Where else could there be an opportunity for chaos? Essos was largely self sustaining with their various government systems, all infinitely more complicated than Alicent was prepared for. Much of her history had been focused in Westeros. There were the Stepstones, but she knew very little about that area as well.
"Why leave Westeros?" She asked him directly. "I thought you were satisfied here?"
She gave a huff of laughter. "I don't know how that's possible. You wake me one or two times a night."
"You're thinking too small," he says, but his attention is mostly on her body, not her mind. He moves his hand the way he's learned she likes. "Don't let me distract you."
"You haven't answered my question," she retorted. The Targaryens had a habit of doing that with her, apparently. "You've always seemed to prefer Dragonstone and Flea Bottom." It wasn't only that which had her uneasy. A new crown, seized through conquest in an already conflict prone area seemed unwise. When they did have a son, she had no wish for him to be ushered out of the kingdom hurriedly, afraid he'd be killed if he doesn't take the throne.
He was trying to change the subject, something else he seemed to do quite a bit. "I'm serious."
"Don't you want to figure it out yourself?" He kisses her shoulder, the one purple-green with bruises and bites. "I prefer the places that benefit me. Us."
Benefit him. Daemon never failed to make his priorities known. "I have no desire to see my children fight for their inheritance and seizing a crown means they might have to continually." She at least knew that much from history.
Despite her irritation, she still turned her head for more of his bites.
A dark laugh, pressed into her skin. "Alicent, you married a second son. They were always going to have to fight. Better when they're too young to pick up the sword."
"I was born to a second son, I know the struggle, but I hoped that at least having some royal blood would guarantee them a place. If Rhaenyra has a daughter and we a son, our son could be on the throne of Westeros?" It's a small hope, one born from a girl not yet seasoned to warfare and not yet a mother. Idealistic dreams were the task of young girls, even those who grew up at court.
"Does this mean I will be left on Dragonstone or Driftmark while you sail off to win your empire?"
Daemon groans and turns away from her on the bed. It's rather similar to the sound a child makes when he is asked to explain before he can play with his toys. Anyone making the comparison would lose a hand.
"I save you from having to bed a man over thrice your age, give you a wing of a royal palace to do whatever you wish, come to you nightly with interest, set aside a decades long alliance, all for your sake, and you think- what?" He sits up in bed, staring daggers at her. "I did not marry Otto Hightower, I married his daughter."
The childish expression and reaction is not lost on her. There are moments where she wondered if she needed to give him a son. He was child enough for her already. She sat up, pulling the sheets over her body. Since he pulled away, there was a large absence of warmth. His dragon fire was difficult to navigate but comforting to have in bed.
"You save me?" He's glaring at her and she's toeing the line by even retorting at him. "Your highness," it was always better to show him some level of respect before asserting herself. "You speak as if you did not gain a great deal. You 'saving' me has taken away the chance of the king having another child with a young, fertile woman. You were able to humiliate the Hand several times and were allowed to break an unhappy union." Pick, pick, pick. Fresh blood appeared on her cuticle.
She frowned at him, "I'm not Otto Hightower's daughter now, I'm Daemon Targaryen's wife. Forgive me, your highness, if I've displeased you because I worry about the safety of our children."
His words go low, now, hissed out. He doesn't like the thought of being overheard. "You said you were ambitious, but you seem to want it without risk. If you prefer, I can leave you while I carve out a kingdom. Those are your choices, and you should be glad to have any."
She frowned at him, finally climbing out of bed. "I'm sorry to have disappointed you with my concern for my children's lives." But she was ambitious, she knew deep in her heart that she wanted to be the first lady of the realm, that she wanted to reside on Dragonstone and perhaps someday see her child on the throne.
Facing the actual conquest, it was terrifying. It was the cliff she had not yet jumped.
"I'm not Rhea Royce, your highness. You would not be satisfied to have me out of sight. Your kingdom needs me, as you do."
