«I pitied her, and I hated her. To some extent, even loved; not in a way you love your family and friends, but as you love your favourite story, ready to reread the same lines that make you feel miserable. Perhaps, it is how men wanted women to feel towards each other; blinded by rage, by envy and understanding at the same time. But I wasn't raging, and there was nothing to be envious of. So, instead, I pitied her. She was a small creature in my eyes, Alicent Hightower. Once she...»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's diary.

•

'Perhaps, I am rushing things a little bit, but... But, well, Drusilla, dearest, what colours would you prefer for your wedding?'

Drusilla is not sure if Aemond said something to his mother about the last development of their relationship—clearly, without mentions of killing some old man—but no matter the answer, Alicent looks more enthusiastic today than ever before. Asking an accident questions about her preferences in flowers, colours and food. Even special guests.

Though, Drusilla pretends not to understand the clear hints; not even hints, but direct questions.

'You would look amazing in dark blue,' Alicent starts to mutter, circling around her. 'It will highlight your eyes so much. Though, a silverish dress would look great, too. Oh, yes, definitely...'

'Green.'

'W-what?'

Alicent looks a little bit startled by the sudden answer, raising her gaze at her.

'Why green?'

"Because it is your colour, you imbecile."

'Everyone here seems to wear green,' Drusilla smiles at her brightly. 'I mean... Aegon, you, your Grace, and Hela. So, I mean, when I became a part of a family...'

'I told you to call me Alicent, dear,' she replies rather instinctively.

Then, understanding of her words settles down on Alicent, and she smiles sadly. Drusilla knows what she thinks - from one side, it is a great opportunity to show Rhaenyra that Tyrells are on their side, and from another, she is simply being sentimental.

'I... Let's settle with blue,' Alicent pushes a little bit, to Drusilla's surprise. 'You will look richer in that. And, the green thing it Hightowers stupid tradition. You shouldn't get involved. See, Aemond never wears it.'

"You shouldn't get involved."

Is Drusilla hallucinating, or, perhaps, Alicent truly tries to keep her away from little bickerings between two sides of the family?

How... Sweet.

If it was for Otto he would agree immediately.

Yet, little does she know that Drusilla is involved from the very beginning.

'If her G... Alicent sees me in blue, then it shall be blue!' She nods eagerly, beaming. 'I... I hope you will help me to choose a dress correctly. I know it is mother's duty, but–'

Alicent squeezes her hands affectionately.

'I will help you with everything. No woman should be alone on such a special day.'

Drusilla highly doubts that this day was special for Alicent in her past.

Before they speak another word, the knock on the door sounds, and without waiting for approval a man enters. Though, noticing Drusilla's presence, he stops.

Larys Strong.

The second man Drusilla struggles to contact—more correctly, she is not sure she wants to play with him at all—after Otto Hightower.

At first, she thought they were having an affair - Alicent and him. Ser Strong always goes after Alicent, almost step by step, and there is a certain secrecy between them. But the more Drusilla watches—and after a certain information she got—she understands, Alicent is clearly uncomfortable around him.

Even now, she slightly steps back, tensing up instantly.

'Ser Strong. You shouldn't walk in without my answer.' She tries to play it cool, but Drusilla can say how unsure she sounds.

'I apologise, Your Grace. And I also greet lady Tyrell.'

'Good morning, Ser Strong.'

'If I am not mistaken, we have an usual meeting today, so I thought that we could deal with that quicker.'

Alicent shakes her head.

'I am afraid I am busy now. Let's meet at the usual time.'

There is a short glance exchange between them, before he leaves after a quick formalities. Alicent tries to return to her face a smile, but now it looks strained and fake.

This woman can't really mask her pain, can she?

'Just some political business,' Alicent explains, though Drusilla hadn't said a word.

'He looks like a smart man,' she nods.

Alicent pales strangely.

'Drusilla, you shouldn't be around such a man like him. Don't contact him. No matter what.'

Drusilla plays stupid as usual, with blinking eyes and raised brows. If she could gain more information, it would be so great.

'Why?

'...Just don't.' Alicent answers instead.

Hm.

How particularly curious.

Yes, Larys Strong was always in Drusilla's list of possible dangers to her plan, but this? It is another side of the story. The one she wants to guess truly.

