#aegon ll

[jacaela]

Jacaerys was fourteen; bold and handsome lad, skilled in arms, who had long served as squire. When the Prince of Dragonstone took his dragon back into the cold sky, he did so with the knowledge that he had won three powerful lords and all their bannermen for his mother. Though his fifteenth nameday was still half a year away, Prince Jacaerys had proved himself a man, and a worthy heir to the Iron Throne.

Aegon was fifteen years of age; a lazy and somewhat sulky boy, Septon Eustace tells us, but possessed of more than healthy appetites, a glutton at table, given to swilling ale and strongwine and pinching and fondling any serving girl who strayed within his reach.

[shinycreationenemy]

Team green family photo

[greenaswildfire]

Ok, enough, that's enough. I'm gonna commission my friend to draw my maid OC in this universe, I'm tired of tragedy after tragedy after tragedy for Aegon and no catharsis, how long will I have to wait, or what? :/

And Alicent, I luv her, I really do because I know writers write her this way on purpose, but Aemond was right: she simps for Rhaenyra so much that her advices aren't safe in terms of war (Sept scene as example, you could have ended the war with a single scream that Rhaenyra was there, you don't care for your family or what!!!!!!), she's like S7-S8 Tyrion when Daenerys said he was working for the Lannisters. If she can't give non-biased advices, don't be part of the Council. Let's remember, again, that things could have been really different if Rhaenyra were deleted during the Sept scene.

And Aemond, I like his vibe, I like his strategic mind, his father-son bond with Cole, his bond with grandma Vhagar, but I like him only when I don't have to compare him with Aegon. If I have to choose, I'll always like Aegon more. Aemond's attempts to get attention are not helping at all, he'll always be the second :/

[orboros]

Blood on Snow

The blisters on your feet stung as you climbed even higher. But this was no place for weakness or rest. So you pushed yourself forward, right leg, then left arm. The ice pick embedded itself hard and fast into the frozen wall. Your muscles ached, but it was too late now; you didn't look down. The climb up the wall was a familiar one by now, and you were not foolish enough to risk falling just to look at the ever-expanding world below. The wind was harsh and sharp; it eluded your lungs with every breath. Still, you secured your pick and climbed another step higher. The cold, the aches, the blisters—it would all be worth it in the end. Raiding the villages south of the wall was easy. The Southerners, though they may call themselves northerners, were weak.

Their lives were too easy; no frost to take their babies, nor beasts to take their lives. They lived sweet lives, lives that could easily be taken. The only thing to worry about were the crows; the majority weren't particularly skilled, but their steel weapons and armour made them a pain in the arse to kill. But that didn't stop you before. A soft yell pierced your ears.

Your leader, Gurnard's gruff voice, could only be faintly heard against the incessant wailing of the wind. Your dry eyes turned upward; he was at the top. The tired muscles attached to your bones were filled with new life. You pushed yourself forward with a swing; further and further, higher and higher, you went. Your feet stung, and your calves ached, but the end was near. You stole the winter air and plunged it into your lungs with each breath. The edge of the wall came alive with sweat and blood as you dug your gloved fingers into the ice. Gurnard pulled you up onto the top of the wall by your armpits, like a babe reborn from ice and snow. You slid onto the top of the wall. The pounding of your heart didn't cease. You had done it yet again; you had climbed the wall.

"Hog! Get back here; we need to pull up Ygla and Vigyn."

The fibres in your forearms pushed your torso up and off the snow-capped wall. You stood up to your feet, tall and strong, and reached to take hold of the woven rope. The weight of your body leaned back as you pulled Ygla upward. This was only her second raid, while this would be your seventh. The grunts of Gurnard reminded you that this was his thirteenth raid. His stocky arms, along with your own pulled-up Ygla, despite his experience in raiding, frostbitten sweat dripped from the brown spurts of hair that came out of his hood. With all your force, Ygla was brought onto the top of the wall. She panted like a dog as your gloved hands grabbed her by the arms and slid her out of the way.

Despite how tired you were, how much your muscles ached, and how your skin blistered, you took the rope back into your calloused hands. Vigyn was easier to pull up than Ygla; the twelve-year-old was light and quick with his climbing.

When he was safely brought onto the top of the wall, you were finally allowed to sit. The four of you panted and sweated like dogs as you watched the others in your raiding group climb to the top. Eight groups of four had started the journey together. Only two groups had all their members. Luckily for Ygla and Vigyn, they were placed with very experienced raiders. You and Gurnard.

