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Chapter Text

“A dragon tooth?” 

Rhaenyra was pacing the room.  Left and right, then right and left. Anxious and biting her nails, the Princess’ gave a little bit more thought before repeating: “A dragon tooth?” 

“Yes, Rhaenyra. A dragon’s milk-tooth.” Alicent sighed. 

“But what for?” Rhaenyra sat at the end of Alicent’s bed. “For some kind of ritual?”

“Don’t overthink, Rhaenyra.” 

“ I cannot help you, Alicent.”

“Yes, you can. Syrax is still losing her baby teeth.”

“ Oh .”

Alicent's eyes focused on Rhaenyra for a few seconds before returning to the steaming cup in front of her. No fire was needed when magic boiled all together: life and death, herbs and teas. A still missing dragon tooth must be included in the elixir. 

“Are you afraid of your own dragon, Rhaenyra?” challenged Alicent. 

“Of course not!”

“Honestly, you sound a little scared.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Alicent!”

“I am not being ridiculous” Alicent rolled her eyes. “I am not the one fearing my own dragon…”

“I am not fearing Syrax!” Rhaenyra sounded uneasy. “I do not wish to hurt Syrax, that is all.”

“You are not going to hurt her, Rhaenyra.” annoyed, Alicent sighed loudly. “Syrax’s mouth is full of loose teeth. You only need to catch one single tooth before she swallows it.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for a while. 

“Are you not going to tell me what this is for?” the Princess finally asked.

“No.” 

In fact, Alicent desired above everything else to share the truth with Rhaenyra. The young witch knew a lot about the world to come. She knew about an avoidable war and ugly scars. She knew about bloody nights and bloodier children. She knew about pain and suffering, and she would never forget about the spikes. 

The fire. 

The hatred. 

The swords. 

The green cloaks. 

The black cloaks. 

“Will you fly on dragonback with me if I bring you the damn tooth?”

“No, thank you.”

“Fuck. I am trying to negotiate!”

“You are awful at negotiating, Rhaenyra.” Alicent laughed.

Rhaenyra bit her lips. 

“A kiss?”

Alicent grinned.

“Silly. I would kiss you for free.”

“Then why do you never kiss me?”

“You never ask.”

So they kissed at the chamber’s doors. 

It was not the first time and would not be the last. 

“Bring Baelon the greenish egg.” whispered Alicent between pecks as she ran her fingers through the Princess’ hair. “Forget about the golden egg. Baelon’s egg must hatch.”

Rhaenyra whimpered.

“How do you know it is going to be a boy?”

Alicent gave Rhaenyra a small and sweet smile.

“The King said so.” 

“And what does the King know?” Rhaenyra scoffed.

“Apparently a lot. He is the King.”

Alicent kissed Rhaenyra’s lips softly once again as she considered her lie. 

Viserys Targaryen knew as much as a commoner: he was an average man dressed in fancy clothes. Not specially cunning or evil. Foolish, in fact, and unfitting for a true King. Alicent despised Viserys. 

“The Maester agreed with the King. The Queen’s bump is too high and pointed. reasoned Alicent as she held Rhaenyra's hands. “ It is a boy.”

“I wish the baby was a girl.”

“I know.”

“She would be called Visenya.”

Alicent affectionately tapped Rhaenyra’s cheek.

“Give a few years and your Visenya will be born.” Rhaenyra’s eyes shone with mischief. “Now, go. Bring me Syrax’s tooth and do not forget your brother’s egg.”

Chapter Text

A bloodthirsty King sat at the Iron Throne. 

Severely injured, covered in scars, he barked some orders. He wanted revenge. A Queen for a Queen, he said. A chubby silver-haired woman was shoved among the crowd. Small children wept as they called for their Muña. The golden dragon licked its lips before breathing fire. Screams of pain reverberated King’s Landing. She remained still. Then came the crash of bones and tearing of flesh as the beast chewed. 

Blood leaked out of the dragon’s mouth. 

