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Chapter Text

Aegon is missing. She isn’t sure where he is and if he’s alive or who is with him, but he’s missing, and Rhaenyra is not pleased.

(She thinks of the water. Deep and freeing and cold. She thinks of the bird above. Free. Away from this all.)

(She was so close.)

All the good will between them had shattered instantly on the realization. Rhaenyra hadn’t even looked at her. Her face grew very cold all of a sudden, shuttering away, and then, she was ordering the Dowager Queen to be taken away.

Alicent was quite sure she had screamed the whole way down to the dungeons, but whether Rhaenyra understood or heard her was a different story. It was hard to appear sane when you were screaming like a madwoman that you did not betray her, you did not, you were true to your word, you convinced your only daughter to betray your son, you were to do it all, but someone else had taken Aegon or hid him or killed him.

(She feels ill when she thinks too much on it all. She thinks of her sweet daughter. She thinks of a son she barely knows. They were almost safe. They were almost safe.)

(Her eldest son. How he screamed and cried. How he tore through her. How he drank and whored and raped and committed sin after sin after sin.)

(She feels dirty and sick and ill. If Aegon was rotten, she was the rot.)

(Her son. His laugh. The way he seemed to glow around his own child. When he was a babe, he fit so perfectly in her arms. There were moments of sweetness. Yes, good moments. Her Aegon. Her son. That is who she condemned to death.)

She knows why Rhaenyra does not believe her, does not look at her, does not visit her not for the first day nor the second. She knows, she knows, she knows, and still, it hurts.

Part of Alicent wants to throw a tantrum about it all. To kick and scream. To let her ego rage and rage, because how could she think that? They have known each other for so long, and, albeit most of the time they had been at odds, but had Alicent ever lied?

(She thinks of secret visits and histories and models of Valyria. Of her mother’s dress. How it still smelled of her perfume.)

So, she sits and she prays and she tries to serve some version of penance here, alone in the dark, eating meals served on trays. No one speaks to her and by the third day, she has found herself making some semblance of peace with it all, letting go of the anger and the hurt.

And it is only when fear remains, for her children, for herself, for everything, that Rhaenyra shows.

She’s led in by guards. They flock to her now. She’s the Queen.

And before Alicent can stop herself, the words come tumbling from her chapped lips. “Rhaenyra,” she croaks, and the woman just stares at her.

Alicent realizes her mistake immediately. This is not Rhaenyra. No, she does not know this woman. This is the Queen.

“Your Grace,” she amends quickly. “I - I promise that I - “

“Where is Aegon?”

“I do not know where - “

“Where is Aemond?”

She blinked, unbalanced and slow. Her mind is muddled from the isolation. “He must be in the Riverlands with Cole. I don’t know their exact location, but - “

Rhaenyra nods and turns to leave, and Alicent knows it’s a mistake but she grabs at Rhaenyra’s wrist and pulls.

Something hard strikes her head. Her vision blurs, and she stumbles. Her grip is forgotten as she falls to the floor. Her knees hit the ground first as she collapses. Only when she looks up does she realize it was Rhaenyra’s hand.

Rhaenyra just stares at her with those purple eyes, stoic, cold, unmoving.

“Your Grace,” Alicent says. Her voice is shaking. Her face stings. “I… I bend the knee. I did as you asked. I did not betray you, Your Grace. A-Aegon must have been tipped off or perhaps Aemond got to him first. I do not know, but I know I have surrendered myself. Please, you must - “

Rhaenyra inhales sharply. “I must? I must?” Her voice is like thunder, crackling through the cell. “I’m the Queen! There is nothing I must do!”

Alicent’s anxiety is clawing at her. She holds her throat. There were tears now, blurring her vision even farther. “Where is my daughter, Your Grace? If you perceive me as a turncloak, what of my Helaena? Please?”

“She has been locked in her apartments, and she will remain there with her daughter until the end of the war,”

“N-No, she is an innocent. Do not blame her for the sins of her mother, of her brothers,” And something finally awakens deep in Alicent’s stomach. Something that is more predator than prey. She stands. Ignoring how her knees hurt. How her head aches. She lets the anger take control. “Is this truly how you wish to start your reign, Your Grace? Threatening and imprisoning those who are loyal to you,” And she spits the word out with as much venom as she could muster. “You grow more paranoid and cruel the longer that crown sits upon your head,”

Rhaenyra’s face is a steady mask. Unflinching. Unwavering. She doesn’t rise to the bait. She would if it was years ago, but no, the Queen does not. She does not hit Alicent. No, she steps forward. Her voice is icy and cold.

“I will have Aegon’s head. And I will have Aemond’s and I will have Daeron’s and Otto’s and Cole’s - “

“To what end, Rhaenyra?” Alicent gasped out. “You’re going to wipe out every person who shares blood with me? Innocent or not? You will make yourself a kinslayer. You will curse yourself. You will ruin yourself for this throne,”

And Rhaenyra is in her face and she’s shouting, thunderous and loud and glorious almost. “If I am ruined, it is because of you! You have played your role in this war, and now I must play mine. And your sons will play theirs. I will not keep sacrificing everything I have, everything I am, for you,” There’s a finality to her voice. She’s come to a decision about it all.

But Alicent can’t let it go. She can’t. She can’t let her leave. She rubs her face. The skin is warm from the strike or maybe the anger.

“Please do not go for Daeron,” she implores, hoping to connect mother to mother at the very least. “Daeron is innocent! He is but a child! He knows nothing of our conflicts, only loyalty to his House. His movements are not his own. He is my good son. My sweet boy,”

“Son for a son!” Rhaenyra does not sound like a mother or a queen but a roaring dragon. “You swore!”

“I have given that son! I have! My grandson!” Alicent cries. “What more can I give you? I am yours, Rhaenyra! I have nothing! I have nothing. I plead and I beg and I humiliate myself, because the alternative was to waste away while my sons grew monstrous. I came to you and spoke only the truth. I wanted to end this war. For you, for my sons, for their souls. I do not want my sweet boy to - My Daeron is innocent. You cannot go for my son,” She wipes her eyes. She feels stupid and weak and powerless and desperate. She rubs her neck. “Has this war not already ruined so much? Must you truly go for one in my line that is truly innocent?”

“Jacaerys is dead,”

For a moment, Alicent hopes she misheard. Rhaenyra had spoke so quietly, so stoically, that surely she misheard. It must have been a whisper or a trick of the mind, but their eyes connect.

(She sees her. The real her. She sees.)

The wind is knocked out of Alicent. She just stands there for a moment, looking at her and letting it all click and shutter into place.

(She thinks of dark hair and his boyish smile and how young he is - was.)

Ice moves through her veins, and yet she wants nothing more but to grab Rhaenyra, to rush forward, and hold her. But she can’t move. She just stands there, mouth gaping a little, and Rhaenyra has tears in her eyes but she’s trying so hard to remain stoic, to remain strong.

(When her mother died, Alicent held her for hours and hours. They cried together. Bonded in the pain of that day.)

“I…” Alicent tries to find the words but there are no words. “I am so sorry,” is all she can think to say. She could follow it up with how she would pray for him, but gods mattered little to the Queen.

Rhaenyra’s facade cracks a little. Just slightly in the way her eyes fall down as the tear slips through the cracks, but she takes a shaky inhale, a loud exhale, and composes herself quickly and easily.

(Has she had a moment to properly grieve? Was anyone taking care of her? Was her husband?)

“He was kind,” Alicent says. “I-I remember how he treated Helaena, with more love and care than what her brothers ought to show. I always respected that,” She looks to her hands, picking at a newly reopened wound on her thumb. “I always respected that about yourself. That you raised good, kind young men. I am so sorry. To lose a son, I… I am sorry,”

Rhaenyra says nothing but she nods. She nods, and without another word, she turns and leaves Alicent to the dungeon, the darkness, and her thoughts.

—-

Alicent must have finally influenced Rhaenyra to hear her out, because the next day she was moved to the apartments beside her daughter’s and granted a visit. She’s notified of all this from a guard. She does not see Rhaenyra.

(She itches to see her. She needs to see her.)

She is led through the halls. To think, when she last walked these, she was free. She hadn’t felt very free at all at the time, however. Now, though, there’s tension in every room she walks in. The gazes are more intense, the whispers more brutal. There are guards shadowing her. She avoids eye contact and chews on her thumb until they reach Helaena.

Alicent nearly runs to hug her but she stops herself quickly upon entering the room. Instead, she awkwardly stands before her daughter.

Helaena certainly didn’t look like a prisoner. Her hair was down as she preferred, and she was not wearing green but a cool yellow. It made her look younger, freer.

(No green. No green.)

“Hello mother,” she said calmly. She is not surprised, and Alicent wonders if the guards had notified her this visit was happening. “Are you well?”

Alicent wants to laugh out of relief or cry. She isn’t sure. She’s trembling, she realizes, and then she wonders how she must look to her. After her time in the dungeon, Alicent had barely eaten, gotten no sun, and remained in the same dark green dress that was dirty and smelled. She must look horrendous, and yet Helaena asks her so innocently that she knows if she says “yes” her daughter will just accept the answer.

(Helaena was kind that way. She never judged. Unlike her mother. She took you at your word.)

Alicent inches closer and fiddles with her nails. “I was in the dungeons. Your sister thinks I have betrayed her, that I assisted Aegon,”

“You didn’t though,” Helaena frowns.

“Yes, but the Queen must be cautious. I cannot fault her. The circumstances of your brother’s disappearance are suspicious,” she admits. She must fight this desperate urge to surge forward, to touch. “How are you? Have they been treating you well? Feeding you?”

“Oh, yes. Rhaenyra is a most gracious gaoler,” Helaena says, and she smiles.

Alicent smiles uncomfortably, finding it easier to remain quiet than to figure out whether that was a jest or sincere statement.

Without another word, Helaena stands and heads to her assortment of bugs. Alicent imagines the adjustment of their situation was actually rather easy for her daughter. Helaena preferred solitude and since her little pets and creatures were kept in her room, she did not have to live without them.

She presses her face to a cage of one. It is some spider, and Alicent would rather not ask any questions about it. She’d like to step on it but she refrains from that too.

Then, Helaena looks over her shoulder. For a moment, Alicent is sure some fact is going to be said, but instead, she says in such a calm voice and with so much certainty, “You must know, mother: Aegon will return,”

Alicent froze at the mention of her son. So was he alive? Was this confirmation? “Do you know where he is?” she had to ask.

“That is less important,” Helaena says in that far away voice, like she was starting to get lost in her own head, distracted by something else. “It matters where he’s going,”

“And where’s that?”

