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I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and I am failing her.
Each beat is a struggle, each pump of blood through her young veins feels like dragging chains through mud. I wasn't always this way. Once, I beat strong and sure in her chest, keeping perfect time like the drums in the Red Keep's great hall. But something changed, something broke, and now I flutter like a trapped bird.
Tonight, as always, she comes. Princess Rhaenyra slips into Alicent's chambers long after the castle has gone quiet. My keeper is already asleep, exhausted from another day of trying to keep up appearances despite my weakness. But Rhaenyra isn't here for Alicent – she's here for me.
I feel her warm hand press against Alicent's chest, right above where I reside.
"Listen here, you troublesome little thing," Rhaenyra whispers, her voice carrying that peculiar mix of command and affection that only a Targaryen can master. "You're being quite rude to my dearest friend, you know that?"
I try to steady my rhythm, to show her I'm listening. It's harder than it sounds.
"I am the heir to the Seven Kingdoms," she continues, "and I command you to behave yourself. What good is a heart that can't keep up with its owner's spirit?"
If only she knew how hard I try. Every morning, when Alicent wakes to serve as companion to the king, I strain to pump stronger, faster, better. When she climbs the endless stairs of the Red Keep, I fight against my own limitations, struggling to provide the strength she needs. But I am broken somehow, in ways that even Targaryen commands cannot fix.
"You're lucky you're housed in someone I care about deeply," Rhaenyra murmurs, her fingers tracing gentle circles over Alicent's nightgown. "Otherwise, I'd have my dragon Syrax give you a proper frightening. Would that set you straight, hmm? A dragon's roar to shock you into proper behavior?"
I flutter anxiously at the thought, and Rhaenyra chuckles softly.
"Oh, you didn't like that, did you? Well, perhaps we can try a different approach." Her voice softens, becomes almost musical. "What if I promised you stories instead? Tales of knights and dragons, of great battles and greater loves. Would that give you the strength you need?"
I steady slightly under her words. Yes, stories would be nice. Stories don't require me to work harder than I can, to be stronger than I am.
"I thought so," she says smugly. "You're just like her, aren't you? Both of you, so fond of tales and songs. Well then, let me tell you about the first dragon rider..."
Night after night, she comes. Sometimes she threatens playfully, sometimes she cajoles, sometimes she simply talks. She tells me about her day, about the pressures of being heir, about her fears and dreams. She speaks to me as if I can answer, as if I am a confidant rather than a failing organ.
On the nights when I am at my worst, when every beat is agony and I can barely maintain my rhythm, she presses her ear to Alicent's chest and listens to my struggle.
"Come now," she'll whisper. "You can do better than that. She needs you. I need you. You're the heart of my dearest friend in all the realm – surely that counts for something?"
It does count for something. It counts for everything.
So I try. Gods, how I try. When Alicent walks through the gardens with Rhaenyra, I push myself to keep steady. When they run through the halls like the children they still are, I strain to provide the strength she needs. When they lay in the grass, watching dragons wheel overhead, I try to match my rhythm to their peaceful breathing.
But I am failing. Slowly, surely, I am failing.
The maesters whisper about it when they think Alicent can't hear. They speak of weakness in the heart, of chambers that don't close properly, of blood that doesn't flow as it should. They prescribe tinctures and potions, recommend rest and careful living. None of it helps.
Rhaenyra knows this. I can hear it in her voice when she visits now, can feel it in the way her hand trembles slightly as she presses it against Alicent's chest.
"You stubborn thing," she says one night, but there's no playfulness in her voice anymore. "How dare you? How dare you threaten to take her from me?"
I beat weakly in response, each pulse an apology I cannot voice.
"I am the blood of the dragon," she continues, and now there are tears in her voice. "I will be queen one day. I should be able to command you to be strong, to be whole. Why won't you listen?"
Because some things are beyond even the power of dragons, my faltering rhythm seems to say. Because some battles cannot be won with fire and blood.
"Please," she whispers, and now she's crying properly, her tears falling onto Alicent's nightgown. "Please, just keep beating. Just keep trying. I'll tell you all the stories you want. I'll threaten you with all my dragons. I'll do anything. Just don't stop."
So I keep beating. Even when it hurts. Even when I'm tired. Even when each pulse feels like it might be my last. I keep beating for Alicent, who deserves so much more than a broken heart. I keep beating for Rhaenyra, who speaks to me in the dark and pretends she can command my weakness away.
