Chapter Text
King’s Meadow is eerily quiet this time of day. The children that usually cover the street in sound are all absent, either at the football game she has heard so much about for the last week, or simply staying inside to escape the rain that the morning broadcast had warned them off. They are all so frighteningly normal, living lives that no one will ever bat an eye towards. Fathers will come home and kiss the foreheads of their children, mothers will bake the sweetest of cakes that can be smelt even from outside their house, and laughter will fill the air as they sit down for dinner as a family. Then rinse and repeat, over and over again.
She has been a witness to this for over half a decade, ever since she moved here from Birmingham. Bourton-on-the-water is an idyllic town, the perfect place to hide whilst still living a fulfilling life, and best of all, there is not a trace of the pompous business freaks who think more with their own pocket than they do their own heart. Her BA has been more than sufficient in securing her a job, and no one here judges her for majoring in English and Film rather than business, or, even worse, a STEM subject. They take her for what she is, and what more can she ask for? There are much worse fates than living in a small town alone and meeting one’s friends at the pub every Friday, after all.
“Rhea!”
Her name is not Rhea, but it is close enough that she has grown used to its use without feeling a pain in her stomach. Better that than a name completely divorced from who she used to be.
“Rhea!” The voice yells out again, and this time she can hear the steps that accompany it.
“Harwin? What are you doing here?” She asks as his car slides up beside her. He lives far enough away that he needs to drive, whereas she makes do with her bicycle.
“You forgot your folder. Again, I might add. The one you refuse to leave in the office.” She stops her bike to open her backpack, groaning as she realises he is right.
She sends him an apologetic smile. “That’s the fifth time in three weeks. You would think I’d remember by now.” His car stops beside her and he hands her the folder, with a note on top that she can already guess the message on.
“Father insisted. I don’t think he wants to risk another one of your stares.” Lyonel Strong is a man far too serious for his own good. Her years of working for him has only made it clearer. She cannot complain however, the results of his work ethic are exemplary.
“It simply is too easy to play along whenever the opportunity presents itself. Besides, someone has to when you refuse to and his other son is off God knows where doing God knows what.” She does not mention the third sibling, who has not been Earthside for many years. Every September they all still take the same day off so Lyonel and Harwin can spend it by her grave. She has only joined them once, last year, and the experience is still too painful for her to speak of properly. Her family has never given their deceased such grace.
Harwin rolls his eyes. “Larys is in Antarctica, on the research station down there. He sent me a letter from Australia right before they left. It only arrived yesterday, and I did not have time to read it till this morning.”
“Antarctica? Seems fitting. He still refuses to use any kind of technology unless he is on the brink of death too it seems.” He chuckles at her response, and she finds herself grateful for the fact that there is not an ounce of the lingering stare she once experienced from him left in his eyes. Their one disaster of a date three years prior had made them both agree they were better off as friends, and she sees now that that assessment was quite right.
“You know him far too well given that you have only spoken to him once. Is he writing to you in secret? Can I expect a wedding come summer?” Yes, they were much better off as friends indeed. Except for when she wants to twist his head off. Which, in truth, is at least twice a day.
She settles for whacking her folder against his cheek. “What is it with you and weddings? Do you have a secret fiancé that you haven’t told us about?” He blushes. “You do, don’t you?”
“Rhea, you know very well that I have not been on a single date for almost two years. Not for a lack of trying, but Bourton is a small place. I can’t expect to find my princess here when the most interesting woman around is you.” She whacks him again, and it only makes him laugh. “Yes yes, I know your one true love is waiting for you just around the corner, but a man can dream.”
“Or maybe you can take those three months off that your father promised you and come back from the States with a girl on your arm,” she retorts.
He laughs again. “Me and an American? Do you truly think so little of me?” She raises her eyebrows. “I will take them,” he begins, and she raises them higher, “but not before the historical documentary is finished.”
She groans. “That won’t be for at least another year, Harwin! Not with your father bringing in a historian to help me write the script and having you take over my articles in the meantime. We are already a month behind schedule.”
“Father said you are only two weeks behind.”
“Because he has yet to get my newest update. It’s due tomorrow.” She puts the folder away and puts her backpack back on. “I better get back to the house. Syrax will be wondering where I am, and so will your mystery fiancé. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She hears his answering groan right before she continues her ride, and only two minutes later she stands in front of her home, bike safely tucked away in her shed. The old entrance door creaks as she opens it, a sound that still brings her joy.