Helaena doesn’t respond. She returns her attention to the bugs, and Alicent tries not to take offense. She tries to be understanding but it still stings. She moves to the couch. After three days alone in a cell with nothing but prayer, Alicent welcomes the idea of sitting beside her daughter in comfortable silence. She lets the young girl stare and murmur to herself as she checks on all the little cafes. Better to sit and watch, Alicent decides, and she lets her mind go around and around.

(She thinks of Rhaenyra first. Always first. Always right there on the tip of her mind.)

(She thinks of the Seven, of sin, of the gods. Were they punishing her for her taste of freedom? From straying from her path? From wishing out of this madness? And what of her deviance? No, no, no.)

(Perhaps for giving up her son. Her Aegon. Perhaps it is considered kinslaying to be complicit in it all. If so, then she will be complicit in the deaths of all her children, she thinks bitterly. She does not know the Queen. She does not know if the Queen is more honest than Rhaenyra. That is not her childhood friend any longer she must remember that.)

She doesn’t realize she had been chewing on her thumb until she tastes blood. It’s far more than a little spot from a torn cuticle. Why hadn’t she stopped?

(The sharpness of the pain feels good. Calming. A penance. If Helaena was here, she would keep going.)

“I have seen you do that,” Helaena says, and her wording confuses Alicent.

“Yes, uh, it is an unbecoming habit I had when I was a child. I had thought I had grown out of it,” she says quickly. Embarrassment is starting to make her cheeks warm.

(She wishes to keep chewing. Chewing and ripping and tearing through until she reaches bone.)

“Yes, certainly. I saw that,”

Alicent stops, letting the blood blossom and pool, letting it all go. “You saw me as a…child?”

“Yes,” That faraway look still in her eye as she continues on. “The book is written and is on the shelf. Threads of green and black have weaved these tapestries,”

“You speak in riddles,”

“The dreams are not always clear,” Helaena shrugs, unbothered.

(She thinks of Viserys and his dreams and the fire at the godswoods. Muddled words. Prophecies and dreams from Aegon the Conqueror.)

Alicent frowns, “In these dreams, you saw me?”

“With Rhaenyra. Under the weirwood tree. You were happy,” she says sweetly.

Alicent stands up abruptly. She needs to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but here right now. She cannot hear this, cannot have this wound opened. Those moments felt private. They used to tease that only the old gods could have seen. Her daughter doesn’t know. How could she know? How could she have possibly seen?

How could she know? The weirwood. She had never said that before to her. How could she have known?

(Targaryens are closer to gods than men, they say. They seem to be right.)

“You can be happy again, mother,” Helaena assured her. “You must return to the weirwood,” She returned her attention to the books, and Alicent left before the anxiety could settle.

Chapter Text

Alicent is escorted to her own chambers where she will be locked in until further notice. The maids will bring food and they will dress and bathe her as fitting her station, and yet she is not a queen but a captive. She could not forget that even if she tried.

Still, it is a relief to be in her own room again, to not sleep on a cot, to have access to her own books, collections, letters.

She would not be allowed to send letters. Perhaps, they feared she would reveal secrets to Aemond or find a way to contact Aegon.

(Where was Aegon now? She thinks of his charred skin, of his lifeless body.)

She considers for a moment. A message to Aemond would surely be treasonous, and, to be truthful, she isn’t sure what she could say now. He’s grown so distant, so cold, in her eyes. But Daeron? Her sweet boy. He is more so removed from this war, removed from leadership. Perhaps she could find an ally. Someone to get a message to Daeron, but would he listen?

If his mother told him to go home, would he?

(Knights and lords and kings and princes have no use for mothers. They only exist to bring them up and then they must get out of their sight.)

She thinks of Aemond’s cold hand on hers as he dismisses her from the council. She could see her boy in those eyes. A boy so desperate to be a grown man.

(Mothers have no role in councils. Mothers have no role for a grown man.)

She quickly accepts the maids offer to draw her a bath, but she insists they leave once they undress her. She needs to be alone. Away from prying eyes, from spies, from gossips.

The water is warm, and it feels good to clean the dirt from her nails, to soak her curls and begin untangling, to float for a moment. Now that she’s alone again, her mind begins to fall down a familiar trajectory, sliding and steering right into all the anxieties and pains.

(Has she always been this fragile? She feels as if her condition has worsened as of late. She feels like she can’t breathe right anymore.)

(She sinks to the bottom of the tub and considers staying there.)

She lathers herself with soap, cleans her hair thoroughly, and runs the sponge along her arms and legs, but the scraping itches something in her brain, and she feels as if she lost control of something. Like something has gotten loose inside of her.

(Penance. Cleanse.)

She rubs her skin with the sponge until it turns red. The movements are frantic and repetitive as if she’s in a trance. Scrubbing and scrubbing. She doesn’t know how long she’s been in the bath now, but there’s this tight feeling in her chest and her breath won’t even out and everything feels wrong.

The water is cold and she is still scrubbing.

(Lust. Guilt. Pain. Pride. Anger.)

(Sin, sin, sin, sin, sin. She must cleanse herself. She must rid herself of it. The rot. The rot.)

She only stops when she notices that the sponge has left noticeable marks. Her chest is covered in thin scratches, angry and red. It’s almost as if she has a rash. Ugly and red.

(“Now they see you for who you are,”)

—-

Alicent starts to think that Rhaenyra only comes when she is at her lowest, like she could sense the weakness.

The knock is loud, but it is only a formality. The door opens without a word from Alicent, and then the guard is declaring, “The Queen Rhaenyra!” before closing it after the woman.

Rhaenyra enters the room and stands, hands clasped. She looks elegant. Her dress is black with red crystals like shards of glass running from her bodice down. Her shoulders are accentuated by silvery dragon heads. Her neckline is low, letting her ruby necklace show off above her breasts. Her hair is carefully braided, three braids weaving together. She is beautiful and powerful, and, for some reason, here, looking out of place.

Alicent, in comparison, feels and is sure she looks horrible. She is in a simple white shift, ready for bed. Her neck still looks like she had been mauled by some animal. Although, some of the redness has faded. Her face is swollen and puffy around her left eye from when she was hit, not to mention they were bloodshot from all the crying. And Alicent can’t do it.

She can’t do it. She can’t put on the fake smile. She can’t drop to her knees and try to reason and try for peace and try and try. She is far too tired.

“Why are you here, Rhaenyra?” Alicent asks. She sounds as defeated as she feels. “Can you not spare me the torture of our fights for one more night?”

“I did not come to fight,” The Queen assures, striding forward.

Alicent narrows her eyes. It all feels like a trap. There is no snapping comment for the lack of decorum. Or threat to her body.

(They used to only be Alicent and Rhaenyra. That was it. Alicent and Rhaenyra. Then they were Queens. Bigger. Grander. And those girls were lost, weren’t they?)

“Truthfully,” Rhaenyra admits. Though, she still seems quite guarded. Alicent can’t blame her. “I wanted to see if there were any comprises to your situation that you wanted to discuss,”

“No,” Alicent says flatly. “No. I am content. You may leave,”

Rhaenyra clenches her jaw. "I came to be nice and - “

“How very kind of you. Yes, yes. I appreciate this accommodating prison, truly,” Alicent says dryly.

“You speak to your Queen with such tone,” Rhaenyra balls her fist. A kettle about to explode. “I could have your head for that alone,”

“Take it,” she again deadpans. She has no energy for any of this. No energy at all. “It barely has a use upon my shoulders here,”

Rhaenyra takes a steady breath, trying to push the irritation away. It would be easier, Alicent thinks, if she would just let it go. Let go of composure. Screams in Alicent’s face. Perhaps, hit her again. Anything. Anything but that pitying look that is starting to take shape on the Queen.

(Gods. She hated pity and somehow always found herself on the receiving end. A mother torn from her children. A wife with a husband more dead than alive. A queen in chains.)

“Alicent, you do not seem well,”

“I am well enough for a captive. Thank you,”

“Your neck - “

“Is none of your concern,” Alicent snaps. “You come here with your pity and false kindness. I will have none of it! Leave!”

“Have you been abused?” Her purple eyes are so big, so concerned.

Oh, she thinks one of her staff had done this, caused this. One of the maids had snapped or maybe a guard had laid his hand on her. She wants to be the hero.

(“I would be your sworn protector if you had me,” Rhaenyra said once. “Syrax will eat anyone who harms you,”)

Alicent bites back a hysterical laugh and then, against her control, it turns into a sob. She slaps her hand over her mouth. All the emotion rushes into her. And she sees the shock on Rhaenyra’s face, and she sees the pity, and she sees the unsure look, and Alicent sobs harder.

(She wishes she could keep clawing at her chest. Claw and claw until she could rip her own heart out.)

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra says cautiously. “Alicent, I will call for the maester. We will get these - “

“No, no! I don’t want anyone. I don’t need anyone. I need to be alone. I need - I need - “ And her hand leaps to her chest, to soothe, to scratch, to dig, to claw. And Rhaenyra’s eyes widen as realization hits.

“You have done this to yourself,” A statement. Not a question. Rhaenyra swallows thickly. She steels herself, raising up to her Queen status. “Enough of this stubbornness. You will see a maester,” Final. A decree. A command. And Alicent knows it, knows there’s no point in fighting, knows she must give in.

“Alright,” she accepts, exasperated. She needs this all just to stop. To be over so she can crawl into bed and sleep and sleep the days away.

The room feels very quiet now. There is nothing to fight about. The decision is made. Now, there is just them and their past and their history and the war and everything. It hangs over them, looms over them. The room is quiet and the two women just stare at each other, no fight left in either of them, feeling their age, feeling their regret and pain.

Rhaenyra breaks the silence first.

“Alicent, tell me what is wrong so I may aid the situation,” she says in that soft tone. And she is being so nice. And she is looking at her with such care. And Alicent’s chest constricts.

“I am a prisoner, Rhaenyra! Please do not expect me to play the jester for you as well!”

“I am not!” She pulls back, offended. “I am worried for a former friend. I stand before you as a friend in this hour, not your Queen,”

Alicent does not even know how to vocalize this feeling. It is as if the war has been chipping and chipping, and finally it has cracked open. It has revealed something ugly. Something strange. There is so much to feel, to regret, to think about. It is too much. It is all too much.

(Her family. The deviance. Her situation. Her boys.)

(Chaos and war and perversions.)

(Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.)

“Why are you here?” Alicent asks abruptly. Her voice is a whisper, and she is afraid she may have to repeat herself.

“To discuss your condition - “

“You could have sent your staff. Why are you here? You do not have to be here and yet you have barged in. Hm? You should not be here. You hate me,”

“I do not hate you,” Rhaenyra says quietly. Her eyes do not dare meet Alicent’s. “I wish I could hate you. It would be easier, wouldn’t it, after everything?”