***

Alicent vomited in a chamber-pot. 

She woke up startled, covered in sweat, and felt her stomach turned inside out. Of countless dreams, of the infinite visions, an omen never repeated itself. Alicent knew, however, how each piece was connected. It took a while before she understood how the King in Green and herself were connected, and why Rhaenyra, mother to many children, was so doomed. 

Many nights ago, when Queen Aemma’s pregnancy was still a secret, Alicent dreamt of spikes. She also dreamt of bloody linens and an ill conception. During that night, Alicent bit her fingers until her nerves were shaking with pain. Then, after a restless moon, Alicent was able to sleep again: in deep slumber, she saw the fire in Harrenhal. 

Alicent raised her face to the metallic sound of armor-clad footsteps. Some rushed whispers followed and the doors were suddenly opened before Alicent could blink once more. Of course, only one person would feel entitled to such an act: the Princess herself. 

“Dreamfyre almost bit my ass!” Rhaenyra kicked shut the doors. “And Syrax was… Gods ! Here it is! Your dragon tooth!” Rhaenyra, with one dragon egg in one hand and a pouch in another, threw the pouch in Alicent’s direction. Alicent catched it in the air. “I am never helping you again!”

Unaware of Alicent’s distressed state, Rhaenyra slumped down in armchair and tiredly hugged the dragon’s egg. The Princess blew a strand of silver hair and wiped sweat off her forehead as she continued complaining about the heat of the Dragonpit and the lack of Dragonkeepers during the night shift. Alicent remained quiet for a while, carefully analyzing the dragon’s milk-tooth: yellowish and pointed, it was hard and dangerous as Valyrian steel. The tooth, bigger than a beet, weighed little.

“Such a small tooth!” Alicent finally said.

Rhaenyra huffed.

“Oh, why be so thankful, Lady Alicent? There is really no need to thank me.”

“Do not be so dramatic, Rhaenyra. It is small.” Alicent huffed in return. Standing for the first time since the strong nausea, Alicent looked over the room, noticing Rhaenyra’s charcoal stained face. Alicent’s heart sank as she smelled brimstone and in her mind echoed the sound of flesh and bones. Rhaenyra being killed by Aegon’s dragon . 

Alicent didn’t notice that her eyes were watering. 

Rhaenyra jumped out of the chair:

“Hey, hey, there is no need to cry over a tooth. I… I can bring another one!” Rhaenyra ran towards Alicent, enveloping the brunette in a warm embrace. “Syrax is tired from her day… The Dragonkeepers are forcing her to hunt by herself, I am sure that she will not notice if I try to fetch another tooth. Alicent, please !” 

Alicent swallowed her own cries.

“It-it is not about the tooth.” she managed to whisper. 

“I was only jesting, Alicent, I swear.” declared an anguished Rhaenyra.

Alicent nodded. 

“I would give you the world if you asked me.” Rhaenyra cooed sweetly in Alicent’s auburn curls. Alicent felt like fainting as she absorbed Rhaenyra’s words: this young Princess, filled with hopes and dreams, could never become that grief-stricken woman. She would not allow that, no. 

“I know.”

Alicent took a deep breath, regretting immediately as her lungs were filled with the sulfuric and burned-meat odor. Sunfyre's teeth crushed Rhaenyra’s bones, leaking blood and fat between incisors . 

“I will wake the Dragonkeepers, that is it” decided Rhaenyra as fat tears rolled down on Alicent’s face. 

“No, no…”

“I will not stand still while you cry for a damn dragon tooth!” 

“It is not about the tooth, I promise you. The tooth is perfect.”

“No, it is not.”

“It is enough, Rhaenyra. Thank you.” Alicent hiccupped.

“Alicent, please …” Rhaenyra furrowed her brows in deep concern. “What is happening? Have you met with your father?” 

Alicent shook her head in negation.

