holyposition | IC Inbox

[ So immediate that she may not have even put the phone down yet. ]

I'm glad to hear that.

I'd like to see you. I think I left my glasses in your room.

Not just for that, obviously. At least I hope that's obvious.

Yes. Whenever you want.

[ !!! ]

You did.
I've done a poor job fixing them, but I shall bring them with me, anyway.

[ taped at the bridge... wonky angled... ]

Perhaps I could meet you at the chapel. I know you've resumed your comings and goings there.

It was thoughtful to try.

Hawk fixed it up for me. Gutted everything and modernized it a little bit. You'll like it.

I can be there whenever you like.

That was good of him.

[ awkward in her sincerity, an unfamiliar way of maneuvering after so long pretending. ]

I can be there within the hour. Aegon had Lady Stark sew some lovely gowns, for my return. And Aemond and Lestat helped right the mess I made of my room, in my ruinous state.

[ an unspoken question: who righted the mess i made of you? ]

Edited 2025-01-13 10:57 (UTC)

Good. I'm glad you had help.

if you find my letter
just ignore it. it was a waste of time. I'll see you soon, okay?

[ Tim has settled back into familiar routines, spending time at the chapel again, so it's easy to meet her there. It looks different, the flooring switched out and the pews stained darker, the light fixtures more modern and bright, Hawk's touch to make it all seem a little less gloomy. He's happy with the changes, has tasked himself again with custody of this place, sweeping up dust and keeping things shining.

It gives Tim something to do. He doesn't do well with idleness, he can't help but find something to fill that hole, whether it's good for him or not. As weary as he's been these last few days, this is good. Having this positive outlet returned is the best gift that Hawk could have given to him. ]

Hi. Thanks for coming.

[ Through tired eyes, he smiles at her, throwing the rag he's been using to wipe down the windows over his shoulder. The bruises are fading, but he wears a turtleneck anyway, as he did during the latter half of the werewolf games. Tim chose to keep the scar from her fangs rather than injest Louis' blood that would have healed it, but it's covered, so she won't feel any worse about it. ]

I know it's stupid to ask how you're feeling, but I don't know what else to...um, I'm happy to see you. Really.

I fear little survived my girlish tantrums.

[ so consider the letter binned, burned, trampled. ]

I’ll see you soon, Tim.

[ And despite the nerves gripping her, she dresses in a gown of dark teal from Lady Sansa, protected by her boys’ decision to hang them in her closet for her. Little kindnesses she thought them incapable of, in her lowest moments.

Before Tim notices her, she lingers at the back of the chapel and watches him from afar. Still strong, her Tim, his boyish sweep of hair unsinged by her fiery gaze. Since Embry’s death, Alicent has not set foot in this place, and she doubts she will return often, even as she surveys Hawk and Tim’s fine handiwork. Her faith has imprisoned her as much as her role. Maiden, mother, crone. She need kneel no longer. ]

I’m fine, Tim. [ A small, sad smile. Her voice scrapes her throat, burned by Alina’s sunlit blood and still healing. Though she keeps her distance. The hands that do harm lose the ability to heal, so she keeps hers clasped at her waist, glasses hooked on a dainty finger. ]

As I can be. [ She swallows hard, wincing slightly at the pain of it. ] I — I don’t wish to take up your time, but — I’m so terribly sorry, for all I said and did upon my return. [ Firmer, then, meeting his gaze. ] Know that you do not deserve such ugliness.

Well, firstly, I always have time for you.

[ As has been the case since that ghastly bacchanal, and all the good and bad that’s followed, even when she’s cursed him for his boyish naivety and lack of forethought, in thinking that if he made enough sacrifices and concessions that he could be enough to save a prince from himself. If Alicent had called to him, even in anger, he would have run to her. Such is the bond they shared and the promises he made, the obligation one feels when he strips himself to dress the wounds of another.

Tim is cautious of being too familiar or approaching too closely, after the disasters of their last two meetings, but he does step forward, cautiously crossing the bridge. She does have his glasses in her hand, after all – and without them, from a distance he can’t tell what rough shape they’re in. His head tilts slightly, a hopeful dog, always seeking a pillow from the same leg that’s kicked him. ]

And I know you weren’t yourself. [ Warmly. It’s been a cold and difficult month. To have something familiar, the two of them here again, is a comfort. ] I forgive you. I mean, part of it I offered, but even the rest.

[ What’s a few moments of pain and fear if it might open the opportunity to make amends? He believes her. They had worked so well together during the wolf games because this is something they shared, a strong distaste for violence and an even stronger drive to put an end to it. No matter her frustration or feelings of betrayal, she wouldn’t have abused him so if she were in control, just as he didn’t tell anyone, refused to tell of the true scope of his pain by hiding its source, keeping more from running into sharp claws and fangs, whether with open arms or pitchforks. ]

I had to learn some hard lessons fast. [ A jagged smile, nearing on self-deprecating in a way that doesn’t truly suit him. It’s hard to make light of staring down death. It’s hard not to, when this place makes such a mockery of it. ] I won’t go so far as to say I’m grateful, but I’ve learned from it, and that’s better than most of the pointless chaos this place throws at us.

