Chapter Text
Rhaenyra watched as a moonbeam slid slowly across the dark walls of their castle in Dragonstone, painting the bedroom ceiling in white light.
Perhaps it was the wine, or the argument with Daemon, or the 14th name-day of her eldest son, or the letter from her father, but Rhaenyra felt and odd sort of heartbreak that night.
Love was such a fickle thing, wasn’t it?
Loving Laenor had been simpler; in some ways. It may have never been a romantic love but it certainly had been one of fondness and mutual respect. Loving Laenor had felt like—
—the ocean; like the waves lapping gently at your feet. It was strong and beautiful, and occasionally unexpectedly deep. Sometimes the ocean was warmer then the cold air around it.
But still, the water had always been so cold.
Daemon snored loudly beside her, and Rhaenyra closed her eyes.
Loving Daemon was nothing like loving Laenor; Daemon was not the ocean. Loving him was like—
—playing with fire. It was warm and bright and exciting. The flames flickered, always drawing her in closer. It felt like safety, and protection. Fire was the breath of the dragon after-all; the strength of her family.
But she did not like how cold she felt in its absence.
And she did not liked how it burned when she got too close.
Sometimes Rhaenyra felt like Daemon’s love was a game she was playing.
Sometimes she wondered if she was winning.
And had love ever felt like anything other than that? In her life marriage had always been a pawn in the game of thrones, and never a player.
And did that giddy romance of innocence and purity— the one written about in every fairytale, poem, and even history book— really exist?
Her love for Criston Cole, so many years ago, had been anything but innocent. He had been the subject of her desire, a young teenager looking for an emotional cave to climb into. And where had that got her? Now, she could not picture his face without a frown of disgust.
And her love for Harwin Strong had, although important to her, not extended far beyond physical intimacy and his protection. She had liked his honor, and his fraternal love towards their children, and his strong arms. But she had not wished to marry him. And even the wonderful nights they had spent together had been tainted by guilt and dishonor. Loving Sir Harwin had been like holding like breath.
And his death— no matter how heartbreaking— had felt like finally letting that breath go.
Daemon’s snoring grew louder. Rhaenyra rolled over to face the window, where the moonbeam had disappeared from but light still bled in.
Had she ever felt a love of innocence?
The love of her father was precious to her, but often it felt more like a sanctity to uphold than a warmth to indulge in.
And there was of course, the love of her sons. Oh, how she loved them. Loving them was all soft curly hair and small hands and hugs and love so unconditional and pure. It was their chubby freckled grins and the overwhelming pride she felt just watching them.
But loving them was also an endless, overwhelming fear. She thinks she would watch the whole world burn if something ever happened to them. She thinks the whole continent might just fall off and sink into the ocean if she were to loose one of them.
Daemon’s snoring grew unbearable. Rhaenyra swung her legs over the side of his bed and a climbed out of it.
Yes, his bed. Not Theirs. Not hers.
Sharing a bedroom is for peasants, someone had told her once.
She followed the long, red carpet to the doorway, and wondered if love felt like a game to peasants.
Her own bedroom was on the other side of the wing. She simply spent the night in Daemon’s whenever they wanted to, and her own when they didn’t.
And it was always in Daemon’s, never hers. If she wanted to spend thing night with him, she had to come to him.
She was not oblivious to the power play there; that he liked to feel wanted; that he liked her on his terms; but to be honest she didn’t much care. It had meant that her own quarters had always been somewhat private.
And loving Daemon was not a game won through naivety.
She wondered if she had ever felt a love of innocence by someone not from her own womb.
Rhaenyra padded down the long, dark hall to her bedroom, retracing the history of her love back, further, before Harwin, and Laenor, and Criston Cole, even further, all the way back to—
—Alicent.
She climbed into her own bed with a soft sigh.
Alicent was nothing like the rest of them. She was no fire or ocean or baited breaths. She was not strong, callous hands.
She had been—
—soft, slender fingers on her neck. Long hair tickling Rhaenyra’s cheek. Small smiles and knowing glances. Arms wrapped around her stomach. The flicks of red and gold in her hair when she lay in the sun. She had been the hand laced into Rhaenyra’s in the cold, the gentle voice of reason, the dancing of stars above them in the night—
Rhaenyra closed her eyes.
