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Alicent paces back and forth before Rhaenyra’s chamber doors, Lord Westerling giving her a curious look from his post but otherwise leaves her to her oddities.
Her father's words echo in her head over and over. ‘Offer him comfort.’ That is what he said. Alicent Hightower, a maiden of fifteen and the princess’s lady in waiting has been asked to offer the king ‘comfort’. She is not stupid, understanding his words clear as day. Offer him comfort, wear one of mother’s dresses and make him forget about Queen Aemma.
Her father means for her to be queen. To wed King Viserys and bear his children. Children that would one day grow up to rival Rhaenyra’s right to the throne, even more so than Prince Daemon. If Alicent were to have a son…
She shakes her head and bites the skin along her nail bed. The sting soothes her nerves even if it's not ‘comely’.
“My lady,” Lord Westerling says, speaking in a gentle tone. “If there is anything that troubles you, I do believe you can trust in the princess’ council. I believe she has finished her duties for the day.”
Alicent attempts to give him a smile. “Thank you, Lord Commander. I…” She clenches her hands, mind racing like a wild horse. “I am just not sure it is something I should trouble the princess with. She just lost the queen mother and my predicament seems so minor compared to her… her loss.”
“If you will forgive my boldness, my lady, I must tell you that I don’t doubt the princess would be horribly upset if she were to learn that you feared seeking her company.” He nods his head to the door. “Head inside,” he says. “She will be grateful for the distraction.”
Alicent hesitates for a moment before she relents. Lord Westerling is correct. Rhaenyra would be most cross with her if she withheld something like this from her.
Entering her chamber after hearing a subdued ‘come’, she finds Rhaenyra on her bed atop the covers. Still dressed in her beautiful morning gown, the red inner sleeves spread out across the bed, hauntingly similar to blood.
“Rhaenyra, it is I.” Alicent murmurs as the door shuts behind her, walking with numb feet towards the bed.
Rhaenyra doesn’t stir at her greeting, only whispering “Lay with me.”
Alicent obeys, crawling on to the bed and laying down on her side, face to face with Rhaenyra. She studies her face and her heart aches for the pain her friend is in. Her eyes are red rimmed and swollen from tears.
”How are you?” Alicent murmurs, reaching out the hand not pillowing her head and caresses Rhaenyra’s cheek, aching for her inflamed skin beneath her fingertips.
Rhaenyra sniffles, leaning into the touch like a stray kitten seeking comfort. “I miss her, Alicent. Miss them, I suppose, even if I never knew my brother.”
“I know.”
“It wears on me, like a storm has taken hold of my heart and I despise it. It makes me weak. Septa Marlow tells me that it's a sign of my devotion to them, that I ache so, but why then do I wish it gone?” Rhaenyra spits, shooting up into a sitting position. “I am a dragon, should I not be able to bear this- this pain for them?” Rhaenyra’s tone turns pleading and she stares at Alicent as if she has all the answers.
Alicent doesn’t. She still aches for her own mother and some mornings that grief makes her ill. So rather than speaking words she cannot, she pulls herself up and brings Rhaenyra into an embrace. Her body is gentle against her own, their frames fitting each other like puzzle pieces. Rhaenyra relaxes in her arms, laying her head against Alicent’s shoulder. Her hair smells of herbs and honey, a scent she is ever so familiar with. “You are a dragon, princess, but even dragons do not crave pain,” Alicent whispers, running her hands across her back in soothing motions. “It’s natural to want the hurt gone, to wish for relief.” She buries her nose in her neck, inhaling the scent of honey as if it could make them one if she just breathes in enough of her. “I wish I could help you find it.”
Rhaenyra doesn’t answer, only tightening her grip around Alicent’s waist.
They remain embracing for a long while. Rhaenyra, as always being unable to stay still, eventually takes Alicent’s hand in her own, toying with it. An old habit she’s kept since they were small. Alicent allows her this, stroking her back with her free hand and closed eyes.