Now came the hard part: the crows. If all went to plan, you wouldn't see much of the kneelers in black. The sun was beginning to rest, just as planned; everyone would climb down under the thick blanket of night. Then the pillaging would begin.

Pink streaks soon ran through the grey sky. The other raiders soon gathered around the four of you as Gurnard began to speak

"We have to secure the hooks while there is still light; once darkness falls, we climb down the wall. Then we take those southerners for all they have!" His guttural voice bellowed out as a grin spread across his wrinkled face.

Soon, the twenty-one of you who survived the climb secured the hooks. Now you've waited for nightfall. You rested against the snow-covered wall behind you. It was a short little thing to stop the crows from falling off the edge. As much as you wanted to rest fully, you couldn't; you were in the south now, and death lingered around every corner for people like you.

Ygla's fur-covered body slumped against yours. Immediately, you push her off of you with a ram of your shoulder. The fourteen-year-old wined, but moved over none the less. Vigyn sat across from you, picking at the seams of his gloves. He let out a small cry as you kicked him in the shin.

"What is it?" You asked. You didn't particularly care, but none of you had any room for weakness or fear. Not when raiding.

Vigyn's blue eyes looked at yours as he cradled his shin. He looked first to the left, then to the right.

"Where are the crows?" His words made everyone's eyes snap towards the boy.

"They have been dwindling by the day; not even the Nightfort holds any men now," Gurnard said.

"Just think of it; soon the crows will be nothing but ash and bone." A grin spreads across your face at the thought.

{Haelena pov}

The familiar haze came as she stuck her needle into the embroidered fabric. This one was strong; she could feel it. She had, on some level, always seen beyond what others could. It came out of her in spurts, in words and rhymes, but from time to time her eyes would lose focus, and she could see it, not in passing glimpses but fully. Her eyelids fluttered as smoke came into view. Ice and snow

Nothing but ice and snow, There was no fire to light the way. It was too weak to survive the frost. The visions cleared, and as always, Haelena found herself muttering something. The words took a moment to find her ears, but when they did, she heard this.

 

"The blaze below cannot survive the coming snow."

[hacked-wtsdz]

The relationships between the Targaryens are meant to be fucked up, that’s what centuries of incest does to you, but it’s also sooooo rich and interesting. I mean, that’s the value of art — it’s theoretical. You can analyse and enjoy things that are hurtful in reality but curious and passionate abstractly. The relationship between Rhaenyra and Daemon, the horror twins, the gothic doubles. The strange relationship between Dany and Rhaegar, he isn’t there, but absence is the highest form of presence, so he is everywhere. He lives on in her, she dreams of rubies on the Trident, she truly is her brother’s sister. Don’t get me started on Daenerys/Rhaegar relationship!! Visenya and Rhaenys with Aegon, Visenya crowning her own king. Dear brother, I had hoped you were dead. Like, it’s so meticulously fucked up, so generational and predisposed! So gothic. So inevitable.

[holysick]

◞ " mother , you look radiant today , " and that she does . the evening sun , and birdsong flood the chamber , casting everything in the warm dusk colours of his mother ' s house . his guard , ser jaime , is left at the door to the queen ' s apartments : accompanied by ser lewyn . the young dragon greets his mother with a kiss to the cheek before taking his place across a table of ornately carved oak . " i ' ll have wine as well , " aegon speaks with the confidence of a man grown --- yet , a stolen glance of violets betrays his age : a youth of six and ten . still on the brink between man and boy . the crown prince gauges his mother ' s response as the serving girl pours dornish red into a goblet of gold . " you asked to see me ? "

@versuslight + elia martell

[thedeadthree]

UNA ULLER x AEGON II TARGARYEN (HOTD) / IOVANNA DAYNE x DAEMON TARGARYEN (HOTD)

CESSAIR CELTIGAR x MAEGOR TARGARYEN (ASOIAF) / LIOSLAITH MAC RUAIDHRÍ x MUIREDACH (DND)

ALMÁRËA ALFIRIN x SAURON HALBRAND (LOTR) / ADEMARTA x DAERAN ARENDAE (P:WOTR)

TAGGED BY the darlings @marivenah, @dihardys, @risingsh0t, @belorage, @multiverse-of-themind and @leviiackrman to make the loves and their clowns (affectionate) in this cutest picrew! ty ty so much!