“Syrax!” She yells out. “I’m home!”
Her orange bundle of joy has been her greatest pride ever since she got her. It was Talya who told her about her when she expressed an interest in getting a cat, and from the moment she saw her picture, it was clear that Syrax was the perfect fit. A little over a year old when she came into her possession, Syrax has grown into a strong and healthy cat with a tempter that rivals her own. There is nothing she will not do for her, especially not when the response she gets is a stomach warmer every time she lays down on the sofa to watch one of her many period dramas.
Usually, Syrax will come the moment she calls for her, but this day, no sound comes to respond to her. “Syrax?” She asks again, quieter this time. Still no sound.
On rare occasions, Syrax will be outside hunting, normally if she comes home at times different than her usual 4:30 PM. Because of her unexpected chat with Harwin, she assumes she is later than usual, and she checks her watch for a confirmation. 4:51 shines back at her, the hands of her grandmother’s watch as bright as ever, making her sigh. For all that she intended to leave everything behind, the heirloom was too tempting not to bring along. Given that it is all she has left it would be a shame if she did not care for it properly.
As she looks down at the watch, she allows herself to remember the name she was given, the life she once had. Her name has been Rhea Evans since she was eighteen, on every legal document, every signature, yet, it is as far removed from her as the life she now lives is supposed to be.
She was born Rhaenyra Targaryen, the only child of Viserys Targaryen and his wife Aemma Arryn. Raised a socialite, with friends her parents chose for her, and an expectation to marry amongst the very same circles, work was supposed to be beyond her, and yet, here she is.
She peels off her overcoat and boots, leaving them the entryway, before entering her kitchen. Though Syrax has yet to appear, she refuses to worry too much. Instead, she makes herself dinner, a simple spaghetti arrabiata with some leftover salad she stole from the office.
Scandals tend to change people, and Rhaenyra had known since the moment she was told her abuser would stand trial that her life would never be the same as it was before. Living in hiding is a small price to pay to escape the clutches of her uncle, whose vile grip still managed to reach her beyond bars before she could escape. She may be alone, and she may still live in the shadow of his actions, but she would rather live alone on a remote island than ever face him again. Or her father, for that matter, inheritance be damned. Her father’s cousin Rhaenys can take it, it was always supposed to be hers anyway.
Once her food is ready, she walks over to her living room. She ends up eating by the window, looking for Syrax in the small garden attached to her house despite knowing she is unlikely to see her. She cleans up in silence afterwards, unease growing at her orange menace’s continued absence. There is no reason why she would stay away this long, she always comes inside to complain about Rhaenyra being gone. It is their routine, and Syrax is nothing if not consistent when it comes to following it.
As the hours pass, Rhaenyra passes the point where ignoring it becomes impossible. She goes outside, and calls for Syrax all across the neighbourhood, as well as asking those she is acquaintanced with if they have seen her, with no being the answer she receives every time. When the clock ticks past eleven, she is forced to give up the search to not disturb the peace, and heads inside. As she goes to bed, the absence of her beloved is far too noticeable, and it takes hours before sleep finally comes.
Rhea Evans is not a woman that will be remembered beyond the small town of Bourton-on-the-water, nor will she be remembered there for long. She will fall victim to the passing of time alongside most people. Rhaenyra Targaryen however, is sure to be remembered as long as the Targaryen family remain in business. Will she forever be condemned to live a life in hiding all because of one man? The answer is still one she refuses to ponder.
It is clear from the moment she steps into the office the following day that Rhaenyra has had a horrible morning. There are dark circles around her eyes, which themselves are narrowed, and her posture is not upright, a warning signal her friends know far too well. Before she became Rhea Evans, her not being a morning person used to only be an inconvenience, but now that she has requirements to meet, this fact has become quite the problem.
The discipline she now possesses would certainly send her father into a spiral, given how often he complained about her lack of it before it all changed. She wishes she could hate the before, and live as though everything is better now, but she already lies enough as it is. That lie is not one she is willing to tell, even if it means only living with the whole truth herself, and sharing small bits and pieces of it with others.
