OF BASTARDS & DRAGONS || Aenar Targaryen [1]

Hunger flitted Kingslanding as the Greens dined in the Red Keep, unbeknownst that of their consequences will starve the netizens.

"No one is to leave or enter, save with our consent. Merchants, so forth!" A gold cloak announced loudly as the small folks began to murmur. A brown haired woman ran home guilding her basket from being snatched away from her. It was the last meal she and her family will feed on this evening, until tomorrow takes care of itself.

"The city's safe no longer. The Greens are heartless snakes." Kat Hammer cried out. "There is no food! Our neighbors are stealing from each other. We must get out."

"And where would you have us go?" Hugh Hammer asked his wife.

"North, maybe? South? Or DragonStone? For all we know, every road leads into the dragons' teeth."

"You think Aenar will let such an affront of his children's death go unchallenged?"

"We should make for Tumbleton. My brother will have room." Kat advised her husband.

"You would have me turn beggar?" Hugh argued as their sick daughter groaned. On the bed. "Are we not beggars already? Have you been paid for those machines you were forced to build? The Queen Regent has promised payment." He assures.

"The Queen has lied!" Kat hushed. "By all means...stay and wait for her empty promises, husband. With them, you can feed the mouths of ghosts, but I suggest we go to King Aenar and plead with him, he can be our last hope, after all, you're his bastard cousin are you not?" Kat said with pleading eyes.

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Green dress, swept into memory of the people rioting had stopped. Yet her heart wrenched at the abortion she had yesterday, the guilt, refusing to leave her alone.

All she wanted was to lie down to have a chance of decompressing, the very thing she'd intended her time at the Sept to accomplish. Instead, as she made it back to her quarters at long last, she found Lancelot Strong was apparently awaiting her return.

By the time she opened the door, Lancelot Strong was already following her inside. There was no invitation. There was not even a response to his initial greeting.

Alicent considered summoning the nearest guard and requesting that Lancelot be taken away. Perhaps they would drag him forcibly. Perhaps she would ask for him to be taken to a dark corner of the keep, a location that would provide the cover for his untimely demise.

Would they stab him? Would they slash his throat? Maybe all it would take was knocking his cane away as they approached a set of stairs. Or a combination of all three would suffice nicely. Alicent wished, she could do that. Kill him or have him strangled, the man was a thorn in her flesh.

However, the only option she was left with was to maintain a neutral expression as he awkwardly limped into the room.

There was no one else to blame for this predicament other than herself. She'd played his games. She'd listened to his riddles, allowed him into my space, allow him suck her cunt as he pleased, gave him oral sex, ride his cock, sucked his toes, fuck him to sire his bastard child whom she had killed last night, thanks to Maester Orywell's moontea. And now the price for those moments of weakness was having him intrinsically woven into her life.