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The violent roar of blackwater serenaded the full moon hung high within the sky, bathing even the most unforgiving of sinners in shimmering light one could think came from the Gods. The air was dense; heavy, thick, and hot on the skin. The very kind which filled lungs to their brims with each inhale and transformed sleeping into a cumbersome thing of myth. The streets were littered with restless souls sinning their inability to settle away.
Such always was Kings Landing, perhaps, when the golden sun didn’t alter its hue.
A hard truth Rhaenyra knew unforgettably well, her fingers yanking the hem of her wimple downward in a fuss as she weaved her body through the last of drunkards and whores. The steps leading to the Red Keep had never looked more inviting- a sight she’d certainly taken for granted in her youth- her brow dripping with sweat as she remained diligent on her feet. Long ago she could’ve bounded up the cobblestone with reckless abandon and a prideful chest. A White Cloak would have been frantically chasing her heels like a spirit, no doubt, scolding her to be safe in the late hours and to tuck herself into bed lest she suffer the consequences of exposure.
Though, such times had come and gone, and were just as fleeting as she had to be now.
Thankful for having maintained a fraction of her agility and memory, Rhaenyra halted herself over the stairs and toward her first climbable obstacle. Having been a challenging child was paying itself forward with the way she knew how to creep about the Keep. She vaulted from her quarters’ window more times than she could care to recall; though not always for mischief, in her humble memory’s defense, for however would she have been able to disturb her dear friend’s nightly prayers when she was confined to her chambers for something treacherous she’d had no recollection of? It was ironic now as she cursed under her breath, heaving up and over the side of The Traitor’s Walk, dressed in the garb of a septa.
All for Alicent Hightower.
It was immeasurably more difficult to move in it over her standard gowns but it was Rhaenyra’s failsafe were she to be discovered. It wouldn’t be out of character for Alicent to request a woman of faith pray with her in her chambers, would it? Rhaenyra scolded herself again. Had she paid more attention when the other spoke about the church and less about.. whatever topic was on her mind that day, she’d be more certain in this and her ability to pull off something so undoubtedly stupid.
Thankfully, dragon riding required a knack for both balance and regrettable risk.
If there were heads atop the pikes lining the walls her eyes didn’t catch them. The narrow walkway was yet but another exasperating obstacle; she’d have no time to mourn or scrutinize anything her amethyst gaze landed on in the firelight. Another vault and more running. Maegor’s Holdfast was a breath away. Rather it was an act of something divine or sheer luck alone, Rhaenyra hadn’t been spotted, and the adrenaline held in her shaking palms and quivering lips ensured she’d have no second thoughts. Alicent resided in her previous bedchamber in undoubtedly the same layout from when she’d dwelled there, knowing the other’s reluctance to change where she could control it. To vault into the window and step to her bedside would be sickeningly easy; her younger self had made certain of it. The smirk on her lips was unmasked at the memory.
Surely enough it was all the same when she hoisted herself over the open window’s sill. Before her head could process her actions, Rhaenyra’s heart was thrumming frantically, her fingers ghosting the hilt of a dagger she’d hidden up her sleeve. Crouching low in the moonlight her eyes adjusted to Alicent’s covered frame atop her bed, chest rising and falling in a strained sleep, the oxygen dry surrounding them. Having enough of incessant sweating herself, Rhaenyra tore her wimple off and flung it just before her exit. Waves of silver, unbraided and wild, were brushed back from her forehead and sticking to her cheeks from exasperation. Alicent groaned softly in her sleep, and Rhaenyra stilled with widened eyes.
She hadn’t planned what to do now.
Rhaenyra slowly rose to her feet and took big strides with weightless footing to the bedside. The only sound that could be heard was that of both women breathing— equally strained for different reasons— and the Princess thanked the fullness of the moon for the gracious light it gave her. She was close enough to fully see her friend now; frame only covered to the hips with a thin quilt, her body curled in on itself as if it sought comfort from an invisible suitor. Alicent even slept prudently and the image would’ve made the Princess chuckle under different circumstances, but all foolishness died within the hollow of her throat as the woman rolled to her back with a labored expression, her arms flying above her head as if in surrender.
Targaryens have never asked anything of the Gods. Rhaenyra herself even thought they were nothing more than fodder for the melancholic or indisposed, and she only cared to know what little she did in respect for her former friend—
—but seeing a Seven-Pointed Star hanging from Alicent’s neck, resting just above the valley of her breasts with only a translucent spruce nightgown between the two, had Rhaenyra nearly falling to her knees and praying for a retribution only the divine could inflict on her soul.