As well-known as the fact that Lady Alicent flirted with witchcraft was the fact that Otto Hightower now despised his daughter. After the passing of the sweet Lady Hightower, Otto had endured Alicent’s odd behaviors: he patiently allowed the bouts of crying and the outbursts of rage as she faced grief. Otto supposed a few unhinged moments wouldn’t mark his daughter permanently but the grief persisted. 

The emotional havoc was bearable, Otto thought. Many ladies before Alicent had fallen ill, deeply affected by grief, and while not a pleasant situation, it was not irrevocable. Then Alicent cursed Septa Marlow and stopped attending her lessons. No longer after she turned her back to Faith of The Seven. How shameful it was for Otto Hightower to walk in the Red Keep, listening to the tattles about his daughter! The beautiful Lady Alicent, so lovely and polite, now the reason for whispers. As Otto considered the efficiency of a good spanking, he climbed the stairs to the Tower of the Hand. Alicent, however, was nowhere to be found. 

Otto prayed, as the days passed, Alicent had a peaceful death. No more shame would be brought to the Hightower House if the young lady succumbed to pain — but Rhaenyra was relentless. Alicent was finally found in Duskendale, near the Blackwater Bay: she didn’t remember how she got there or even her plans. She also didn’t remember returning to the castle on dragonback. When she returned, Otto profusely apologized to the King and promised to send his youngest daughter back to Oldtown, where family ties would be able to heal her. 

To Otto’s misfortune, King Viserys ordered that Alicent should remain in King’s Landing.  The King was not particularly fond of the young girl but he relented as it was Rhaenyra’s wish to stay as close as possible to her dearest friend. 

Upon her return from Duskendale, Alicent was forever changed. 

Rhaenyra kept herself quiet while hugging a crying Alicent. Moments later, when the girl’s eyes were irritated and her head was pounding, she was able to recompose herself. 

“I am feeling sick.” Alicent wiped away her final tears. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, yes, yes” Alicent nodded three times. “The lemon cakes were a little bit sour, I believe.”

“So I must talk with the cooks!” Rhaenyra was already turning over when Alicent clutched her left arm:

“Rhaenyra, have mercy! Leave the cooks alone, it is the hour of the wolf. I am going to brew some pennyroyal and then I am going to be alright, please.” Rhaenyra glanced around the room, seemingly lost in thoughts. Alicent eyed the greenish egg in the armchair. “You should put the egg in a warmer place, maybe near the fire.” 

“You are right.” Rhaenyra agreed and walked up to the doors, opening both quickly. “Ah, Ser Criston!”

“ Princess. ” Criston’s voice was amused.

Alicent frowned slightly.

“Prepare yourself to spend the night here and also, oh !” Rhaenyra stopped talking and pulled back her lips, whistling loudly. “Denise!” Alicent heard the sound of quick footsteps. 

“ Your Grace? ” the young servant was out of breath.

“Do you know how to light a fireplace?” Rhaenyra asked.

“ Yes, Your Grace. ”

“Perfect! Come inside then!”

Alicent didn’t have the time to feel shocked as Denise entered the room.

“Are you spending the night, Rhaenyra?” Alicent asked even though she knew the answer.

“Yes, my Lady.” Rhaenyra gave Alicent her best gummy smile. 

And Alicent, of course, was unable to resist such charm. 

“You reek of dragon, Rhaenyra.”

“I do not reek.” she sneered. 

“Yes, you do. And is unsustainable.”

Proudly, Rhaenyra crossed her arms.

“Fine. Denise, can you prepare a bath?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

*** 

“Now, do I smell better?” Rhaenyra was grinning while crawling in the large bed. 

Alicent hid a smile but opened her arms, welcoming an excited Rhaenyra. The Princess smelled of lavender and other flowers and her hair and skin were once again snow-white. She was like heaven on earth, Alicent thought.

“Oh, yes. Your smell is bearable now.” 

“Liar!” accused Rhaenyra. 

Alicent laughed.

“You smell divine.” 

Rhaenyra snuggled closer to Alicent. 

