Chapter Text
- Criston Cole
The first time it happens, Alicent really has no one to blame but herself. Well, herself and Rhaenyra. Obviously. But as Rhaenyra continues to insist for weeks after, “It was completely necessary!” And maybe she’s right, or maybe Alicent just wants her to be right. No. No. No. She definitely doesn’t want Rhaenyra to be right, because that would be silly. That would imply that she enjoyed what transpired that night, which she most certainly didn’t. The whole thing was nothing but awkward and uncomfortable and nerve-wracking. And besides, she was only in that situation because of Rhaenyra. So really, she has every right to blame her best friend.
∞
Alicent shifted nervously on the barstool, eyes darting around the shadowed room for any sign of familiar silver hair. Why had she allowed Rhaenyra to talk her into meeting at a bar of all places for their girls’ night out? Her best friend knew that these sorts of places weren’t her scene. That there was a reason she always politely declined other people’s invitations to go out drinking after exams—aside from the illegality given their ages. She was still surprised that the doorman had even let her in, though, to be fair, he hadn’t spent very long checking her ID.
And why had Rhaenyra chosen such a . . . distasteful bar? The floor had been sticky in five different places between the front door and the stool she now perched on, the cushion beneath her had two very visible patches, the air reeked of stale cigarette smoke, and she’d counted three separate groups of what appeared to be bikers among the bar’s current patrons—judging by the beards and tattoos and leather jackets, which was perhaps an unfair assumption, but not an unfounded one.
She glanced down at her watch for the tenth time in as many minutes. While she’d long ago come to terms with the fact that her best friend didn’t know the meaning of the word punctual, and in fact pointedly rebelled against the very notion of being on time, even she had her limits for how much of Rhaenyra’s tardiness she could endure. Ten more minutes, she decided. I’ll give her ten more minutes.
The feeling of a hand on her shoulder sent a shiver down her spine. But it wasn’t the warm, pleasant and familiar sort of shiver that Rhaenyra always evoked from her—she was still trying to figure out why her best friend had such a peculiar effect on her—it was a shiver of disgust, like the sort that she often experienced when Larys Strong stared at her for too long during class.
Whipping around, she came face to face with a guy probably a few years older than her with coal-black hair and dark brown eyes. He was square-jawed, clearly well-muscled under the tight grey shirt he wore, and nearly half a foot taller than her, even if she’d been standing. She supposed he was what her Cousin Margaery would call handsome, though she’d never quite understood what Margaery was talking about when her cousin tried to point out “handsome” men to her. She’d always assumed that she would find a man handsome when she finally met the right one. That was something that happened. She was pretty sure.
This man. Was not the right one.
His dark eyes were too bright as they raked up and down her body, making her feel exposed even though she hadn’t even taken off her heavy winter coat yet. He reached past her to rest one hand on the surface of the bar, leaning slightly to the side as he did so. She supposed he was trying to look casual, but all she could see was that he’d blocked one of her avenues of escape from what was likely about to be an uncomfortable conversation. “It’s not every day someone as pretty as you walks into a place like this.”
Was that meant to be charming? She’d gotten better pickup lines from Laenor. And he was gay. And joking, but the point still stood. She shifted back on the stool as best she could without falling off. “I’m waiting for someone,” she blurted out, immediately cursing herself for indirectly telling him that she was currently alone. Off-Campus Safety 101. She’d actually been paying attention during that part of orientation, dang it! Or at least as much as she could when Rhaenyra kept leaning over to make snarky commentary as the presenter gave her speech.
The guy made a point of looking around the room. “Doesn’t look like he’s here yet. Which is a crime. How could anyone leave a lady like you waiting?”
Alicent swallowed nervously, fumbling with her purse to give her hands something to do besides tear at her cuticles. She’d been trying very hard not to lapse back into that old habit, but college stress made it hard, and this guy was making it even harder. “I, I’m sure it’s just the snow, or, um—”
“Can I buy you a drink? For while you wait? No reason for you to be left wanting, Beautiful.”
“Um, no thank you.” She almost added that she wasn’t allowed to drink yet, but thankfully swallowed that stupid confession before she got herself into even more trouble.
He leaned closer, and now she could smell the beer on his breath. “Come on, Babe, just one little drink. I won’t even tell your guy about it . . . If he ever gets here.”
“I really don’t think—”
“My Love?”
Alicent let out a shuddering sigh of relief at the familiar sound of Rhaenyra’s beautiful voice, and her body instantly relaxed when the scent of her best friend’s favorite sandalwood perfume reached her nose. The feeling of an arm encircling her waist sent a pleasant, familiar shiver racing down her spine, and she immediately leaned into the warm body that had suddenly appeared by her side.
Wait, did she just call me ‘My Love’?
Rhaenyra kissed her cheek before turning her attention to the guy looming over them, a scowl darkening her features. “Who’s this, Ali?”
“Um . . .” She hadn’t actually gotten his name.
The guy shoved his hand forward. “Criston Cole. And you are?”
Rather than shaking his hand, Rhaenyra made a point of settling her free hand on Alicent’s knee, giving it a soft squeeze that made Alicent melt even further into her. “Rhaenyra Targaryen,” she responded, a bit curtly. “So,” and now she was smiling what Alicent had always thought of as her ‘dragon smile’—all bared teeth juxtaposed with a perfectly polite expression, “what were you and my girlfriend just talking about?”