(Viserys. Lucerys, Jacaerys…)

(Rhaenys, Jaehaerys…)

Alicent doesn’t know how to respond to that, but she does know what the Queen means. She thinks of Aegon. Her children. Her family. They will be wiped out for this woman, and yet Alicent still finds herself drawn in.

(How terrible. How rotten.)

“…I had to see you. I owed it to my old friend,” Rhaenyra continues. She speaks so simply. Maybe it was that simple. Someone checking on an old friend. There is a sweet innocence to it. Or perhaps naivety.

“Can you fault me for that?” Rhaenyra asks. So genuine. Alicent cannot help but be taken aback.

She blinks. “No,” is all she can manage to say.

(She does not trust her voice. Does not trust her own truth.)

Rhaenyra takes an uneasy breath. There’s something on her mind. Something she wishes to say, but she just shakes her head, letting it go.

“Alright. I will…leave you to your thoughts now. The maester will come shortly,”

Rhaenyra turns to leave, but she hesitates. Her fingers are against the doorknob and she does not turn it. She just stands there, back rigid, debating with herself, before she looks over her shoulder at Alicent.

“I wish to visit you again. Would that be alright?” she asks, as if Alicent truly has a choice, as if she is not the Queen.

Alicent hesitates. Maybe she did have a choice. Maybe she could refuse Rhaenyra right here and right now and put an end to this madness.

She can’t do that. No. She doesn’t want to do that. She’s far too weak to fight this urge within her.

(The deviance spreads.)

“Y-Yes,” is all Alicent says. And the relief that floods her is quite comforting. Her chest is now able to breathe a bit more evenly.

(“Whether I will or no,” That’s what she had said. Was there a part of her that felt this too? This connection? This pull?)

Rhaenyra smiles softly. “Then, I will return,” She looks relieved too. She bows her head slightly as a silent goodbye before she leaves, and the room feels too cold now. Too quiet.

Alicent, who had spent the whole visit trying to get Rhaenyra to leave, wonders when she will come back.

Chapter Text

It’s not for another week until Rhaenyra visits again. This time, she seems in a subdued mood like the wind had been taken out of her sails. Something must have happened, but Alicent refuses to ask as Rhaenyra enters and sits on the couch like she is a guest, not an the Queen.

“Your Grace,” Alicent nods politely. She does not feel as fragile as she did in their last interaction. No, she can put up the facade now. The mask is so easy to slip right back on.

(She has spent her days praying and reading and praying and reading. She soaks up histories and she begs for absolution. She reads of childish love stories and she prays the deviance in her soul away. She reads of the doom of Valyria and she thinks of her sons, her family, her father.)

(Her hands have never looked worse. Dried blood is caked around nearly every nail. She keeps them behind her back.)

“You seem in better spirits,” Rhaenyra muses. “I was hoping to check in on your condition,” She’s being honest. Alicent can tell. She’s got that look in her purple eyes. She gets it when she’s cooing over Syrax or sweetly comforting her young boys.

Alicent looks away. To the floor. “I have been praying more,”

“Good. That is good,”

There is a brief moment of awkward silence. Alicent isn’t sure what to do with herself. She isn’t sure if Rhaenyra even knows what she’s doing either.

“And what of you, Your Grace?” she finally asks.

Rhaenyra looks taken aback at the question. Alicent continues on, “How do you fair? The loss of your sons, the war… I wonder if you had a moment to grieve,”

Rhaenyra looks at her rings, spinning the one on her pinkie, as she ponders how to react, and then she just sighs. Her shoulders drop, and with it, all the formalities and decorum of the Queen.

“I have not, to be truthful. I find myself pulled all over the realm. I have no moment,”

“Yet you find time to visit me,” Alicent says without thinking.

“Yes, I… I do not know what you are to me now,” Rhaenyra says. She’s looking at Alicent, really looking at her. “You are at times a loyal friend and a most conniving enemy. You hold purpose in your imprisonment as it taunts my enemy. Aemond is furious, I have heard. Yet, I find it hard to see you solely as a piece on the board,”

“I am only a bargaining chip,” Alicent says. She feels stiff like ice had hardened inside her, inside her joints, her heart. “I have no purpose beyond that,”

“Perhaps. And yet I am here, floundering because your company still comforts me despite everything,” Rhaenyra murmurs. She rubs her forehead like she’s pushing away a headache. Her eyes close and she moves to rub the bridge of her nose. “I have an army, a grand family, allies and advisors, and yet I am lonely,”

“So am I to be your companion as well?” Alicent asks, carefully. Careful not to sound enthused or upset. Careful to be still and neutral and normal.

(The deviance is creeping. She will need to burn it out. Claw it out. Expel it before it comes out.)

“I am not sure. I just know that I wanted to see you,” Rhaenyra admits. She stands up and sighs, exasperated. The war is grinding into her. Alicent hadn’t noticed the bags under her eyes before she sat. The crown is heavy on her head.

She isn’t sure what to say so she remains honest and says in the same even tone, “I do not think I have anything special to provide that your allies and advisors cannot,”

“You know me. You truly know me. You are…compelling,”

Alicent hesitates. “Compelling?”

“Yes, we are quite volatile, but yet, we are always drawn together. No matter what side of the war we are on,”

“That is the matter at hand, Rhaenyra! I am on your side,” Alicent presses. The irritation is bubbling. Push it down. Push it down. Her hand is on her neck, rubbing the skin as if she could physically do it. “I am unsure how else to further prove it. I have surrendered myself. I have told you what I know. I have nothing left to give beyond my life. I wish to be free, Rhaenyra. I want to leave,” she pleads.

“You are on my side and yet you want to escape,” Rhaenyra says coldly. “Gods, you still believe you can escape this all, don’t you? You can find a way out of a war you designed,”

Alicent tries to remain calm, but the tension is slightly leaking with each word. “The council had been secretly meeting without me. This war would have always - “

“And the poison you dripped in your sons’ ears? And the rumors of my boys? What of that?” Rhaenyra says evenly. She hardly wears the facade well. She’s sitting up straighter, the muscle of her jaw flexes, her eyes aflame.

“Rumors imply falsehoods. I was never untrue,” Alicent snaps. A reflex.

The Queen jumps from her chair. “You pushed my sons into social exile! You tarnished their reputation in court, and yes, the rumors would have existed without you, but you did not need to spearhead them so,” Her chest is heaving. “I had not considered you to be that cruel before,” Voice thick with emotion.

Alicent finds it hard to swallow. She remembers how crazy she felt. How could no one else see it? It was an affront to duty to parade bastards around. An affront to the crown, to decency itself. No. Bastards are wicked, but then she thinks of little Lucerys. He was always a cute child. He never made eye contact with her again after Driftmark. He didn’t look very wicked at all, just scared.

(Eye for an eye. Son for a son. Blood for blood until they are drenched in it.)

She hesitates, mulls it over, takes a shaky breath. “It was…a difficult time, but in light of everything, I wish I had been kinder…to the princes and yourself. I wish I…” She picks and picks her nails. “I regret my behavior, but I hope to make amends. Mother to mother, and perhaps, with time, I can receive the freedom I was promised,”

Rhaenyra presses her lips together. She seems so exhausted. She drops down to the couch, sinking in. She groans into her palms, drops her hands, and looks up at Alicent. And there is so much vulnerability there. So much sincerity.

“What would you have me do?” Rhaenyra asks. She’s nearly pleading. “Speak as the Dowager Queen who once sat on the Small Council. Hm? You are clever. You understand. I have a boy-king slaying innocents, ravaging the Riverlands, and, here, I hold the perfect hostage to entice him. What would you have me do?”

“It would be…foolish to disregard the hostage,” Alicent admits. She wonders if she would do the same to Rhaenyra if they were in switched positions. She picks at her nails, enjoying the sting. “You will hold me hostage until you decide how to use this to support your position? Am I to be bait? Or do you plan to exchange me? I would like to be made aware of the mediations for my head,”

“We have not decided yet the proper course of action…” Rhaenyra winces. At least she feels some semblance of guilt. “But that does not mean your time at the Red Keep has to be a grim sentence. There are accommodation we can discuss, and perhaps we could use the opportunity to heal old wounds, mend these bridges that divide us so, and enjoy each other’s company,”

“You act as if it’s easy,” Alicent rolls her eyes. “Then, you wish to replicate our girlhood? Starve off your loneliness with debates and our shared history?”

“We were friends once. Maybe we can be again,”

“Too much has happened,” Alicent shakes her head, and she isn’t sure why she is saying that. It is true, sure, but these brief meetings with Rhaenyra are infuriating and, well, compelling as she had put it. Alicent does not want this to end, does not want to push Rhaenyra so far away, but it seems like the only thing she can do.

(She’s drawing fresh blood. She doesn’t care.)

“Yes, that is true…” the Queen murmurs to herself. “But I would like to believe that better things can happen still,” She sighs, rubs her forehead again, smoothing the wrinkles of age and stress, and then moves toward the door. “Get some rest, Alicent,”

Alicent says nothing as she leaves.

(She throws up in her chamberpot once the door locks shut once more.)

—-

They permit her to go to the Sept. Her hands are chained. She is led by guards, and she knows the commonfolk will see her. They will all see and they will know now the truth.

The Queen in Chains.

Alicent is sure that this is meant more as a message to Aemond rather than a reward for Alicent. He will hear about this and he will be furious and make a mistake. They are sure of it.

The people jeer as she walks. She has guards all around, but they cannot stop the shouting, the mocking, the lewd noises.

They say twisted things. Things normally they would have their head for. But she is nothing now, and they are free to say what they wish. So, they shout and scream how they will assault her, finally make her smile, the frigid queen. They holler for her that she is damned, dammed for bringing this war, for starving them, for everything and everything.

(She thinks of the panic, the healing wound on her arm, scrubbing fish blood from her hair.)

By the time she’s inside the Sept, she’s pushing her nails so tight in her hands. The wounds sting. She ignores it and moves to pray to the gods, bowing her head, remaining on her knees, silent and ready to serve.

She prays for her sons’ lives, for guidance in how to handle Rhaenyra, for salvation. To cleanse her soul. To absolve her.

She prays to the gods with blood on her hands.

Chapter Text

Jaehaera is a cute child. Her eyes are big and bright, but she does not smile. She does not cry. She sits and she plays with her lips pressed together.

Alicent watches her gently moving the little dragon figurine around. Her little hands are chubby and she smashes the toy against a wooden sheep.

(She will never know her uncles. She may never see her father. She won’t remember Viserys.)