He follows her, and it is a quick thing. He is a fighter, some forget; he can move his body to suit his needs. In an instant, he is on her, a hand around her throat. "Yes," he hisses. "I told you this. Don't pretend otherwise."
He lets her go. There's no point to harming her, not now, hopefully not ever. He wants her to remain his ally. He wants her to give him a child.
"The king's reach only goes so far. Say you produce a girl, and Rhaenyra a boy. What then? Experience will win the day."
She stared up at him when he grabbed her throat, watching him with the same cold regard as when she held the dagger to his throat. She felt no fear in these moments. He could well kill her, but she knew better now that if she needed, she could kill him. Still, the situation, the threat over her head, it never failed to leave her shaking with want. Her eyes were darker and her fingers wrapped around his wrist, keeping hold even as he let her go.
"Our-" she hesitated, thinking carefully. If she had a daughter, would she be content with that? A simple consort?
No.
She glared, more at the threat of fate than at him in particular. "I will have a son first. An Aegon!" But even then, his rights, his power, it would have to come through another. That...horrified her. Daemon would never fight his brother, he would never challenge Rhaenyra directly. This- This was the only path to a crown for her son.
There was a sense of defeat, a readiness now for the risk, though she was tired. So, so tired of late. "Driftmark is where preparations will be made?"
Daemon rolls his eyes. "Stronger women than you have promised that. I won't build plans on things that cannot be guaranteed."
He falls back into bed, beckoning her to follow with a lazy roll of his wrist. "It will be safer for you there. The king needs order beaten into some lands, and he will be grateful for it."
She placed her hand on her stomach, hoping, praying, there was a child growing. When it was born and was a boy, he wouldn't question her determination. That insult didn't pass her notice. "It's not a promise." Her voice was sharp, but at the same time, she picked her fingers.
She considers not following him, but it would only be a punishment to them both.
That at least gave some comfort. It's true that the king often rewarded Daemon, even in his moments of chaos. "When do you mean to leave?"
"I wouldn't mind a daughter," he murmurs. A daughter, you can indulge. They seem easier to love. Viserys was in many ways wrong in his treatment of his; another way Daemon wishes to surpass his brother. "Though I'd like at least two sons as well. I don't expect those to come from nowhere. Your nights will be mine for some time."
Is this reassurance, or bragging? A bit of both. He holds her in his arms a moment, two, before deciding to indulge her. She'd wanted to learn from him, hadn't she? He had been lax in that, amongst all the preparation. So he rolls them both over, until she is atop him.
"Within a week. Corlys and his wife are our allies in this. At least one of our get should marry theirs."
He runs his fingers down her spine. "So we should hurry with the getting of them."
It was strange how matters shifted with Daemon. He was a whirlwind in many ways. One moment their conversation was torrential, the next languid and calm. What was strange as well was that she didn't very much mind it. Had she married Viserys, he would be kind and gentle, but much of her time would be caring for him and domestic matters.
There was excitement in things and people you can't predict. Such was her life now.
She smiled, settling astride on him, a bit more comfortable experimenting and learning something new. "If you mean to have every night until then, I should find new methods to entertain you." Her hand glided up his chest in tandem to the fingers down her spine. She clutched his throat in a soft vice, threatening something more. "The Hand is fighting for Laena Velaryon to marry the king. If we could have a son before that-" her smile spread to a grin. "Imagine it. You would thwart the council again."
Daemon grins. "Why do you think Corlys comes to me? He doesn't want his daughter wed to a man her grandsire's age."
He's starting to think himself something of an aid to maidens, keeping them out of the clutches of old men. This view of himself will persist until the moment it's inconvenient.
His hand moves over the side of her body, amused and aroused by the shape of her, the dark excitement on her face. His eyes flutter shut at her grip, relaxing into it, but his voice rasps out, "then give me a son."