“You are so soft,” Rhaenyra purred. “The best pillow in the whole country.”

“Oh, why, thank you, Princess.” jeered Alicent.

“I am telling you the truth!” insisted Rhaenyra. “You are a lot more… Hmm…” lacking the words, Rhaenyra hands found the path of Alicent’s thighs, fondling the tender skin. Alicent shuddered. “I am just too bony and skinny.”

“You are beautiful, Rhaenyra.”

“I know.” she agreed.

“Good.”

Alicent breathed slowly, remembering the older Rhaenyra of her dreams. She still carried the same gummy smile and beautiful hair but her body was fuller. She was a delight and Alicent imagined that in different circumstances, if her visions were something beyond horror, she would be blushing. 

For a second, Alicent feared having shared her thoughts as Rhaenyra said: “Do you think I will be beautiful after having children?”

“Oh, I am sure of that. The most comely woman of Westeros.”

Rhaenyra seemed pleased with the answer. 

“How are you feeling now?”

“Much better” Alicent's voice was filled with relief. 

“I am happy to hear that.” 

Further moving, Rhaenyra’s hands found home in Alicent’s bottom.

“Stop squeezing my bum!” Alicent squeaked. 

Rhaenyra was guffawing. 

“You love it!” 

She did in fact love it. 

“You are wicked, Rhaenyra. Go to sleep!” 

As they laughed and closed their eyes to sleep, Alicent hoped for a peaceful future. 

Chapter Text

Aemma Arryn remembered meeting once a woods witch. 

She met the woman during one of her journeys to Runestone. Paloma, she was called, was almost a living legend among impressive young girls as the woman mysteriously lived alone in a hut, selling herbs and spells. She was a mystery. Some would say that she was wise beyond her years. The Maester’s would say she was a scam. But Aemma, impressive as any other girl, believed in something more and ventured into unknown territory with her sisters. 

In the depths of the Vale of Arryn, they knocked at the stranger’s door. Elys and Amanda betted that the woman was old and gray, an ugly thing hidden in the forest. The girls were all surprised to find out the infamous witch was only nine-and-ten. And what a beautiful sight! Paloma was healthy as a horse, plump and blushed. She was heavy with child. For a couple of coins, she taught the girls to brew moon tea and sold a love potion. Aemma exchanged a silver ring for fortune-telling. Paloma agreed to tell three prophecies as they were three sisters. And she told that Elys would marry a rich Lord in the Vale, that Amanda would discover her vocation among poor men, and that Aemma would find her end at her sixth child. As they were leaving the cabin, Aemma was hugged by Amanda, who said “ it was all rubbish .”

Later Elys married one of the noblest men in the Vale, and Amanda became a Septa in Oldtown. Aemma never forgot the prophecy. She told the story to Viserys during one of the coldest nights of the winter: they were cuddling in bed, sharing foolish stories, when Aemma’s heart sank with anguish. She was pregnant at the time, carrying Rhaenyra. She was afraid and she thought Viserys would believe her. He laughed and told her that they didn’t have any children yet. It was a lie — Aemma had named all of her babies, even though Viserys had forbidden her. She remembered the faces of her first and second boy, of her first girl. She constantly thought about them: what toys would they play with, how their chubby legs would guide them through the royal gardens. She imagined their laughter. 

By some miracle of divine mercy, Rhaenyra was born yelling and kicking. A pinkish baby girl with silver hair and purple eyes. She was the light of Aemma’s life, a dream come true. Aemma spent nights near her cradle, carefully watching the baby breathing. Nothing unusual happened: no sudden illness, no sudden death. Rhaenyra grew bigger and stronger each day, a demanding hungry girl. The wetnurses loved her. She was the Realm’s Delight.

