[ So few have ever acknowledged the injustice of Alicent’s treatment, let alone scorned it openly. None cared that she was reduced over the years, even in small ways, swallowed by Targaryen red gowns and mocked for her girlish efforts at queenliness. Indeed, it is an occasion so foreign that she remains unsure of how to navigate it. She watches the slash of Harry’s mouth, surprised to see his features harden — when he has been soft and strange thus far, but never before sharp.

A step closer. Alicent gentles her hand over his wrist so as not to irritate the raw flesh on his hands or dislodge the materials clutched between them. ]

Furiosa has tried. [ the barest hint of levity tugs her mouth to one side. ] I haven’t the talent or temperament for such things, I’m afraid — though I am honoured by your hope that I might protect myself.

[ and not merely stand aside, a thing to be protected. As much as she might have enjoyed the relief of another interceding on her behalf, she’s grateful that none did. She was not cowed, facing her accusations as a queen ought. ]

And grateful that you have sought me out now, in your gallantry.