‘Girlfriend’?
“Girlfriend?” The guy—Criston—echoed aloud. His eyes darted between the two of them, going from Rhaenyra’s arm around Alicent’s waist to her hand resting comfortingly on her knee. “Um, well, we were just . . .” He trailed off, frowning slightly. He looked at Alicent. “You didn’t tell me you were waiting for a girlfriend.”
Alicent didn’t understand why he felt the need to emphasize the word “girl.” It wasn’t as if she’d actually said, or even implied, that she was waiting for a boyfriend. She glanced over at Rhaenyra, immediately reading the silent message, “play along,” in her best friend’s pretty violet eyes. She turned back to Criston, feeling more confident now that Rhaenyra was by her side. “You never thought to ask.” Which was true.
Huffing, Criston pushed himself off the bar. Turning his back on them, he muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Dykes.”
Before Rhaenyra could go and do something stupid, Alicent grabbed her arm. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”
Grumbling under her breath, Rhaenyra obeyed nonetheless, grabbing the nearest barstool and hopping up onto it with more grace than anyone had a right to. Her eyes roved over Alicent, but unlike when Criston’s had earlier, it didn’t make her feel exposed and uncomfortable, because she knew Rhaenyra was just concerned about her well-being. “Are you all right? Did he try anything?”
She shook her head. “Just some bad pick-up lines.” She thought for a moment. “And he offered to buy me a drink.”
Rhaenyra scowled. “That son of a—”
“Rhaenyra,” Alicent chided. She honestly had no idea where her best friend’s propensity for profane language came from. Mr. and Mrs. Targaryen never used coarse language, at least not when she was around. She suspected that Rhaenyra’s Uncle Daemon was the culprit, though she as of yet lacked concrete evidence. “You can’t blame him entirely. We are at a bar after all. Buying drinks is kind of the point.” She folded her arms, some of her earlier irritation at Rhaenyra indirectly dragging her to this wretched bar resurfacing now that the threat of Criston Cole was gone. “Why did you even want us to come here, anyway? You know I don’t like places like this.”
Rhaenyra at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I’m sorry, Ali. I just thought, well, for your birthday and all, that you would enjoy sharing your first drink with me.”
“My birthday?”
And now Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but it was an affectionate eyeroll. Alicent had long ago learned the subtle differences between her best friend’s affectionate eyeroll, her exasperated eyeroll, her mocking eyeroll, and her bored eyeroll. “Yes, Ali, your birthday. It was two days ago. Remember? I gave you a lemon cake?”
“You give me lemon cakes all the time.” Ever since she’d told her that they were her favorite when they were six.
“Gods, Alicent, that was a special lemon cake, all right? I managed to carve your initials into it and everything!”
“Oh. Yes. Of course.” Alicent nodded quickly, trying to pretend that she had definitely noticed her initials on the lemon cake that she’d snarfed down during a study break without first closely inspecting it. “They were lovely. Very artistic.” In her defense, she’d missed dinner that day, consumed with studying for Professor Beesbury’s managerial economics final, so she’d been starving by the time Rhaenyra had presented her with a—now that she thought about it—slightly oversized lemon cake.
Rhaenyra’s shoulders slumped a little. “You didn’t notice.”
She wanted to lie again and assure Rhaenyra that of course she had, but she knew Rhaenyra would see right through her, and that would just make her best friend’s shoulders slump even more. She looked down at the peanut shell-covered floor. “I’m sorry, Nyra. I was just so hungry, and I didn’t even think to look . . .”
“It’s fine.” Rhaenyra waved dismissively. “It was just supposed to be a tide-over gift anyway, since I knew there was no way you’d agree to come drinking with me before an exam.” She gestured to the seedy bar. “This was supposed to be the actual celebration, and I brought a real present with me, but . . .” She shook her head, sliding off the barstool. “It was stupid. We should just get back to campus.” She turned to leave, but Alicent grabbed her arm, nearly falling off her own barstool in the process.
“Rhaenyra.” She gently tugged until she was gazing into those absurdly mesmerizing violet eyes once more. “It wasn’t stupid. It was very sweet.” After properly hopping down from the barstool, she leaned in to give her best friend a kiss on the cheek, something they’d done since grade school. “I’m sorry for forgetting my birthday and not realizing what this was about.”
Rhaenyra snorted, but the tension had left her shoulders. “Only you would apologize for forgetting your own birthday.” She offered her arm. “Come on. Let’s try to salvage this night with pizza and movies back at my place, yeah? And I can give you your present there.”
Alicent smiled as she linked their arms, snuggling against Rhaenyra’s side to take advantage of her natural warmth before they stepped out into the cold of winter. “That sounds nice.”
∞
The next time Rhaenyra suggests they meet up at a bar for girls’ night, Alicent politely declines and suggests they meet at the library instead. Rhaenyra, despite spending a good five minutes grumbling about how boring and quiet libraries are, eventually agrees. “You’re lucky I can never say no to you, Ms. Hightower.”
And Alicent laughs, as she always does, and responds as she always does, “I can never say no to you either, Ms. Targaryen.”
- Otto Hightower
The second time it happens, Alicent wants to die. And some part of her actually does.