She had been granted visitation for today. A gift from Rhaenyra, some sort of peace offering, Alicent imagines. She would not know as the guards only informed her in the morning, but she will not complain, not say anything, to possibly get this taken away. These moments are precious now.

Now that Alicent is older, wiser, a woman full grown, she knows the ways of being a mother. It did not come naturally to her. It was performative and exhausting and wrong, but now that she was older, she did not need to fake the tenderness in her heart, the genuine love she had for the babe, the patience, the kindness, the gentleness.

(It was easier that she did not have to remember the painful, awkward nights it took to make the children in the first place. She did not have to have his seed dripping down her leg, his rotting heavy body on top of her, his sweat permeating her nose.)

She wonders what would have become of her children if she had them when she was ready. If she had been the mother they had deserved then. She thinks of the nights she cried harder than her babe. Nights where she considered teetering over the edge of the balcony with Helaena in hand. Nights of gulping wine to put up with the brain numbing hours in the nursery, her face cold, but her body far too warm. Maybe it had nothing to do with age or time or the partner you have, maybe the rot was in Alicent from the very beginning. Maybe she was never going to be a good mother. Maybe she just didn’t have it in her.

(Maybe, maybe, maybe.)

Alicent strokes her white hair, looks at those purple eyes, and tries to stay hopeful that she’ll forget this all one day. One day, she’ll be free, and she’ll be better than all of them.

—-

The guards are escorting her back to her own room from the nursery. She is able to walk without chains within the castle, but it is uncomfortable to move past those you once held power over.

And they all knew how powerless she was. If the guards did not prove it, her new dresses - all pale yellows and limp and lifeless, somehow already too big on her frame - did not help.

(She was withering away. Withering far away.)

Her hair was never braided any longer. Always down. Her chest and ears and wrists held no gold, no jewelry. She looked commonborn. If she was in court, she knew she would be ruthless in her commentary. The ladies must be enjoying this. How exciting to see the downfall of the Hightowers in the flesh.

She kept her head down as she moved through the Keep, but she caught sight of silver hair. Alicent’s heart seizes. Rhaenyra is marching through the Keep, avidly talking to some woman. Her hands are flying as she speaks, and then her eyes connect with Alicent. Whatever she had been talking about dies in her throat, Rhaenyra is staring at her, and her features relax. The problem forgotten.

“Alicent,” the Queen smiles.

“Your Grace,” She bows her head slightly.

“It is good to see you out and about. I take it your visit with your grandchild went well,”

She’s playing with her rings. She always did that when she was nervous, but there was no need. Alicent had two guards closely following her, leading her through the Keep. Rhaenyra had the upper hand in all matters.

(The crown fits so right on her head.)

“Yea, I…” Alicent falters. She’s being stared down, she realizes, by a woman. Dark hair. Silvery robe. Slender features. This woman had been walking with Rhaenyra earlier. She turns to face the woman suddenly yet the woman did not flinch under her gaze.

Alicent plasters a perfectly kind smile. “I apologize for my rudeness. I don’t believe we have been introduced,”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two women. It’s her who does the e introducing though she looks like she’d rather not. “Lady Mysaria. This is the Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower,”

“Mysaria…” Alicent mumbles before it clicks.

(The White Worm. The Whore. The stories. The past.)

“It is a pleasure to meet you. The Queen speaks highly of you. I have heard many tales of your childhood exploits,” Mysaria speaks kindly, but her eyes are telling another story. They’re tearing the Dowager Queen apart.

Alicent must look weak to her. A husk. She hides her hands behind her back quickly. Rhaenyra’s gaze drops to the floor.

And for some reason, her phrasing only stirs anxiety and fear in Alicent. What had Rhaenyra told her? How much had she told her?

(Did she tell her about under the weirwood tree. Alicent’s mother was so mad, she nearly lost her voice from all the screaming.)

(Alicent’s lips were still tingling the whole time.)

“Lady Mysaria is one of my most trusted advisors and truest friends,” Rhaenyra interrupts. “There are matters of the state that are more pressing at this time. We cannot dally,” She hesitates. “I will try to visit soon, Alicent,”

“Yes, your grace,” Alicent accepts the dismissal.

(She would accept the crumbs of Rhaenyra’s attention. She would live off it for a lifetime.)

Rhaenyra nods and then she’s off, walking with her back straight. Her crown is glistening. Regal. Beautiful. Powerful.

Alicent hates the uncomfortable squirm in her stomach as she watches the two women head off. They walk so close together, and Mysaria’s head leans over to whisper in Rhaenyra’s ear. And the Queen is smiling and whispering back as they turn the corner, away from Alicent’s heavy gaze.

The guards clear their throat.

Her face feels hot. “Right, apologies,” She follows them back to her own quarters and tries not to focus on the tightness in her chest, the sickness in her stomach.

—-

Rhaenyra surprisingly does stay true to her word and visits that very night. She comes with a posse of servants that turn Alicent’s table into a little feast.

“I would like to sup with you,”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Alicent nods.

Rhaenyra’s eyebrows shoot up. Had she expected a fight? Or was it the use of proper decorum, proper respect, or the easiness of Alicent’s tone? She can’t possibly turn down the Queen and the food has already been set, ready for them. It would be rude to deny this.

“Can I ask…” Alicent starts but frowns.

“What? Speak plainly,”

“Well, can I ask how a Queen befriends a common whore?”

“She is not very common,”

Alicent frowns, confused. “She was Daemon’s, wasn’t she?”

“And now she is mine,” Rhaenyra says, and Alicent physically winces like instead she’s been struck with a hand, not words. The Queen just continues as if she had not noticed thankfully, “She came to me in a very vulnerable position after being betrayed by your father. She encourages me, offers wisdom, and has a clever eye. She sees things I miss. Those are the makings for a good friend, a good confidant,”

“You speak fondly of her,” Alicent’s face is hot.

Rhaenyra considers her for a second. She opens her mouth and then closes, shakes her head, and returns her attention the plate. The gesture, for some reason, irks Alicent. It irks her so much her face feels hotter.

“What? What is it? You were going to say something,”

“No, no… I did not want to start an argument,”

“It seems the only thing we are truly capable of doing,” Alicent admits sheepishly, trying to lighten the mood.

Rhaenyra chuckles at that.

“Tell me, Your Grace, the words you hold back,” she presses on. And there’s a part of her that wants the Queen to refuse again and another part that wants Rhaenyra to twist the knife, make it painful and brutally honest.

Rhaenyra laughs and tosses her head back and sighs. Always the petulant child. “I was going to ask why the sudden interest in Lady Mysaria. You have many questions. Surely, you are not considering employing her for yourself,”

“That is not something to jest about,” Alicent frowns. Her good mood is replaced with an icy feeling. They’re nearing something. Inching towards it, she can feel it. There’s a conversation that will unravel and unravel until they hit it.

Rhaenyra seems to be helping Alicent to it like coaxing a child in lessons. Alicent would rather grit her teeth and avoid it forever.

“And why is that, Alicent?”

“Do not make me explain it,” Alicent’s hands are trembling slightly, and the little she ate seems to be unsteady within her. She feels trapped like a wounded animal, and now the dragon is going to eat her.

Rhaenyra remains silent. Her eyes are far too knowing, and Alicent huffs and relents. “It is a sin in the eyes of the Faith, in the eyes of the Seven. It is a deviance that must not be acted upon,”

“Hm. Valyrians don’t hold such stiff, prudish rules,” Rhaenyra says. She thinks for a moment. Alicent tries not to dwell that Rhaenyra is too relaxed for this conversation. Was this a simple dinner conversation for her?

(Why couldn’t it be simple for Alicent?)

“Laenor preferred to speak of it as if we had certain tastes. For instance, I enjoy roast duck and goose, but you… You may have other interests. It is all as natural as what you prefer to dine on,”

(Deviance. Sin. Soft lips on her own. Warm hands in her hair. No. Not now.)

Alicent drops her cutlery down. “Do you enjoy vexing me?” she snaps. “Is that your purpose here? Your dinner and your visits and your teasing. It is unbecoming, Rhaenyra,”

She knows she is being dramatic and she knows she is making a scene. She is being too defensive and too loud and she cannot stop it.

Rhaenyra blinks, entirely nonplussed by the outburst. She takes a long sip of her wine, sets the glass down, and before she speaks, “You have always been oh so, very virtuous. Tell me. You mentioned at Dragonstone that you took a lover. How does the frigid queen wind up in an affair?”

“T-That isn’t any of your business,” Alicent mumbles. The embers of her rage still flickering within her. She clenches her hand, eases, clenches again, doing anything to distract from how her breathing is growing difficult, her skin feels too tight against her bones, her body is burning up.

Rhaenyra says nothing. She’s giving her space again to either fill the silence or succumb to it. It is unnerving how all it takes is those purple eyes peering into her soul, seeing her, looking right at her.

(She must know. She must. She must look at Alicent, weak and wrong and horrible and rotten. She must know how rotten she is. To the core. To the core.)

“Criston Cole,” she speaks up. “My lover… It was Cole. We had a friendship over the years,”

“Over your mutual hatred over me,” Rhaenyra adds under her breath. “How very romantic,”

“And once my husband died, Aegon was king, my father was finally content, and, finally, I thought to myself that I could find and pursue a version of happiness that was of my own design. Not my fathers, not your fathers. Just mine,”

“Did it live up to all your expectations?”

She cringes. “You speak crudely,”

“I speak plainly,” Rhaenyra corrects patiently. “You have villainized me for years over traits that just define us as human. The natural desires, lust, passion - you somehow turned these into disgust, lewd, and wrong. It is not wrong to want someone,”

“It is wrong to flaunt it,” Alicent insists. “To make a mockery of marriage between man and woman,”

“And your affair? What of that?”

Alicent looks down at her mangled hands. She wishes Rhaenyra would just leave her alone. She’s always done this. She pushes and pushes and pushes until Alicent tips.

“I would never while Viserys… No, it was after, but it made me feel…unclean. It was a sin to succumb to lust so frivolously even in the wake of my late husband. A sin the gods have punished me for,”

“Alicent,”

“It was a mistake. Truly,” she continues. “There was no happiness to be found there,” She picks up her fork to give her hands something else to do and she cuts at her meat as if she will eat it. But she’s far too anxious and feels too sickly to eat anything else. No, she just moves the food around her plate while Rhaenyra eats slowly. Her eyes are trained on her.

She wishes Rhaeynra would just let this be. Why must they talk about this? Her skin is crawling. Her anxiety is nearly unbearable, crushing into her. She feels smaller than ever.

Rhaeynra takes another long sip of wine before she leans back in her chair, taking Alicent in.