I keep beating because I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and I am all she has.
One night, Rhaenyra brings a book to her midnight visit. She props it open on Alicent's bed and reads by candlelight, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Listen carefully," she tells me. "This is a story about a knight whose heart was cursed by a witch. But he lived, do you understand? He lived because he was stubborn and brave and refused to give up. You could learn something from him."
I listen to the story, marking time with my uneven beats. The knight in the tale indeed lives, through sheer force of will and the love of a princess who refuses to let him die. It's a pretty tale, the kind that Alicent loves, the kind that Rhaenyra pretends not to care for but secretly adores.
But I am not a knight's heart, cursed by a witch. I am simply a heart that doesn't work as it should, a mechanism failing before its time. No amount of willpower or princess's love can change that.
Still, I try. For them, I try.
Days pass into weeks, weeks into months. Alicent grows paler, tires more easily. The stairs become mountains, the gardens become marathons. But still she persists, still she serves, still she smiles. And still, every night, Rhaenyra comes to speak to me.
"You're still beating," she says one night, sounding almost surprised. "After all this time, you're still fighting."
Of course I am. What choice do I have?
"You know," she continues, her voice thoughtful, "I used to think hearts were simple things. Just meat and muscle, doing what they're told. But you're not simple at all, are you? You're as stubborn as any dragon."
I flutter at the compliment, then immediately regret it as the flutter turns into an painful arrhythmia. Rhaenyra feels it under her palm and makes a soft, distressed sound.
"Careful now," she murmurs. "Don't get too excited. Save your strength."
She starts humming then, an old Valyrian lullaby that her mother used to sing. The vibrations of her voice seem to travel through her hand directly into me, soothing my erratic rhythm back into something approaching normal.
"There," she says softly. "That's better. You like music, don't you? I'll remember that."
From then on, she always hums or sings during her visits. Sometimes it's Valyrian lullabies, sometimes it's tavern songs she's learned from the servants, sometimes it's half-remembered hymns to the Seven. I learn to time my beats to her melodies, using them as a guide when my own rhythm fails me.
One night, as summer turns to autumn and the air grows crisp, Rhaenyra comes to visit with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.
"The maesters," she says, her voice rough. "They say... they say you're getting worse. They say you might not..."
She can't finish the sentence. She doesn't need to. I know what they say. I can feel it myself, in every labored beat, in every struggled pulse.
"You can't," she whispers fiercely. "You're not allowed to stop. You're not allowed to give up. You're the heart of Alicent Hightower, and she needs you. I need you. Do you understand?"
I understand. But understanding doesn't make me stronger. Understanding doesn't fix what's broken inside me.
"I'll make you a deal," she says suddenly. "Keep beating. Just keep beating, and I promise you'll hear every story in the world. I'll read to you every night. I'll sing every song I know. I'll tell you all my secrets, all my dreams. Just please, please keep beating."
Oh, my fierce princess. If only it were that simple. If only promises and deals could mend broken hearts.
But I try. Gods, how I try. For Alicent, who bears my weakness with such grace. For Rhaenyra, who speaks to me in the dark and believes she can command me to heal.
I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and I am failing her.
But I am still beating.
I am still trying.
I am still here.
For now, that has to be enough.
And in the quiet of the night, as Rhaenyra's songs fill the darkness and her hand rests warm against Alicent's chest, I continue my struggle. Beat by beat, pulse by pulse, I fight my own weakness. I cannot promise victory. I cannot promise forever.
But I can promise this: as long as I have strength, I will keep beating. As long as I have will, I will keep trying. As long as I have love – Alicent's gentle spirit, Rhaenyra's fierce devotion – I will keep fighting.
For I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and even in failure, I beat on.
I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and she knows I'm dying.
Unlike Rhaenyra, who rages against my weakness with dragon-fierce determination, Alicent understands. She's always understood. After all, we share this failing body, this borrowed time. Every labored beat, every skipped rhythm, every moment of weakness – she feels them all.
Late at night, when the Red Keep is silent and even Rhaenyra has returned to her chambers, Alicent speaks to me. Not with threats or commands, but with the gentle understanding of someone who knows what it means to carry an impossible burden.