∞
Alicent stared down at the drop of blood slowly seeping into the fabric of her skirt. Where had that come from? The red was spreading slowly, somehow growing larger because . . . Oh. There was another drop. And another. Where was the blood coming from?
“Alicent!”
Rough hands seized her wrists, dragging her out of whatever stupor she’d allowed herself to slip into. Blinking dumbly, she saw that the tips of her fingers and beneath her nails were red, and fresh blood was already beginning to ooze from a small slice beneath her cuticle. Oh. So that was where the blood was from. Now that she could see the source, she suddenly became aware of the dull ache in her fingers. She hadn’t even realized that she’d started picking at them.
Her father, now looming over her as he held her wrists in a vice-like grip, gave her hands a shake, making her wince. “See? This. This is what I’m talking about, Alicent. You wouldn’t be destroying yourself this way if you didn’t know that what you’re doing is wrong!”
She flinched at the harsh tone of his voice, at the fury mixed with disgust. His eyes were boring into her, cold and fiery all at once as he stood in judgment over her.
When she had come home for spring break yesterday, she hadn’t expected to be met at the door by her father and their local septon. She hadn’t expected to spend an awkward dinner listening to her father and Septon Alydar discuss the progressive decline in morals among young people, particularly those labeling themselves as “queer.” She’d held her tongue throughout the meal and retreated to her room as soon as she could. She’d stared down at her phone for the better part of an hour, finger hovering over Rhaenyra’s number as she contemplated calling her. She’d needed someone to talk to, but the thought of repeating to Rhaenyra the terrible things her father and Septon Alydar had said made her feel sick.
She’d ended up going to bed without making a call.
This morning, when her father had summoned her down for breakfast, she’d descended the stairs on wooden legs, dread pooling in her gut, though she hadn’t quite understood why. They’d eaten in silence, but as soon as she’d finished her eggs, her father had started talking, tone brisk and disturbingly business-like. He’d said things about her needing proper guidance, that she was allowing herself to be led astray, that the urges she was indulging in were no doubt powerful but nevertheless needn’t rule her life. She hadn’t understood at first, hadn’t wanted to understand at first, but then he’d said, “Septon Alydar recommends that you spend this coming summer at Camp Seventh Light. Gods willing, they’ll be able to correct you.”
Alicent’s blood had run cold at that, and she was fairly certain that was when the fog had descended. She’d immediately recognized the name Seventh Light. It was where her Uncle Hobert had sent his youngest son for the summer when he’d started dressing like a girl outside of Halloween—Cousin Lymond hadn’t been the same since. It was where her Aunt Ceryse had been sent after she’d broken off her engagement and tried to elope with—according to family rumors—one of her female coworkers—she’d never returned home. It was the place her Cousin Margaery had once called “a crime against humanity that ought to be burned to the ground.”
“Alicent?” her father snapped. “Are you listening to me?”
She stared up at him with wide eyes, feeling the sting of oncoming tears and trying to blink them away. Whether they were from the pain in her fingers and now around her wrists, or from fear at the very idea of being sent to Seventh Light, she couldn’t be sure. “B-But, Father, I’m, I’m not—”
“Don’t you dare lie to me by denying it,” he barked. “Do you think I’m a fool? Or simply blind? I’ve seen how you behave around Rhaenyra, spending every spare moment with her, whispering to her, touching her, panting after her like a bitch in heat. I knew that girl would be a bad influence one day, but I thought you’d be strong enough to resist whatever temptations she might try and lure you in with.”
Her and Rhaenyra? Was that what all of this was about? But they were just friends. Best friends, of course, but nothing else. Nothing like what her father seemed to be implying. “Rhaenyra and I . . . we haven’t—”
“Enough, Alicent.” Her father’s lips twisted with disgust as he finally released her wrists. “I’ll not suffer any perversions under my roof, is that clear? What I’m doing is for your own good.” He took a step back, finally affording her some breathing room. “Now, go to your room and refamiliarize yourself with the Seven Pointed Star. I have a feeling you’ve allowed your studies to lapse while at university.”
Rising shakily to her feet, Alicent slowly inched her way back from the table, eyes never leaving her father and his stormy expression. How had it come to this? When had it come to this? She understood her father’s faith—gods be good, she shared his faith—but what he wanted to do to her . . . Where was the Mother’s mercy in that? Where was the Father’s justice or the Crone’s wisdom?
Once she was certain that she was out of reach, she turned and bolted for the door. As she fled the house, she could hear her father bellowing after her, but she didn’t allow herself to pause, didn’t dare look back.
∞
Alicent spends the rest of spring break with Margaery at her Grandmother Tyrell’s house. Her cousin holds her and gently rubs her back, assuring her that: one, she and Grandmother Tyrell will never allow Alicent to be dragged away to that “nightmare camp,” two: her father’s head is so far up his ass that it now lives there rent free, and three: the people who matter won’t care that she’s gay.
At that last one, Alicent blushes and stutters that she’s not gay. But Margaery just smiles and shrugs. “Of course. Just like I’m one hundred percent straight.” Which makes no sense to Alicent, who knows for a fact that Margaery has been dating Sansa Stark for going-on two years.
She never sets foot in her father’s house again.