“I often think your faith is a useful shield for you,” the Queen says carefully. She’s edging closer and closer to the unspoken between them. Closer and closer. “But it does seem to block out quite a lot of good as well,”

“Let us be done with this, Rhaenyra. T-This is all ridiculous. I-I was curious about Mysaria, is all, and now I know. Alright? You Targaryens have strange customs, but I am a Hightower. I follow the Faith of the Seven, and I will not b-be tempted,”

“Tempted?” Rhaenyra barks out a laugh. “You are being serious, aren’t you? Alicent, I do not mean to upset you,”

“All you do is upset me! You possess this power over me to draw me absolutely mad!” she yells, and she isn’t even sure why she’s yelling. She covers her face in her hands. Her eyes are stinging. She feels foolish and stupid and young all of a sudden like she’s afraid of getting in trouble with the Septa.

“If it helps,” There’s a hand now on Alicent’s shoulder. It’s warm and comforting. Rhaenyra’s voice is steady, strong. “You drive me mad as well,”

Alicent lets her hands fall and exhales loudly. She’s aware now between them that she is the petulant child here.

Rhaenyra just grins cheekily. “Did you enjoy your relations with Cole?” she asks.

“Rhaenyra! Please!”

“Alicent, indulge me some more. Was it more than fulfilling desires?”

“No,” she says bluntly. “I do not love Cole more than I would a friend. It was a means to an end,” She shakes her head like she’s ridding herself of the thoughts, of it all. “You ask too many questions. You are so curious of my personal affairs,”

“I only wish for a fair exchange of information. You can press me on my affairs but I cannot press you on yours?”

Alicent pushes her vegetables around. She will not look up. She will not look up. “So you and Lady Mysaria are having an affair then?”

Rhaenyra laughs. Of course, she laughs, and it’s loud and comes from her chest. “You are ridiculous!” she gasps.

“I was merely clarifying - “

“All this high and mighty talk, wishing not to discuss topics of your life, but it seems topics of my own interest you greatly. Why so curious, Alicent?”

“I’m not,” she frowns, stubbornly. “Merely making conversation,”

“Truly a lovely, easy conversation we’re having,”

“Yes, very enjoyable,” Sarcasm dripping with every word. She clutched her silverware even tighter like she could somehow manage to crush it.

They are quiet for a long moment. Neither touches their plates, but they both reach for their drinks. Alicent digs her nails into her palms to avoid the itch of tearing at her skin with her teeth. She mustn’t do that in front of the Queen. Though, she has long ago surrendered her put-together image and her composure. Now, she’s just Alicent, messy and imperfect with bloody nails and scratches and her gods and her fears. Whatever Rhaenyra found compelling about her, surely, will disappear after this dinner.

Alicent chews her lip but relents. She is no longer the queen between them. She is at Rhaenyra’s whim and it is best not to bite the hand that feeds her. She tries to seem as impassive and calm as possible, steeling herself.

“I enjoyed our meal, Your Grace, but the hour grows late, and I am unfortunately in desperate need of sleep. I thank you for a most hospitable meal,”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra stands from her seat. “I did not mean to upset you tonight. I wanted to understand you better,”

“Do you?”

The Queen smiles for a half a second before it falls. She bobs her head. “Yes, yes I think I am starting to again,”

Chapter Text

It was easy to fall into a routine as the days stretched on. She would spend several days alone in her room, reading and praying and embroidering and dwelling.

Then, she would get either an escorted trip to the Sept, Helaena’s room, or the nursery where Jaehaera and sometimes Helaena were waiting for her. When the time came, she could not deny these trips. The guards would take her there whether she willed or not. It must be some way to keep her mind more active or perhaps Rhaenyra was an avid proponent of tough love.

Once a week typically, Rhaenyra, herself, would trip down to Alicent’s room. It too had a routine. She would come in dark reds and blacks, bejeweled and crowned. It was always in the evening. Sometimes, she would come with servants and food. Often, she did not. She would stay for a little, poking and prodding, but always the more composed of the two, always the more quiet, the more aloof. Then, she would leave either when she upset Alicent to the brink of tears and screaming or left in her a deep depression or guilt and self-loathing.

It was a most interesting form of torture.

Alicent was beginning to crave it.

She would linger on her couch, eying the door every so often wondering if she would come in. Then, she began to daydream about how delicious it would be to finally put Rhaenyra in her place. To get the last word in. Or how a perfect reunion would be where they both cry and hug, and their problems are solved overnight.

And then, she begins to dream.

She’s standing at the edge of her doorway and Rhaenyra is there. She’s just staring at her like she does, like she’s unpuzzling her. But the look is of hunger. Her lips are parted. She wants something, and she walks forward, and Alicent obediently spreads her legs. She’s in a plain white shift, hair down, and she stares back at Rhaenyra with the same hunger. When their lips crash, they tumble back and roll to the left. Alicent is on top. Her hips are grinding, and then Rhaenyra pushes her down, now on top, and she enters her swiftly. She’s looking so smug. And it feels so good. Teeth digging into her neck. And Alicent moans and makes all the sinful noises and cries out to the gods and then Alicent wakes up.

She wakes up drenched in sweat. The shame spreads.

She begins a new routine inside her own chambers. She abandons her crafts and decides to use that time for more prayer. The gods must cleanse her.

She’s deviant. She’s wrong.

(She thinks of Targaryens. More like gods than men. So free spirited and not bogged down by constructs of society. They could have second wives. They could couple as men and men and women and women. They even took to marrying kin and bearing children that way.)

(Dragons can be free, flying high above it all. Above all of us. The Hightower was solid, unmoving, unwavering, and stuck down here on the ground.)

—-

Rhaenyra enters, drops her crown to the table, and plops unceremoniously onto the couch, and Alicent watches, frowning.

“You are drunk,” she yelps. She points an accusatory finger like she is catching a criminal rather than accosting the Queen.

Rhaenyra blinks, entirely unphased. “Yes. I am,” she says plainly.

“This is…” Alicent scrunches her face. “Perhaps, you should go to your chambers. This is not proper,”

“Do you truly care about what is proper or are you worried the alcohol has loosen my tongue?” Rhaenyra quirks a brow. Always so smug. Always so sharp. She motions with her chin to the table. “Go and fetch yourself some wine. We can loosen yours together,”

Alicent knows she is blushing. She tenses but says nothing. There’s a little thrill of this. She walks, picks up the flagon, and comes back, placing the wine on the table. She sets the two goblets, pours one for Rhaenyra, and moves to pour for herself and -

“More,” Rhaenyra says.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace?” Alicent is confused, but Rhaenyra just repeats herself.

Alicent nods. She keeps pouring more wine until it nearly overflows. She takes a deep drink, and Rhaenyra is grinning more like a dragon than man. She’s thinking the same thing - how unladylike this was, how the past Dowager Queen would be scandalized at the sight, and how it was reminiscent of the first time they stole wine together and chugged and grew sick.

Alicent smiles, wipes her lips, and sets the cup down, nearly half finished.

Rhaenyra fills her cup again. A challenge.

“Why are you drunk?” Alicent asks, slowing her pace before she repeats the sickness as well from their memory. “Did you have dinner with your family? Perhaps, your Small Council?” She tries to feign disinterest, but her voice is pitching higher. “Or, erm, with your friends, old and new,”

“Oh,” Rhaenyra laughs. She has such a carefree laugh. “You are trying to see if I was with the Lady Mysaria,”

“What?” Alicent draws back, stammering. “No. No, I’m just curious is all,”

“Oh, Ali. You are so easy to pick apart. I find there is no one I know better than you,” Rhaenyra is still laughing, but it nearly falters. She’s exposed something vulnerable there. She keeps grinning and points to Alicent’s drink. “And why the desire to match my pace? I had not expected you to relent especially without a fight,”

“I am a wine connoisseur. I could not turn down a taste of the realm’s finest”

“Bullshit,”

She winces. “Rhaenyra, please,”

“I am the Queen. I can fucking swear. Now, answer your Queen,”

Alicent rolls her eyes. She could picture Rhaenyra at fifteen saying the same thing. Nothing changes. “I simply grow bored being in my chambers. Numbing the mind to deal with you seems a proper alternative,”

“You hate me so,” Rhaenyra shakes her head with that smile like she’s marveling at it. “I do not know how we got here,”

“Truly?” Alicent snorts. She’s already feeling the effects of the wine. “We have had several arguments to the contrary,”

“No, I just mean - It is so easy to talk to you. I wonder why we talk and talk, but we do not find resolution. We never truly forgive,”

“There’s…too much. You had said so yourself,”

“Yes, or we have not reached the crucial problem,”

“I have no interest in doing so tonight,” Alicent says sternly. She will not be cornered. Not here. Not now, but Rhaenyra visibly relaxes.

“Me too,” she grins impishly. “I am simply here to have fun with my friend, Alicent,”

“I am your friend now again?”

“It sounds better than saying to have fun with my hostage,” Rhaenyra teases.

“Yes, well,” Alicent smiles into her cup. “I could not have asked for a better captor,” She drains her goblet and lets the red drip down her neck.

—-

They are on the floor, sitting across from one another. Alicent has her chin on her knees, feeling small as she sat there scrunched. Rhaenyra was the opposite. She laid like a starfish on the floor, stretching herself wide and imposing. Unafraid to take up space.

“Why are you here, Rhaenyra?” Alicent asks suddenly.

“You always question my intentions. Is it truly so absurd that I enjoy your company? I like my time with you, Alicent,”

“Yes, but why are you here tonight? The hour is late. You come to my quarter drunk and rowdy. You encourage my bad behavior, but why? What is the reason?” She's slurring a little. She can hear it. She feels as if she’s trying to throw a coin in a pot but the target is moving round and round, as she finds her words. “You must tell me at once. I must know,”

Rhaenyra picks herself up from the ground. She struggles for a moment. She works her jaw, just staring blankly, before she concedes, bowing her head. “I - “ She bites down hard. Her jaw flexes. She shakes her head and starts again. “I was celebrating the, erm, name day of one of my sons,”

Alicent felt her stomach drop but she had to ask. “Which son?”

“Oh, eh,” Rhaenyra starts, but her eyes are already tearing up. A shiver runs up her spine, bringing her to straighten her back, tightly clasping her hands together to conceal the effect. “My Lucerys. It is his name day,”

“Oh, Rhaenyra,” And Alicent surges forward, and the Queen collapses into her arms. Her body heaves with her sobs. She grips at the fabric of Alicent’s dress like she is in the anchor keeping her down.

(It is reminiscent of familiar, horrible times. When Alicent’s mother died. When then Rhaenyra’s had. Clutching each other and never letting go. Keeping each other here. Tethering them to something good.)