There was talk in her family of darker magics that Hightowers had access to. Necromancy and alchemy, the magic that had once visited Oldtown and some knowledge left in return. Who could say what they Maesters held in the Citadel, but whatever was there, it was open to Hightowers. Perhaps she should investigate, find something to enhance her fertility, something to guarantee that she gave many, many children to Daemon. Most of them sons.
In this moment, astride him with her hand on his throat, she felt as if she could manage and manipulate such abilities. Perhaps he might even like that as well? A wife closer to Tyanna of the Tower rather than Ceryse Hightower.
"Would one of you men be willing to steal something from House Hightower?" She asked, that dark look returning to her eyes. She rocked against him, dragging her free hand down his chest. "I take it the Queen that Never Was wanted her daughter to marry Viserys?" Of course. "Be in me and I'll conceive our son."
"I had been trying all night," he whines, but does as said. A shift of his hips, the movement of his hands, pulling them together. He lets out a sigh of pure relief, choked as it is by her hands.
"You have you- hah- don't you have your own people, now?"
She shivers, giving his throat a squeeze the moment that they were joined. "Are you protesting the trying? I think you like debauching me twice a night." That he kept his word to her was still remarkable. If she could perhaps prove that she would give him a son first, he might have little reason to visit any other woman's bed. All he could want was here.
Her hips rocked, testing his response to her movements before setting a slow, languid pace.
"I have no spies like yours. This task is too important for novices."
"I need a book," which shouldn't be much of a surprise. "There is a book in the Citadel that could help me." Supposedly others have tried alchemy, but it always seemed to be nothing more than parlor tricks. With a limited access of books on the subject, it wasn't a surprise that sort of alchemy was more performance. The Hightowers though, there were papers kept, accounts by various members. She hadn't seen it with her own eyes, but she believed she knew where it would be.
"There's a collection of scrolls by older members of House Hightower, men who explored and studied alchemy, as well as other magics. It's locked in an black iron box and it should be in the archives of the Citadel."
She lifted his hand, guiding it over her breasts and curves, encouraging him to touch and explore.
He begins to move his hips more forcefully, excited, as always, by talks of ambition. "You'll have it." In this moment, rutting with her, everything seems potentially possible. "Inheritance-- hah-- for our children."
So she is the daughter of a second son. Who cares? She is highest among her family, now. All that they have, she deserves.
That simple promise has her giddy and excited, promises of information that were long denied to her. For once in her life, reading books wouldn't be for her father's end, but for her own accumulation of power. If it served her well, it could belong to their children as well.
She grinned, gripping his shoulder tight as she moved more quickly, matching his energy and enthusiasm. "Our children will have dragon magic and further magic." They would command dragons, perhaps have dragon dreams? They may create substances to use in battle or to give them strength? Or perhaps create monsters like Tyanna of the Tower?"
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"Why leave Westeros?" She asked him directly. "I thought you were satisfied here?"
She gave a huff of laughter. "I don't know how that's possible. You wake me one or two times a night."
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He was trying to change the subject, something else he seemed to do quite a bit. "I'm serious."
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Despite her irritation, she still turned her head for more of his bites.
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"Does this mean I will be left on Dragonstone or Driftmark while you sail off to win your empire?"
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"I save you from having to bed a man over thrice your age, give you a wing of a royal palace to do whatever you wish, come to you nightly with interest, set aside a decades long alliance, all for your sake, and you think- what?" He sits up in bed, staring daggers at her. "I did not marry Otto Hightower, I married his daughter."
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"You save me?" He's glaring at her and she's toeing the line by even retorting at him. "Your highness," it was always better to show him some level of respect before asserting herself. "You speak as if you did not gain a great deal. You 'saving' me has taken away the chance of the king having another child with a young, fertile woman. You were able to humiliate the Hand several times and were allowed to break an unhappy union." Pick, pick, pick. Fresh blood appeared on her cuticle.