Closing the door with more force than necessary, she immediately draws the attention of all in the room to herself. It is by sheer luck that the room includes a person who knows what to do with her when she is in this state.
“Rhea, what- something’s wrong. Right then, my office.” Harwin pulls her away before she can unleash her fury upon someone not prepared to handle it. They are only just about inside before she tells him.
“Syrax is gone. I haven’t seen her since yesterday morning. God, Harwin, what if-” It comes out in a rush, through clenched teeth.
“Hey, hey, breathe, Rhea, breathe. There we go, breathe with me.” Taking hold of her shoulders, he exaggerates his breaths for her to follow. The panic that laces through her threatens to take complete hold, but then he looks into her eyes, and finally, she breathes again. Collapsing into him, she feels tears falling down her cheeks.
“She’s gone, Harwin. My orange darling, she’s gone.” The sound of footsteps outside his office registers, and she turns her head just enough to see a flash of red hair trailing past them. Odd, she thinks to herself. No one at this office has hair as beautiful as that.
The rest of her workday passes uneventfully, with the exception of Harwin insisting they leave the office for lunch, and then taking her for a walk through the town square before they return. He has always been good at finding little escapes where others see none, and she thanks him with a hug when they resume their work hours. Being outside alone is still terrifying, and she swears she can see the flash of a camera in the corner of her eye whenever she looks around. With Harwin by her side however, she is able to ignore them, and instead welcome the gift of calm he is attempting to give her.
When the end of her workday finally arrives, Rhaenyra has pushed through and managed a respectable two finished interviews and one article. Joffrey will have a field day when he reads them, that she knows, considering that he is the most demanding editor she has ever worked with, but it is better than leaving them for tomorrow, considering that Syrax may not come home today either. The thought makes a shiver run down her spine, and she itches to scream at him when he steps into her office to return her previous five articles. Given the lack of red she can see on the first page, she knows he is in a good mood. Ruining it would only make things worse.
“Oh, Rhea?” She does not expect him to address her, busy as he is. “Harwin told me about Syrax. Said you’d probably be in a mood.” Joffrey gives her one of his half-smiles, eyes flickering with amusement at the glare she responds with. “You’ll find her, don't worry. I still remember when I lost my rabbit. Found him two weeks later, healthy as ever.”
“Is this the same rabbit that chewed through your laptop charger two months back?” She teases him. For all that she tries to remain upset, Joffrey is just a little too good at making her smile.
He sighs in the dramatic way only he can at her words, before leaving with a quick salute and a promise not to judge her most recent writing too harshly. Fifteen minutes later, it is Rhaenyra’s turn to leave, making sure to put her folder into her backpack, lest Harwin be forced to drive after her again. After a short round of goodbyes, she heads out, grabbing her bike and cycling the route she most likely could run in her sleep.
Except today, it isn’t the same route. There is no one there to welcome her home, no one who will lie on top of her and complain about her watching the same show over and over again, no one to sleep beside her and wake her up in the middle of the night because she’s put her foot on the wrong side. She isn’t going home today, she’s simply returning to her house. The emptiness is still foreign, the lack of even a cleaner to greet her so stark that it always confronts her with how much she has lost.
Damn you, Daemon, she thinks to herself. Damn you for making good on your promise.
When she reaches the old door that signals home, she does not bother yelling for Syrax immediately. There is little chance she will get a response, after all. Instead, she puts her bike away and leaves her backpack in the entryway first. It needs to be cleaned, it was supposed to be cleaned two months ago, but she tries her best not to think about it. The last guest she hosted did not have the standards of cleaning she has yet to let go off, and she has seen worse now too. Regardless, she takes care to put her backpack down gently, and decides to swap her heavy coat for a shorter and lighter option, already feeling the sweat building up on her back.
She takes one short look in the mirror before leaving. Her hair is longer than usual, and resembles the yarn Syrax loves to play with more than it resembles a human head of hair, which is only made worse by how sunken her eyes are. The light makeup she put on in the morning has worn off, making her eyebags far more visible than she ever likes them. No wonder Harwin had reacted this morning.
After locking up, she makes a cursory swipe with her eyes of her surroundings, more to bask in its familiarity than anything else. Her absentminded gazing is interrupted by the sight of a car she has never seen before. A small red Toyota, parked next to a house she suddenly remembers went up for sale eight months prior. She has not had a new neighbour in ages, perhaps introducing herself to them will help calm her building concern for Syrax?