TAGGING: @velvetgothic, @griffin-wood, @kingsroad, @queennymeria, @chuckhansen, @unholymilf, @aartyom, @arklay, @swordcoasts, @denerims, @anoras, @shellibisshe, @pearlcscent, @celticwoman, @inkrys, @florbelles, @jackiesarch, @confidentandgood, @stormveils, @yennas, @shadowglens, @roofgeese, @adelaidedrubman, @noonfaerie, @aceghosts, @bloodofvalyria, @loriane-elmuerto and you!

[st-alicent-of-the-lesbians]

“It’s hard to put a leash on a dog once you’ve put a crown on its head.” - Tyrion Lannister

[wearelondonhq]

(Alex) welcome to london, AEGON II TARGARYEN! did anyone ever tell you that you look just like RUDY PANKOW? well, no matter, we hear that you are 25 and working as a BARTENDER AT THE SUN TAVERN. we also hear that you currently HAVE your memories from HOUSE OF THE DRAGON and have a tendency to be PLAYFUL as well as LAZY. ( coming back from my hiatus today and bringing this boy back with me! )

— WELCOME TO LONDON, aegon ll targaryen! you look very familiar, do we know you from somewhere? anyways, take your time settling in because whether you want to or not, it looks like you’re going to be living here for awhile! // welcome alex, please be sure to follow our checklist here. welcome to the group!

[usurperkiing]

i will not be convinced the writers for s2 didn't look at my blog and said "mhm yes she gets it" and wrote it down

[jacaela]

Illustrations for the princess and the queen by Joshua Lagman:

Battle of the Gullet

Rhaenyra's sons: Joffrey, Jacaerys and Lucerys

Jacaerys instructing his half brothers Viserys and Aegon the Younger + Stormcloud

Battle of the Gullet part 2

Rhaenyra accending the Iron Throne

Lucerys Velaryon’s audience with Lord Borros Baratheon

Daemon and Aemond One-Eye Targaryen

Coronation of Rhaenyra Targaryen

Battle of Rook’s Rest

Coronation of Aegon II at Dragonpit

Sunsfyre, Vhagar and Meleys

Flight of ravens bearing the news of King Viserys I Targaryen’s death

[shinycreationenemy]

[ilovemarvelcu3000]

Larys: Your brother is coming to k!ll you

Aegon: My d!ck gone 😔

[vanessayaeger]

New still of Tom Glynn-Carney as King Aegon ll Targaryen in House of the Dragon

[orboros]

Blood on Snow part 2

Warnings: Gutting a animal

I don't know how long this series will be, but this isn't the last chapter. Also, if anyone has any tips for getting better at typing, please share it :) I write it down physically, and then I type it on my phone. This is a pretty slow process, so I would appreciate any tips. Thank you, and I hope you find some enjoyment in it.

The all-encompassing blackness of night covered your body as the howling winds drowned your grunts and pants for air. The climb down the wall was far easier than the climb up, but that didn't mean it was easy. The woven rope dug into your waist as the icyness of the frozen wall soaked your gloves. You've neared the end now. With both Ygla and Vigyn safely on the ground. Your hand reached for your knife. The rusted blade cut the rope that tied you to Gurnard. You sheathed the blade before letting go of the rope. Pain shot up your feet and settled in your knees as you landed on the frost-covered grass. You ripped the worn gloves from your hand; thick Calluses were spilt angrily, and large Bullous blisters formed on the tips of your fingers. It hurt, but the cold air soothed your sweaty hands. Your hood came down soon after that, and strands of sweat-covered hair stuck out of the tight plaits you had put in your hair.

Ygla and Vigyn played with their axes and swords, respectively. They hit each other with comically loud whines and cries of pain. Anger flooded you; this wasn't some joke. Several members of your group had died, and now they screamed and Hollered like dogs. Anyone could hear you; on the ground, sound travels quickly, especially at night. You quickly marched over to them. Your Calloused hands soon clattered each of them in the back of the head.

"Be quiet," You whispered with a hiss.

"But Grunard said there were no crows here!" Vigyn said it in the whiny tone of a pubescent boy.

"Grunard said that so you wouldn't shit yourselves; we don't know for sure where the crows are." You looked at both of their fear-sticky faces with fury.