Four months after the birth of Rhaenyra, Viserys believed it was time for a second heir. The Maester deemed Aemma’s body healthy and fully mature, ready for a second successful pregnancy. Aemma didn’t like the Maester. However, giving heirs to the King was her duty — and she faced the battlefield for a fifth time. Another baby girl was born close to Rhaenyra’s second nameday. She was born blue and cold, the umbilical cord around her neck.

For a while, Aemma thought Paloma was wrong. Thirteen years had passed since the birth of her fifth child. Viserys no longer pressured her for new heirs, maybe it was really only a rubbish tale. Coupling was finally an act of satisfaction and she was careful with her doses of moon tea. One cup of moon tea with too little pennyroyal was enough to enable a sixth pregnancy. 

Aemma loved her babies dearly. 

Aemma was also sure that she was going to die soon. 

 ***

Alicent ran to the Queen’s quarters when the elixir was properly brewed. 

At the bedchamber entrance, Alicent smoothed her hair and blue dress. She nodded in silence and the guards opened the doors. Queen Aemma was laying down on a long chair, protected in a nest of soft cushions, fanning herself. She was wet with sweat and her grayish hair was pulled back.

“Your Grace.” Alicent bowed respectfully. 

Aemma’s eyes went agape. 

“Lady Alicent! Why did you take so long?” the Queen tried to sit. Two servants helped her. “Thank you, please, leave us alone for now.” the servants scurried towards the doors. “You said the healing potion would be ready in two days. It’s been four and half days.”

“I am sorry, Your Grace.” Alicent came closer to the Queen. “Only a dragon can heal a dragon.” 

“I see.” agreed Aemma. “I heard of Rhaenyra’s little excursion to the Dragonpit. Tell me, Lady Alicent, is my daughter still in one piece?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And is she still in your chambers?”

Alicent’s cheeks blushed hot. 

“Yes, Your Grace. The Princess is sound asleep.”

“Yes, I am aware of that. She is like her Father.” Aemma laughed a little. “What part of the dragon are you offering me, Lady Alicent?”

Alicent kneeled near the Queen, holding the cup filled with a rather dull liquid. The smell was pungent. 

“A dragon’s milk-tooth, Your Grace.” Aemma took hold of the cup. “It will help with your health, my Queen. Your blood shall not clot and your muscles will strengthen. It will also help with the baby’s health. The blood of the dragon will give him strong lungs.”

Aemma gulped.

“And where is the tooth?”

“Crushed and then dissolved, Your Grace. Ser Harwin helped me with the crushing.” Alicent explained. “ Breakbones , indeed.” the Queen looked to the cup and then to Alicent. “You must drink it all.”

“And what about the effectiveness? How long will it take?” questioned Aemma.

“I am not exactly sure… Maybe some hours, maybe some days. I believe it will not take long as Your Grace is strong and well-fed.” admitted Alicent. 

“And what if it does not work at all, Lady Alicent?”

“Then I will have failed you, Your Grace.”

The Queen was contemplative for a few moments, deep in thoughts and silence. Then, in one take, she drank until the last drop. Alicent’s eyes grew bigger as the Queen gulped down the liquid. 

“The taste is disgusting. It might kill me before the childbirth.” the Queen spat a little. “Have you poisoned me, Lady Alicent?”

“No, Your Grace.” Alicent giggled.

Aemma smiled honestly. 

“Hopefully, you are wiser than the first witch I met.”

*** 

When leaving the Queen’s chambers, Alicent stumbled upon the King. Alicent graciously bowed down, apologizing:  “Ah, do not worry, girl. No harm was done.” the King dismissed Alicent’s concerns. Alicent held her head up: besides the King, the Lord Hand hovered like a vulture. “How is my wife doing today?”

“Fine, Your Grace.” she said simply.

“Great. And what about my daughter, Lady Alicent? Do you know where the Princess is?” Alicent’s eyes focused on the King. “Rhaenyra was supposed to join the Small Council today.”

‘ To fill cups’ , Alicent thought with disgust, ‘ The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms is being trained like a servant ’. Instead of being given a chair, a space for proper learning, she was serving wine. 

