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On a humid Monday night, Rhaenyra Targaryen burns down a sept.
The media has a field day. Little miss Supervillain flames holy house; bet Daddy’s proud, an anchor says with a smarmy smile over the six o’clock news.
He’s right; her dad is proud. So’s her uncle, who throws her a party and invites all the other Valyrians in King’s Landing. Her dad makes a long-winded speech over a glass of champagne, promising that Rhaenyra’s got much more mayhem in store for this rotted husk of a city, and the whole room bursts into applause.
The next day, she gets to attend a meeting in his study. They’re all there—her dad, her uncle, her cousin Laenor, her aunt Rhaenys, and even her uncle Corlys. The Valyrians who run this city. She and Laena used to dream about the day their powers would manifest and they’d finally be let into the secret club.
Now that she’s here, she’s on top of the world.
Until she gets her first mission. A secret mission.
The Seven is a fancy name for a bunch of dildos.
Not the fun kind of dildos. The bad kind, like a dildo that gets put into a washing machine and goes all wonky.
They’re a mega corporation of superpowered “heroes” who protect King’s Landing from villainy, treachery, and all that fun stuff. At their helm sits the High Sparrow, whose real name no one knows, and not far below them are the Hightowers.
If the Targaryens are a dynasty of supervillains, then the Hightowers are a dynasty of superheroes. Hobert Hightower is retired now, but he used to be able to teleport anywhere on this plane or the next. He’s the kind of famous that’s on lunchboxes and postcards; the kind of famous that has a TV show where a much better looking actor plays out his rise to fame. His brother, Otto, used to be her dad’s friend, back when he was the black sheep of the family. Now, he wears business suits and does a bunch of press conferences for The Seven. He’s one to look out for; he can negate powers with a flick of his wrist.
But he’s not the one she’s after.
It’s his daughter, Alicent Hightower. Every good villain needs an exit strategy, Rhaenys told her, and the Valyrians need Alicent to be theirs. She can heal anything, up to the point of death, with her touch. Rhaenyra knows that for a fact. They went to elementary and middle school together, long before Otto Hightower joined up with The Seven, and Alicent used to fix her up after schoolyard fights and vicious Dodgeball matches. The Targaryen family has fire manipulation, water manipulation, flight, super strength, super speed—but what they don’t have is anyone to fix the problems they create. They need someone to tend to their burns, cuts, scrapes, mortal wounds, and old age.
And so, enter Alicent, courtesy of Rhaenyra.
Her mission is simple. Get into the Hightower, the gigantic skyscraper that the family annoyingly named after themselves, and get the girl. How she does it is up to her. The only thing that matters is getting Alicent Hightower securely and secretly back to the Targaryen compound.
It’s a good thing Rhaenyra can fly.
It’s polite to knock. Rhaenyra’s mother used to preach politeness all the time. She said, We might be monsters, but at the very least, we’re monsters with manners. With that in mind, Rhaenyra knocks on Alicent Hightower’s bedroom window as she does a mental run-through of this whole kidnapping plot.
She’s done her research. When she knew Alicent, her branch of the Hightowers lived in a cute little house in a cul de sac. That was before Otto’s rise to fame. Now, Alicent’s room is in the penthouse, sitting snug in a sharp corner of the building. It’s got wide windows and the walls look to be painted a gentle shade of blue. There’s a canopied bed at the center of the room, a window bench covered in throw pillows, and a vanity that looks to be covered in excess books from the overflowing bookshelf on the back wall. It’s cozy and quaint; exactly the opposite of the staunch coldness of the skyscraper.
There’s a blur of colour as a figure rushes to the window, red curls obscuring her face, and Rhaenyra ducks just out of sight. Alicent runs right up to the pane, probably thinking that a bird flew into it. Too easy.
“Boo!”
Alicent shrieks, and Rhaenyra cackles. There’s something about being this high in the air that makes everything funnier. She coasts closer to the window, and as she moves in, Alicent recoils. Rhaenyra knocks on the glass again.
“Come on.” She offers her best smile, the one that got her a cherry red Porsche from her dad for her sixteenth birthday. “Let me in.”