“Alicent?” Rhaenyra says tentatively.
Alicent hums in reply, not bothering to open her eyes.
“Has something been worrying you?”
Her heart stills and she swallows as her shoulders grow taut with tension. “How… how did you know?”
Rhaenyra pulls back from the embrace and shows Alicent her hand. “Because you have bitten your fingers again. There is dried blood.”
Instinctively, Alicent attempts to tug her hand out of Rhaenyra’s grip, but she holds firm. They eye each other, Alicent’s heart in her throat when Rhaenyra carefully brings her fingers to her lips. She presses a chaste kiss to her thumb first, then her index finger. Never breaking eye contact.
“Tell me,” she orders and Alicent can’t find it in her not to obey her princess.
“My father… He sent for me after the funeral. He has requested that I… “
Rhaenyra places another kiss on her middle finger. “Go on.”
“He asked me- Well his request was really, in a way more of a- Of course, I could be wrong but-“ Alicent knows she is babbling, but she finds herself unable to say the words. Her father and Alicent have never been as close as her and her mother, but she knows in her heart he loves her. He’s been a good, if absent father all her life and he wants what is best for her. To tell Rhaenyra of their conversation is a direct betrayal of her father’s trust and-
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra whispers, her breath ghosting across her fingers and making her shiver. “Whatever it is, you can trust me.”
“He told me to go to your father and offer comfort. In my mother’s dress.” The words rush out of her in one breath, a wave crashing against the cliffs only to then disappear.
Rhaenyra stills. “What?”
Alicent hurries to continue, desperate to explain. “I didn’t dare tell him no, he has such a way with words I’ll end up agreeing anyway-”
“Did you go to him?” Rhaenyra lets her hand drop as if burnt, her face twisting in fury. “My father the king, did you go?”
“No!” Alicent grasps for her again, snatching her hands in a tight grip. “No, I went straight to you. Please, please believe me.”
Rhaenyra observes her for a moment before her shoulders slump. “I believe you. Of course I believe you. Gods, what is your father thinking?”
Alicent scoffs. “That he wants his blood on the throne. He despises Daemon and he has no love for the thought of you as queen. I’m sure he’s already planning how to convince the king to search for a new wife.”
“And my father would not even question you, if you came with comfort. He is a fool.” Alicent opens her mouth to protest but Rhaenyra shakes her head. “I love my father, but my mother is dead because of him and his beliefs. I love him, but I see him for what he is. A kind and merciful man, yes, but his mercy often turns to blindness. It is no way to rule. It is no way to live.”
“What do I do, Rhaenyra?” Alicent pleads, holding back tears. “I can’t refuse my father but I swear to you, I have no desire to be queen. I don’t want to marry either, I only wish to be by your side.”
Rhaenyra lets go of her hands to bring them to cup Alicent’s cheeks. Her fingers are gentle as she brings their faces together. She stares at Alicent, her eyes contemplative as she murmurs “Swear it. Swear you will always stay by my side.”
“I swear it, princess.”
Rhaenyra shoots forwards and then all Alicent knows is soft lips pressing against her own. It’s light, nothing more than a chaste touch, but it brings her whole world to a still. A maelstrom of emotion erupts in her mind; fear and horror at what her father would think if he saw her at this moment, but in that storm swirls a bone deep thrill at finally, finally getting what she’s been craving all these years.
She guides her hands into Rhaenyra’s hair, tangling her fingers with the soft strands and begins to kiss her back. Rhaenyra makes a delighted, surprised sound as Alicent moves her lips against hers. Her hands slide down to her neck, fingers dancing against Alicent’s skin in a way that makes her pant.
The kiss deepens and together they move as one, one body, one soul. Rhaenyra slides her tongue across Alicent’s lip, teasing her and Alicent responds in kind.
It’s messy and wet, but when Rhaenyra giggles into the kiss, Alicent can taste her laugh and it’s the most breath-taking feeling in the whole world. Her chest feels ready to burst and her stomach tightens pleasantly, in a way she has never experienced before but fears she will become addicted too.