“I do not know about the Princess, Your Grace.”

“Oh, weird.” the King snorted. “You two are joined at the hip.”

Alicent smiled falsely.

The King joked a little bit more before discharging Otto, asserting his wish to have a private moment with the Queen. Otto Hightower nodded and said nothing. Alicent awaited the closing of doors to turn her back to Otto, confidently trying to ignore her own Father. She was only able to walk a few meters before Otto grabbed her by the arm, holding with such strength that Alicent whimpered. 

“Seven hells, Alicent! What do you think you are doing?” Otto closed his fist around Alicent’s forearm. “Visiting the Queen alone? What are you doing now?”

Alicent pushed Otto roughly.

“Let go of me!”

“Not before an explanation. What are you planning?”

“I am not planning anything, let me go!”

It was a lie, Otto knew. 

Every Hightower was cunning and Alicent was no exception. 

“Tell me the truth!” he demanded. 

Alicent squinted her eyes, venom dripping off her words as she said, “I am doing my part!”

“You have no part in the Red Keep, Alicent. You do not belong here anymore, your place is in Oldtown.”  Otto instantly retorted.

“Is that so? You should try to convince the Princess. I am sure she would love to have a word with you.” Alicent pushed away from Otto, once for all breaking free of his grasp. 

Otto looked at his own hand, face painted with revulsion. 

Then he took a good look at Alicent. 

“You and the Princess are such… Good friends .” his tone was laced with suspicion. 

“Yes, we are.” there was no shame in Alicent’s voice.

Otto frowned, disgusted and bewildered 

“Very well, then.” he finally said. “That is your part, I see, your efforts are towards becoming the Official Mistress of the Princess.” 

“I am nobody’s mistress and never will be.” 

“Oh, sure.” Otto scoffed. “The Princess will soon be wed to some important Lord. And what will be of your little affair? Do you truly believe in your own words, Alicent? She is a young girl, she is just toying with you.”

Alicent bit her lips.

“I bet you would love the Queen to die.” she said. 

Otto faltered, shocked by the unexpected accusation. 

“What a blasphemy!” 

“Yes, you would love it.” continued Alicent. “You would love to have full control over the King, over all of us. You would love to put into practice your shady ideas.”

“You are even more disturbed than I imagined, Alicent.” he mused.

“Maybe we have more in common than you knew.” 

Otto opened his mouth, ready to quip something back, but he stopped on his tracks as he heard happy chatter and laughter. At the end of the corridor, Rhaenyra appeared, and behind her were Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk carrying a steaming cauldron. Baelon’s egg , Alicent knew immediately. 

“Princess.” acknowledged Otto as he lowered his head.

“Lord Hand.” she replied with formality. “Lady Alicent” she then smiled. 

Alicent returned the affection. 

“Are you lost, Lord Hand?” Rhaenyra inquired suddenly.

All the colors left Otto’s face.

“Excuse me, my Princess?”

“I asked: are you lost, Lord Hightower? I believe you have a great deal of responsibilities, I am right? As Hand of the King.” Rhaenyra repeated herself.

Alicent held a chuckle. 

“You are absolutely right, Your Grace.”

“Yes, I am usually correct.” agreed Rhaenyra. 

Otto's small curtsy was his only act before leaving. 

***

In the middle of the afternoon, after the altercation with Otto, Alicent decided to walk to the castle’s stables. It was a long but therapeutic walk, filled with silence and the prospect of visiting Arion, her beloved black mare. 

Arion was a gift from Rhaenyra, a gesture of affection in Alicent’s fifteenth nameday. Before the ultimate meltdown, before the episode on Duskendale, Alicent was mortified of the mare as much as she was of Syrax. Alicent used to be afraid of many things — then she drowned in the narrow sea. As the waves pushed Alicent away from the harbor, as Alicent submerged in the water, she heard Rhaenyra’s voice. “ Wake up, Ali! ” “ Look at the sky! … It is the Shadowcat! ” “ Come! ” Alicent screams were lost in the salted water. She heard the bells of the Red Keep and prayers to The Stranger and then Father’s punishing tone. Finally, when her mouth was leaking water and all she could see was an impending death, she heard the sweetest of sounds: the coos of her Mother. “ My little love, why are you crying? ” Then there was darkness. And a scorching heat, the reek of dragon. She was home with Rhaenyra once again. 

