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She’s shaken roughly from a serene, cosy sleep.
“Alicent! Wake up, you have to see this!” At first the voice takes her back to being awoken by her brother when they were small and he wanted them to sneak into the kitchens for a midnight snack.
Both brought the same reaction which she gives to the princess, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it hurling it in their direction, without even opening her eyes.
“It’s not even daybreak yet, go back to sleep.” she mumbles, exhausted from the journey it had taken them to reach this part of the country, and having only arrived six hours, collapsing immediately into the beds provided for them.
The pillow is deflected back onto her.
“There’s a chance it might have gone once the sun is up. Please, my love, just look out the window with me, pleeeease.”
With the mother of grunts leaving her lips, Alicent pushes herself up to appease her obnoxious companion. She rubs her eyes and turns to the large window of their room in the Eyrie, her sleepy vision clearing to see the white flakes swirling down, covering their large balcony that looked out onto a glorious view of the Vale in all its splendour.
Rhaenyra, still in her night clothes, is already wrapping a thicker fur coat around herself, her entire body wound up like a toy ready to spring out in chaos.
“Is that truly snow?” Alicent can’t hide the wonder in her voice.
In all her travels to the colder parts of the Realm, with the exception of the North which she’d yet to see any further than White Harbour, she had never seen snow, let alone be but a layer of glass from it.
“It hasn’t snowed on Midwinter’s Day since my mother was seven! And I’ve never seen it this heavy up here whenever we visited.” Rhaenyra roots underneath the bed for a pair of boots; “C’mon, we have to go to the courtyard before my cousins wake up and ruin it.”
“Ruin it by playing, you mean? Because they’re...children?” Alicent squints. And they’re both three-and-twenty.
The princess sits up, rolling her eyes; “I was here first! And we’re the guests! And their future Queens so, as far as I see, that gives us first rights to enjoy it!”
Alicent blushed, as she always did when Rhaenyra brought up their planned ‘future’. She was still set on making the declaration after her coronation, when she weilded more power, to announce that she would be taking no lord to be her husband and king consort. That, instead, it would be another woman at her side. Her childhood companion, the Hand’s daughter.
It all still felt like a fairy tale, a dream of two girls, one that Rhaenyra refused to grow out of realising would never come to pass, and one that Alicent was too lovestruck to tell her otherwise. We’ll deal with that when it comes to pass, she always told herself, though it did little to quell her anxiety.
Right now, however, she is far too captivated by the sheer joy in her love’s eyes to worry about such matters. She doesn’t know how to feel about snow, yet, but she knows above anything else how much she wishes to freeze this moment of happiness for Rhaenyra as long as possible.
Smiling, she gets off the bed and looks for her boots.
Shortly after, they walk through the near-empty hallways of the great castle, arm-in-arm. Rhaenyra’s grandfather, the Lord Arryn, and his second wife are still asleep, as are her other relatives. It feels as though they have the mountain to themselves. The servants bow or cutsy when passing, saying nothing about the crown princess and the Lady Hightower striding down the halls clearly not having been properly dressed, both their hairs unbound and falling free down their shoulders.
“Go on. Step on it.” Rhaenyra encourages Alicent once they’ve reached the courtyard.
Alicent had been satisfied by the sight of the garden, which had been impressive enough the day before, even with many of the flowers having wilted in the colder months, now covered under a blanket of white while further snow continued to fall, so delicate, from the opaline sky.
Her toes curled at the thought of stepping onto it, even in these boots.
“Won’t I fall through it?” She realises how dumb she sounds once the question is out.
“No, you pretty idiot. It’s like a crunchy pillow, just step onto it like-.”
Alicent let out the smallest scream as Rhaenyra shoved her forward and the next thing she knew she was landing face-first onto the ground. Just as her gods damn brat of a lover had described, her fall was cushioned by the coldest, wettest pillow. A brief shock passed into irritation, so she quickly turned and threw a fist-full of the substance at the princess - well worth the risk of treason.
She spluttered as it hit her mouth, then she continued to laugh; “Oh I don’t think you’re experienced enough to challenge me to a snowball fight yet, sweetling.”
“I am soaked! You’re going to make me catch the Shivers!” Alicent’s anger could not compete with the humor, or how smitten she was with the silver-haired menace.
“Oh please, I’m a dragon and even I can handle snow!”
She proceeded to prove her point by putting her arms out and falling backward into the pile, landing beside Alicent. Snow sprays her in the fallout, so she gives a soft kick to Rhaenyra’s leg.
“You’re far too jovial on today of all days.” Alicent chastises, playfully.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s the Stranger’s Day! It’s supposed to be a day of quiet contemplation and being humble, if you have any idea what that word means-.”
“No I don’t.”
“Thought so. There’s little to no official ceremonies on this day,” with the exception of the Silent Sisters who were said to have their own private services; “and few people even mark it, but it’s definitely frowned upon to be giggling and frolocking like this!”
“Your gods frown on all the fun things.”
She stiffens a bit at that; “They’re your gods too.”