“Run away with me,” Rhaenyra whispers when she suddenly pulls away, her breath caressing Alicent’s lips, making her dizzy but with the pleasant kind, the kind you feel after a second cup of wine.
“How?” She’s panting, staring at Rhaenyra’s mouth desiring it to meet hers again, craving the sounds she makes when Alicent slides her tongue against her lips.
She’ll never get enough of this.
“Syrax. We will take him and fly across the narrow sea. No one will know us there, we will just be two women making their own way in the world. We could be together, no politics or marriages or royal rules to tear us apart. We could be us.”
Alicent finds herself nodding before she even thinks. “Just us.”
Because damn them all. Damn her father and his expectations, damn the court and their whispers and damn the gods for taking the people they loved the most. Rhaenyra and her will make their own fate, without any of them.
They pack everything in a secret flurry: food, jewellery and as much gold as Rhaenyra can get her hands on. She promises Alicent in between kisses and packing that she will find them a homestead in Pentos and buy it, no matter the cost.
Alicent herself hurries back to her own rooms and manages to get a hold of two peasant dresses from one of her chambermaids, sweetly telling the poor girl she only wishes to make something nice for her.
She refuses to think of the girl’s fate when the search for them begins.
As the sky grows dark, they help each other dress in the peasant gowns and sneak out from the castle. Hand in hand, they begin the journey towards the dragon pit. They walk for hours, weaving through the crowds in Kings landing until finally they hit the open road. Alicent’s feet throbs in pain, unused as she is with walking for longer periods, but she does not complain. Not when every step brings her closer to her and Rhaenyra’s new life.
Arriving at the dragon pit with the moon high in the sky, they sneak around the edge of the torches to make sure no one spots them. There are guards but not many and Rhaenyra manages to guide them with ease towards Syrax without getting caught.
Still, Alicent can’t help the sharp tension in her shoulders or her pounding heart as they bring the beast out under the sky. They are almost caught and only saved by the fact that Rhaenyra threw a rock at a nearby dragon.
Unsurprisingly, dragons do not take kindly to rocks being pelted at them.
Once they are out in the open, Rhaenyra fastens the bags to Syrax’s saddle before climbing up. Alicent remains on the ground, staring at the great beast she is meant to ride all the way to the free cities.
If she does this, she will be a spectator no longer. She will be Lady Alicent Hightower no longer. To leave it all behind, as tempting as freedom sounds it feels like jumping into the sea from a high cliff. One more step and she will be forever changed.
Rhaenyra, sensing Alicent’s moment of doubt, pulls off her hood and leans down from the saddle, holding out her hand. “Do you trust me?” She asks. Alicent stares at her, taking her under the night sky. Her white hair glows like silver in the moonlight and her eyes… As Rhaenyra looks at her, they burn.
During her years in court, Alicent often heard gossip around the castle. Lords and ladies of all ages often jested about the royal family. The meek in ways that flatter, the bold in ways that don’t. All of them spoke of the princess' fierce, burning eyes and Alicent always found herself bewildered at their words.
Rhaenyra, she’d often think, is my closest companion. She is warm, bright and full of joy. Targaryen might be born of fire but not Rhaenyra. Fire hurts and burns.
But now she sees, in the dead of night, that for all those years, she was wrong and she was right.
Rhaenyra, too, is born of fire, and her eyes burn with the flames of her ancestors.
She is warm, much like embers in the early morning, when your feet chilled and your breath foggy. She is bright like a touch in the dead of night, a beacon of hope and rescue to all that is lost. Her joy burns not unlike a bonfire at celebration, a spectacle so great you want to dance rings around it. She is fire and she is Rhaenyra.
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra presses. “We have to go.”
Alicent doesn’t give her an answer. She doesn’t have to. Instead she takes her outstretched hand and climbs up behind her.
For them, it's enough.