- Aemma Arryn
The third time it happens, Alicent almost doesn’t notice it. And whether that is better or worse, she still isn’t certain.
∞
Alicent yawned sleepily as she rested her head on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. Her best friend had fallen asleep about half an hour ago and was snoring softly, but even in her sleep, Rhaenyra still shifted slightly so that Alicent’s head could rest more comfortably against her. A thin blanket was haphazardly draped over their laps, more on Alicent’s than Rhaenyra’s. The Targaryen house tended to run cold since all three of its occupants tended to run hot. Aside from Rhaenyra’s cute snores, the only other sound in the room was the soft murmur of voices coming from the television.
What had initially started as a movie marathon to celebrate surviving junior year of undergrad and the start of summer had swiftly transitioned into quiet conversations and playful banter, eventually ending in them taking turns trying to find the worst episodes of the worst reality shows to subject the other to. The show currently playing on the television was something Rhaenyra had picked out that Alicent couldn’t even remember the name of, but whatever it was, it was swiftly lulling her to sleep.
She lifted her head at the sound of sock-covered feet approaching, squinting in the dim light of the television in an effort to see who it was. After a moment, she was able to make out the shape of Rhaenyra’s mother. Mrs. Targaryen offered her a small smile as she tiptoed over to them and began clearing the table.
Guilt twisted in Alicent’s stomach as she reached forward with the hand that wasn’t currently trapped beneath Rhaenyra’s leg. “I can get that,” she whispered.
“Nonsense, Dear. You just stay put and relax.” Mrs. Targaryen’s eyes glinted with mirth, illuminated by the light of the television. “Besides, it doesn’t seem like you’re in a position to do much of anything right now.”
A flush crept up the back of Alicent’s neck as she bit her bottom lip. She really should be helping to tidy up. She was the guest, after all, and it would be wrong of her to make her host do all the work after she’d so graciously been allowed to stay with Rhaenyra’s family for the first half of the summer. Rhaenyra had wanted her to spend the whole summer with her and her parents, but Alicent had felt that would be asking too much of the Targaryens. She would be spending the second half of the summer with Margaery and Grandmother Tyrell, the latter of whom had taken it upon herself to secure a restraining order for Alicent against her father and any other Hightower family member who had ever shown an inclination towards the use of conversion therapy.
After clearing the table and disposing of the trash and dirty dishes, Mrs. Targaryen returned to the living room and turned off the television, plunging the room into darkness. “Do you want to wake her, or shall I?” she whispered.
Alicent was half-tempted to suggest simply letting Rhaenyra remain asleep—she herself wouldn’t mind spending the night on the couch with her best friend—but she knew that if Rhaenyra spent the whole night in her current position that she would wake up with a sore neck in the morning. And there was little worse than Rhaenyra when she was complaining about a sore neck resulting from her own bad choices about where to fall asleep.
“I’ll do it.” She knew that Rhaenyra would react better to being awakened by her as opposed to Mrs. Targaryen. A lifetime of being woken up for school and other obligations by her mother had left Rhaenyra with little love for the experience of awaking to the sound of her mother’s voice in her ear.
Alicent gently ran her free hand up and down Rhaenyra’s arm. “Nyra,” she cooed, “time to wake up.”
Rhaenyra grumbled in her sleep, but her eyes remained firmly shut.
Looking up, she met Mrs. Targaryen’s eyes, and even in the shadowy darkness, she knew that Rhaenyra’s mother understood what she was trying to communicate.
Wordlessly, Mrs. Targaryen walked over to the nearest lamp and turned it on with a click, flooding the living room with light.
Alicent, who had closed her eyes in preparation, opened them slowly, blinking a few times to adjust them to the sudden influx of light. Looking over, she was surprised to see that Rhaenyra’s eyes were still stubbornly closed. Well, we both tried. All that remained now was the nuclear option.
Her fingers left Rhaenyra’s arm and moved lower until they found the spot on the Rhaenyra’s side that had always been absurdly ticklish.
Rhaenyra jerked awake with something between a shout and a laugh, nearly falling off the couch and onto the floor.
Mrs. Targaryen stifled a chuckle.
“Alicent,” Rhaenyra whined. “You know I hate when you do that.”
She might have felt more guilty were it not for the fact that she had very distinct memories or Rhaenyra waking her up in much worse ways when they were younger, one of which had involved her best friend’s wet finger in her ear. “You refused to wake up when I tried just rubbing your arm,” she said simply. “And your mother even turned a light on.”
“I would have woken up if I’d known my other option was being tickled awake,” Rhaenyra grumbled, sliding off the couch and stomping out of the living room in a huff.
Mrs. Targaryen didn’t stifle her laughter this time as she watched her daughter leave. “No matter how old she gets, there are some things that never change.”
Alicent nodded in agreement, smiling fondly at her best friend’s antics. She would make it up to her later. Rising from the couch, she lifted her arms up over her head to stretch the muscles that had grown stiff after sitting for so long. “Thank you for cleaning up, Mrs. Targaryen. I can do the breakfast dishes in the morning.”
“Aemma, please. Mrs. Targaryen was my mother-in-law. And there’s no need, Alicent. You’re our guest.” Mrs. Targaryen took one of her hands in her own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And because I know you’ve been fretting about it, no, we don’t mind your extended stay with us. Not one bit. Viserys and I love having you here.” Her eyes twinkled. “Almost as much as Rhaenyra does.”
