alicent with a queer sort of jealous rage that had only barely subsided in the years since his passing on the Narrow Sea. Alicent forbade Princess Rhaenyra from coupling with Prince Daemon, then in his last years fighting in Pentos, and Rhaenyra demanded permission from her to produce some sort of heir. Alicent hated it. She hated Corlys for forcing this upon her, she hated Laenor for being unable to do his duty, even if that was a duty she herself had shirked, and she hated him most of all. The one she chose for it. The Captain of Gold Cloaks with his curly brown hair and his plain Riverlands accent. Alicent should have said no, but by then it was too late, Rhaenyra had sheepishly admitted.
They had quarreled after that, Alicent spending a year in Oldtown with her uncle before Rhaenyra flew south on Syrax to convince her of her true love. She remembered Syrax’s orange flames pouring atop the Hightower, Rhaenyra smelling of dragon in an autumn rain, drops dripping down her soaked shimmering white gold hair and onto her swollen breasts, saying that she came first in her heart always, feeling her heartbeat and she pushed her into a narrow closet high amongst the clouds in her family seat. They took a ship back to the capital together, and Rhaenyra had cautiously introduced her to the little Prince Jacaerys. Of course, that had undone much of her newly repaired feelings. She fell into Rhaenyra’s arms, soft and gentle as they always were, but the babe had confirmed her worst fears. Brown hair, brown eyes, plain face. He could have passed for Alicent’s son, but not Ser Laenor’s.
The fears got worse when Rhaenyra fell pregnant again. Alicent had spent the night weeping in front of the altar of the Mother when she had finally broken the news, but yet again, Rhaenyra had gently managed to convince her that it was necessary for the realm and would probably strengthen her position. After all, what were the chances both children would be brown haired? It would probably be a girl too, and their marriage could put an end to the realm’s gossip when it was time for them to take the throne, if it ever came to it. Alicent did have a fondness for those days, Rhaenyra’s second pregnancy had…awoken something inside her, and Alicent rarely left the Princess’s bed in those months. Her mouth practically watered at the thought of licking Rhaenyra’s first stretchmarks, and she grew more than fond of suckling at her increasingly heavy breasts. That joy faded when the child she gave birth too was brown eyed and plain featured again. Alicent tried not to be cross, but spilled to Rhaenyra in the dead of night six months after the birth of little Lucerys that this was a horrid, horrid mistake, and she would have been far better off not having children. Think of the political opportunities! Naming your own heir! The power she could possess!
It was, of course, noted by the Princess that Lady Alicent was serving a Hightower agenda. Lady Laena Velaryon and Ser Gwayne Hightower had wed with great fanfare the year prior. Alicent had never seen her father so happy as when the Hightower cloak was laid over Laena’s shoulders, and she felt an equal relief- from that day forth she had never had to entertain a suitor again. Gwayne looked monstrously uncomfortable the night of his wedding, but a bedding ceremony was a bedding ceremony, and within the year, Laena gave birth, with some difficulty, to two healthy young twin boys, unsubtly named Viserys and Corlys at the urging of Alicent’s father, who had a position in mind for each of them. Rhaenyra had never been more angry at her, but through tears and pleading, Alicent convinced her that she wasn’t a self-serving Hightower who loved her father more than her Princess. She didn’t care if a Hightower or a Velaryon or a Strong sat the throne, she hated that man, she hated that someone else was allowed to touch her, she hated the way Rhaenyra smiled when she saw his face. Rhaenyra, for her part, understood. As a compromise, Rhaenyra, Alicent and her children would remove themselves to her seat on Dragonstone, far from whatever temptations Harwin Strong had provided.