'...Now, what have we discussed? Oh, right, the colours. So–'

Or maybe she is not interested that much to deal with that herself. Especially, with a new ally on her side...

•

'Ha, unbelievable, who would've guessed? Our little brother and little air-head!'

Aemond sighs, looking at Helaena helplessly, as if she could do something so their brother stopped talking. Which, of course, is unreal. No less unreal than the fact that Aegon came willingly to sit with his own kids for a while. Aemond thought he was dreaming, when visiting nephews ended up with finding his brother here.

'It is still not confirmed,' Aemond reminds, though he believes that after what happened with ser Henrik answer he already knows an answer. 'If Drusilla agrees.'

Helaena smiles at him.

'You should promise that you will be a good husband for her, Aemond.'

'Yeah, I mean... Somehow, she likes you,' Aegon says, wincing. 'Only a fu...'

'Language,' Aemond hisses, glaring at kids, reminding his brother that it is his.

'...Only a fool could drop a girl like her,' Aegon coughs awkwardly, blinking at laughing Jaehaeyra. 'I mean, she doesn't even understand how mean you are. She thinks you are sweet.'

'But he is,' Helaena protests.

'Of course, you think so. It is not you he grabbed by hair and dragged down the corridor, huh?'

Aemond smiles poisonously.

What a good time. He misses Aegon being a total alcoholic, sometimes; it was fun to beat the shit out of him. Now, they hide all drinks for him, and when he struggles too much, Drusilla is here to distract him a little bit.

'By the way, did you ask her about her health?' Aegon turns attention to little Jaehaerys, who tugs his sleeves totally unsatisfied.

Aemond puts head on his palm.

'What do you mean?'

Is he talking about her seclusion, perhaps? Even to this day, he can't say exactly what happened with Drusilla after Irellea died - according to her words, it was a mental health problem that tortured her for five years as she spent half of her childhood and teen years locked all alone, without visitors and even servants. The only company she got was her brother, but other people were prohibited to come. Even the food was put in front of her doors.

But she doesn't speak of what exactly made her like this. Though, rumours say that people were afraid she will end up like her mother. Until she returned in the age of sixteen, beautiful and brand new - childish features changed with sharpened adultery ones, charming people even more than before.

'Oh, lady Tyrell, I remember, was a very sick child,' Helaena agrees, fingers carding through Maelor's silver hair. 'I can't recognise what it was... Something with lungs, maybe? Either way, she hardly played with us. I tried to keep her company, but only when it was allowed.'

Aemond hums.

In one Drusilla is right - his memories about her are rather lacking. He can't say how often she was here, what she did or what she liked. He can't remember much, but he is willing to fix it. So that should mean something, right?

'It was lungs.' Aegon says, more serious this time. 'Oh, I remember when I brought her to the Sunfyre. Through the night, well-knowing how much scolding we will get in the morning. She was sick that day, too. But Sunfyre helped her a little bit... Anyway.'

Aemond opens his mouth, something seeming off about what Aegon said, but never understands what it is. There is a slight silence, and he makes a mental note to ask Drusilla about her health.

'Kepa.'

All their attention now is turned on little Jaehaeyra, who climbs on Aegon's lap awkwardly, looking at him with those big eyes. Jaehaerys, her twin, tries to copy sister's movements as well.

'Kepa!'

It is not their first time meeting Aegon, but admittedly first for a few years, and these kids are almost five.

Aemond waits for his brother to react. He can't say what Helaena is smiling about; Aegon is too impulsive and avoiding when it comes to responsibilities, and these kids are the responsibility.

'Who is your kepa?' Aegon mutters, absolutely lost.

'Aegon - kepa!'

'Oh,' he whispers, both of his hands coming to the twins' heads to pat it awkwardly.

Aemond rolls his eyes, turning away.

There is nothing his brother can do to change things he has done. There is no redemption that he can offer for him.

'Aemond?' Helaena calls him, before he leaves.

He stops, not turning, but waiting patiently.

'What will you do if the dew you have is actually a sword?'

Confusion arises in him, and he can't even say what she means - usually Aemond is good at guessing what she says - able only to blink.

What the dew, possibly?