She had not thought about her youth with Alicent in a long time. The memories felt off limits; forbidden, in case she taint them with her broken heart; In case she went to remember the Alicent she loved and all she could picture was the crazed Alicent who had cut her with a knife instead.
But she could still picture her clear as day. She could still remember the warmth of those soft, slender fingers—
—as they drifted up her back, carefully buttoning up her dress. She watched Alicent in the mirror, unable to think of anything else in that moment except her friend’s breath in her hair.
Oh, how she cursed the gods for making her this way.
Alicent’s fingers paused on the 3rd button from the top. She met Rhaenyra’s eyes in the mirror.
“Are you nervous?” Alicent had asked.
Of course she had been nervous. She was hardly 14 years old. `
Rhaenyra bit her lip.
“Not really,” she lied. “I’ve spoken in front of crowds before.”
“This is going to be a very large crowd.”
That was an understatement. It was the Festival of the Maiden, and what felt like the entirety of Westeros would be there.
“I know,” Rhaenyra said, but her voice betrayed her, coming out shaken and small. Alicent softened further, if that were even possible. It hurt Rhaenyra’s heart.
“You are going to do wonderfully,” Alicent said, and she said it with such confidence, such sweetness that Rhaenyra believed her.
Alicent pushed the last button through its loop and smoothed the back of her collar. Rhaenyra’s breath hitched. 14 was such a terrible age.
Alicent's fingers were still resting against her neck. Rhaenyra stared at her feet, not daring to risk the chance of meeting her friend’s eyes. A small sound of distress escaped her. She did not have to look up to feel Alicent’s gaze from the mirror, or to picture the shade of red her own face must be.
There was a long moment of near silence, where all she could feel was how close Alicent was standing to her.
And then soft lips pressed firmly against the nape of her neck. When she did not protest, they pressed themselves again, farther up this time, and again, dancing their way up until they reached the base of her hair.
Alicent made a soft, breathless sound when she got there.
Rhaenyra melted.
She turned around. Alicent’s face was inches from hers, and just as flushed in cheeks. She met her eyes, waiting for permission, and when Alicent’s fingers gripped the sleeve of her dress, she leaned forward and pressed her lips firmly against Alicent’s soft ones, with a desperate sort of affection.
Alicent pressed into her, her hands on Rhaenyra’s neck; Rhaenyra’s hands gripping her collar.
Everything else had disappeared.
That had been the second time they had kissed.
The first time, they had only been a bit younger. It had been—
—Rhaenyra’s 13th name-day.
It was a huge event. It seemed every lord and lady in the kingdoms had come. Every lord for sure. They all wanted a piece of her.
She supposed she was a woman now, in their eyes— when it was convenient for them, at least.
Although she suspected they would not care if she was not. 13 or not, they all wanted her to marry their son or their nephew or their brother or grandson or themselves.
This was what, the 19th grown man she’d had to forcefully twist her grimace into a smile for today? It was her name-day for gods sake, and she was spending it trying to convince a crowd of middle-age men that she wasn’t old enough for them to fuck.
When she complained to her father about them he just chuckled and patted her on the back.
“You are 13 now Rhaenyra, and Princess to the Iron Throne,” he had said, “There will be suitors falling at your feet for the rest of your life. It’s best to just smile politely and thank for them for the offer. Or better yet, pick a young one that you actually like.”
That was easier said then done.
Her mother was no help either, still sick in bed in her chambers.
And even Alicent had disappeared, having been whisked away by an uncle or cousin or some other gangly Hightower after the lunch feast had ended and the partying had started.
She wanted to cry. She wanted yell at someone. She wanted to hide. She wanted Alicent.
Instead, she was talking to a 36 year-old man with very greasy hair and a very annoying laugh. He said something and she nodded, as if she had been listening, as if whatever he had been saying was something wise.
“So, my Lady? How does the union of our houses sound to you?”
Rhaenyra frowned. What had his offer been again?
“You want me to marry…” She took a wild guess, “your son?”
He laughed. At her.
“No, no, no, no. I don’t have a son. Yet. I rather thought it would be me you would be marrying.”