Much to her surprise, Alicent steps forward instead of back.
Not to her surprise, it’s followed by a shake of her head. “No way!” The sound is muffled through the window, but Rhaenyra can still make out Alicent’s words. “You’re crazy.”
“Let me in,” she repeats sweetly, “Or I’ll break the glass and pull you out here with me.”
She waits while Alicent deliberates. The other girl raises her hands up, but rather than reach for the window, she seems to be picking at her nails. For fuck’s sake—Rhaenyra can’t believe she still does that.
“My dad’ll kill me if I do.”
“Not if I kill him first,” Rhaenyra sing-songs.
Is that a smile under the red curls? She thinks it might be, because then Alicent forgoes her hand-wringing and cracks open the window. Rhaenyra pushes forward, pulling the window open wide enough for her to slide inside. Then it’s just a matter of slicing through the screen with her pocket knife, and bam! She’s in.
She lands just in front of the window bench, her feet digging into the plush rug underneath.
“Cute set-up,” she remarks, but she hasn’t taken her eyes off of Alicent long enough to get a good look. She looks different. Different, but the same. Her eyes are big, and sad, and tired. It must be exhausting, being a superhero, fighting for good and defending corrupt corporations and all that shit.
“What do you want?” Alicent’s staring back at her. Sizing her up too, probably. Rhaenyra wonders what she sees.
“Can’t we catch up a little before getting into all of that? Have a cup of tea?” Rhaenyra smiles, friendly as can be. “It’s been, what, five years?”
Alicent’s mouth pulls into a thin line. She looks so funny like that. Rhaenyra used to call her sour puss when she pulled that face.
“Rhaenyra,” Alicent deadpans, “You just broke into my room.”
“Technically, you invited me in.”
“Technically, you peer-pressured me into it!”
Oh, she’s really mad. Rhaenyra walks further into Alicent’s room, making a beeline for the window bench. This is exactly the type of place she liked to picture Alicent. She can see it now. Alicent, feet tucked under her and hair piled onto her head, reading a giant book on human anatomy, trying so hard to be the best hero she can. Alicent with a cup of tea, forgoing the textbook for one of those teen vampire books she loved, rebelling in her own little way.
Fingers reaching out to play with the corner of a pastel blue throw pillow, Rhaenyra says, “I missed you.”
There’s a long pause.
And then: “I missed you too.”
Alicent does make her a cup of tea. It’s got enough milk in it that it’s turned a shade of caramel and two spoonfuls of sugar. Exactly how Rhaenyra’s always liked it.
“No.”
Alicent’s mouth is twisted into a frown. They’re sitting on the window seat on opposite ledges. Alicent’s feet are firmly planted on the ground; Rhaenyra’s are in Alicent’s lap.
“You didn’t even let me talk about the benefits package!”
“You’re trying to get me to defect from my family and help destroy King’s Landing. I don’t want to know what your dad thinks of as benefits.”
“You’d get a car,” Rhaenyra tries. “Like a cute little Alicent ambulance. An Alibulance!”
“You’re the worst negotiator of all time,” Alicent answers flatly but her mouth curves up into a smile.
“Admit it. I’m totally starting to wear you down.” Rhaenyra stretches a leg so she can prod Alicent with her big toe. “Come on.”
“Saying ‘come on’ isn’t an argument,” Alicent answers.
“Come on!”
They make it through a cup of tea, but before Rhaenyra can think of an excuse to stay longer, Alicent runs downstairs to make a new one. This time, she comes back up with a pot. It looks like china. Probably a family heirloom.
“You know, we could do this all the time if you joined Team Targ,” Rhaenyra says around one of the oatmeal cookies that Alicent brought up. It’s a bit dry, but she knows better than to tell her that.
“Team Targ is an awful name.”
“Yeah, well The Seven sounds like a cult.”
“Well, it kind of is—” Alicent cuts herself off, but her eyes get all wide like a spooked horse.
“I knew you hated those dickheads!” Rhaenyra crows triumphantly, spraying out some cookie in her excitement.