"You're tired today, aren't you, old friend?" she whispers, her own hand replacing where Rhaenyra's had been hours before. Her touch is different – cooler, softer, familiar as her own breath. "It's alright. We can rest now."
I try to steady my rhythm for her, but even that small effort sends pain shooting through her chest. She doesn't flinch, doesn't complain. She never does.
"Shh," she soothes, "don't strain yourself. You don't have to pretend with me. I know how hard you're trying."
And I am trying. Every beat is a battle now, every pulse a war against my own failing strength. But Alicent never demands more than I can give. She adapts, adjusts, learns to live within the limitations I impose upon her.
"Do you remember," she murmurs one night, as autumn winds howl outside her window, "when we used to run through the gardens of Oldtown? Back when you were strong, when you kept time as steady as the Hightower's beacon?"
I do remember. I remember the joy of beating strong and sure, of providing all the strength her young body needed. I remember what it felt like to be whole.
"Those were lovely days," she continues, her voice soft with remembrance. "But these days are lovely too, in their own way. Every beat you give me is a gift now. Every morning I wake to feel you still trying – that's a victory worth celebrating."
Oh, my sweet keeper. Even now, even as I fail her, she finds beauty in our shared struggle. Where Rhaenyra rages against my weakness, Alicent embraces it, transforms it into something almost sacred.
"The maesters say you're getting weaker," she tells me another night, her fingers tracing gentle patterns over her chest. "They speak of endings, of preparations that must be made. But you already knew that, didn't you? You've known longer than any of them."
I flutter weakly in response. Yes, I've known. I've felt my strength ebbing like the tide, pulling away beat by beat, day by day.
"It's alright to be afraid," she whispers. "I'm afraid too. But we've faced everything else together, haven't we? We'll face this too."
Her acceptance breaks me in ways that Rhaenyra's fierce denial never could. I stutter in my rhythm, causing her to gasp softly in pain.
"Easy now," she soothes, pressing her hand more firmly against her chest. "Easy. I'm here. I've got you."
Some nights, when sleep eludes her, she tells me stories – not grand tales of knights and dragons like Rhaenyra, but small, intimate memories of our shared life.
"Remember the first time we saw the Red Keep?" she whispers. "You beat so fast I thought you might fly right out of my chest. Everything was so big, so grand, so terrifying. But you kept beating, kept me standing, kept me strong."
I remember. I remember every moment of our life together, every triumph and tragedy, every joy and sorrow. I remember them all in the rhythm of my beats, in the pulse of blood through her veins.
"You've given me so much," she says one particularly bad night, when my rhythm is more stumble than stride. "So many days, so many moments. Whatever happens, please know that you've been more than enough. You've been everything I needed."
Her words give me strength, not the desperate kind that comes from Rhaenyra's threats and promises, but the quiet strength of acceptance, of peace.
Some nights, she sings to me too, but not the grand Valyrian ballads that Rhaenyra favors. Instead, she hums simple lullabies, the kind her mother sang to her in Oldtown. The vibrations of her voice travel through her chest, surrounding me in gentle harmony.
"There," she murmurs as my rhythm steadies slightly. "See? We still have our songs. We still have our moments."
As winter approaches and my strength wanes further, she begins to prepare. Not with the frantic energy of Rhaenyra's denial, but with the quiet grace of acceptance.
"I've written letters," she tells me one night. "For after. For when you've fought your last battle. I want them to know how brave you were, how hard you tried. I want them to know that you didn't fail me – you gave me everything you had, until you had nothing left to give."
I beat weakly against her ribs, trying to protest. I'm not brave. I'm just a broken thing, failing the person who needs me most.
"Oh, but you are brave," she insists, as if hearing my doubts. "Every day you keep beating, despite the pain, despite the exhaustion – that's bravery. Every time you rally when Rhaenyra visits, trying so hard to match her fierce energy – that's bravery. Every moment you keep fighting, even though we both know how this ends – that's bravery."
She presses her hand against her chest, feeling my uneven rhythm.
"You've been so strong for so long," she whispers. "It's alright to be tired now. It's alright to rest."
But I can't rest, not yet. Not while she still needs me, not while Rhaenyra still comes with her stories and songs, not while there are still moments to be lived.
"I know," she says softly. "I know you'll keep fighting until the very end. That's who you are. That's who we are together. But please know that whenever that end comes, whether it's tomorrow or years from now, I won't be angry. I won't be disappointed. I'll only be grateful for every beat you gave me, every moment you fought for."
