«I think, death as the whole concept is just a little funny thing on which people choose to overreact. They say you are either scared of it or accepting it with wide arms, embracing it freely; and none of this can't be normal for mere mortals. I disagree. I think, death is interesting. It means everything and nothing at the same time. I like to watch at the reflection of it in the eyes of dying people, in their last minutes. Isn't that beautiful? I had seen so many final glares, yet my favourite one will be always...»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's diary.

•

When Alicent agreed—agreed? Was it a right word, when she meant that there was no choice to begin with?—on marrying Viserys, she was warned that his health will worsen with each day of their life. Somehow, she just never understood how hard it will be. Because he looked fine, he spoke nicely, and it couldn't be that bad, right?

It was their fourth night together—they fucked only four times, and all of them ended up with her, bearing a kid—when Alicent tried to keep her tears from falling down. Because Viserys hardly moved, and instead of grunts there were terrifying noises in her ear. And smell. The smell of old, dying man that followed him around for the last three years, and only worsened gradually.

When Viserys finished, cumming in her, there was only a silence. He fell asleep, helpless and powerless, on top of her, making it hard to breath. Alicent managed to get out of him, and then she cried for hours, hoping it would be their last time.

Gladly, it was.

But taking care of the king still was her responsibility. And you know what they say: being always around a dying person, the one who is accompanied by death itself, sucks out of your life mercilessly. Alicent understood what that meant only when she once realised how hollowed she looks compared to her past self: thin figure with always watering eyes; she could be taken for the insane woman if not for her title.

So if anyone in the King's Landings counts time for Viserys's death, it is not Otto but her.

'You need to sit with him, Alicent,' her father reminds, voice always alarming, awfully terrifying for her ears. 'What happened? You are spending years with him, surely, you can endure a little bit more.'

'I can't,' her voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

She says that every day.

She can't.

Yet, no one hears.

At least, Viserys is in the wrong state of mind to hear her sobs as she sits by his bedside, no less weak than he is.

'Yes, you can. He is going to die soon. So be nice.'

'No, father, I swear, I–'

They both stop, hearing upcoming steps. Alicent takes time to catch her reflection in the nearest window, and fixes her hair, wiping away tears.

'Good morning, Ser Hightower! Good morning, Alicent!'

It is a few weeks after the catastrophe on the dinner—Alicent thought it was absolutely awful situation, but her father only laughed; at least, this girl is useful sometimes, he said—and Drusilla's face is already much better. Not a trace of an ugly bruise she had.

'Drusilla, dear.'

'I was searching for you,' she smiles at her. 'I wanted to know if you want to spend some time with me? I was planning on visiting the church, and then, maybe...'

'I apologise, Drusilla,' Otto cuts her before Alicent even can say something, 'but Alicent has a very, very important work to do. Taking care of sick people is not that easy, and having time for that is always important.'

But she wanted to go. She is tired of sitting on one place, in the dark room, and–

'Oh. Well. Maybe I can help?' Drusilla asks for their biggest surprise. Noticing widened eyes, she laughs. 'I took care of mom most of the time. I know how hard it is. And I know how hard it is to do it alone.'

Alicent feels pathetic, when she turns head to Otto, silently asking for permission as a little, dependent kid. And he doesn't even eye her. Instead, he regards Drusilla with the same smile he used to fool her around, and nods.

'Of course. It is very sweet of you. Surely, Alicent could use some help, or, at least, company. You are a very kind person, aren't you?'

From that day, Drusilla always follows her around.

She is helpful, Alicent notices absent-mindedly. In fact, with her presence, she doesn't even need to do anything. She raises Viserys, when he wants to sit down, she feeds him and helps to drink water, when he asks for that. She talks with him, and doesn't seem to be scared when he confuses her with different people. Or, when he doesn't even recognise her, taking for a servant. She stays cheerful through it, doing it effortlessly.

Alicent is astonished.

'How... How you don't find it hard? How you can be so natural about that?' Alicent asks her once, whispering, while Viserys sleeps.

She only shrugs.

'I pretend to be a wrong daughter before my insane, chained to bed mother for too long to dwell about it.'

She knows what happened with Tyrells; miscarriage of a little girl, the third kid in the family, and her mother's problems with health, but she somehow thought that... Well, that Drusilla didn't ever visit her.