Alicent blushed.
“You’re good for her. Always have been.” She winked at her. “Besides, do you really think I’d pass up the opportunity to spend all of this good quality time with my future daughter-in-law?”
It wasn’t until much later, as she lay in Rhaenyra’s bed with her best friend’s arm slung comfortably over her middle, that Mrs. Targaryen’s words finally registered in her brain.
Why did this keep happening?
∞
When Alicent finally works up the nerve to ask Mrs. Targaryen what exactly she meant when she called her, her “future daughter-in-law,” the older woman simply chuckles and pats her hand. “I meant exactly what I said, Dear.” But then her smile dims. “Not all of us are like your father, Alicent. Viserys and I support you and our daughter wholeheartedly.”
It takes a while for Alicent to properly form the words, but when she finally manages to blurt out that she and Rhaenyra aren’t dating, that she herself isn’t even gay, Mrs. Targaryen’s face falls slightly before immediately reddening with embarrassment. Rhaenyra’s mother apologizes profusely for the mistake, yet there is something in her eyes that Alicent can’t quite name that makes her wonder whether Mrs. Targaryen actually believes that she was mistaken.
- Joffrey Lonmouth and Laenor Velaryon
At least the fourth time it happens, Alicent knows she can dismiss the whole affair as Laenor and Joffrey just being drunken idiots.
∞
Alicent should really know better by now than to allow Rhaenyra to drag her out to bars. At least this one was a gay bar, so there was little chance of any strange men offering to buy her drinks. Although, so far she’d been approached by three different women offering to buy her drinks. For some reason, their offers hadn’t made her nearly as uncomfortable as Criston Cole’s had. It was probably because she’d been socialized to perceive women as less of a threat. At least that was what Margaery would probably tell her. Her cousin had been saying a lot of things like that ever since she and her girlfriend, Sansa, had taken that gender studies course together.
Rather amusingly, similar to Criston Cole, all three women had quickly withdrawn when Rhaenyra appeared by her side and wrapped a protective arm around her waist. Alicent had just smiled and leaned into the touch, barely registering the hasty apologies thrown over retreating shoulders. She’d missed the presence of her best friend after nearly two straight weeks of nothing but studying for winter finals and writing papers. To be fair, Rhaenyra had tried to reach out, but Alicent had been in study mode.
At the moment, Rhaenyra was somewhere beyond the writhing mass of undulating bodies filling the dance floor, on a mission to fetch Alicent another club soda. She and Joffrey were alone together at their table, Laenor having left a few minutes ago to visit the bathroom. Joffrey had just been telling her how lucky she was that Rhaenyra was always so ready and willing to “do her bidding.”
“You have her well-trained,” he laughed, nearly falling over himself as he guffawed at his own joke. “You say jump, she asks how high.”
Alicent frowned slightly. That wasn’t true. Or at least not the way Joffrey made it sound. It wasn’t as if she was constantly asking Rhaenyra to do things for her. In fact, more often than not, she was having to tell Rhaenyra not to do things for her. And besides, it wasn’t as if their relationship was one-sided. She was often picking things up that Rhaenyra had left lying around and would have spent hours looking for later, reminding her best friend of important dates and events because Rhaenyra refused to use the calendar app on her phone, buying extra food whenever she went to the grocery because Rhaenyra never remembered until the fridge and cupboards were completely empty, and doing any and all cooking when the need arose because the one time Rhaenyra had been left in the kitchen unsupervised they’d ended up having to call the firehouse.
“You’re exaggerating.” She reached out to pluck a fry from the basket they’d gotten to share. “Rhaenyra—”
“Would lay down on hot coals and let you walk over her back. But only you. The rest of us would have to live with burned feet.”
As if I wouldn’t do the same for her, she thought, only a little surprised to realize just how true that was. There was little she could think of that she wouldn’t do for Rhaenyra. But that was normal. Right? They were best friends, after all.
“I’m just glad you guys finally figured your shit out and got together.” Joffrey finished his drink and slid the glass aside. “By the way, when did that become official? Laenor and I had a bet going, and I’d really like to either collect my winnings or figure out how to make him forget I owe him a hundred stags.”
Alicent’s eyes widened, fingers immediately lacing together. “W-What do you mean by together?”
Joffrey gave her an incredulous look. “You know, together. Taking long walks down by the bay. Watching movies until one of you falls asleep on the other. Going out to eat at those over-priced restaurants with tiny portions. Telling each other about your day. Laughing at her corny jokes. Bringing each other coffee in the morning or late at night. Visiting museums and trying new things together. Making out as soon as no one’s looking. You know, together. Dating.”
Her mouth had suddenly gone dry, and she wondered where Rhaenyra was with her club soda. How did this keep happening? Why did this keep happening? With Criston, it had been intentional. But Mrs. Targaryen, Joffrey, Margaery . . . her father. It wasn’t as if she and Rhaenyra had started behaving any differently lately, not in a way that would suddenly give people the idea that they were dating.
She wet her lips as she pulled her hands apart and wedged each one under a different leg. “Rhaenyra and I aren’t dating.”
“Seriously?”