[ Caretaker of this chapel or not, he is no priest, Tim has no demands of prayer or penance for her. Only grace, only forgiveness, only regret for his own foolishness. ]

I'm sorry, too. [ Bitten nails rubbing at the new finish on the pew, an elegant dark mahogany. ] For everything with Aemond. I thought I could help, and everything just got worse for everyone. It’s over now, but I should have never let it get that far to begin with.

[ He wonders if she already knows that. If he’s regarded highly enough to even be worth a mention. ]

[ I always have time for you, a lovely thing to say — and perhaps only that. Alicent does not doubt that he would do what he could, but Tim has already chosen another over her and Hawk over all, in the killing games. Young men bow before their selfishness too often for her liking (and she’s learning now, what Rhaenys knew in the Red Keep, that to toil in service of them is to build one’s own prison, brick by brick). And if neither of them can take of her son any longer, nor of her — where else might they look for sustenance? For power? She thinks of Hawk asking after Jacaerys, defending Daemon on the network, and wonders.

Hope for an alternative, flickering though it is, persists. She appreciates Tim’s cautiousness, his distance. That he cedes power by allowing her to approach him, as she does now, taped frames extended.

She huffs a laugh, shaking her head. ]

You did not offer to be bled dry, dear. [ Even though he refused to listen to her, as any of her sons would (and did). She’ll not blame him for that, exactly, even if it frustrates her. ] Though your instinct for self-preservation is lacking, ’tis true.

[ Is it atonement? A desire for the end that calls to her and Embry? Any further consideration of it is waylaid by Tim’s soft apology. She knew, though Aemond did not name him explicitly. He claimed to return all to her.

There is much she could say. Aemond is a boy. Of eight and ten, not as young as she was when men began to pursue her, but too young, still. Fire and blood. It does not surprise me that you were burned. ]

I appreciate your saying that. [ The apology. The consideration for her feelings, this time, though it’s hardly her greatest concern, after she bled out in a library alone, and injured so many she holds dear, Aemond included. Without Tim’s glasses to cling to, her hands twist. ] I hope I did not miss any other troubles.

[ Knowing this place... ]

[ Tim reaches out, gingerly, plucking his glasses from her hand with two fingers, and laughs. They’re as good as garbage now, taped together precariously at the bridge, one lens scratched up so badly from his landing on the table that his vision will be blurred regardless. He lowers his head with, almost embarrassed to find anything about this amusing. It was violent and re-traumatizing – as it turns out, being choked with a belt and a hand aren’t terribly different – he could have very well finished bleeding out in the hallway, if Hawk hadn’t followed his muddled, delirious rambling to the right place.

She offers him a nearly useless pair of glasses, and he can’t help but laugh. Softly, at the silliness of it all, of himself, everything that’s brought them here. ]

Maybe you overindulged. I still offered.

[ He fidgets with the tape strapped over the bridge of his glasses, pressing into it to make a groove for his nose. ]

Nothing after that whole ‘confess your sins’ thing. Actually, there was some kind of New Year’s party, which I didn’t go to because... [ some vague gesture with his hand. Tim was on strict bed rest, after she almost killed him. ] You know. No monsters or murders, but at the stroke of midnight, everyone’s clothes disappeared, so I might have gotten off easy. I should thank you.

[ Only half-kidding. The glasses finally make it onto his face, and they look ridiculous. ]

Can we... [ trailing off, suddenly kicking himself for letting go of that tactile thing for his nervous fingers to work over, itching for a task or a rosary. Tim settles for his own ear, tugs at the lobe as if it needs a stretch. ] I know start over is probably too big of an ask, but I miss you.

[ From the start. The closest thing he’s had to a sister since he fled Maggie’s too-perceptive eye, and distanced himself from Mary. It’s his own fault, his own sin that’s pulled him away from all of them, and he knows that he deserves forgiveness for none of it. That fear or self-preservation or even grief are not excuses, but only more wrongs piled on. He must ask, regardless. It’s not like he can embarrass himself any further. ]

[ Tim laughs, and she does, too. Alicent has little to no experience fixing things — with access to a fleet of Westeros’ finest craftsmen anytime it was required before. It’s ridiculous.

She shouldn’t have bothered. (She’s glad she did.) Her mouth quirks, faint but there. ]

We can certainly try.

[ There’s so much between all of the residents of the manor now, after the games, let alone the interpersonal struggles that have played out over weeks and months. It’s not unlike the life she led in Westeros, in truth — with the acts of one’s House and allies reflecting upon oneself; the discord between lovers and friends seeping into other relationships. Her family remains, and she intends to protect them above all here, for as long as she can.

(Because they’ll be gone soon, won’t they?)

But that doesn’t mean she can’t give herself to this place in ways she hasn’t dared. It’s worth trying. ]

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