•

In the afternoon, when Criston Cole accompanies Lady Tyrell to the library, carrying the stack of books that she chooses, while walking down from shelf to shelf, she asks him a particularly strange question.

'What is your opinion on Larys Strong?'

He can't say they know each other well, despite working on the same woman. But it is not that Criston likes any Strong family member in general, and Larys is even less pleasant to deal with than his brother.

'I think, ser Strong is a great tactician,' he finally answers, sounding slightly awkward.

Drusilla hums, taking another book in her hands, and when she turns to give it to him, she looks straight in his eyes, asking:

'I asked what your opinion is, ser Cole.'

Criston thinks he finally understands what is the reason behind his absolute helplessness before Drusilla Tyrell. It is about how she cares for his opinion, his goals. For the first time, someone only cares about what he desires, and not dresses their wishes on him, skillfully enough so he could think that it is his wishes too.

'He is a strange man,' he answers after a while. 'We rarely contact, and I would love to keep it that way.'

She makes another long hum.

'Have you ever considered that he hurts the Queen, somehow?'

Criston blinks.

'Excuse me?'

'You are excused,' she jokes, a little smile on her face. Then, Drusilla pounds, before explaining what she means: 'I can't possibly be the one to notice how pressed and strained queen Alicent looks in his presence. Even slightly... Jumpy.'

Now, when she says that, Criston finds himself thinking that Drusilla might be right. He never puts doubts in his queen's words, her orders and wishes are untouchable, he doesn't even dare to break them. But...

'I am worried for her,' Drusilla finally says. 'We were together today, when he came in, without even knocking, and said that they will have a meeting this evening. And, Gods, Ser Cole, she paled so badly. And even advised me not to talk with him, ever.'

Why would she do that? She always speaks of Ser Strong like a respectable man.

'Do you think she is in danger, Lady Tyrell?'

'I think she is in danger for a while, Ser Cole. And I am not sure who will save her.'

Then, Drusilla simply sways back to her place, empty eyes returning to examining books. But these words stuck in his mind, suddenly, repeating again and again.

Alicent Hightower saved him once, long ago, giving him a new life. Shouldn't he return the favour?

•

Aemond is almost as restless as a little kid, when it comes to attempts to fall asleep; that Drusilla understood quite quickly. Even now, he tosses blankets around, turning and hissing under his breath, clearly unsatisfied with not being able to calm down.

Drusilla tries to ignore this—successfully, actually—by lazily reading one of the new books she borrowed today, the only light coming from a little candle on her table as she sits relaxed against her pillow.

'Drusilla.'

Oh, here he is.

'Aemond,' she reacts immediately, though tonelessly, turning the page. 'If it is the light that bothers you, you should have said it from–'

'How is your health?'

She pauses.

Hm.

Coughing around Aegon, somehow, was the same as burning down a little stick in the forest. Drusilla was sure it was him, who put that idea in Aemond's head, because never in a thousand times, he could remember that by himself.

'Quite satisfying, thank you. Will it help you fall asleep?'

Aemond raises on his elbows.

'Nothing bothering you anymore? Lungs, maybe?'

'How subtle you are,' she muses, not looking at him, focused on reading, instead. 'Aemond, if you have a question - ask it. Stop walking around like a nervous kid.'

He opens his mouth, probably to hiss—again—but only sighs come out.

'What a cruel woman you are,' it sounds more like teasing this time.

'Oh, yeah. Didn't you know? I eat infants every Sunday, before going to church, and on Fridays I take a bath with the blood of virgins.'

'I am utterly offended that I wasn't invited to those activities.'

'Don't worry,' she offers him a little smile. 'You will be included after marriage.'

Drusilla hears him chuckling. And then he tries again, more serious this time:

'If you have problems with health, you should warn me.'

'So you could disagree on this marriage?'

She jokes, mostly. Though Alicent would love to see her favourite son's kids, no one would pressure Aemond on having one - they are all too focused on Aegon, and Aegon has two possible heirs already.

But for some reason, Aemond takes her words fat too seriously.

'I wouldn't leave you for having a disability.'

She slightly gasps, when she realises why he sounds so... Wounded by her joke?

'I didn't mean it like–'

'So, do you have any?'

Gods, Drusilla always forgets that he is lacking one eye, and mostly, that he is still bitter about losing it.