"Don't look at me like that; you wanted to come here; you wanted to raid. Don't shirk in fear just because the consequences of your actions have arrived." Your nose flared as your harsh words left your chapped lips. The guilty looks of scolded children came on each of their dates. It did not quell your anger, but they Had been told off enough for one day. More men and women rumped from the grass-woven ropes, Grunard being one of them. With everyone who had survived the wall now on southern ground, you all gathered together.

Grunard spoke with wide hand gestures and a hushed voice. The darkness of night made it hard to see him, but you understood the gist of the plan nonetheless. You would journey to Queenscrown and completely bypass Mole's Town. The crows often visited the women there to break their oh-so-sacred vows. The town was crawling with the black-hearted basterds. As you had a number of young ones, it was better to go straight to Queenscown.

The people were weak and easy to kill. Spending their days tilling the fruitful soil. As a result, the reward was low. There would be no fine silks or exotic spices, but there would be enough swords, axes, and armour to make the journey worth it.

Under the cover of night, everyone moved as one, searching for shelter to hide from the exposed nature of daylight. Luckily, the gods granted you all that mercy in the form of a cave. The other raiders poured into the dark and damp cave. Some slept alone, while others gathered in large piles to sleep. You decided on neither; you were too hungry to sleep. The pain of hunger crawled up your ribcage, sending the familiar growls into the quiet night. With a rake of arrows across your back and a bow in hand, you left the cave. The dark sky began to lighten as the first light came.

The squelch of lush, dew-covered grass and the melodic chirps of risen birds drove home how full of life the south was. Every inch of land is themed with life; back home on the frozen shore, most life existed in the turbulent sea. Here, it was everywhere. The grassy meadows soon turned to thick oak forests, and gentle rays of dawn gently touched the apples of your cheeks as they swept through the woodland. Birds flew through the canopy of leaves as rabbits swiftly leaped into underground burrows. But you were searching for something more filling. A crack of a twig altered your eager ears. Before your eyes found him, you knew what he was. The snap of the twig was heavy—too heavy to be a wolf and too light to be a boar. Your eyes whipped around to the large stag.You lowered your body as a creeping hand gripped one of your arrows. The great white stag didn't notice your soundless breathing and hungry eyes as it chewed on fresh grass. Nor did it notice the flying arrow until it pierced its chest. But by the time he realised it, it was too late. The beast fell to the ground with a thud. In your younger years, you would wait for the blood to drain from the beast, but now that you were more skilled, deer would die on impact. This one is included.

You sauntered over to the now-dead creature; killing had always been easy for you. The North was filled with it. Death surrounded anything that had the fight to survive and took anything that didn't. But here, where life came easy, the fight for survival was nonexistent.

Your Calloused hand ripped the arrow from its punctured heart. Blood gushed from the wound. Flickers of life still brimmed in his eyes, and your rusted blade that was once on your hip sliced the stag's throat in thick jagad cuts. It was a painful way to die, but you still needed to eat, and it was a better way to go than dying slowly with an arrow in your heart. With his life gone with his blood, you began to cut open the stag. Your rusted serrated knife first cut around the anus of the creature and freed its colon, so all its guts would come out in one piece. Your knife ran up along its abdomen, just cutting through its hide, lest you accidentally cut into its bladder and spill piss all over the good meat. You cut off the balls and cock of the stage and discarded it. Then you cut it into the meat of the stag. Down to the bone. Making a gateway for all the guts to come pouring out. With the ridge of the pelvis now exposed, you began to cut through the hide of the sternum to join your work lower down.

As you reached the end of its ribs, you cut slowly so as not to puncture the stomach. The white lining that encased the organ was next. Your blade popped open the next lay, and you dug your fingers into the still-warm stag. You cut the lining in between your fingers, revealing the assortment of grey and brown organs. You took your knife and began to saw through the pelvic bone. Thick clumps of white dust gathered at the sides of your knife. You ripped out the chuck of bone and tossed it into the thick forest. Your knife was set aside in favour of your hands, and with one hand set on each side, you cracked open the pelvis. The weight of your body made the bones crack and splinter beneath you. With your serrated knife in hand, you began cutting through the ribcage of the creature. No longer be careful with your hands, and cut away at anything attaching the guts to the meat. You cut out the heart and set it aside along with the liver and kidneys before you pulled them cleanly from the once great stag. With your gutted stag and your hands bloody, it was time to head back to your fellow raiders.