She gritted her teeth and held back a grimace of disgust.
“What a kind offer my Lord, but I’m afraid you will be an old man by the time I am of marrying-age,” she said, and was far too pleased by the way he recoiled, as if bitten. Before he had a chance to recover she pushed past him and said, “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
She shouldn’t have done that. She shouldn’t have insulted him. She may have just made an enemy of some important house, although she wasn’t sure which one.
Still, it had been worth it to see the way he his mouth had fallen slightly agape.
She pushed through the crowd, trying to find somewhere where she could be undisturbed by the eyes of high lords. Instead, she nearly ran into a very tall, very old man.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, and tried to push past. It wasn’t very polite of her. He grabbed her shoulder.
“It is no worry, my child.”
My child? She was the Princess of Dragons and the Iron Throne.
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, and tried to walk away, but his hand didn’t leave her shoulder.
“I am Lord Hiyron, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Princess,” The old man said.
Hiyron way not a name she recognized— it couldn’t have been one of a very high house, but she smiled all the same.
“Thank you, Lord Hiyron. The pleasure is mine. I hope your day has served you well.”
“It has, Princess. It is truly a wonderful celebration of your name-day. Reminds me of the naming of my own son,” he said.
“Oh, how old is your son now?” She asked, out of politeness far more than curiosity.
“Oh! He is actually here with me now, would you like to meet him?”
As if he had waiting for his cue, a man appeared at the old man’s side. He was not a young man, in any sense. Probably nearing 50 years old, she would guess, as the son took her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“Princess,” he said slowly, and she realized that he had most definitely had been waiting for his cue. Her stomach twisted in disgust and anger. She could already hear how the words, “are you yet betrothed” would form on his crusty lips; on his smug smile.
Could she not have one normal conversation on her own name-day?
“It is—“ she cut him off.
“No. Excuse me.”
She turned around and left, frustrated tears pricking her eyes. She had enough. She ducked her lead and walked as fast as she could without running, into the nearest passageway through the palace. She followed familiar winding steps all the way back to her quarters.
Her room was empty, thank god. And much quieter, although she could hear the murmur of people in the courtyards below.
She felt sweaty and suffocated and wanted to cry. She unbuttoned the collar of her dress, trying very hard not to think about how many men traveled here today imaging themselves leaving that night with the promise of ownership of her body.
Rhaenyra carefully climbed out the window onto the small, stone terrace outside of it. It served almost as a balcony, but when she sat down she was hidden beneath both the window and the solid stone barrier of the terrace. Neither the people in her room or the people below could see her.
It was there, and only there, that she could become invisible.
She pulled her knees up to her chest and let her forehead rest against them. She wondered if each year it would only get worse— that she would become more and more desirable to the people of the Kingdoms, until one day she would no longer be a person at all but instead an object to owned.
She wondered how many more name-days until her father felt she was old enough to be sold.
Her eyes felt damp and her throat tight with frustration. She closed her eyes and tried to let the wold melt away.
She stayed like this for a long time, until a soft voice spoke from above.
“Rhaenyra?”
Alicent was peeking over the windowsill, peering down at her, with kind eyes and a small wrinkle between her eyebrows expressing her concern.
A wave of relief washed over Rhaenyra.
“You disappeared on me” she said, but her words came out more sad then accusatory. Alicent sighed apologetically.
“I’m so sorry Rhaenyra. My uncle wanted to talk about—,”
“—its fine. You don’t need to apologize. I know how your family is. I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra said. She scooted over on the terrace, and ducked her head as Alicent swung her leg out the window to climb out beside her.
When Alicent had settled down beside her she slipped her hand into Rhaenyra’s and squeezed it.
“I figured you would be out here when I realized you had slipped away,” Alicent said. Her soft brown eyes met Rhaenyra’s. “May I inquire to why you are hiding?”
“You may not inquire to such, actually, ” she said, jokingly. Alicent rolled her eyes, and squeezed her hand again.
The blended voices of the party below was much quieter from up here.
“I hate all of them,” Rhaenyra said.
“They’re you’re people.”