Crossing the street, she can see a light coming from a room on the ground floor. What it lights up makes her stop dead in her tracks.
There, in the arms of a total stranger, is Syrax. Her orange devil looks far too comfortable, eyes closed and claws ripping at the red silk shirt of the person holding her. It takes Rhaenyra several seconds before she tears her gaze upwards, and sees the face of a woman that takes her breath away in her own right.
Her luscious red hair flows in waves down her back, completely loose. Rhaenyra realises with a start that it must be the same red hair she had spotted earlier in the office. It frames a face she can only describe as firmly feminine, with eyes she knows she could get lost in if given the opportunity. At the moment however, the woman appears horrified, holding Syrax as far away as she can without angering her, and swallowing visibly every few seconds.
It takes Rhaenyra almost a minute to get her legs working, but once she does, barely five seconds pass before she stands by the mysterious woman’s door, knocking. She does not have to wait long. Half a minute later, she stands face to face with the red head, doing her best to appear calm. It works until she looks down to see Syrax looking back at her with the same look she gives when Rhaenyra has taken too long to bring her dinner.
“Syrax!” She exclaims. The woman appears startled by the outburst, but regains her cool remarkably quickly.
“This is your cat?” She asks. “She’s been trailing after me since I came here yesterday around noon.” Relieved to be able to hand her over, she carefully puts Syrax into Rhaenyra’s waiting arms. The urge to cry is almost overwhelming, but Rhaenyra finds her anger is just the slightest bit more powerful.
“What were you thinking?” She bites out at her cat. “I thought someone had taken you, Syrax, you can’t do that to me.” It takes a calming breath and the thought of the smiles that are sure to greet her in the office tomorrow to regain her composure. “Yes, she’s mine. Normally she is always home when I come back from work, but yesterday, I couldn’t find her anywhere.”
The woman smiles. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, even if the circumstances are admittedly a little odd. My name is Alicent Hightower, I just moved here from up North. And you?”
Hightower. Rhaenyra ignores the feeling that she has met another by that name before. “Good to meet you too. I’m Rh- Rhea. Rhea Evans. I live right across from you. The house with the really dark brown door.” She refuses to acknowledge the fact that for the first time since she was twenty, she nearly introduced herself by the wrong name. Alicent thankfully appears to not have noticed.
“Ah, you’re the one who bikes?” A soft smile overtakes her expression, and Rhaenyra wants to groan at how utterly beautiful it is. How can someone look so stunning without trying? She refuses to ponder her own appearance, and how dreadful she looks in comparison.
“Yeah. I work at a publisher down in the square. It’s the easiest way to get there and back.” She allows her own hesitant smile to join her words, hands busy with Syrax, who from the lack of claws in her own coat is most definitely displeased.
“Publisher? That wouldn’t happen to be Strong & Vance, would it?” Yes, definitely the same woman she had seen before.
“Actually, yes. Though, it should only be Strong now. Roland Vance sold his shares before I even came here, and that’s over six years ago now.” Harwin had once confided with her in private that he believed the reason for the Vance’s move away from Bourton had been more personal than he had made it appear, but when she asked further questions, all the answers he gave her were vague, as if the rest of the story was too painful to speak of.
“I’m the historical expert for the new documentary project?” Oh, fate really has a sense of humour. Rhaenyra can already anticipate the torture the next few months will bring.
She looks down at Syrax, and decides it is best to end the conversation before she is pulled inside and is left alone with the beautiful Alicent. “Yes, I’m familiar. Sorry, I have to go. Syrax wants her food and I am in desperate need of a shower. It was lovely to meet you.” She turns away and begins to walk, cradling Syrax in her arms.
“Lovely meeting you as well. I don’t suppose I will see you tomorrow?” When Rhaenyra turns back to look at her, she even appears hopeful.
“Maybe. I hope so. See you then.”
She crosses the street and unlocks her door in quick succession, knowing a breakdown is due at any moment. Her coat and shoes are soon removed, and it is not until she gives Syrax dinner that it hits her. Syrax is home . She is home and she is perfectly fine. Tears are streaming down her face before she realises it, and once they come, there’s no stopping them. It is one change she cherishes about the after, how she is allowed to be imperfect.