'It is impressing. I can't be like you. I feel like I am being consumed by madness the more I stay here,' she laughs tonelessly.

Drusilla hums.

'Well, maybe you can rest, while I am taking care of him, then?'

At first, Alicent thinks she will not agree.

But in the end, she does.

She does, and it is shameful, but she absolutely readily throws all responsibility on Drusilla, starting to go out more, living, instead, of dying with her husband.

And Drusilla stays.

She stays, and her only distraction is Aegon, who visits her through the day, when Viserys is asleep, playing cards with her; Helaena, who comes to sit with her just for support, knitting something, and Aemond, who endlessly reminds her of taking breaks, and feeding her, when she forgets.

They didn't do that for their mother, though. So, maybe, Alicent doesn't feel bad about making her doing her job.

Or maybe she does. Because torturing poor Drusilla as others tortured her can't be good. But freedom is such an addictive thing that makes you forget about guilt or remorse. So, finally, Alicent understands how her father felt, when he put this burden on her shoulders.

She knows for sure: he slept well when she suffered. Just as she does now.

•

'How do you do that?' Helaena asks with unhidden curiosity.

Drusilla stops fixing the king's blanket, turning to Helaena's side, a silent question painted on her face. Helaena stares for a second, always perfectly unguarded when she sees bright eyes, and even like this she can't predict if these emotions are honest or played out as well. She wonders if Drusilla herself knows how to spot the differences between real and illusion she casts on herself.

'Aren't you scared of how much you will lose, if someone will catch you?' She tries to ask again.

There is a long pause, filled only by short sighs from Viserys before she answers:

'I am rather scared of missing opportunities by doing nothing than trying and losing,' she murmurs too quietly, but Helaena understands her anyway.

It is the first time, when Drusilla drops act in front of her, and Helaena slightly blessed. Because despite knowing and realising how terrifying her character can be, Helaena doesn't afraid of her. She doesn't know what Drusilla plans to do, but the one thing she knows for sure is that with her arrival, scary images of her dead sons—always too blurry and puzzled for her to predict fully—simply disappeared, changing with their laughs.

The dreams about them, dying helplessly, were terrorizing her from their birth. And now they are gone.

It is easy to love Drusilla just for that.

'Oh,' Helaena lowers her head. 'I can't do that like you do. I believe, I am too scared of everything to even try.'

She reminds Helaena much of knights. No, Drusilla can't fight, or she is not athletic, but she changes their lives in a good way how knights should do. Helaena knows it is not her intention—she feels the hidden disgust to Aegon that she shares with her quietly, and she understands that mother once hurt her deeply, sprinkles of childish memories still floating around—but still, it is a nice thought.

Helaena must be foolish, but with the lack of choice she has, she only waited for someone like her these years.

No, in fact... In fact, Helaena didn't hope for anything beyond fine and blood from her very childhood. So she is surprised that someone could change that. To make her deepest desires come true.

'Are you?' Drusilla asks suddenly, and Helaena realises only now that she came closer to her in past minutes of silence. 'Are you little naive girl as lady Tully?'

Helaena raises her brows.

'You are not a lamb to slaughter, Helaena,' Drusilla whispers to her ear, cold hands coming to tuck the strand of her white hair behind the ear. 'You are Targaryen. There is a dragon blood in your veins. Act like one.'

She kisses her on the temple, almost in a motherly way, and turns on the heels, returning to Viserys's bedside as if nothing happened. Helaena, too, pretends that nothing happened, picking up her knitting needles.

But these words continue to ring through her head for the whole day, until she falls asleep.

No one learned her how to be a dragon.

But maybe Drusilla is right. Maybe it is in her after all this time, in her blood and veins, and she just needs to realise it?

•

«...Currently, I am sitting in the tower, where king Viserys is spending his last days. I know you are waiting for some news or rumours, regarding family I am in right now, but apparently, almost nothing happens. But you asked me in the last letter to write you more about the state of this family, so I do.

Alicent became so much lighter in the mood, when responsibility for certain someone was lifted from her shoulders; she even stopped picking fights with Aegon, which amazes everyone. Aegon, from the other hand, is not drinking for a full month already, and even his meltdowns happen more rare than ever. Aemond is content with how things are, right now. Though, he is greedy for my attention, and the fact that I am sitting in the chambers of his father rather than being with him, taunts him. Helaena slowly learn to live more freely; I think out all of them, I will wait for changes in her the most.