Before Joffrey could say more, Laenor returned to their table and slid into the booth beside his boyfriend, greeting him with a peck on the cheek. “Something wrong, Joff? You look like someone just stole your favorite shoes.”
Joffrey turned to him. “They still aren’t dating yet! I mean, I just don’t understand how that’s possible at this point.”
In response, Laenor held up a finger. “One, Alicent is a very repressed lesbian.” He raised a second finger. “Two, Rhaenyra—”
“Excuse me,” Alicent huffed, “but I’m sitting right here, in case you’ve forgotten.” She’d had more than enough of being made the butt of whatever bizarre joke this had turned into. This was one of the reasons she didn’t like to go out drinking with people. Everyone always got so weird when they were drunk. Except Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra usually just became more tactile and cuddly than usual. “And I’m not a lesbian. Repressed or otherwise.” She just hadn’t met the right guy yet, and that was hardly her fault.
Laenor reached across the table and patted her shoulder. “Alicent, I hate to mansplain, but you’re so very, very wrong. You see, my gaydar has become very finely honed over the years, and I know a fellow queer when I see one, and you, My Sweet Alicent, are a very classic, very repressed . . . lesbian.”
Joffrey playfully elbowed his boyfriend. “Don’t let Rhaenyra hear you calling her ‘My Sweet Alicent.’ She’ll key your car.”
The two of them dissolved into fits of giggles, and Alicent was just about to get up and leave when Rhaenyra finally returned from the bar, club soda in hand.
After raising the glass triumphantly, Rhaenyra carefully set it down in front of her. “My Lady.”
And Alicent couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Nyra.”
Joffrey snickered.
Rhaenyra slid into the booth beside her, pressing close as she always did, and looked between the three of them. She cocked her head slightly. “Did I miss something?”
Laenor and Joffrey burst into another round of laughter.
Alicent just shook her head. “Don’t ask.” She grabbed her club soda and began sipping it to avoid having to say anything more.
Thankfully, Rhaenyra just shrugged, one hand automatically reaching under the table to find Alicent’s and interlace their fingers, while the other snagged the basket of fries and pulled it close so she could begin devouring the fries that were left.
∞
Though she never tells him as much, after that night, Alicent often finds herself thinking that, with the exception of making out, all of the activities Joffrey listed when defining what being together meant were things she and Rhaenyra had been doing for years.
- Daemon Targaryen
The fifth time it happens, Alicent finally understands.
∞
It wasn’t that Alicent didn’t like Daemon Targaryen, it was just that he was . . . a bit much. Fierce and bold, but unpredictable and rash as well. Arrogant and aggressive, quarrelsome and temperamental and sometimes rather petty. But he could also be charming when he wanted to be, funny and engaging. And, above all, he was loyal. At least to his family.
In some ways, he reminded her of Rhaenyra, but he lacked her softness, her sweetness.
How Alicent had ended up alone in a corner with him, she couldn’t even begin to fathom. Rhaenyra had invited her over for a family dinner party, and after being assured multiple times that her presence wouldn’t be an imposition or inconvenience, she’d finally said yes. When she’d arrived, Rhaenyra had greeted her at the door with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, just like she always did. Her best friend had then linked their arms and led her through the house to the living room where the rest of the family was gathering.
Alicent was already familiar with all of the people present, so there hadn’t been a need for introductions. The two of them had mingled for a while, chatting with Rhaenys for a bit before gravitating over to Laena and Laenor. At some point, Rhaenyra had left her side, called away by one of her parents.
And somehow, after that, Alicent had ended up standing in a corner on the far side of the room with none other than Daemon Targaryen.
He smiled down at her, but it was the same sort of smile a cat might give a particularly tasty-looking bird. “Alicent Hightower. Just the person I was looking for.”
“Oh?” Alicent shuffled her feet nervously. It wasn’t that she disliked Daemon. It was just that he’d always been rather intimidating. Perhaps some of her discomfort stemmed from the lingering echoes of her father’s opinions. He’d never liked Daemon.
“Mm-hmm. You see, I think it’s high time the two of us have a little chat.” He offered his arm. “Walk with me?”
She bit her lip, unsure if this was even a genuine offer or a nicely-worded command. While she knew intellectually that she could just turn and walk away without consequence, her feet seemed unable to grasp that concept, and so she ended up accepting his arm and allowing him to lead her out of the living room and down the hall a little ways. It wasn’t so far that she couldn’t still hear the general din coming from the other room, but it was far enough that they were afforded some privacy.
Clasping her hands together, she tilted her head back to look up at him. “What did you want to talk about?”
Daemon folded his arms and leaned his shoulder against the wall as his dark purple eyes bored into her. “You. And Rhaenyra. I want to know what exactly it is you intend to do with her. What exactly are your intentions towards my dear niece?”
She stared at him blankly. Of all the things she’d been expecting, this bizarre question hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I . . . I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
He rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the wall and straightening so he was looming over her. “Look, Alicent, I like you.”
He did?
He chuckled. “Believe me, I was surprised, too. Given your cunt of a father, I didn’t have particularly high hopes for you. And you were so small and nervous and timid when Rhaenyra first met you, I thought she’d grow bored or lose interest pretty quickly.”