Rhaenyra doesn’t deny that, nor does she really confirm. They’ve had this rather awkward conversation enough times for Alicent to know that religion, one way or another, doesn’t mean all that much to the princess. She might pay lip service to the Seven at the Sept but she knows her heart lies in studying what remains of the gods of Old Valyria, the legends she idolises more than the true gods of noble morals. The only reason that Alicent doesn’t let it come between them is because Rhaenyra has never been anything but supportive of what faith means to her.
“The Faith of the Seven is the only religion in the known world that doesn’t mark the seasons in some way or another.” Because they followed a lunar calander, Alicent doesn’t bother to point out; “I’ve read up on the religions of the east and west, even the fucking Lamb people have seasonal holidays. My mother’s family are devoted to the Seven, but we would always come visit here every winter solstice, and sometimes the summer, to celebrate in a way the south frowned upon.”
Alicent bites her lip. She hadn’t meant to cast any shadows on something as important as a family tradition.
The princess smiles; “Believe me, the farther north you go, the more exciting it gets. They still worship the Old Gods in Winterfell, Father took me there one Midwinter Feast, it was a mad party that lasted past sun-up. Our old Septa would have a heart attack at the ‘jovial’ things they got up too there.”
She had always wondered why the royal family chose to plan their tour around the continent during that particular time of year.
“You’ll be telling me the Starks, of all families, engage in some sort of depraved heathen orgy with their people.” Alicent japes, rolling over closer to the princess, becoming less bothered by the chill of the ground.
Now Rhaenyra is the one whose eyes glint, thrilled though shocked; “And you accuse me of having a filthy mind. But sadly, if they did have any such practices, my parents made sure I was in bed before being aware of them.”
Velvet gloves grab at Alicent’s waist as the princess tugs her near. It can’t be denied that she feels a lot warmer. She glances down at the woman holding her, silver hair streaming into the snow, the lightest of white dusting her cheeks, which Alicent wipes off with her fingers.
Both following the same instinct, their lips meet, a rush of heat brewing as fingers cling to each others cloaks.
“I would have you take me right here, at the top of the world with the gods themselves.” Rhaenyra whispers to her.
“Down, my princess. Your cousins could walk in and the scandal would have your grandfather exiling you from your own ancestrial home.” Alicent warns, nose tips rubbing.
A spoiled ‘hmpff’ is her reply, along with a pout that just makes Alicent want to taste that lip again.
Later that night, after one of the biggest feasts she had ever attended, while still feeling cosy and intimate among the Arryn side of Rhaenyra’s family, the two of them curl by the fireplace in the guest chambers. They’ve both missed the sofa, Rhaenyra sat on the bear-skin rug with Alicent laid across her lap, struggling to keep her eyes open.
“I did warn you about the food.” The princess teases, rubbing at her companion’s stomach.
“Ugh, I wasn’t aware it was possible to consume so much gravy. I’ll never eat again.” Alicent moans, curling into her. “When I get back to the capital, if Father complains about my weight gain, I’m blaming you.”
“Mmm, let him grumble. I’d desire you if you were as large as the Toad Queen of Dorne.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Alicent pokes her, preening as Rhaenyra’s fingers run through her hair. “You also forgot to mention the gifts. I felt so foolish, just sitting there!”
Rhaenyra tuts; “You don’t know my mother’s family, stupid, they don’t expect anything from you, they didn’t even know who I was bringing!” It had been a rather last minute decision when the King and Queen had been unable to attend due to Viserys’ poor health.
Sighing, Alicent makes the impossible struggle to sit up, battling against the rocks weighing down her gut.
“I would have had a gift for you!” She frowns before looking down at the necklance that now hung around her neck. She reaches to lovingly touch it again.
A perfectly cut emerald in the shape of a dragon, attached to a Valyrian steel chain. The way that Rhaenyra had knelt down to hand the beautifully wrapped box to her had almost felt like a proposal, chaste and pure as it may have appeared to their hosts.
Rhaenyra’s fingers reach to curl around hers.
“I may have resisted the urge to tell you so it would be more of a surprise.”
“Sneak.” Alicent mutters before kissing her knuckles.
“You don’t need to give me anything, my love.” Rhaenyra lowers her voice, moving to place a kiss on her forehead; “The promise you swore to be my true consort, no matter what comes, is the greatest gift I’ve ever received.”
She holds the Lady Hightower close in her arms. Alicent smiles, drowning in love and contentment, her cheek cushioned by the princess' breast, her heartbeat strong and steady. The heart of a great and beautiful Queen to be. Her Queen. There was no other answer she could give to such a question of where she wanted to be for the rest of her days.
“More than Syrax’ egg in your crib when you were born?”
“Fine, second best.”
Alicent knows that nothing comes before a dragon when it comes to these Targaryens. If it were any other beast, she might take offense, but that big, pampered lizard had managed to steal Alicent’s heart as much as her rider had.
Beside the glow of the flames, she leans up and kisses Rhaenyra again, the princess moving her hand around to cup the back of her head.
“There is one gift I know I can give you tonight.” She murmurs, nuzzling her; “I may not be as full from dinner as I thought.”
Rhaenyra giggles; “Alicent Hightower. By the gods, I’ll make a depraved heathen of you yet.”