For several years, this had worked. Alicent detested Dragonstone, with its damp and rain and heathen imagery and monstrous dragons, but she had managed to spruce the place up a bit. Tapestries were removed of Valyrians engaging in all sorts of idolatries (outside the Princess’s bedchambers), Aegon’s neglected Sept was cleaned, the statues were polished, the altars filled with wildflowers, and Alicent had actually bothered to bring up a Septon to the castle to tend to her and their queer little family’s needs. Alicent tried to show kindness to Lucerys and Jacaerys…but she could never quite manage it. They always reminded her of…him. Spending too much time with both gave her torturous dreams, dreams of the past, or the future, blood seeping from her fingers and Rhaenyra’s arms, war, death, dragons…
When Lady Laena fell pregnant again (after some serious cajoling from Ser Otto Hightower, it was widely believed), Viserys called his daughter to the capital. They had a stern talk, not one Alicent knew the contents of, but it was the only time the otherwise doting King had ever made his daughter cry. She resolved that she would try with Ser Harwin one last time. Seeing Rhaenyra so vulnerable, the dewy tears on her white cheeks, the pleading in her violet eyes…Alicent folded. One more time. But that night, when Rhaenyra departed the castle in secret for the barracks of the Gold Cloaks, she drank too much of a strong mead stolen from Lord Beesbury and walked about the keep, cursing and crying and, if she recalled correctly, screaming. She had far too much of it. She did remember running into Larys Strong in the Red Keep’s Godswood. What she told him, she could not quite recall, but both of them expressed deep…exasperation with his brother. Surely it was a coincidence that Ser Harwin and Lord Lyonel Strong had both perished in a fire a year later? It was an entire year, after all, how could…her frustrations have led to such a crime, if it even was a crime. Harren’s castle was poorly built and known to kill its lords.
The last child Rhaenyra bore was not any more Valyrian than her first two and adding to her bitterness was the fact that Laenor boldly named it after one of his lovers, allowing that Rhaenyra could “name the next one Alicent,” if it pleased her. The birth was very difficult, and Rhaenyra had no desire for more, much to the relief of Alicent. Laenor perished not long after that, fighting in one of his father’s wars on the Narrow Sea, and the lies that they told the realm about the parentage of these children could no longer hold water, with both the actual and nominal father deceased.
Alicent tried to fill a maternal role for the three boys, but it did not come naturally for her. Rhaenyra described her once as a “beast that would eat its own young” after she dragged Lucerys kicking and screaming to his mother by the ear for knocking over the statue of the Stranger in Aegon’s sept. That was uncharitable. She was fond of Joffrey, and always tried to give them some semblance of proper education and advice…but she admitted that she was deeply relieved when Rhaenyra decided to foster Lucerys with his “grandfather” on Driftmark and Joffrey with her cousin in the Vale in final years of King Viserys's life, before bringing them back to the castle for her coronation. Only Jacaerys remained to them in those years, and as Jacaerys became a teenager, coolness and tension between them had turned into bitter resentment. Typical youthful rebellion combined with the knowledge that Alicent not only held his mother’s ear, but was the aunt of the boy who could replace him on the throne. Rhaenyra had eagerly conferred the title of Prince of Dragonstone on him, but Alicent publicly urged her to wait until Jacaerys was older…flaring the resentment into something perhaps worse.
Rhaenyra just wished the two of them could get along- Alicent could support her Queen in the succession like she did in all other things, and Jaecerys could treat a woman who had been a “second mother to him” with more respect and dignity. Why she thought this could possibly ever help with this goal was beyond her Hand’s conception. Alicent poured herself another cup of hippocras and drank it in a single go, before pouring yet another, staring at it, and setting it down to search for the woman who, under the laws of Westeros, ruled them. She blew out her scented candles and departed the room with a scowl.