The Queen dowager’s lips parted again in a huff, her forehead sheen with sweat and pebbling beads which dripped downward to her jawline. The perspiration aided the nightdress she wore in clinging to her as if life itself depended upon it and Rhaenyra’s throat went dry the more she noticed the fact, her fingers twitching over the blade she’d nearly forgotten she possessed. How had she gone so many years and not noticed how beautiful of a woman Alicent had become? Politics had only muddied their relationship and ability to perceive one another beyond duty; the last true drink Rhaenyra’s eyes having been rewarded of the other’s physical form when they were still much too young and stubborn to understand what to make of it.
Perhaps it was the loneliness seeping into her bones from the lack of her husband’s company. Or even worse, a darkened thought surfacing, unresolved from her childhood thoughts staring up at this very ceiling that clouded her mind. Nevertheless something possessed her; a shaking hand hovering just over Alicent’s chest, a breath sucked in just an octave too sharp—
“Shh, shhh—“
Alicent’s doe eyes widened with fear as the tip of Rhaenyra’s dagger nipped into the flesh of her neck, the intruder’s dominant hand pressing firmly over her mouth before she could scream. She hadn’t needed to look very hard to tell it was a Targaryen hovering over her; and only Rhaenyra could still manage to brandish the unmistakable smell of clove, cedarwood, and smoke that pricked salty tears to the pinned woman below.
“It’s me,” Rhaenyra whispered breathily, her palm softly grinding into the flesh of Alicent’s bottom lip as she spoke. “I’m not letting go until you swear to me you won’t cry out, lest I kill you right here and retreat on Syrax before your men slay me in return.” It was an illogical and empty threat Alicent saw right though; occupied not with the other’s words, but the way her hair was free from braids for the first time she’d ever seen. This combined with the septa garb (she’d clearly stolen) and the urgency in her voice, Alicent could almost write the woman threatening her life off as a different person entirely— one she could bargain with, who’s head was never heavy with the burden of a crown. Just a brazen, beautiful fool.
After a roll of her eyes Alicent nodded, Rhaenyra only releasing her grip once she felt certain she’d succeeded in asserting herself. The dagger had scratched the surface of Alicent’s skin when she turned her head away from Rhaenyra’s ramblings, the intensity of her presence shaking her enough that she risked cutting her skin over giving the other a slither of an advantage. “Why are you here?” She asked coldly, almost dismissively, knowing it would press Rhaenyra deliberately. Keeping her head to the side she peered up at the other out of the corners of her eyes, a thin trail of blood pooling at her collarbone and soiling her nightdress which still exposed so much more than it had a right. “Surly if you’ve resorted to climbing into my window like some kind of b—“
Rhaenyra’s hand flew out to grip Alicent’s chin, forcing the eye contact she mentally needed to pitch her point. It was a habit of the older’s that made her blood boil; when Alicent would have her nose in a book or her gaze fixated on a flickering prayer candle and not her like it was supposed to be. She visibly winced now as Rhaenyra’s fingers felt the wetness of blood, a soft gasp causing her to sheath her dagger and replace it with her hand. She hadn’t meant to actually harm her— quite the contrary—
“I’ve begun badly. Let me—“
The two began to fuss despite the severity of the situation at hand. “Alicent,” Rhaenyra began, her palm applying pressure on her wound. “We don’t have to do this. The bloodshed to come is nonsensical; I know deep within you the desire to slaughter for glory and gore isn’t there. I’ve come to propose peace—“ She was cut off by Alicent’s audible scoff, her eyebrows knitted in disbelief and her breast heaving. It left Rhaenyra unable to speak and sputtering on her words, eyes darkening at the audacity the other held as she peered upwards at her with the slightest of biting smirks.
“You’ve not a level head nor a proper plan. Surly you’ve come to surrender?” Rhaenyra found herself subconsciously pressing more harshly into Alicent’s wound, her blood slick like sap from a heart tree flowing over her calloused skin. Alicent’s hitch of breath that followed satiated something sinister that twisted in Rhaenyra’s gut like a sea serpent but it didn’t stop Alicent from baring her teeth once more, “that is the only way, now. You’ve no army nor the people’s favor after killing a babe in his bed, which is becoming more believable with every second of this altercation—“
Rhaenyra leaned downward to whisper roughly in Alicent’s ear, her hand still squeezing about her neck, “—the trespass was not mine!” Alicent gasped again, dripping with vulnerability, Rhaenyra’s hot breath on the shell of her ear causing her to shudder involuntarily. It was both a relief and annoyance that her friend had truly been innocent, as it had always been much easier for Alicent to cope with her wretched surroundings if she had someone (or something) to blame for them.