You packed up the edible organs into your bag before you dragged the creature out of the forest by the antler. Picking up mushrooms, herbs, and anything worth eating along the way. The sun had only risen slightly in the time you were away from camp. Still, the others seemed to wake up at the smell of blood. Several crowded around you as you neared the cave, and soon the stag was taken from you to be cooked. Grunard threw you a water-soaked rag to clean your hands; the semi-dried blood wiped away easily. Though some still cringe under your fingernails.

Soon the stag was cut further down and cooked on an open fire. The smell of seared venison battled the stench of sweat all of you carried. A large wooden bowl of stew was set in front of you, filled to the brim with meat, mushrooms, and barley. All of which you had gathered, and as a result, you got the largest portion. The meat was tender; it fell apart in strings against your teeth. With your belly now filled and furs placed down for you, you laid down and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The unnoticed blackness of sleep was eventually painted with streaks of colour. The pigments merged and separated; shades of green, white, purple, and brown swirled until the colours were pulled into an image. It was the cave you had settled in—the same damp stone walls, the same sprouts of vegetation in every corner. But the fire was out, with only smoke rising from the ashes as a marker of its existence. Your heart began to pump faster as the image became clearer; gone were the other raiders, not even furs or weapons to remember them by. Your eyes turned to look out at the entrance of the cave. The meadows and thick forests of the southern landscape were gone. Instead, the stone walls drifted like smoke into a large candlelit room. High stone ceilings and dark wood floors. Every part of the room was filled with more luxuries and crafted with more expertise than you had ever seen. Even the fanciful homes of Mole's Town didn't compare to this. An obnoxiously large bed sat against the back wall, pillows and blankets practically oozing from the bed. A woman lay on the bed, her white hair reflecting a sliver of light. She sat up slightly, her snow-like hair rising with her, and her purple eyes settled on you. In your skin and in your bones, you knew this was a dream. The hazeness of Everything proved it. Yet she was so clear, so real; this was something else, something strange. The white-haired woman sat fully up amongst her luxuries; more gold adorned her than you had seen in all of the men of the frozen shore combined. To your fellow raiders, you spoke the common tongue, but this was not your native tongue; words in your own ancient language slipped from your tongue like oil. The deep, guttural words brought fear to the hearts of southerners, but that did not hold true for her. Curious, unblinking eyes stayed in a heavy lock with your own.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice light, airy, and in the strangest accent you had ever heard.

"The hog," You replied as your tongue slithered back into the position for common touch.

"Hog?" She questioned, her erie lavender eyes still locked with your own.

"There is not a name for it in the common tongue. It is like a You paused for a moment, trying to find the right words.

"Outside name. One you tell to strangers, ones outside kin," you said with hesitation, knowing your discomfort was clear. She was the strangest-looking and-sounding person you had ever met. Snow white hair and almost translucent lavender eyes. She was pretty, but her ghostly features and voice did nothing to sooth you. Before she could ask another question, you asked one of your own.

"What are you?" You said slowly that you didn't know if she was some vengeful spirit or a trickster here to trap you.

She seemed to think for a moment, pondering your question, unbridled with the fear you felt.

"A Targaryen, I suppose." Your face scrunched up in confusion at her answer, and words slipped from your lips freely.

"What the fuck is a Targaryen?" You said it in bewilderment. Finally, there was some emotion on her wide-eyed face. Her features scrunched up like yours had done as she thought of an answer.

"My mother says that we are the Royal House; Aemond says we are dragons; and Daeron would say we are conquerors. My father doesn't speak to me much, and when My elder brother Aegon speaks of our house, it is nothing but insults. I don't really know what makes a Targaryen—is it dragon riding, the white hair, or the violet eyes? Aemond always says Targaryens are the blood of Old Valeriya, so I would assume that's what we are."

The words dragon riding sung in your head again and again; you knew what she was. Disgust filled your heart like bile and spilled out onto your face. You had heard tales of the dragon-riding inbreeders that ruled the South. Sisters marrying brothers, uncles marrying nieces—it made you sick. Anger soon mixed with and amplified your disgust.

"I know who you are! Inbreeder!" You shouted as you ripped yourself from your furs and marched towards her. As you got to the edge of your world and the beginning of hers, you went to reach for her, but a force so potent ripped you back.

Your eyelids jumped open as you lunged yourself off the sweat-soaked furs you once slept on. Your eyes darted around the cave; the fire was still lit but had now dimmed, and your fellow raiders were still there. Just pack up to continue your journey. Your breath raged as your eyes bound from one spot to another.