That stung. Particularly because Alicent herself had often worried whether she was exciting enough for Rhaenyra, who had always been so much more outgoing and vivacious than her. She’d been terrified as a child that Rhaenyra would realize just how boring she was—as all of their classmates had—and eventually decide she wasn’t worth being friends with. But Rhaenyra had remained true to her all these years, her friendship and affection never wavering. And Alicent had done her best to give Rhaenyra all the same steadfast love and affection and support. She’d tried her best to step outside her comfort zone for Rhaenyra, had tried more new things than she’d ever imagined at the urging of her best friend.
“But the two of you have remained joined at the hip all these years,” Daemon continued. “And it’s clear that my niece adores you as much as she ever has, so I’ll ask you again, Alicent Hightower, what are your intentions towards her? Is this just some experiment to you? A novelty? Something you’ll look back on one day and call a ‘phase?’ Are you just toying with her emotions and using her for a bit of easy pleasure until you find someone else?”
Experiment? Novelty? Phase? Gods be good, what was he talking about?
The confusion must have been plain on her face, because Daemon let out a frustrated groan. “Damn it, Alicent, how much clearer must I be? Are. You. Going. To. Break. Rhaenyra’s. Heart? Because if you are, it doesn’t matter how much I may have grown to like you, I will still hunt you down and make you wish you’d never even heard the name Targaryen.” His eyes were filled with purple fire, but Alicent hardly even noticed, too busy mulling over his words.
Was she going to break Rhaenyra’s heart? Of course not. She would never do anything to hurt her best friend. And what could she do that would even cause Rhaenyra’s heart to break? How could she—? Oh. Her eyes widened with realization. It was this again.
She met Daemon’s eyes, suddenly feeling much calmer now that she knew this was but one more instance of repeated misunderstanding. “You needn’t worry, Daemon. I won’t break her heart because Rhaenyra and I aren’t together.” Why did those words feel so wrong on her tongue? She’d said them before. On several occasions.
Daemon peered at her, then snorted. “And here Rhaenyra has always been telling me that you’re the smart one.”
“Excuse me?”
“Is it your own feelings that you’re blind to, Alicent? Or hers? It must be your own, because anyone with eyes can see how much Rhaenyra loves you.” He held up a hand to forestall her words. “And I don’t mean platonically.”
But . . . but that made no sense. Of course she loved Rhaenyra, and she knew Rhaenyra loved her, too, but wasn’t that what best friendship was? She shook her head a bit. “We—”
“How many best friends do you know who share a bed as much as you two? And at your ages? How many best friends do you know who sit on each other’s laps when there are plenty of other places to sit? How many best friends do you know who constantly kiss each other pretty much everywhere but the lips?” He shook his head. “I know my niece. She can be cruel when she wants to be, harsh and sharp-tongued and unforgiving. Her temper is almost as bad as my own, according to my brother. But I have never seen her be anything but affectionate and doting towards you.”
Alicent’s brow furrowed. “We’ve had our fights.” It was true. She distinctly remembered a terrible row they’d gotten into during freshman year of college because Rhaenyra had been spending so much time with Harwin Strong, to the point that Alicent had started to fear she was losing her best friend. Rhaenyra had insisted she was overreacting, and Alicent had eventually lashed out, which had made Rhaenyra lash out in turn. They’d both ended up slamming doors and not speaking to each other for almost two days.
The worst two days of her life.
“And how do those fights end?” Daemon was speaking slowly, as if to a child, and it rankled Alicent.
“We reconcile. Because that’s what best friends do.” On the second day after their fight, Rhaenyra had come looking for her with bowed head and apologies falling like raindrops from her lips. Alicent herself had been on her way to apologize to Rhaenyra at the same time, and they’d ended up meeting in the middle. As they so often did.
Daemon raked his fingers back through his hair, muttering something under his breath about “Idiot young people.” “Alicent, when you think five years into the future, who can you say, with absolute certainty, will be a part of your life?”
“Rhaenyra.” She didn’t even have to think about it.
“And ten years from now? Fifteen? Twenty?”
Rhaenyra. She couldn’t imagine life without her. The mere thought of being forever deprived of her sweet smiles, her musical laughter, her mischievous grins, her juvenile humor, her willingness to listen, her amusing antics, even her exasperating antics, her boundless enthusiasm, her soft assurances, her warmth, her care, her boldness, her gentle touches, the way she always made Alicent feel safe and warm and loved, her lips . . . Oh.
Daemon smirked. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Do you know why I assumed the two of you were dating, Alicent?”
She shook her head, even as her mind was racing with countless memories from their life together, all of them suddenly shifting and trying to rearrange themselves to show her something she somehow hadn’t seen before. But something that so many others around her apparently had.
“Because when she looks at you, it’s as if suddenly there’s nothing and no one else in the world. It’s just you. That’s all she sees. Just you. You’re it for her, Alicent. First and last.” Daemon paused. “And you look at her the exact same way.”
Oh.
∞
Alicent ends up spending the night at Rhaenyra’s house, which is nothing new. She stays in Rhaenyra’s room and sleeps in her bed, which is also nothing new.
What is new is the intoxicating feeling of Rhaenyra’s lips on hers, ravenous yet gentle, needy and demanding yet oh so tender and loving. What is new is the electrifying sensation of Rhaenyra’s teeth scraping against her neck as her hands explore every inch of Alicent’s body. What is new is the pleasure so enthusiastically bestowed upon her by Rhaenyra’s nimble fingers and dexterous tongue, pleasure she is more than eager to reciprocate.