She frowned at him, "I'm not Otto Hightower's daughter now, I'm Daemon Targaryen's wife. Forgive me, your highness, if I've displeased you because I worry about the safety of our children."
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Facing the actual conquest, it was terrifying. It was the cliff she had not yet jumped.
"I'm not Rhea Royce, your highness. You would not be satisfied to have me out of sight. Your kingdom needs me, as you do."
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He lets her go. There's no point to harming her, not now, hopefully not ever. He wants her to remain his ally. He wants her to give him a child.
"The king's reach only goes so far. Say you produce a girl, and Rhaenyra a boy. What then? Experience will win the day."
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"Our-" she hesitated, thinking carefully. If she had a daughter, would she be content with that? A simple consort?
No.
She glared, more at the threat of fate than at him in particular. "I will have a son first. An Aegon!" But even then, his rights, his power, it would have to come through another. That...horrified her. Daemon would never fight his brother, he would never challenge Rhaenyra directly. This- This was the only path to a crown for her son.
There was a sense of defeat, a readiness now for the risk, though she was tired. So, so tired of late. "Driftmark is where preparations will be made?"
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He falls back into bed, beckoning her to follow with a lazy roll of his wrist. "It will be safer for you there. The king needs order beaten into some lands, and he will be grateful for it."
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She considers not following him, but it would only be a punishment to them both.
That at least gave some comfort. It's true that the king often rewarded Daemon, even in his moments of chaos. "When do you mean to leave?"
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Is this reassurance, or bragging? A bit of both. He holds her in his arms a moment, two, before deciding to indulge her. She'd wanted to learn from him, hadn't she? He had been lax in that, amongst all the preparation. So he rolls them both over, until she is atop him.
"Within a week. Corlys and his wife are our allies in this. At least one of our get should marry theirs."
He runs his fingers down her spine. "So we should hurry with the getting of them."
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There was excitement in things and people you can't predict. Such was her life now.
She smiled, settling astride on him, a bit more comfortable experimenting and learning something new. "If you mean to have every night until then, I should find new methods to entertain you." Her hand glided up his chest in tandem to the fingers down her spine. She clutched his throat in a soft vice, threatening something more. "The Hand is fighting for Laena Velaryon to marry the king. If we could have a son before that-" her smile spread to a grin. "Imagine it. You would thwart the council again."
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He's starting to think himself something of an aid to maidens, keeping them out of the clutches of old men. This view of himself will persist until the moment it's inconvenient.
His hand moves over the side of her body, amused and aroused by the shape of her, the dark excitement on her face. His eyes flutter shut at her grip, relaxing into it, but his voice rasps out, "then give me a son."
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In this moment, astride him with her hand on his throat, she felt as if she could manage and manipulate such abilities. Perhaps he might even like that as well? A wife closer to Tyanna of the Tower rather than Ceryse Hightower.
"Would one of you men be willing to steal something from House Hightower?" She asked, that dark look returning to her eyes. She rocked against him, dragging her free hand down his chest. "I take it the Queen that Never Was wanted her daughter to marry Viserys?" Of course. "Be in me and I'll conceive our son."
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"You have you- hah- don't you have your own people, now?"
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Her hips rocked, testing his response to her movements before setting a slow, languid pace.
"I have no spies like yours. This task is too important for novices."
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"What are you looking for, lady wife?"
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"There's a collection of scrolls by older members of House Hightower, men who explored and studied alchemy, as well as other magics. It's locked in an black iron box and it should be in the archives of the Citadel."
She lifted his hand, guiding it over her breasts and curves, encouraging him to touch and explore.
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So she is the daughter of a second son. Who cares? She is highest among her family, now. All that they have, she deserves.
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She grinned, gripping his shoulder tight as she moved more quickly, matching his energy and enthusiasm. "Our children will have dragon magic and further magic." They would command dragons, perhaps have dragon dreams? They may create substances to use in battle or to give them strength? Or perhaps create monsters like Tyanna of the Tower?"
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