Rhaenyra was in front of a roaring fire in her chambers, nuzzling a cup of mulled wine. A fur blanket draped over her warming, pink body. Alicent entered without knocking, nodding to the Kingsguard at either side of the door. They were more than used to her presence, a year into the Queen’s reign. “Alicent, is that you?” She said, a smile crossing her plump face. She was nude apart from her blanket, sitting far too close to the fire than Alicent ever would have, but Rhaenyra loved heat, like all Targaryens. The thick fur covered her round belly, with its rolls and folds and stretchmarks, and her thick thighs that spread across her couch, but little else. It barely obscured half of one of her breasts, leaving the other full and visible, gently rolling to one side, heavy and topped with a perfect pink nipple. Her thick arms looked so warm and comforting in the cold castle, pillowy and soft and gentle…the perfect place for Alicent to lay her head. Her chubby feet stuck out from beneath the pile, and she looked at Alicent and wiggled her toes for her. Alicent melted. She was angry at her, but…how could she ever remain so for long? She was so beautiful…so perfect, better with each passing year…
“Your idea to ride Syrax this morning was splendid, but it tired me out. The cold, the wind, the fact that I hadn’t done it since father passed…ugh, I was completely winded by the time I climbed off of her. I hope you aren’t cross at me for not attending the council meeting.” Rhaenyra gave Alicent a look from head to toe and bit her lip. "I am a bit cross with myself though, did you have your breasts out like that for all of your councillors to see? How daring for Lady Alicent Hightower...it's almost as if she's looking to attract the attention of someone...maybe even her Queen..."
“It’s your council, too, Rhaenyra…” Alicent said sheepishly, blushing at the compliment, and sat in Rhaenyra’s plush lap, shuddering as she felt her thick thighs beneath the furs. She whispered in Rhaenyra's ear, "It was quite a display...especially when a drop of hippocras spilled right...down...here..." She pressed Rhaenyra's finger against her bust, before nuzzled in between her lover's breasts, purring contentedly as Rhaenyra rubbed her soft hand down her back and delicately disrobed her. It took a moment to remember why she was angry at her, but Alicent sat back up and cast a sullen expression on her face, not saying anything, but letting Rhaenyra see her discontent.
Rhaenyra knew her all too well and matched her scowl with a frown. “Are you angry about Jace? You need to drop this Alicent, treat him like an unwanted step-child.”
He is, Rhaenyra! she thought but dared not say, I told you not to have children! You’re damaging your place on the throne every day he flaunts around the castle, pretending to be heir! “I’m sorry, my love,” she said instead, with a heavy sigh, pouring herself her own cup of hot mulled wine, “I’m just…concerned. There is so much…trouble in the realm, and you know he does not respect me or my position…”
Rhaenyra groped her hip and gave Alicent a kiss. “You’ll get used to it. He’ll get used to it, he’s just a boy, he’ll grow out of these feelings towards you. You mustn’t be so hard on him, he is not the cause of all of my political problems. I’m Westeros’s first Queen, and the questions I get in the throne room about why I, still in my childbearing years, remain unmarried…get looks cast your way, Alicent.”
Alicent bristled at the suggestion. “I give you good counsel, do I not?” She pushed down her garments beneath her breasts, and met Rhaenyra's gaze with a smoldering look.
Rhaenyra kissed her again, pushing her towards her body. “You do, and that’s what I tell them. Just…try to be a bit more understanding, my love. You have a tendency towards…rigidity.”
Alicent rolled her eyes and pouted, before kissing Rhaenyra’s exposed breast.
“I’d hate for you to be our enemy. You’d make a fearsome one.” Rhaenyra let out a gentle moan as Alicent began sucking on her nipple.
“You’d never have to worry about that, my love…” Alicent giggled and reached under the furs, pushing her hand down Rhaenyra’s plush middle, between her thighs.
They fell into passionate embrace, lips locked, fingers and hands all over each other’s body, the furs forgotten and piled on the floor, Alicent stripped bare and rubbing her fingers intensely in between the Queen's soft, meaty thighs, shuddering as she watched her moan and gasp and plead for her touch. She thrust herself into the pleasure of her lover and her body, her eyes feasting on every supple square inch. But as they coupled, a thought gnawed at her.
What could she do to make me "our" enemy?
Alicent hoped to never find out.