"Bad dream?" Grunard said in a mocking tone.

"No, but it was a fucking strange one." You said you were too busy trying to catch your breath and calm your racing heart to joke with him.

His curiosity seemed to be Peaked as you moved out of the furs and began packing up.

Well, aren't you going to tell me what it was, Hog?" He said it with a wrinkled brow.

You looked at him, and with an unwilling frown, you spoke.

"A Targaryen, you know the inbreeders that rule the south." You said this while stuffing the furs into the woven bag. He paused for a moment as his face became more serious.

"We're in the south now, Hog; the dark magic of Old Valeriya runs rampant here. A skinchanger like you should be careful; it could swallow you whole."

  Helaena

 

Helaena awoke with a jump; sweat poured from her brow, yet goosebumps ran along her skin. Her heart beated out of her chest as her breathing was like that of a panting dog. The setting sun stung her eyes; she had only meant to sleep a little while, but the constant visions that plagued her had drained Helaena. They were getting stronger and more clear. The light of the fire was out from the cold of the woman she saw. Tall, intimidating, and calculating, she is covered in thick fur and has clammy skin tattooed with foreign symbols on her hands and up her arms. She didn't set fear into Helaena's heart at first, but when the woman came for her, well, she couldn't help but shut her eyes and cover her ears at the memory. Yet something in Helaena knew the woman had a right to be so angry; something in her told her she too should be angry. Helaena never really thought much of her family's traditions; they had infected every aspect of her life since birth, so how could she judge the only way of life she knew? But in that moment, lying in bed with the setting sun illuminating the room with streaks of pink and orange, She, too, felt disgusted.

An uneasy feeling settled in Helaena as the sun set and the night began. She never really spoke to her husband or her brother. He had only visited her a few times in the night. He was always drunk beyond belief, and he cried. He always cried when they were forced to lay together. Thankfully for both of them, the visits have now ceased. Aegon rarely spoke to her, instead running off to the streets of silk and drinking anything that would dull his mind. She never understood why he did that, but now she does. It was to drown out the shivers of disgust that ran along his skin. She pulled the duvet from her and walked along the wooden floors towards Aegon's rooms. He would most likely be gone, already trying to escape reality.

As her fingers pushed open Aegon's door with a creak, her eyes Peaked in. He sat hunched over at the edge of his bed, rubbing his eyes and groaning. Helaena pushed open the door fully and stepped through. Aegon's tired eyes looked up at her with a grimace.

"What is it?" He said it with annoyance.

"What they did to us was bad, wasn't it?"

Her words caught Aegon off guard, and he looked at her fully and with interest. Helaena paused, her lip twitching.

"It was cruel," She said with a crack in her voice.

Aegon took a moment to speak, and when he did, tears threatened to spill from his eyes.

"It was"

[hacked-wtsdz]

Idk if this would make any sense from any point of view but. Alicent cannot process her desires and emotions and reactions properly due to the fact that her identity doesn’t exist outside of duty. She cannot process and, hence, act OR get over her love for Rhaenyra, because she has never been taught to do that. Not love, but treat love as a normal emotion that you can operate with and call real. She can’t process her trauma of child marriage, because she doesn’t want to be a child bride or give birth to children or care about them at such a young age, but wanting is not in her vocabulary. Like she says to Otto in ep 9, she never knew what she wanted because her desires were guided by him from the start. She can’t process her marital rape or hate for viserys because she can only love him. There are no words or mechanisms to even contemplate the fact that she was hurt both physically and emotionally because they are all tied to the concepts of bodily autonomy, personal tastes, personal wants. Alicent cannot want consciously, so all of her deep likes and dislikes remain unconscious, and she can’t move on or heal or act on them because then she’d have to go back to the very start and admit that it wasn’t the way she wanted. She’d have to admit that she can want, and that goes against the identity that she’s created for herself. You put that part of the mechanism in, and the mechanism as she knows it falls apart. She loves her children subconsciously (you imbecile). She wants them on the throne first of all because that’s what Otto wants. So it all stays inside of her and makes her life hell. That love for Rhaenyra that is revealed THE MOMENT Rhaenyra tries to make peace. That book page she’s been holding onto for ten years. It would be healthy to move on, but Alicent is incapable of that because moving on is tied to letting go of desire but how can you let go of something you cannot admit that you have?