She continued to write.
"Your Majesty asked for Redd's reply, and Rhaenyra told the truth.
His Majesty was relieved upon hearing this and fell asleep without saying a word.
Rhaenyra When she left, the look in her eyes reminded me of a saying - a daughter's heart is a deep well, and a father never knows how deep it is until one day he can no longer draw water."
When she wrote this sentence, the corners of her mouth raised slightly.
It was not a smile, but an instinctive, almost physiological reaction of muscle twitching that she was not even aware of.
Her lips became very thin at that moment, as thin as a line, and the corners of her mouth were slightly turned downward. Her entire expression looked cold and distant in the candlelight.
She didn't know whether she should continue to let the father and daughter completely break up.
When she asked herself this question, her quill left a small dot of ink on the parchment.
The ink dot is next to the last stroke of the word "break", like a black, small mole that is being absorbed by the paper.
She didn't wipe it off because she knew she didn't need to answer the question.
This is not a decision she can make, nor is it a decision she should make.
She is just a chess piece, a chess piece that is placed on the chessboard and moves according to the instructions of the chess player, without any will or choice of its own.
Her father is a chess player, Rhaenyra is another chess player, Viserys is a king who is being checked, and Redd--Redd is the one who can overturn the entire chess game with one finger outside the chessboard.
She is just a chess piece. A chess piece does not need to make decisions. A chess piece only needs to execute.
Alicent continued writing, writing down Viserys's reaction after hearing the news, Rhaenyra's expression when she left, and all the details she observed on paper one by one.
Her writing speed is getting faster and faster, but her handwriting is still as neat as before, as if she is performing a precise surgical operation in a race against time.
She wanted to write this letter as detailed as possible, as objectively as possible, and as free from any subjective judgments and tendencies as possible.
Let your father read it, let your father analyze it, let your father make the decision - whether to strike while the iron is hot and completely push Rhaenyra away from Viserys, or to stop temporarily and wait for a better opportunity.
After she finished writing, she folded the letter into three and sealed it with wax.
The fire paint is the color of House Hightower - dark green, with the family crest of her father Otto·Hai Tarth stamped on it: a tall tower with a flame burning on the top.
She placed the letter on the corner of the desk and held it down with a book to prevent it from blowing away in the wind.
Then she stood up, walked to Viserys's bed, and looked down at his sleeping face - he was sleeping deeply, with his mouth slightly open and snoring slightly. His face looked better than yesterday, at least it was no longer the gray-white color that made people think he would die at any time.
Alicent reached out and pulled his quilt up, covering his exposed shoulders. Her movements were very light and gentle, as if she was taking care of a baby.
Then she turned around, walked to the window, and opened the window.
The morning light poured in from outside, shining on her face, her swollen belly, and her dark blue dress embroidered with gold thread patterns.
There was no expression on her face, but her eyes were bright, as bright as two polished sapphires.
In the distance, the Blackwater Bay sea surface is sparkling, and seagulls are circling in the sky, emitting sharp and long calls.
She looked in that direction for a long time.
She didn't know where Dragonstone was in that direction. She had never been to Dragonstone, she had never seen the three-headed dragon, and she had never seen the man who made the whole Westeros tremble.
She had only heard of him - from her father's letters, from Viserys's dreams, and from the rumors of merchants and sailors who returned from the Eastern Continent.
Some say he has a three-headed dragon, some say he is invulnerable, some say he killed Daemon and Tormund, some say he made Prince of Dorne kneel down and surrender with just one letter.
She didn't know which ones were true, which ones were false, which ones were exaggerations, and which ones were factual.
She knew one thing - he married Rhaenyra. He was the husband of the heir to the throne of Seven Kingdoms.
If he wants Iron Throne, if he wants his son - at least not yet - if he wants Iron Throne, no one can stop him.
Not even her father can.
She closed the window, turned around and walked back to Viserys's bed.
Oldtown's wind carries the salty smell of mead and sea.
Otto·Hai Tarth is sitting in the highest tower of Citadel. In front of him is a large oak desk. The tabletop is filled with parchment rolls, account books, letters and various documents that require his review and signature.
The sun shone in from the stained glass window above, casting a mottled colorful light and shadow on his gray hair, like a Church mural.
He is no longer young. His hair has changed from gray to almost completely white, leaving only a few stubborn strands of gray behind his ears and on his temples that are unwilling to surrender.
His face was covered with wrinkles, which were like dry river beds, crisscrossing and cutting his skin into countless irregular, dry fragments.
The backs of his hands are covered with age spots, and the joints have become thick and deformed from years of sitting at his desk, like an old tree that has been blown away by the wind.
But his eyes are still bright.
Those blue, deep eyes, like the deep sea outside the Oldtown port, lit up the moment they saw the paint seal on the envelope.
Dark green. Tower. Flame.
Alicent.
His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the letter. That was excitement, not aging.
It has been a long time since he received a letter from Alicent. The last time was a few months ago. She told him in the letter that Viserys's condition has worsened again. Small Council supports Rhaenyra's voice is getting louder and louder. She needs his advice, needs his guidance, needs him to tell her what posture she should maintain, what words she should say, and what kind of things she should do in front of Rhaenyra.
The advice he gave her at the time was: Don't confront the tough. Show weakness, give in, let Rhaenyra feel that he has won, let Small Council's ministers feel that Rhaenyra is unshakable, and let Viserys feel that his daughter is so powerful that she no longer needs him.
When everyone feels that Rhaenyra is the unshakable heir, Viserys will begin to feel uneasy - not uneasy about Rhaenyra, but uneasy about his own power.
A king who feels that he is losing control will instinctively look for a "helper", someone who can balance his daughter, is absolutely loyal to him, and is worthy of his trust.