“They’re my father’s people,” she said angrily. “They will never be mine. They will be my tyrannical uncle’s or my miscarried brothers’ before they are mine. And instead of ruling the Kingdoms I will be sold to some Lord for the price of an army, or access to a port, or maybe just some gold or iron mines. And I will be forced to birth little pale children for him so he can prove he fucked a Targaryen Princess, and then one day I will die.”
Alicent watched her sadly.
“That’s much more than most women are sold for,” she said softly, and Rhaenyra nodded, because she was right. Alicent continued, “But it does not mean that you will not be betrothed to someone you actually like. Maybe even someone you could love, and want to have children with.”
“I’m not sure I could ever love him," Rhaenyra said, "I’ve only ever loved one person outside of my family, and that’s you.”
“Rhae…”
“I am serious,” Rheanerya said, squeezing Alicent’s hand. “If I could I would marry you, and we would have children only if we wanted, and we would live with dragons in a cottage on the beach, and eat only fruit and cake. There would be an army just to make sure no one bothered us.”
As she voiced these thoughts she felt the pang in her heart of wanting so badly for it to possible.
Alicent stared at the ground, pink in the cheeks. She let go of Rhaenyra’s hand to smooth a wrinkle in her dress.
“Rhaenyra…” her voice sounded constricted, “you can’t say stuff like that. It’s not right.”
Rhaenyra felt her heartbreak a little.
“What do you mean?” She asked, but she knew. Alicent wrung her hands together.
“We are women. We are allowed to love each other like sisters. Not wives. And saying stuff like that will give people the wrong idea.”
“But you’re nothing like a sister to me. And yet, I love you.”
“I know, Rhaenyra. But you can’t say that; not out loud.”
A sudden fear gripped her stomach. Her hands felt sweaty again.
“You think I’m perverse or something, don’t you?”
“Rhae- No- of course I don’t—”
“Then why are you acting like there’s something wrong me?”
“Rhaenyra, I don’t think that. I am just trying to protect you—,”
“It’s not like I’m the only one. There’s women in pleasure houses who are together all the time, and I heard in parts of Essos and even in Dorne it’s completely normal—,”
“We’re not whores, Rhaenyra! And we’re not in Dorne.”
Alicent met her eyes, and Rhaenyra’s pricked with tears.
“I know that,” she said quietly; angrily.
There was a moment of heavy silence. Rhaenyra took a deep breath.
“Do you love me?” She asked. Alicent looked taken aback by the question.
“What?”
“I guess I always assumed you loved me the same way I love you, but I guess not—”
“—Of course I love you, you dumb fool!” Alicent said. She stared at Rhaenyra incredulously. “Of course I love you. How could you ever think otherwise?”
Rhaenyra gaped at her a little. Alicent took both her hands in her own.
“Of course I love you,” she said again, softer this time. “Sometimes you are so stupid Rhaenyra. I love you more than I could ever love anyone else in this whole damn realm.”
Rhaenyra stared at her, feeling a bit foolish. Alicent was so confusing, sometimes.
But she could see the pink in her cheeks; the affection in her eyes. She could feel the pulse in her fingertips.
“Like a sister?” She asked.
Alicent let go of her hands so she could bury her face in her own. She shook her head.
“No, nothing like a sister.”
Even with Alicent’s head in her hands Rhaenyra could see her flush in the tips of her ears. She watched her quietly until her curiosity got the best of her.
“What does it feel like? The way you love me?”
Alicent looked up at her. She was quiet for so long Rhaenyra thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“It’s like looking at the stars,” she said gently. “I can’t tear my eyes away. And even if I could— I wouldn’t want to.”
Her words made Rhaenyra’s guts twist— in a good way, this time. Sort of.
Alicent’s copper hair glowed gold in the sunlight. Without thinking she reached forward and let the ends slide through her fingers, playing with them gently.
“I’m confused,” she admitted softly. “You do not think women should love each other, but you love me that same way?”
Alicent shook her head gently.
“Rhaenyra, I have never looked at any man the way I look at women. I’m not sure I ever will. There are some people like me. There are also people who look at men and women. There are people who don’t give a second thought to the gender of the people they find attractive. There are people who don’t find anyone appealing in that way. And there is nothing wrong with you for feeling any of these ways. Its more normal than most would admit, I think.” Alicent said. She sighed sadly. “Unfortunately, we do not live in society where this had been accepted, like Dorne. So one day I will do my duty as a highborn Lady and I will marry a man and I will give him sons. And you will do the same.”