Alicent holds her tight. “There, there,” she tries to soothe. She then begins rubbing soothing circles on Rhaenyra’s back.

(The repetitive motion. She would like that, wouldn’t she?)

It takes a moment but Rhaenyra draws back, rubbing her eyes. “You are - “ She rubs her nose. “You are quite comforting,”

“I have been told that,” Alicent smiles, and it was meant to be just a throwaway remark, but something about it hangs in the air. Something thick and heavy that opens the chasm again.

(Viserys had squeezed her hand under the table. He smiled kindly at her before he dropped it. He brought his wine glass up, and he gave her that patronizing smile. But he at least he held her hand.)

“Right,” Rhaenyra backs up a bit. “I apologize for the - “

“Don’t do that,”

“What?”

“Pretend like I don’t know you. I know you, Rhaenyra,”

Rhaenyra purses her lips. There’s a dangerous thought that has reached her. Alicent can tell by the way her eyes shift, her posture stiffens. Her fingers move to her rings, spinning the little dragon around.

“There is a sensitive matter, and I fear I must bring it up now while I am numb,” She swallows thickly. Alicent braces herself and Rhaenyra says, voice shaking, “There will come a time when I must have Aemond’s head,”

Alicent doesn’t open her mouth.

“I will have to, Alicent. Not only to end this war, but out of justice. Justice for my boy,” Rhaenyra’s anger spikes out. The blood of the dragon runs hot. She pauses. “I hope when the time comes you will be understanding of the duty I face and the responsibilities I hold. I will act honorably, although it is not deserved, but the Queen’s justice will prevail,” She’s looking at her so intently, like she is the one who is queen between them. “Do you take issue with my decision?”

Alicent doesn’t trust herself. She can already feel her eyes prickling. The guilt and dread and nausea rise up within her. She cannot speak. She cannot.

(Selling another son without a word.)

She picks at her finger. Would she be able to be understanding? Aemond was different. Aegon was her father’s, the king’s. They neglected him surely but he was there’s. Aemond was her’s. Sweet Aemond who felt small, sensitive, eager to serve the realm. The one she would consider at times the most like herself.

Though, he’s grown sharp and tall and wicked and cold and monstrous as his dragon. Alicent could not deny it. No, she feared her son. Feared what he would do to Helaena. It was fear that compelled her to Dragonstone. Fear he would burn up Helaena like he had Aegon.

(Raising a man who would scorch his siblings for a crown. Disgusting. Vile.)

She shakes her head no. And the moment she does, her body shudders as if rejecting it all. She clasps a hand to her mouth. She could not tell if she opened her mouth if a sob would come out or a scream.

Rhaenyra stands up, voice stilted. “Thank you, Alicent, for keeping me company. I… I appreciate your allegiance, and tomorrow we can decide how to best move forward,” And she’s gone.

Chapter Text

In name, she remains a prisoner, but Rhaenyra lets her and her family roam the Red Keep at their own free will. They cannot leave the Keep and guards follow their move, but Helaena has no interest in the outside and Alicent is simply grateful for the ability to visit her daughter everyday, to pop into the nursery to see her Jaehaera.

Beyond that, Alicent does not leave her room much. There is no one in court she wishes to visit. She can’t stomach the idea of going to the hall to watch Rhaenyra listen to common folk. She has no interests in politics or the war. She has no need to go outside.

(She avoids the weirwood tree like the sight would end her.)

And there are no duties now. No husbands to tend to. No sons to manage. So Alicent stays in her bedroom, creating her own prison sentence. This is the most freedom Rhaenyra could possibly give her without losing the political capital of her as hostage. She should be content.

Alicent’s fingers twitch. She had seen Lady Mysaria today during one of her laps of the Keep in an attempt to do something.

The woman was speaking to someone, someone Alicent did not recognize. Her hair was dark, sleek, and ran down nearly to her lower back. She was dressed in a deep purple dress. A gold necklace is clasped, and Alicent wonders where she got it. The White Worm is powerful but was she wealthy? Or was it a gift from the Queen?

(She feels ill.)

Lady Mysaria notices her staring. She glances over her shoulder and wiggles her fingers in greeting. Or perhaps to mock her. To let her know “I see you and you do not bother me”.

(She’s no longer the queen. She’s weak now. Weak, weak, weak.)

Alicent leaves as fast as her feet can carry her. She spends the rest of the day in bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinking of everything and anything until she cannot bare it any longer. She is filled to the brim with regrets and longing, and she will not sit in it alone any longer.

She stands up in a huff and marches out. Her feet carry her before her head can realize where they are heading.

“I would like to seek audience with the Queen,”

“The hour is late - “

“Could you just see? Could you ask? Please,”

She knows it’s improper, gossip will surely spread if the guards murmur about this during shift changes, but she cannot go the night without seeing her. The guard nods, and, after confirming with Rhaenyra behind closed doors, welcomes her in.

(The model of Valyria has been moved out.)

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra gasps. She breaks out into a cheeky smile. “This is a surprise,” She’s in a soft blue robe that is over her white shift, concealing her figure. It’s her mother’s colors, Alicent notices, which eases her for some reason.

“I wished to see you,”

“Now you have,” Rhaenyra says, though not unkindly. She sits down where her father had sat so many times before, where he would lecture at Alicent and grumble. “I am glad to see you. I had considered visiting you, but I returned from the Small Council late and did not want to disturb your slumber,”

“I find sleep elusive these days, Your Grace,”

Rhaenyra hums in agreement but says nothing else.

“I think of our last conversation, and I come to plead for the case of Daeron,”

“Oh,”

“Yes, he is my only good child. He was removed from me, kept safe. He grew wonderfully as a result I am told from my brother,” Alicent bows her head down, finding it uncomfortable to keep the eye contact. “And I know you must seek the Queen’s justice, but for my boy - “

“If he bends the knee, I will spare him,”

“You are merciful,”

“I am tired,” Rhaenyra counters with a pitiful laugh. She hangs her head back. “It seems every Small Council I play a familiar game of constantly disappointing. I am either a coward or cruel. It seems they cannot decide how to respect, not myself, but my sex. And I am to become a kinslayer, and my boys - “ She inhales sharply. “No, I have given too much. The crown… All it does is take. This is the price. My father withered away, bit by bit, as the crown consumed him,”

“Your father was… He was never suited for the position. He wanted to please everyone. He was far too lenient with you,” She’s careful to say that kindly. “He was too demanding on me. The heirs and spares and the insistence on boys that he never spent time with just to please my father. Aemond once jested that Viserys simply just loved throwing parties and tourneys for their name days,” She presses her lips together, wills herself to stay calm. Inhale. Exhale.

(Sweet Aemond. Her Aemond.)

“We have given much to this war,” Rhaenyra says. She shifts in her seat, trying to distract herself away from whatever pacing thought. Then, runs her fingers along her arm. No. Not just her arm. Her scar.

(“We will speak no more of it,”)

Rhaenyra swallows thickly. “I did not expect the crown to be this heavy,”

“Most don’t. Viserys paid his price in the end. All his indecision led to this carnage, this bloodshed among those he loved most,” Alicent says quietly. “But also the tension, the dark gloom that hovered over us for the past decades. He only got to sup with the entirety of his house at the very end. It was if he was holding on until then,”

Rhaenyra is quiet. Her eyes are welling with tears, but she does not acknowledge it. She instead looks off to the fire. It flickers and grows and eats away at the wood. “All my mistakes, my suffering, my woes… It will be written about. This is my legacy. This is it,” Her expression falls. “How I wished it passed through the blood of my sons rather than ink on a page,”

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent finds her own eyes welling up. She feels it all.

Rhaenyra drops her head down, takes a long deep breath, and tries to shift back into the Queen, tries to compose herself. “I am afraid this subject is one I cannot dwell on for long. It is fruitless. I have to protect my house, my sons, and our histories. I must persevere as my father did and his father before him,” She nods, a final confirmation to herself and tries to appear more relaxed. “It seems all your scolding was to prepare me for this future,”

“I… Yes, I am…” Alicent isn’t sure how to finish that thought. Instead, she settles on a truth.

“I never wanted to marry your father,”

Rhaenyra grows still.

“My father instructed that I visit the King to comfort him in his grief and I did. Perhaps not in the way my father intended, but I befriended Viserys, read to him, listened to him. He was a great man. I grew to love him, and I think he loved me. Though the love was not of husband and wife. We had an understanding in that sense, unspoken and never addressed. I was there for duty alone. It was a good marriage,” she says. “B-But,” She takes a shuddering breath. “There was a part of me that wished I had taken you up on your offer,”

“My offer? I do not understand,”

“To fly across the Narrow Sea and eat only cake,” Alicent muses, and she suddenly feels silly. A passing comment and she had turned it into something more. Her happy place, her saving grace when things grew too rough in the Keep. She would imagine escaping, flying, freedom.

“Truthfully, I had many dreams then. None grounded in reality,” Rhaenyra says. Alicent draws back as if physically pricked by the Queen’s words

“I misspoke,” she quickly adds. “I meant that I had many adventures I wished to do with you. They have blended in my mind over time,” She looks at Alicent as if she’s trying to figure something out. Her eyes narrow slightly. There’s a question. She can see it form in Rhaenyra’s head.

“If that is how you felt, Alicent, why the animosity over the years?”

“It was easier to succumb to my petty urges, to dig my heels in, than admit the…the deep rooted regret of it all,” Alicent says. She feels tired suddenly like she has reached the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Rhaenyra stands up, makes her way to the table, and pours them some wine before she edges closer to the chair, but she does not sit. She stands and she looks down at Alicent. Dressed for slumber and somehow she looks so regal still. So beautiful.

“I wish you had not lied to me about Daemon and Cole,” Alicent continues. She’s on a roll now. The truth spills from her lips, almost desperately. “I wish you had not let me defend you so blindly at the expense of my own father. I wish you would not have done it at all. Not with them. I never understood it,”

“What? What do you not understand?”

“Y-Your,” Alicent’s face is growing pink. She wrestles with her fingers. “Your…obsession with men,”

“Obsession?” Rhaenyra chuckles. She sits down now and takes a gentle swig before she ends up chuckling again. “It is not an obsession. It is appreciation,”

“I never had that,”

“What?”

She almost wishes not to answer. The honesty is vulnerable, exposing, as if she were naked in this chair instead. “An appreciation for men…in that way,” Alicent admits, and Rhaenyra is looking at her so intently you would have thought Alicent was still the queen. But no. Rhaenyra is clinging to every word, sitting now on the edge of her seat. She does not speak, letting the wounded animal that is Alicent crawl to her with every word.