Syrax, ever so understanding, curls up in her lap after eating, and gives her a loud purr. This only makes her cry harder, hiccup even, and she buries her hands in Syrax’s fur, which in the sunlight looks more golden than orange. The overwhelming emotions coupled with her lack of sleep the previous night results in her eyes falling closed right there, and within minutes, she is sound asleep.
When she wakes the next day, her neck is aching from the unpleasant position it has spent the night in, and her hair is even more of a mess than it was the day before. Despite this, she cannot stop smiling, for still in her lap is Syrax, staring up at her with bright eyes. When she scratches her behind her ears, the sound of purring fills the room, coupled with claws tearing at her shirt in the way Syrax only does when she is utterly content.
“Morning, Syrax.” She allows herself to indulge in a few minutes of cuddling, before looking at her watch to check the time, assuming it to be around her normal waking time. It becomes clear she is very wrong in this assumption. 8:42 AM reflects back at her, almost mockingly, and she has to prevent herself from falling off of her sofa in her haste to rectify the situation. Fifteen minutes later, wearing a fresh change of clothes and with her hair somewhat more subdued, she cycles down the road with her backpack hastily slung over her shoulder. If she looks over to see if any lights are on in the mysterious Alicent Hightower’s house, well, no one is there to witness it.
In the end, she is only forty minutes late. A few laughs are expressed at her expense, and she gives more than one of her coworkers a glare that quickly silences them, but once she is settled in her office, it is as though she was never late at all. Joffrey seeks her out a little before lunch to discuss the articles he returned to her the day before, to which she confesses she has yet to look them over. He expresses his disappointment in the same overdramatic fashion he does everything else (it makes her compare him to Laenor, which only serves to make her feel the grief of the lack of the Velaryon’s presence in her life all over again), but once she tells him Syrax came home, he changes up his tune to offer his congratulations and to make her promise to give her a treat from him. Soon enough, the news has spread through the whole office, and at lunch, Rhaenyra is therefore swarmed until Lyonel Strong himself comes out to personally offer her his happiness upon hearing her situation has been resolved.
His entrance is not solely for her benefit, however. Their next big project soon becomes the topic of conversation, and he requests that they meet at his office once lunch has concluded, his tone missing the lightheartedness Rhaenyra has come to appreciate in his son’s. It always makes a shiver run down her spine, as though she has done something wrong. Even the pat on the back he gives her as he turns to leave fails to comfort her. The anxiety plagues the rest of her break, despite Harwin’s best efforts to ease it with his never-ending supply of jokes at her expense.
When she enters Lyonel Strong’s office, the sight that greets her immediately takes her breath away. Flowing red hair, a nervous smile, and a pink blouse that flatters her skin tone looks back at her, standing by his desk and holding a document of some kind. Alicent Hightower is infuriatingly beautiful, and Rhaenyra tries her best not to outwardly express her discontent over her own appearance, which although an improvement from the previous day still leaves much to be desired.
“Sir. Miss Hightower.” She keeps her tone light. “Is she the expert you were talking about last week?”
Lyonel nods. “Her resume is impressive for a woman of her age. Though I must ask, how do you know her name?”
“She’s moved into the house that was left empty last year. We met yesterday.” She does not disclose more, hoping he will let the matter rest. To her relief, he does.
“You know what lies ahead. I trust you’ve made arrangements for your other duties whilst this project is ongoing, Rhea?” She nods.
“I have. The project will be my first priority until its completion.” Pleased with her answer, he moves onto the more practical aspects of their work, as well as the potential need for a third writer in the future.
Soon enough, they are both dismissed, as he receives a call neither have an interest in listening in on.
“Rhea?” Alicent’s voice cuts in unexpectedly as she turns to walk to her office. “Could we talk?”
Rhaenyra pauses. “I have some things I need to finish before the week is up. Is Monday alright with you?”
“Of course.” That damned smile returns to her face. “I will see you..?”
“Back in the neighbourhood, certainly.” Rhaenyra cannot help but smile back. “You- you look good. Pink looks good on you.”
Alicent blushes. “Oh- I- Thank you. Um- See you later then?”
Rhaenyra wants to put her head through a wall. Or drench herself in ice water. Preferably both. “Goodbye, Alicent,” she stutters out, then promptly walks away before she can hear her reply. When she reaches her office, she has to resist the urge to scream. Refusing a man has always been easy, but this woman? How can she resist someone she feels drawn to in a way that is as easy as breathing?