I forgot to mention it the last time I wrote you—forgive me, my dear, I was too excited to retell you what happened in the marriage day and after—but before Rhaenyra and her family left, I ordered Kasia to walk around the castle in the deep night; just for a measure. Accidentally, my gentle hawk witnessed some interesting scene. It helped me to understand what strings I need to tug on, when I will speak with Rhaenyra. Now, with my plan fully considered, I am sure that our win is close.

By the way, I appreciate your worry about Augustus. He is safe on the North. I will give him special instructions to follow—in fact, I sent them this morning—and...»

An annoying cough grows stronger, and Drusilla sighs irritated, stopping to write unwillingly. She glances over the paper, examining non-existing letters, checking if she made grammar mistakes—not like this language known only by two people in the world, but appearing the most presentable in front of her friend is important—and only then standing up, returning to Viserys's side.

'It is okay, your Majesty. Here, drink some water.'

In the morning after her marriage, when Augustus left, he asked her if she plans to fasten Viserys's death somehow. To that, she only shook her head, and said her farewells hastily.

This man doesn't have time to leave anyway, and Drusilla likes taking things slow, in the natural pace, without rushing the nature itself. All her life is consisted of waiting, and so she learned patience rather quickly. So, no, despite the easiest assumption that Aemond, Kasia and Ser Cole made, she doesn't do anything. Only sits around, reading books and taking care of the king like the feline daughter. She made up the story about taking care of her sick mother, not for nothing, right?

It is calming in some way. Relaxing. No one annoys her when she is here.

'Peace...'

'Hm?' She muses, a condescending smile playing on her face.

Viserys grips her wrist—though his darkened and rooted fingers are weak and trembling—and quietly hisses out his words:

'Peace... I want... Peace... Family... Together.'

Oh, she sees how it is.

'Don't worry,' Drusilla soothes him. 'I will make sure they will be doomed to be together till the end. Even Rhaenyra and Alicent.'

Somehow, despite her doubts that he understood what she said, he relaxes after hearing these words. His refocused eyes turn to the ceiling, and Viserys smiles, if it is can be considered to be a smile.

'Oh. Aemma... Aemma...'

Drusilla's face drops.

Not from sentiments, gods, no. But from fury.

Oh, how this pathetic excuse of a man can call for his dead wife so tenderly, when he is the one, who is responsible for her death? He made her into birthing kids—well-knowing, that her health will be forever damaged from being early bedded—until she gave herself whole, her own life. And now, he dares to sulk around, missing her?

'On her place, I would tear you apart on small pieces,' she hisses out.

There is no reaction.

Drusilla realises, very late, that he is not even breathing anymore. His chest is still, and there are no sounds, even harsh pants, coming from his throat.

Drusilla hums.

Oh, finally!

She takes some time to scrutinize his face carefully, mostly, the look in his eyes.

Beautiful.

Death is beautiful.

How stupid are people, who scrambles away from it in terror! How can they not see, not notice, this uncontrollable power? If only they stopped, worrying about Gods and Mothers, and focused more on death!

She closes her eyes, memorising how the king's eyes looked for the last time, before loudly falling on her knees. And starting to whale. So loudly that guards and every passing by person should hear that.

But as the knights can't come in, Otto Hightower becomes the one to enter the first.

Hiding her face in the hands, sobbing desperately, Drusilla pretends not to hear a satisfied sigh that Otto makes when he stops in the doors.

'Oh, Drusilla,' he calls for her, gently, and it maybe the first time he actually sounds genuine happy to great her.

'Ser Hightower!'

She throws himself on him with a practised motion.

Unsurprisingly, Aemond appears in the room the second one—Drusilla makes sure to look in his eyes expressively, giving him a slight sign; they discussed it already—and then, hides in Otto's embrace again, not seeing Alicent's coming.

«...While I was writing you, something happened. The king died.

I will let them bury him, in the best tradition. Allow to mourn a little bit, with absolute hypocrisy on the corners of lips.

And then, I will gift them the new king to sit on the throne. Just not the one others expect to see.

Shall the winds of changes be merciful.

We will meet again soon, my dear friend.

Just wait for it. And don't forget to kneel as you see me.

The Queen to become, and your favourite girl from the Highgardens.

Irellea.»