“It is possible that I may have also been…cruel out of jealousy. Jealousy, perhaps, because it was so easy for you to live the life you desired, to do as you please. You found motherhood effortless. Y-You could…” She winces but she can’t stop. “You could just as effortlessly appreciate men in a way I could not. It was easier to hate you rather than admit my own suffering. I wish to apologize,”

“I have been equally cruel in turn. Every jape I have matched tenfold,”

“Yes but only in reaction to my own hostility. And you were never cruel. Obnoxious, surely, but you bare a gentle soul despite your dragon blood,”

Rhaenyra smiles softly. “You paint a kind portrait of myself. Though, I do not think it is entirely deserving. Life is not just divided between good and bad, black and white. There is much gray. Your faith twists you so. You perceive yourself as either the very image of the Maiden or a sinner meant for the Seven Hells,”

The words sting but there’s a truth to them. Alicent nods.

She needs to shift the conversation, but she had not entirely thought it through. “I saw Lady Mysaria. Briefly. In the halls. We did not speak,” The words come rushing out of Alicent. Another confession. “She seems nice,”

“Yes, she is,”

“Do you love her?”

Rhaenyra looks like she wants to laugh again, to diffuse the intensity, but she pushes it down and replies, “In my own way, but it more of a means to an end as you described with Cole,”

“Yes, that was a rare moment of bravery for me,”

“You are plenty brave,”

“We both know that is not true. I would rather sit and read in a carriage alone, waiting for you, than ever fly on Syrax. I could not tell you about my father’s puppeteering of my relationship with your own father out of a petrifying fear I’d lose you. Then, I did. Everything I have ever done, everything I am, is in service to men,”

“I find you plenty brave,” Rhaenyra says, but then she tilts her head slightly. And Alicent’s stomach drops. “Why does Lady Mysaria bother you so?”

“She does not,”

“You seem vexed,”

“Yes, well, that is a common occurrence when I am around you,”

“Speak truthfully, Alicent. There are no men around to whisper in your ear, to pull your strings. There is just you and me,”

Alicent wants to huff, to make a joke, to storm out. But she cannot bring herself to leave. She is planted, controlled by Rhaenyra’s whims and desire. And she would do anything for her. Anything. She opens her mouth, sputtering, trying to organize her thoughts.

“I…I am afraid,” she admits.

“I do not under - “

“Afraid that I’m losing you again,”

“Because of Lady Mysaria?”

“Yes? No? I do not know. I feel as if I have caught a butterfly and I do not wish it to fly from my palm but it is an inevitability. I sound…childish. Gods, I am sorry, Rhaenyra. I had no intention of this. I - “ She strongly shakes her head. She shouldn’t speak. She can’t speak, and Rhaenyra is still staring at her but there is no judgment. There is nothing but admiration gleaming in those purple eyes.

“What you must think of me…” Alicent mumbles, but Rhaenyra frowns and squeezes her knee.

“Alicent, I think the world of you,”

And in a moment of unfound bravery, Alicent rushes forward. Her lips reach Rhaenyra’s, and the moment is soft but fleeting. The Queen’s lips are warm and taste of wine, but they do not move. Rhaenyra is stiff from the shock, maybe disgust, maybe horror, and Alicent draws back.

This was wrong. This was all wrong.

(You are a sinner. You are damned.)

“I - I have to go,”

“Alicent, please!”

“No, this is wrong. This is - “ Sin. Deviance. Seven Hells. “I am so sorry, Rhaenyra. I have overstepped. I-I have acted improperly. I have assaulted the Queen. I - “

“Assaulted? Alicent, please, may we discuss this - “

“I need to go,” She cannot breathe. Why can’t she breathe? She has a hand to her chest, but it’s not working. Her breaths are ragged. Wrong. She is wrong. She is crying now.

“Ali - “

“No, no. I need to go,” And Alicent is gone in a flurry of tears. Her chest is heaving, and she runs past the guards, runs past everyone, runs and runs until she reaches her room. And only then, she completely falls apart.

Chapter Text

When Alicent wakes, she feels foggy like her head was filled with cotton. Her limbs feel heavy and sluggish, and there is someone staring at her.

She makes out white hair, and her chest restricts, but - No, that is Helaena. Her sweet girl.

“I figured you would like some company, mother,” Helaena says, beaming at her.

“Uh, dearest,” Alicent tries to sit up, but she feels uneasy. Something is off. “I don’t - “

“They gave you the milk of the poppy. To calm you. There is more should you require it, but I think you ought not to,” Helaena says in her typical airy fashion. She hums a little before she continues, “It’s important to see things clearly, I think. I will have two eyes open when I fall,”

“Uh, yes,” Alicent frowns, slightly confused.

She tries to recall the night, it comes in flashes. Painful. Embarrassing. Horrible flashes. She physically cringes.

She kissed Rhaenyra last night.

Gods.

She wishes that had just been a dream, but no, it was real. It happened. It really happened. She remembers fleeing, sobbing in her room, and then… Then, the guards came to check on her. She was making a lot of noise. Sobbing and screaming and - She glances around the room. There are books on the ground, green dresses in tatters. She had done this. Then, the maester came in, and the rest was blurry.

“The maesters told me you were unwell. Hysterical, actually, but they thought that phrasing may upset you,” Helaena muses. Ah, they would of course be whispering that she’s gone mad. No doubt the guards and the maester were spreading the gossip.

“Y-You are kind to check on me, sweetling, but I am alright,”

“You don’t seem alright, actually, mother. If you were alright, you would not have been considered hysterical,”

Alicent flinches. “Yes, well, that was a…lapse of control last night. I behaved regretfully,”

“Or perhaps you behaved as you wished,”

“Did you…see anything in your dreams?” she carefully asks.

“No, I just see my mother. I truly see you,” Helaena leans forward in her chair. Her eyes wide and unblinking. “You have been a prisoner for some time, haven’t you?”

“A-As have you,” Alicent clasps her hand tightly, trying hard to maintain the composed, maternal role here. “We’ve done our duty to the realm, but it comes at great cost. This is the price of womanhood, dearest,”

Helaena seems to ignore this. She just looks up and then nods resolutely as if something has clicked. “It is genetic it seems. Grandsire hurts you. You hurt us. All in the name of duty,”

Alicent sighs, “Yes, I supposed…” She picks at her fingers. “Truthfully, I regret some of the choices I made for duty. I could have served my duty a different way. Perhaps, kinder,” She rips skin from her ring finger. Another confession. Another truth. “I have not always been the mother you and your brothers deserved,”

Helaena doesn’t say anything. Her attention drifts instead to the green dress on the floor. Their house colors. It almost feels like an insult, but to what? Alicent doesn’t know. She has not seen Oldtown since she was a small child. She has not see her uncle in years or was involved much with her family there nowadays. They all played their roles in this war, but Alicent didn’t quite fit as a Hightower any longer.

(And she is no Targaryen.)

(She is nothing.)

“It is nice to see you dressed in different colors,” Helaena smiles. “You can choose now for yourself which you like best. I like blues, I think. And yellows. My newest yellow dress is splendid,”

Alicent just smiles politely.

(She is nothing. She is nothing. But if she is nothing, then she is free to be something? Couldnt she? If there are no men, no houses, no history, no legacy - If she was truly nothing then nothing could stop her.)

(She feels feverish.)

“I don’t feel well, sweetling. Perhaps, I should sleep some more as the milk wears off,”

“Alright, mother,”

Alicent smiles to herself. “You can go,” she clarifies.

“Oh!” Helaena stands. “And what should I tell the Queen?”

“What?”

“Rhaenyra. She asked how you were fairing,”

Alicent wants to scream into her pillow. To crawl deep into the bed and die underneath the covers. Of course, if the guards were storming her room, finding her hysterically sobbing, even needing the maester to calm her, of course, of course the word would trickle back to the Queen. Of course. Gods.

She feels embarrassed, horrified, ill, sickly, and ashamed. So ashamed. So ashamed it burns up in her. Her chest getting smaller and smaller. Her heart pounding louder and louder.

Helaena surges forward, and it her who initiates the touch. She rarely does that. She surges forward and grabs Alicent’s hand.

“You are alright, mother,” Helaena assures her. Her voice is soft and melodic. “I am with you, and Jaehaera with me,”

“R-Right,” Alicent tries to speak, but her voice sounds strange. Strangled. “Can you pass me the milk of the poppy?” She needs this feeling to stop. She needs it all to stop.

“Oh,” And Helaena obeys, bringing the goblet over. Alicent takes a heavy gulp before handing it back. It courses through her, warm and comforting. She can feel it easing her muscles, easing her mind. She lays back as it rushes through her.

“Rhaenyra is with you too, mother. She was very concerned for you,” Helaena says as she places the goblet on the nightstand. “Oh, perhaps, when you feel better, we can pick new dresses. A new color. Just ours,”

Alicent smiles. The milk is starting to tickle her mind. “Yes. Yes I would like that. I have always loved blue,” And she does not recall if Helaena responded or if she said anything else on matter, all she knows is fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

—-

The next time she wakes, the room is far too dark for it to still be day. Instead, the room is illuminated by candles. Alicent groggily looks around. Everything feels heavy.

“You have slept much of the day. You will break your fast with me,”

Alicent closes her eyes tightly. She does not need to see to know it is Rhaenyra, to know she’s got that concerned stoic look to her, to know that it is an order, not a request.

Alicent is too tired for orders. She keeps her eyes closed like the very sight of Rhaenyra would weaken her resolve. “Go away. I am not well,”

“You will be worse off if you do not eat. You hardly eat anymore,”

“Ah,” Alicent’s eyes open, and she grabs onto a feeling to anchor her. A strong, cold feeling. “Have your little spiders whispered that in your ears?”

“I have eyes, Alicent”

“You should not be here. I will eat but only if you leave. You must leave,”

“Why must I leave? I do not understand,” Rhaenyra snaps. Finally, Alicent thinks. She wanted that composure to crumble. Drop the masks. Drop the facade. “I have been exceedingly patient, but it is wearing thin. You forget yourself. I am the Queen, and I will not spend my nights squabbling with you like children,”

“Then leave! Go!” Alicent cries out. “Are you not tired, Rhaenyra? We always do this,”

“Do what?”

“Hurt each other! I am tired! Tired of it! Let me be. I will be a ghost in these halls, and I will smile and be the perfect little captive, but why must we continue on with this prolonged torture?”

Rhaenyra stills. Her eyes flicker to the door for just a moment, but Alicent sees it. She sees the consideration, but the Queen drops her head.

“Go, Rhaenyra,”

“You kissed me last night,”

“Please, go,”

“Why did you kiss me?”