When she leaves the office some hours later, the thought still weighs heavily on her mind. She has known Alicent Hightower for what amounts to less than one day, and yet, the vision of her already clings to her like a vice. Yesterday, her way home stretched out as though it was twice as long, but today it feels even shorter than usual, as if God or some other higher being has altered the path she knows on the back of her hand specifically to taunt her. It is as though only a few seconds have passed before her house comes into view, no different than the houses beside it, yet shining like a beacon all the same.
She locks away her bike before her brain truly resumes being present in the moment. The automated motions continue as she moves to unlock her door, only to be distracted by what she can only presume is the sound of someone banging on a window. When she looks around to identify the source of the sound, she is once again confronted with the sight of Syrax in the arms of a woman who is a stranger to her. Alicent’s eyes are wide, and the way her hand is hitting the window can only be described as frantic. The scene pushes her thoughts to the back of her head, as she moves to unlock her door, dump her backpack inside, and lock up once more. Crossing the street, her heart begins pounding so harshly against her chest she swears it must be visible on the outside. She cares little for the divine, but now she sends a prayer to whoever will listen asking that she not make a fool of herself yet again.
When Alicent opens the door, all Rhaenyra can think is that she must be the personification of Aphrodite. She is still wearing the pink blouse from earlier, but her hair has been pulled into a ponytail, drawing attention to her sharp cheekbones and jawline. Another small smile adorns her face, even as it shifts into a cringe every few seconds as Syrax moves in her arms.
I am so fucked, Rhaenyra nearly states out loud. How can a person be this beautiful?
“I’m so sorry, but your cat has taken up residence in my house again.” Alicent gestures to Syrax, who has opened her eyes and now gives Rhaenyra an unimpressed glare. “I tried to get her to leave, but she insisted on climbing my leg and clinging to me.”
Syrax’s stare is a clear challenge. Move me, I dare you. Rhaenyra decides it is better to let her orange menace win this round. “Syrax only does what she wants, I'm afraid. I’ve tried to make her listen to me in the past, it almost never works.” She offers an apologetic smile. It is well known amongst her friend group that Syrax has no regard for propriety or even the boundaries of others, a fact Rhaenyra is mocked for so often she has come to cherish it. “You managed to acquire the one creature in the country more stubborn than yourself” Harwin had told her when she introduced them, and Syrax promptly fastened her claws at the seam of his trousers and ripped it apart. Alicent appears to remain unharmed by Syrax’s claws, but with the way she appears shaken by the presence in her arms, it almost appears as though she is suffering a worse fate.
“It’s not your fault.” She hesitates, about to place Syrax into Rhaenyra’s arms when she promptly changes her mind. “Would you like to come inside? I have the kettle on.”
The promise of tea has her nodding before her hindbrain can call her an absolute dimwit. When she enters the living room, the overwhelming sight of plants in every available corner greets her, but what she finds most intriguing is the sight of orange hair on the nearest armchair.
“Syrax was sleeping there when I came home,” Alicent explains before she has the time to ask. She puts her down on the sofa, gently stroking her fur until Syrax settles, before moving towards what Rhaenyra presumes is the kitchen to fetch their tea.
“How do you take it?” She asks.
“Milk and two sugars, please.” Alicent returns with a tea set Rhaenyra can only describe as adorable, the floral motif a soft pink and green against white. Beside them are small sandwiches. They sit in silence for a few minutes, taking small sips of their respective cups. Having taken up the seat beside Syrax, Rhaenyra places her hand on top of her darling’s head, thumb stroking her absentmindedly.
“So,” Alicent begins, putting down her sandwich. “How long have you had Syrax?”
“Almost five years. I adopted her a little over a year after I moved here.” Talking about her is easy, a topic she is used to. “She’s a right devil sometimes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Of course not.” Being surrounded by her own things, Alicent appears to be more at ease, and although she thought it impossible, she is even more beautiful this way. “You’d be a fool to think any less of her.”