Her acceptance is a balm, soothing the edges of my failure. Where Rhaenyra's visits leave me straining to be stronger than I am, Alicent's quiet conversations allow me to simply be – broken, failing, but still beating, still trying.
"Rhaenyra doesn't understand," she murmurs one night, after a particularly forceful visit from the princess. "She thinks she can command you to be well, like she commands her dragon. She doesn't see that your strength isn't in how powerful you are, but in how you keep going even when you have no power left."
I flutter in response, grateful for her understanding.
"She loves us, in her way," Alicent continues. "But she loves like a dragon – all fire and force. We're not dragons, you and I. We're just human, just mortal. And that's alright."
As winter settles over King's Landing, my strength continues to fade. The maesters shake their heads more often, speak in increasingly hushed tones. Rhaenyra's visits become more desperate, her threats more elaborate, her promises more grand.
But Alicent remains steady, constant, accepting.
"Another day," she whispers each morning, feeling my first weak beats as she wakes. "Thank you for another day."
And each night, as she prepares for sleep, she presses her hand to her chest one last time.
"Whatever happens in the night," she tells me, "know that you've made me proud. Know that you've been enough. Know that you are loved."
I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and I am dying.
But in these quiet moments, when she speaks to me with such gentle understanding, death doesn't seem like failure anymore. It seems like the natural end to a long, brave fight. A fight we've faced together, beat by beat, day by day.
I don't know how many more days I have left to give her. I don't know how many more beats I have left to count. But I know this: every one of them will be given with love, received with gratitude, and remembered with peace.
For I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and though I am failing, I am not failed.
I am dying, but I am not defeated.
I am weakening, but I am not weak.
And in the quiet of the night, as Alicent whispers her gentle acceptance and feels my faltering rhythm beneath her palm, I know that this too is its own kind of strength. Not the strength of dragons and fire, but the strength of acceptance and grace.
Beat by beat, we face our shared destiny together.
And that is enough.
That has always been enough.
I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and today, I am stopping.
I've known this moment was coming. I've felt it in my weakening pulses, in the way each beat requires more strength than I possess. Like a candle burning its last bit of wick, I'm flickering, fading, finally failing.
Rhaenyra came running when they told her. She burst into the chamber where Alicent lies pale against her pillows, her dragon-fierce energy filling the room with desperate heat.
"No," she commands, pressing her hand against Alicent's chest where I flutter weakly. "No, you treasonous little thing. I forbid this. I am your future queen, and I forbid you to stop!"
I'm sorry, my fierce princess. Some commands even queens cannot enforce.
"Listen to me," she continues, her voice cracking. "Remember our deal? Stories, songs, all the secrets in the world – they're yours if you just keep beating. Please. Please keep beating."
Each word is punctuated by a sob she's trying to hold back. Her hand trembles against Alicent's chest, feeling my increasingly irregular rhythm.
"I'll bring every maester in the Seven Kingdoms," she promises. "I'll sail to Asshai and find the shadowbinders. I'll climb the Mountains of the Moon and seek the wisdom of the witch women. There must be something – someone – who can fix this!"
But Alicent's hand covers Rhaenyra's, her touch gentle but firm.
"Let it rest, Rhaenyra," she whispers, her voice barely audible over my struggling beats. "It's tired. It's fought so hard for so long. Let it rest."
"No!" Rhaenyra's cry is almost a roar, dragon-fierce and dragon-frightened. "You can't give up. You can't let it give up. Fight! Command it to fight!"
I try to steady my rhythm, to give them a few more strong beats, but the effort sends pain shooting through Alicent's chest. She gasps, and I immediately fall back into my faltering pattern.
"I'm sorry," I pulse weakly. "I'm so sorry."
Alicent feels my apology in every failing beat. Her fingers press gently against her chest, right above where I struggle.
"Don't apologize," she whispers. "You've done so well. You've been so brave."
But Rhaenyra isn't ready to accept this ending. She never has been ready to accept any ending she couldn't control.
"Remember the knight in the story?" she asks desperately. "The one whose cursed heart kept beating through sheer force of will? You can do that. You must do that!"
Oh, my dear princess. I am not a knight's heart. I am just a failing organ, finally reaching the limits of its endurance.