Alicent roughly shakes her head. “It was a mistake,”

“Was it? This time or the previous?” Rhaenyra challenges. She stands there looking so defiant, so strong.

(They were fourteen the first time. Nervous and giggling. And then once their lips touched, there was no laughter. They just melted into one another.)

(That is how Alicent’s mother found them - entangled underneath the weirwood tree. They never spoke of it again. Rhaenyra must have figured not to after Alicent returned with bloody fingers and a bruise on her wrist from when her mother dragged her out.)

(“Rhaenyra is the princess, a Targaryen. They engage in this sort of deviance, but we cannot. We are mortal, my love,” Alicent’s mother had said. She caresses her cheek, wiping the streams of tears. “I will not speak of this to your father if you do not carry on with this deviance. If not for me, do it for your soul. The gods cannot tolerate this sin. You do not wish to burn in the Seven Hells, Alicent,”)

Alicent falters, but Rhaenyra just grows stronger. She steps forward. “You seem so hellbent on hiding your true nature, but I know you, Alicent. I know you as well as you know me,”

Alicent is quiet. She gropes in the darkness for some of those embers of anger, but there is nothing there. No, she is not angry. She feels hollow. Small. Tired.

There are tears now, prickling her eyes, rolling down her cheeks. She lets them fall, lets the emotion into her voice as she murmurs, “The gods have ruined me,”

“Do not say such things,”

She shakes her head again, but this time softly. “They have twisted me and instilled me with perversions. Unnatural and - “

“How can the gods make mistakes? Hm? If the gods made you this way, if you spent your whole life trying otherwise and failed, should you not accept that your creation is intentional? Your creation is not inherently evil,”

Alicent doesn’t trust herself enough to speak. She keeps her mouth closed and lets her eyes speak for her. The tears keep falling, and Rhaenyra grows closer.

“I have always known your true nature, Alicent. There is no shame in this,”

Alicent shudders. No, this could not be. But there’s a war waging inside of her. It has been waging for ages and declared the moment she fell on those purple eyes.

Rhaenyra would be her undoing. Pulling at the thread of her tapestry. She was for duty, for her gods, for salvation. She had relented previously at Dragonstone and admitted that she clung to virtue, clung to these ideals out of defiance. Defiance of Rhaenyra, defiance of these damned feelings. That was the real truth. Underneath it all, Alicent could not help but feel the connection to Rhaenyra.

“For there is no shame in mine,” Rhaenyra finishes.

It was said so intently. Alicent felt herself growing warm, but for once not out of embarrassment. The connection was pulling them, pulling them closer and closer together.

There were forces beyond them willing this moment.

“Alicent, I find I long for the days we spent underneath the weirwood tree as girls. My head in your lap, your fingers in my hair. The way it was easy. The way it was warm,” Rhaenyra steps forward more. “I also long for the brief moments when I would see brief glimmers of hope in our exchanges. When I would catch you smiling at my jokes at the Small Council. Gods, Alicent. No matter the time that passes, it is always you. I am always drawn to you,”

Rhaenyra reaches forward and takes Alicent’s hands, separating them. She had been picking. Drawing blood. Serving her penance and yet, Alicent takes an unsteady breath. This connection. This craving. She needed Rhaenyra. Needed her close. It was not a whisper any longer but a scream that needed to be heard.

(She already had committed so many sins. Her soul was damned. Aegon. Aemond. It was done. Sins of a mother are the gravest.)

She also thinks of her moments alone when she was very still, submerged under the water, picturing and thinking about a moment like this. Dreaming of this. Craving this.

If she was already damned, what was one more sin?

Alicent moves deliberately. She moves slowly. Each moment is a moment of acceptance. Her hand on Rhaenyra’s face. Her slow lean forward. And Rhaeynra moves slowly as well, and she’s leaning. The tension is crackling. The connection is pulling.

And when they kiss they melt into each other. Soft slow movements. This is an apology. This is an acceptance. This is a new start.

Alicent smiles into the kiss. She can’t help it. She then draws back to breathe, and Rhaenyra has that stupid smug smile. She doesn’t have to say anything.

Her whole life Alicent dreamed of kissing Rhaenyra and wiping that smirk off her face. And now she can and does. There’s more intensity now. And Alicent’s fingers are in Rhaeynra’s hair, and the warmth has spread and envelopes her.

Gods. This was no deviant behavior. No, this was right. This was her salvation.

Chapter Text

It is easy to worship Rhaenyra. She had been doing so since they were girls, but now, this was different. The intimacy, the charged energy, the freedom of it all.

(Roaming hands. Daring spirits.)

Alicent spent time in her room, busying herself with menial tasks or spending time with her daughter and granddaughter.

(My Jaehaera will be free and she will survive this. Alicent prays this every night, whispers it fervently like the passion alone will it.)

But at night, her room became a Sept. Her bed was an altar.

—-

Alicent’s head seems to perfectly fit on Rhaenyra’s bare chest, in the crook of her neck. Rhaenyra’s fingers lazily move up and down her arms.

“Do you still think this is wrong?” A simple question, but Rhaenyra seems hesitant. If Alicent said yes, would she end it here? No. No. Rhaenyra is concerned, gentle, and inviting.

Alicent steadies herself. “Truly, I think this is the only right thing I have ever done,”

“You do not regret it?”

“I regret not doing it sooner,”

Rhaenyra hums quietly. She looks up at the ceiling, and Alicent nestles in closer. She wishes she could just disappear into Rhaenyra’s skin, melt away entirely.

“I do not think I deserve this,” Alicent admits quietly. “There is a war beyond these walls,”

“I’m quite aware, Alicent,”

“Rhaenyra,” she rolls her eyes. “I just mean that there is… Do you think we deserve this after everything?”

“I do not know, but it does not feel wrong to me either,”

Alicent accepts that, and when Rhaenyra kisses her, she lets the warmth overtake her.

—-

The bright sun feels good on Alicent’s skin. Her weeks of avoiding it had taken its toll.

She sits underneath the weirwood with a book in her lap, and she feels thirteen and thirty at the same time.

Her fingers are starting to heal. She does not even think of them, instead she flips the page. A new story was starting.

—-

The guards announce her entrance, but there’s no need at this hour. Alicent knows it’s the Queen, and she has that annoyingly smug smirk. And her hair is in elaborate braids. Her dress is stunning, detailed with red embroidery, and yet, when she looks at Alicent, wearing only a simple blue dress, she has the audacity to act as if Alicent is the beautiful one in this room.

Rhaneyra is beaming. “I must admit this is rather thrilling,”

Alicent is sitting on her couch. She’s been nursing the same cup of tea for hours, killing time until this moment. Her book is nearly done, but she cannot remember the last twenty pages she had supposedly read. She rolls her eyes at Rhaenyra and finds herself smiling.

“It reminds me of when we were young,” Alicent says. “You got me in trouble with my father more times than I could count,”

“Yes, my own mother admonished me several times. ‘She was supposed to influence you’ ‘Alicent is a sweet girl. Do not bother her so,’” Rhaenyra shakes her head. Her smile shifted to something more solemn, something made heavier by the years. “I must admit I haven’t thought of my mother in some time,”

“It is the curse of mother’s. We must sacrifice all we can to our children, so they may flourish without us,”

“That is a cynical look,”

“Yes, well,” Alicent finds herself chuckling just to herself though nothing is funny at all. “I was never suited for motherhood, not like you,”

Rhaenyra leans forward, taking her hand. “I have started to realize that it is more than that. I had a choice. I loved Harwin. I love Daemon. These children are products of nothing but love,”

“And what of my own? Duty?” Alicent laughs again, just as heartlessly. “I fear I love my children, but I do not like them. They say they are extensions of self, but all I see is my anger walking in this world, my sorrow, my pain. They’re products of that,” She rubs her face with her palm. “I apologize. I have gotten - “

“Do not apologize for speaking plainly with me. You will face no judgement here, and, well, in my estimation, you have done your best, and this war… They pave their own paths as we pave our own,”

Alicent nods. She knows Rhaenyra is right, but it is hard to swallow. She looks to her hands, still being held so tightly by the Queen.

“I have wanted this my whole life,”

“Me?” Rhaenyra says cheekily, an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yes,” Alicent suppresses an eye roll. A terrible reflex now. “and…and to be free. I…” It feels hard to speak suddenly like her mouth is filled with every possible thought. Each raving to be said, to be admitted. “My life feels as if it has not been my own for some time. You’ve given me my life back,”

“Surely I do not deserve such praise. You are my hostage after all,” Rhaenyra says lightly, but she nods. “I understand though. I feel free with you as well. Free to speak my mind, to love, to reveal any ugliness I bear. You see me. I see you,” She inhales, a dangerous thought has reached her mind. “But I fear we welcome a cruel torture in our courtship,”

“Torture?”

“I may die in this war,” Rhaenyra says simply. “I may have to,”

“I understand,”

“To love me is to only have me in these fleeting moments, Alicent. I cannot promise…” she inhales, shakily. “I cannot promise eternity. I cannot promise this story ends happily,”

“I understand,”

“And still you wish not to part from me?”

“There is too much ugliness,” Alicent says softly. “I will not survive it without some beauty. I think you are the same. But I love you, Rhaenyra. I have always loved you. Even if it is the wrong time, even if the world is ending, even though I can not bear to see my own reflection… All this ugliness, and the only good things I have in my life are my daughter, my granddaughter, and my love for you,”

Rhaenyra is quiet. She looks to her hands, as if accessing something. Maybe she had come here to end it. Maybe she had come here to finally put her foot down.

“Does it feel wrong?” Alicent asks. “Does this feel wrong to you? If it does, I will relent,”

“No,” Rhaenyra says sharply. She shakes her head, but her whole body is trembling. “No. I… I truly do not think I could survive losing you too,”

Alicent squeezes her hand. For once, it is Alicent who is steady, who is the rock, who is sure in herself, in her choices. She will not deny it. Deny the love. Deny the strength it gives her.

“So, we will endure it? Survive it?”

Rhaenyra squeezes her hand. Her eyes are so tender. “I believe we will live through it,”

Alicent kisses her again and again and again. The world was collapsing. The realm was falling apart, but this, this was all she could think about now.

She will savor it. Savor the fleeting meetings, the glances, the touches, the ecstasy. Savor all the good. Live free in brief moments of time more than she had in her whole life. Savor it all, knowing it will end.

It will end in blood and fire. It will end in heartbreak and devastation. It will be as painful as it will be wonderful, and she will live through it. She will see it through, see Rhaenyra hold claim to her Iron Throne no matter the cost.

The world was burning, and they would soon be eaten up in it. But for brief moments, they were in heaven together.