Rhaenyra never understood how Alicent was so calm about these things. She always such a realist, accepting the world as it was rather then demanding it bend to her. It was admirable, in a way, but heartbreaking too. Rhaenyra was not sure she could do the same.
She twirled a lock of Alicent’s hair around her finger, and accidentally brushed her cheek. Alicent look up at her. There was an affection in her face that drew Rhaenyra in.
And then she realized then what Alicent had meant about looking at the stars. She could’t tear her eyes away either.
And she was so close to Alicent. It would be so simple to lean forward and—
“You know,” Alicent began softly, “we’re only 13. It will be a while until we must marry.”
Rhaenyra looked up, and her breath hitched in her throat when she met her eyes, and she understood. Her fingers were already in Alicent’s hair, it was so easy—natural, even— for them to slide around the back of her neck and pull her closer.
She paused, hesitating for a moment, waiting for Alicent to pull away.
But then Alicent’s fingers were in her hair, around her neck, gripping her collar desirously, and she bridged the gap for her, pressing her lips against Rhaenyra’s, her nose pushing gently into cheek and her eyelashes brushing her cheekbone as they melted into each other.
They pulled away, just barley, just far enough to take a breath. There were tears in Alicent’s eyes. Rhaenyra leaned forward and kissed her cheek so close to her honey-colored eyes that she tasted salt.
“Rae—,” Alicent breathed, and Rhaenyra could hear the emotion spilling from voice. She leaned forward and kissed her again, on the lips.
When she broke away to breath again she let her forehead fall on Alicent’s shoulder, incapable now of being more then inches away.
She didn’t ever what to move. She didn’t ever want her arms anywhere but wrapped around Alicent’s shoulders ever again. She didn’t ever want to smell anything but the sweet scent of her hair.
“Ali, I love you,” she whispered, “I’ll only ever love you.”
She felt it when Alicent’s salty tears hit her forehead, tasted it when they ran down her face and across her lips.
And she didn’t have to meet her eyes this time to understand; to see how long Alicent had been holding back; to know far she buried her feelings.
Alicent’s voice shook. “I’ve only ever loved you,” she said, “only you.”
Rhaenyra pulled her closer again, into a strong hug this time. Alicent buried her face in Rhaenyra’s hair and let herself be engulfed by the hug. Her body shook with a dry-sob and she choked out a “sorry,” into Rhaenyra’s shoulder that made her heartbreak. She pressed soft kiss to Alicent’s neck to ease the pain.
Alicent raised her head up to press her salty lips against Rhaenyra’s again, a little braver this time, letting the weight of her body lean firmly into Rhaenyra.
She wiped away the tears on Alicent’s cheeks, and kissed them again softly. Alicent let out a small hum of content that made Rhaenyra’s heart melt.
Alicent let her fingers tangle in her silver hair, and Rhaenyra’s cupped Alicent’s face in her hands and leaned forward again and—
“Rhaenyra? Rhaenyra are you in here?”
The sound of her father’s voice jolted them apart. Rhaenyra met Alicent’s equally panicked set of eyes before smoothing her hair and wiping her mouth and stumbling quickly to her feet.
She peeked in through the window at her father.
“Father?”
Viserys’s expression softened when he saw my her.
“My girl. What are doing hiding up here? It’s your name-day. The evening feast will be starting soon,” he said.
Rhaenyra looked at her feet a little sheepishly, meeting Alicent’s eyes, who was still hidden, sitting below the window on the balcony. She looked a complex mixture of alarm and amusement.
“Sorry, Father. Alicent and I were just out here— talking.”
Alicent stood up beside her, to save the King some confusion. Rhaenyra prayed to the seven gods— or hell, any god that would listen—that her father wouldn’t see the flush in their faces or think too hard about the state of their hair.
Luckily he was a man, and a father, and a king, and was seemingly oblivious to those sorts. He just chuckled gently at them indicated to the door.
“Ah well, when you two ladies are ready to share your insightful discussions with the rest of us, might you join us back downstairs?”