I know a thing or two about the dangers of thinking only the best of people, Rhaenyra wants to say. How your lack of realism quickly becomes a prison made by those who abuse it. Instead, she tells Alicent a story about how Syrax once stole Joffrey’s tie and refused to return it, with it turning out she had ripped it to pieces and hidden it under the bed in her guest bedroom. Alicent’s laughter is a waterfall, rushing over her like a tidal wave and leaving her drenched in happiness. It is easy, conversing with her, as though they have known each other for years rather than days.
The light mood only lasts so long however. “Do you have any family in the area?” The question itself is innocent enough, but Rhaenyra instantly freezes. “Oh, I’m sorry Rhea, I should not have asked.”
“You couldn’t have known.” Not without being a secret agent, which I know for certain you are not, she adds mentally. “I left my family behind long ago. They are not good people.”
“You were in the system?” Rhaenyra is eternally grateful that Alicent’s expression is not one of pity, only curiosity.
“Something like that,” she responds. “I know they are trying to find me, but I’ve hidden my tracks well.”
Alicent’s brows furrow. “Did something serious happen?”
It takes her a moment to gather her thoughts enough to respond. “My father- He- I’d rather not talk about it.”
“My apologies, I should not have pried.” Alicent’s hands seek out her own then. “I too have a difficult relationship with my family. It should have been obvious to me that- Well, what’s done is done. I should have been more considerate.”
Rhaenyra squeezes her hands. “I forgive you. We all make mistakes like that sometimes.” The damper mood that settles over them only serves to unnerve her. Even more so, the realisation that this is the second time she has nearly revealed her identity.
“Perhaps we should discuss something else,” she offers. “We will, after all, be working quite closely together for the foreseeable future. Is there anything I should know beforehand?”
“Other than that I keep high standards? Not much. I avoid overtime as much as I can, but I easily fall into the habit of working late.” That makes two of us, Rhaenyra thinks to herself. “I am awful at formatting, so I hope you are well-versed in that artform. Microsoft is not a friend of mine.”
Rhaenyra smiles. “Not to worry, I am more than capable.” The barest hints of a blush appear on Alicent’s cheeks then. They are rather close, Rhaenyra realises. It would not take much to- No. That is not why she is here.
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Alicent releases Rhaenyra’s hands, standing up to retrieve a notebook. When she returns, she hands it to Rhaenyra. “This includes everything I want the documentary to include from the historical perspective. I have yet to write it into my computer, I prefer to write by hand you see.”
“Thank you.” Rhaenyra opens it, and is greeted with a sketch that is almost completely accurate to the photographs she herself has been studying. Soon enough, they are engrossed in a conversation about the motif, and it is only when Syrax rises and meows that Rhaenyra registers the time.
“I better get back to my house. Syrax needs her dinner, and I am meeting my friends in less than two hours.” Alicent appears to go through a similar realisation.
“Of course,” she responds. “I need to call a friend myself.”
Syrax is most displeased when she realises she too has to leave, and Rhaenyra has to promise her her favourite (how she understands the words, she will never know) for her tail to rise and make her wait by the door.
“This was wonderful, thank you.” Rhaenyra stands in the entryway, smiling. “Perhaps we can do it again sometime?”
“I would love that.” Alicent still looks like a goddess, though now, it is less intimidating and more stirring a side of her into waking that she would rather it remain asleep. “Could you give me your phone?”
Rhaenyra obliges, and Alicent writes down her personal contact information. “Just text me when you have time.”
“Will do.” They say their goodbyes, and she is almost outside of Alicent’s property when she hears her voice again.
“Oh, and Rhea?” Alicent’s face is wearing a mischievous smile.
“Yes?” She hopes her sudden nerves are not evident in her voice.
“You look good.”
Rhaenyra is helpless to resist the blush that overtakes her face. Alicent only smiles wider. “I- Uhm- Thank you.”
She stumbles back to her house, and unlocks the door. As soon as it closes, she falls against it.
“Bloody hell. This cannot be happening.” Tears spring to her eyes, as the emotions she has felt build up over the last day take over. It would be so easy to let herself fall in love with the woman next door, and just as easy to imagine their future in a world where she is not living a lie. Alicent is everything she wants, and everything she fears. Why shouldn’t she?
She already knows the answer. The last person she thought she loved, who she had imagined a future with, was her very own uncle. The abuser that still manages to hurt her even beyond bars. Hope for a normal future was lost long ago.
Damn you, Daemon, she thinks once more. Damn you.