She does know how it happened—she heard this story from someone else, though it was little snippets from the true one—yet, she didn't hear it from Aemond directly. But it must hurt him a lot. Physically and mentally, that is for sure.

'Not anymore,' Drusilla answers quietly, finally looking at him. 'I did in the past, but I had a few great healers. I am fine.'

'Good,' Aemond purses his lips. 'Goodnight... Nuhi Jorraelzi.'

Oh, that must be the High Valyrian?

'What does that mean?'

But Aemond only turns his back, pretending to fall asleep quickly, and she almost hisses, fighting the urge to pinch his cheek.

'...What a cruel man you are,' she murmurs in return, loudly closing the book.

Fussy cat, that who he was!

Does she really need to write a letter to ask what he said? Because, Drusilla thinks, Aegon might not be the best source to trust, and she is too cautious with Helaena to interact.

...Great.

"Have an awful night, Aemond Targaryen."

•

Alicent genuinely doesn't remember herself being scared so much in the last years—since Aemond lost his eye, she thinks—like now. It is all filled with blood, again, too; her hands and clothes, face, and she is praying loudly, watching to nowhere.

'Aemond,' she manages to whisper to Ser Cole, when he tries to catch her attention. 'Call him. Please, call him here.'

Her brain doesn't register when he arrives, but it is not the same anymore, because Aemond is not pressing his wounded side to her chest, calming down. Instead, there talks, gasps, and Aemond curses—oh, she never heard him cursing before—hitting the dead body on the floor with his leg, almost childishly.

Criston Cole killed him.

He killed Ser Strong.

Alicent starts to think about it again, of what will happen, how the court will react, how her father will, and how many problems, troubles, again, because of her–

'Mother,' Aemond kneels before her silently. 'How long has he been doing this to you?'

She wants to throw up.

But there are gentle, warm hands, stopping her from nervously picking her cuticulas. suddenly.

'Your Grace, you are safe,' the melodic voice soothes her. 'No one will know. You will be okay. We are here.'

The astonishment strikes Alicent down so suddenly that she forgets about her panic for a second.

'Godness, Drusilla, what are you doing here?' She looks at Aemond, absolutely scandalous. 'What you had been thinking about, bringing her in there?!'

'How could I know that there will be a bloodbath?' He retorts, furrowing.

Oh, there is the bloodbath, indeed. He killed him, using only his hands. He–

Alicent can't breathe again, and before she knows it, someone helps her to stand on her feet, slowly dragging her to another room. She understands that it is Drusilla, only when she starts slowly wiping the blood off her face, with wet fabric. Face, hands. Then, she throws on Alicent the inner layer of her sleeping robes, helping to cover bloody spots on the dress.

Drusilla, this poor and innocent girl, despite everything, helps her.

Alicent sobs, and she fails to stop herself, pressing herself to Drusilla's chest, a sobbing mess. And Drusilla doesn't push her away, simply stroking her hair, almost, motherly—why everytime Alicent wants to be someone's mother, to take care of someone, she ends up being the one who searches for parents?–and she relaxes.

It is only an hour later, both Aemond and Criston somewhere, dealing with a body, probably, when Alicent and Drusilla leave the little room, accidently bumping into two knights.

'Your Grace, we were searching for you!'

Alicent panics almost instantly.

Do they know? Do they? Gods, what if–

'You asked to warn us, if prince Aegon tries to leave his chambers, and he did. I think he got a little bit... Tipsy.'

Oh no.

No, no, no.

He was doing just fucking fine! Almost two weeks! Why of all this days, why–

'Your Grace,' Drusilla calls her, and there is so much compassion in those blue eyes that Alicent is almost on the verge of tears again, 'please, don't worry. I will take care of him. Please, return to your chambers and rest.'

Alicent knows she should warn her not to go. Because dealing with poisonous, missing the alcohol Aegon is one thing, and being with him when he is drunk - another one. And she remembers these servants, all of them. But...

But she is so tired.

So she simply nods.

It would be fine.

Drusilla will be fine.

Probably.

A/N: Drusilla-I-am-slowly-getting-rid-of-possible-dangers-without-doing-anything-Tyrell.

Nuhi Jorraelzi means "my love", btw.