When she wakes the next morning, deliciously sore and sated in a way she never even knew was possible, she rolls over to find her girlfriend already awake. Without even having to pause and think about it, she leans forward to press a soft kiss to her lips. “Good morning, My Love.”
Rhaenyra grins, violet eyes bright and warm and dancing. “Good morning, My Darling Alicent.”
+1. Viserys Targaryen
When Viserys came downstairs the morning after his and Aemma’s family gathering, he was surprised to find his daughter and Alicent already awake and eating breakfast together in the kitchen. Alicent was less of a surprise, since she’d always been a morning person, but his daughter usually preferred to sleep in. He was fairly certain that, if given the option, Rhaenyra would never rise from her bed before eleven.
And yet here she was, awake before eight, bright-eyed, and sharing pancakes and bacon with Alicent. Pancakes and bacon he was certain Alicent herself had made, given that they had the appearance of actual food rather than being blackened husks.
Brushing off his confusion, he walked over to the table. “Good morning, Girls.”
“Morning, Dad.”
“Good morning, Mr. Targaryen.”
Viserys almost corrected her, then decided against it. He and Aemma had spent years trying to get Alicent to call them by their first names, but the girl was just too well-mannered. He knew his wife still tried on occasion, and sometimes he did as well out of habit, but he’d largely given up that particular battle. If there was one thing Rhaenyra had taught him over the years, it was that sometimes a father’s best option was to just concede. “Do you mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.” Alicent pushed both the pancakes and the bacon closer to him once he’d taken his seat. “I hope you don’t mind blueberry pancakes.”
Viserys chuckled. “Alicent, when has anyone in this house not liked something you made?”
Alicent’s cheeks reddened, and she ducked her head.
Rhaenyra leaned over to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “He’s not wrong.”
By the time Aemma joined them, Rhaenyra and Alicent were almost finished eating, yet even after they’d cleaned their plates and put their dishes in the dishwasher, they remained in the kitchen. Rhaenyra was shifting from foot to foot the way she usually did when growing impatient, and Alicent was lacing and unlacing her fingers nervously. It was clear they had something to say, but either didn’t know how, or were waiting to be prompted.
“Is something the matter, Girls?” Aemma asked, dispelling the slowly gathering tension.
Rhaenyra shook her head. “No. Well, it’s nothing bad. We,” she looked over at Alicent, who gave her a small nod, “we have something to tell you.” His daughter was practically vibrating with excitement now, and a huge grin was already splitting her face. “Mom, Dad,” she reached out and took Alicent’s hand, lacing their fingers together, “we’re dating.”
Viserys’ eyebrows drew together in confusion. Dating? Rhaenyra and Alicent? Why was she telling him this now? While he appreciated the gesture of being officially inducted into this part of his little girl’s life, why had she waited until six years into the relationship to announce it? He understood wanting to be certain before sharing with family, but six years seemed rather excessive, especially given his daughter and Alicent’s history together.
He’d been fairly certain that Rhaenyra and Alicent would date at some point ever since his darling daughter had come home from a fourth grade fieldtrip and loudly announced that she was going to marry Alicent Hightower someday. Hadn’t they started dating sometime before Rhaenyra took Alicent to their junior prom? He distinctly remembered seeing the two of them wearing matching lockets at some point around the middle of high school.
The feeling of his wife’s elbow digging into his side informed him that he was expected to respond to this entirely unsurprising news. Smiling warmly, he rose from his chair and took his daughter by the shoulders, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Congratulations, My Girl.” Turning to Alicent, he opened his arms, allowing her the option of initiating a hug. He’d learned long ago that Alicent Hightower tended to shy away from anyone’s touch that wasn’t Rhaenyra’s. His smile only grew wider when she embraced him. He patted her back, very pleased that his daughter had found such a sweet young lady to share her life with. “Welcome to the family, Alicent. Though I suppose you’ve been family since long before now.”
Alicent blushed, unwinding her arms from around him and retreating to Rhaenyra’s side. “So you, you approve?”
“Why wouldn’t we, Alicent?” Aemma had gotten to her feet as well and now offered Alicent an affectionate pat on her arm. “So long as the both of you are happy, Viserys and I couldn’t be more pleased.” She looked over at him. “Right, Dear?”
“Of course. As always, my lovely wife is right.” He leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek, earning a disgusted sound from his daughter.
“All right then. Alicent and I are going to go to the library. Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. We’ll be back later.”
Viserys watched them go, waiting until the door was closed to turn to his wife. “Should I be worried that ‘going to the library’ is some sort of euphemism the children are using these days?”
His wife responded with an affectionate eyeroll. “Maybe if it were anyone but Alicent.”
He nodded his agreement. True enough. He glanced at the door again. “Why do you think they waited so long to tell us?”
Aemma smiled slightly. It was the sort of smile she’d often give him when she knew something he didn’t. “Oh, I don’t know, Viserys. Who can understand young hearts these days?”
He frowned slightly. “You do know though. I can see it in your eyes, Aemma. Have I missed something?”
His wife simply chuckled as she turned and started walking towards the living room.
“Aemma? Aemma, what did I miss? Aemma!”