“It—“ Alicent inhaled through her nose. “It doesn’t change the fact that your father spoke Aegon’s name in his dying breath, Rhaenyra. The ‘Prince who was Promised’. He—“
The Targaryen had her pinned now and Alicent’s attitude switched from feigning petty annoyance to true, unadulterated panic as a dragon seemingly mounted her body. “A Song of Ice and Fire,” Rhaenyra whispered to them both, pupils blown as Alicent squirmed beneath her. “A tale of Aegon the Conqueror—“
Alicent’s vision started to fade. “T-The.. The C— Conqueror..”
They stared at one another for what felt like an eternity. A glimmer of relief in Rhaenyra’s sunken eyes, Alicent’s brimming with tears threatening to spill. For a moment they were so close their lips could brush; both warm and feverish and melded against one another as if melted in delectable sin. There wasn’t a word between them as realization hit Alicent like a wave, the process of acceptance dampening her eyelashes as they closed and she sobbed. Rhaenyra released her neck, fingers dried in blood, and swiped the tears rolling down Alicent’s cheeks with such a tenderness she hadn’t experienced since they were children. The way Rhaenyra held her as if she were made of glass somehow sickened her stomach, her voice full of venom to contrast the other’s merciful expression she she finally spoke:
“—There was no mistake. My father is gone from court, Cole is on the march, Aemond— You know what Aemond is.”
A heavy silence fell between the two yet Rhaenyra’s touch on her remained. Alicent’s eyes opened to scan the ceiling in a bittersweet curse; her nagging want in her youth to have this very view, pinned beneath Rhaenyra on a bed they shared, haunting her as if the ultimate punishment for her sins. It was unspoken between them, now. Since birth they’d been nothing but pawns in a war the realm demanded, which would be rewarded to it regardless of their individual testimonies or desires. If not for the misunderstanding, something much worse would have churned the wheel into rotation in time to give men their senseless battle as unrest has always festered in the human spirit like a fever that couldn’t be quelled.
Alicent laughed bitterly, her neck starting to throb, head heavy with grief.
“We should have fled on Syrax and had only cake..”
Rhaenyra’s voice snapped her out of her trance. She understood as well, it was written on her face— this was unstoppable. Inevitable. Control was out of their hands (as if it was ever there to begin with) and suddenly being alone together didn’t seem so dire of a thing. Did it matter what became of them now in this moment? Blood would soon be spilled by the depths of oceans, graves and gallows lined with bodies who never asked to dance alongside dragons in a war they didn’t want to see to fruition. Rhaenyra would fight to be the rightful Queen and Alicent would stand by her child’s claim. It was no longer personal. It was duty. It was fate.
Though fate couldn’t reach them here. Not when the darkness enveloped them both and hid them away from the eyes of the Gods.
Rhaenyra’s lips pressed against the gash she’d left across Alicent’s neck and the mewl she emitted was unholy. Instinctively her legs flew around the silver haired women’s waist as she nearly growled in response, her hand again finding Alicent’s mouth, sealing it. When she pulled back to speak, Rhaenyra’s lips were painted in the red of Alicent’s making, her eyes lidded in unabashed desire Alicent thought was reserved only for her husband. “I truly didn’t intend to hurt you..” Rhaenyra’s tongue, warm and wet, flicked out to collect the copper smeared across Alicent’s skin. “I’m sorry,”she whispered, placing kisses over the inevitable scar.
Alicent’s body shook as she gripped the sheets below, her fingers rooting themselves into Rhaenyra’s hair to pull her head upward after relishing in the attention the other graciously gave. She wanted to smack her— for leaving, for refusing to surrender, for not loving her sooner— but instead her lips smashed into Rhaenyra’s with such a force it would surly bruise them both, her tongue immediately lapping into the other’s mouth to seek claim to every inch she could breach with what little time she had. They kissed until they were both breathless, pulling away only to mutter sweet nothings or growls of pleasure, only stopping when heavy footsteps loomed outside the doorway.
Their time had run out.
Alicent held Rhaenyra’s jaw as she kissed her one last time, their hips grinding in a mindless display to pump every ounce of pleasure from one another. There likely wouldn’t be another chance, they both knew, and this fleeting euphoria must last them through every terrible night until their bodies burned to ash. In desperation they sought to memorize every touch and crevice imaginable before Rhaenyra broke away and into the night, fleeing just before Alicent’s chamber door was burst open, ailing sounds having been heard from down the hall.
Rhaenyra had said she loved her, quietly, and she had confessed the same. The back of her hand wiped the mix of salty tears and sweat from her cheeks as Rhaenyra blended back into the walls, her stride more leisure in nature, gaze upwards to the heavens. Just as quickly as it was given genuine love had been yanked away. The city stirred with spectators.
War would not determine who was right— only who would ultimately be left.