“Yes, of course Father. We’ll be right there. In a moment.”
“Good.”
He turned and left, and when the door had shut all the way behind him Rhaenyra let out a deep breath of relief. She met eyes with Alicent only for a moment before covering her face with her hand in mortification.
“Oh gods,” she said softly. “That was far too close.”
And then she snickered, in that sort of uncontrollable laughter that only comes from making it through a really awkward moment. Alicent’s fingers teased her hand away from her face and she saw that Alicent was grinning broadly in amusement too, her face bright pink and her eyes lit with a mix of mischief and sheepishness that Rhaenyra saw not often in her.
“Far, far too close,” Alicent agreed.
They stood there for a moment, collecting themselves. Alicent fiddled with Rhaenyra’s hair, fixing her braids.
“We should go. Before my father thinks we’re— getting up to something in here,” Rhaenyra said, biting back a embarrassed grin. Alicent rolled her eyes affectionately, and swung her leg over the windowsill back into the bedroom, offering her hand to Rhaenyra, who took it. She let Alicent lead her all the way to the door, before stopping her and pulling her towards her. She kissed her long and proper one last time.
“Ali I love you,” she told her again. Alicent stared at her softly with her eyes so beautiful Rhaenyra thought she might actually melt.
“Like looking at the stars,” Alicent answered gently, and pulled her out the door.
Rhaenyra stared up at the grey ceiling, feeling the cracks in her heart grow deeper with every further second she spent thinking about Alicent. She traced the thick scar that ran from her elbow to her palm, and could picture with perfect memory the look on Alicent’s face after she had cut her.
She could still see the way regret and horror swam in her eyes. She could still feel how suddenly it felt like the ground had fallen out beneath the both them; the realization that they would never be able to return to what they once were.
And far worse then that, she could remember her own twinge of Targaryen madness; the petty, bitter satisfaction she had felt when the blood poured down her arm and Alicent looked like she might choke on her own actions. If the knife had hurt she didn’t remember. All she had thought was— Finally. Finally they will all understand who she has become.
But how could they? Only Rhaenyra had truly seen her as she once was. Only Rhaenyra had lied beside her in bed as Alicent told her stories about the great wonders of the world and run her fingers through her hair. Only Rhaenyra had snuck kisses with her on hidden balconies and sat with her head in her lap beneath the Weirwood tree, witnessed only by the old gods themselves. Only Rhaenyra had felt her fingers rest against her back for far too long as she buttoned her dress. Only Rhaenyra had been unable to look away from the stars.
She felt hot, childish tears forming in her eyes, brimming and and spilling over the edge, dancing down her cheekbones and dampening the roots of her hair.
Why was thinking about Alicent again? Why was she punishing herself like this?
“Because you miss her”, a voice in her head told her. “Because you miss loving her,” it said, and she did not have the energy to dispute what she knew was fact.
The moon was no longer visible in the sky. The break of dawn would be in a few hours, but Rhaenyra could not sleep. Not when all she could picture when she closed her eyes was Alicent's honey-colored ones. They had grown darker over the years, but whenever the light hit them just right, it was like they were both 13 again.
She wondered if Alicent ever thought about the bright violet color her own eyes had once been, before they had faded to a more muted purple-grey in her adulthood.
It had been several years since Rhaenyra had visited King’s landing. Several years since she had seen Alicent.
With a resigned hum, Rhaenyra sat up and pulled herself out of bed. She lit a candle by her escritoire and pulled out a small, raven-sized piece of parchment.
She did not expect Alicent would answer her, but now, in the quiet of night, that seemed entirely unimportant. She just wanted her to know.
Rhaenyra’s quill hovered over the paper for a very long time.
How could she possibly begin to tell Alicent how she felt? To love another woman was heresy. To love the King’s wife in the way she had was beyond treason.
Of course, that had been before their marriage.
But sometimes, when Rhaenyra thought to about it hard, she realized the love was still there. It was just clouded, tainted by anger and bitterness and betrayal.
She wondered if Alicent felt the same.
A drop of ink fell from her quill, leaving a small dark splotch upon the page.
Carefully, with anxious determination, Rhaenyra penned one line.