"The maesters are wrong," Rhaenyra insists, though her voice shakes. "They have to be wrong. You were fine yesterday. You were beating yesterday!"
But we all know that's not true. I haven't been fine for a long time. Each day has been a battle, each beat a victory snatched from the jaws of defeat. And now, finally, there are no more victories to be had.
"Remember when we ran through the gardens?" Rhaenyra's voice breaks. "Remember when we climbed the towers? Remember when we watched the dragons fly? You were strong then. Be strong again. Please."
I was strong then. But strength, like everything else, has its season. And my season is ending.
Alicent's hand remains steady over Rhaenyra's, feeling my weakening rhythm.
"It's alright," she soothes, though I'm not sure if she's speaking to me or to Rhaenyra. "It's alright to let go."
"It is not alright!" Rhaenyra's fear turns to anger, as it so often does. "I am the blood of the dragon! I am heir to the Iron Throne! I should be able to prevent this!"
But even dragons must bow to death eventually. Even queens must accept that some battles cannot be won.
My rhythm falters again, skipping several beats before resuming at an even weaker pace. Rhaenyra makes a sound like a wounded animal.
"No, no, no," she chants. "Keep beating. You must keep beating. I'll do anything. I'll give you anything. Just don't stop."
"Rhaenyra," Alicent's voice is soft but firm. "Listen to it. Really listen. It's trying to say goodbye."
And I am. With each failing beat, I'm trying to say everything I never could. Thank you for the stories. Thank you for the songs. Thank you for believing in me even when I couldn't believe in myself.
"I don't want goodbye," Rhaenyra sobs. "I want you to live. Both of you. Please."
My rhythm stutters again, longer this time. When it resumes, it's barely a whisper of its former strength.
"You've done enough," Alicent murmurs to me. "You've given enough. Rest now."
But Rhaenyra isn't ready to let go. She never has been good at letting go.
"Remember the first night I spoke to you?" she asks desperately. "Remember how you listened? Listen to me now. Fight! Just a little longer. Please, just a little longer."
I'm trying. Gods, I'm trying. But each beat requires more strength than I have left, each pulse is a mountain I can no longer climb.
"I'm sorry," my failing rhythm says. "I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger. I'm sorry I couldn't keep my promises. I'm sorry I have to leave."
Alicent understands. She's always understood.
"You've kept every promise that mattered," she whispers. "You've given me a life full of love and wonder. That's more than enough."
My beats are coming farther apart now, each one a struggle against the increasing weight of exhaustion. Rhaenyra feels it under her palm and her sobs grow louder.
"Please," she begs, no longer a princess but just a girl about to lose her dearest friend. "Please don't go. Please don't take her from me."
"Rhaenyra," Alicent's voice is getting weaker, but her tone is still gentle. "Hold my hand. Be here with me. Let it rest."
"I can't," Rhaenyra cries. "I can't just let this happen. I can't just watch you..."
But she does take Alicent's hand, gripping it as if she could anchor her friend to life through sheer force of will.
My rhythm continues to slow. Each beat now feels like it might be the last, each pulse a final farewell.
"Thank you," I tell them with my failing strength. "Thank you for the stories, Rhaenyra. Thank you for the songs. Thank you for believing I could be stronger than I was."
"Thank you, old friend," Alicent whispers back. "Thank you for every beat, every day, every moment."
Rhaenyra's tears fall hot against Alicent's chest as she presses her ear down, listening to my final symphony.
"Please," she whispers one last time. "Please don't go."
But some things even dragon's blood cannot command. Some endings cannot be rewritten, even by future queens.
My beats are barely whispers now, each one fainter than the last. Like a candle burning out, like a song fading into silence, like a story reaching its final page.
"I'm sorry," my last beats say. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm..."
And then, finally, mercifully, I rest.
I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and I have given my last beat.
I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and I have fought my last battle.
I am the heart of Alicent Hightower, and I have loved until my final moment.
In the silence that follows, Rhaenyra's grief echoes through the chamber like a dragon's roar. But Alicent's face is peaceful, accepting, understanding.
For I was her heart, and she was my keeper, and together we lived a life full of love and wonder.
And in the end, that was enough.
That was everything.
That was all a heart could hope to be.
Goodbye, my fierce princess. Goodbye, my gentle keeper.
Thank you for letting me rest.
Thank you for letting me go.
Thank you for everything.
...
...
...
silence