“No, no, I’m one of them.” Alicent sounds a lot like she’s trying to convince herself.
“No, you’re so not.”
“I am! My dad is—”
“A dickhead,” Rhaenyra finishes for her.
“Fighting for good,” Alicent argues.
Rhaenyra rolls her eyes and leans as far back as she can. “Yeah, like a dickhead.”
Alicent is twisting a lock of her hair so tightly around her finger that Rhaenyra can see a white line where the circulation’s being cut off.
“I can’t just abandon my family,” Alicent worries.
The Hightowers are fucked up, Rhaenyra knows. Almost as fucked up as the Targaryens. Ever since Alicent’s mom died, she’s been working triple-time. Using her healing powers for The Seven, letting them draw her blood to make up some miracle cure, and taking care of her dad and her brother like a pseudo-Stepford wife robot. No wonder she looks tired.
“Alicent. Eventually, they’ll have to learn to look after themselves,” Rhaenyra counsels wisely. At least, she thinks she sounds wise.
“Just like your dad and your uncle?”
Oh, touché.
Normally, when someone talks shit about her family, Rhaenyra’s the first to throw a punch. Instead, she finds laughter bubbling out of her.
“That wasn’t a joke,” Alicent insists.
“Yeah,” Rhaenyra gasps around her giggles. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”
Alicent releases the hair around her finger. They both watch as blood floods back into the tip.
“Me neither.”
She doesn’t know how they both end up on Alicent’s bed. She threw herself onto it after Alicent’s spiel about The Faith and her dad’s point of view and whatever. Now, though, Alicent’s perched next to her, back ramrod straight. Rhaenyra rolls onto her belly so that she can prop her chin onto her hands and look up at her.
“The thing is, I need you,” she tries.
Alicent turns, her mouth opening, and Rhaenyra’s pretty sure that she’s about to freak out.
“We need you,” she amends.
“We?” Alicent asks, her brow furrowing again.
“My family.” Is it just her, or does Alicent move an inch away?
Fuck it. “And me. Please, Ali.” Rhaenyra reaches forward to grab one of her hands, coasting her thumb over Alicent’s bitten cuticles. “I really need your help.”
Alicent’s frown changes. She’s not smiling, not even close, but her eyes go soft. Rhaenyra can read every single one of her microexpressions. It’s innate, baked into her since elementary school. Her bargaining and wheedling is working.
“I’m all alone. My dad and my uncle, they fight like, all the time.” She doesn’t even have to lie. They argue so much that sometimes, Rhaenyra wonders if there really is a Team Targ after all. “And Laena, she’s kickass, but she and Laenor have their own thing.” The Velaryon siblings are bonded by blood and sea. She knows that Laena loves her, but she knows that she’ll always love Laenor more.
There’s only been one person that’s loved Rhaenyra most, and she’s sitting right in front of her, biting down on her lip like she’s afraid to speak.
“You’re my person,” Rhaenyra adds, squeezing Alicent’s hand gently. “And it’s like, an actual miracle that I made it this far without you, because I’ve come close to so many air collisions. Fucking drones.”
“So you need me to heal you,” Alicent says. She’s looking down at their intertwined hands now.
“And to talk me out of my crazy ideas—not all of them, but some of them. I just need you to be you. Smart and stubborn and a big freaking hero.”
A curl of auburn hair falls from behind Alicent’s ear, obscuring her face, and Rhaenyra props herself on one arm so she can brush it back. Her thumb coasts across Alicent’s cheek. She hears a sharp intake of breath, a light gasp, and Rhaenyra isn’t sure which of them made the sound.
“I really do miss you,” she murmurs. It’s a little scary, the yawning chasm of longing inside of her, but Rhaenyra refuses to let herself be afraid.
Alicent is quiet.
Then:
“Me too.”
Alicent does, eventually, let Rhaenyra pull her out the window. Only after she packs a duffle bag filled with books and dresses, and only after she writes her dad a long note.
As soon as Rhaenyra launches them into the air, she shrieks louder the city bells.
So much for the secret mission.