And she was not afraid anymore. 

In fact, she has never been so willful and faithful to herself. 

“My beautiful girl!” Arion was in the third box stall, absently chewing hay. The mare released a nickering sound by Alicent’s sight, happily welcoming its owner. Alicent patted the mare’s coat, feeling the silk texture. “Oh, you look good!” Alicent kept complimenting the animal. “Tomorrow, we ride.” promised Alicent. “You must be anxious to stretch those legs… Yes, I know, I know, dear one.” Alicent touched Arion’s nose. “We will enjoy tomorrow. I will buy salt. Oh, you understand, don’t you?”

Arion was gifted to Alicent when she was only a young foal and as she was not properly cared for or trained in the beginning of her life, she became wild. There were many stablemen with broken ribs before the mare was tamed: like a dragon, Alicent liked to think, Arion only accepted one rider. 

Behind Alicent, someone cleared their throat. 

“Ah! Hello, Ser Harwin.” Alicent greeted.

Ser Harwin Strong, the son of Lyonel Strong, had been a dutiful friend during chaotic times. He was a helpful and skillful man who taught a still mentally debilitated Alicent how to mount and ride a horse. Later, when Alicent's pain had mellowed, Harwin tutored her about the roads of Westeros so she would not be lost again. 

“Lady Alicent” Harwin beamed. “How are you doing?”

“Very good, thank you” Alicent shook her head slightly. “And what about you, Ser?”

“I am fine” Harwin walked up to Alicent. They stood side by side. “Have you found a use for your dragon tooth?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you again, Ser Harwin. I would not be able to crush a dragon’s tooth. My hands are quite weak, honestly” Alicent eyed her own hands, finding healed cuticles. “And thank you for not asking too many questions.”

“There is no need for thanks, Lady Alicent” Harwin gave a few steps, coming closer. Alicent furrowed her eyebrows. “In fact, there was this wetnurse in Harrenhal. She would also ask for the weirdest favors… Once she requested a crow’s foot.”

“How curious.”

“Indeed.”

Alicent snuggled Arion’s neck, breathing deeply. 

She considered Ser Harwin would go away but he stayed, quietly smiling and smitten with something. Alicent felt uneasy. Then she asked, “What are you looking for, Ser Harwin?”

“I am looking at you, Lady Alicent.” he admitted.

Embarrassed, Alicent flushed completely. 

“May I ask you why?”

“You look very… “ Harwin stopped for a few seconds, searching for an adequate word. “Very charming, Lady Alicent.”

“ Oh .”

Alicent sighed. She felt too tired to pretend something:

“You are looking at the wrong lady, Ser Harwin.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you are.” 

“Are you betrothed, Lady Alicent?” worriedly asked Harwin.

He regretted as the words slipped through his tongue, even though his heart was pouring the most honest kindness.  

“No.”

Harwin stayed in complete silence. 

“I apologize for the disturbance, Lady Alicent.”

“All is fine, Ser Harwin.”

The Strong man seemed uncomfortable.

“May I help you saddle Arion?”

“Maybe another time, Ser Harwin.”

“Of course.” 

***

When it was supper time, Alicent chose to bask in the calm ambiance of her chambers. 

Talya, a new servant, knocked two times before entering with a variety of dishes. Sat at her bed, Alicent slowly ate a slice of pie while reading a book about Valyrian tales. As the candles burned down, Alicent closed her eyes. 

The night was long and cold, and Alicent missed Rhaenyra’s smell and warmth. Alicent’s arms felt awfully empty without the Targaryen lady. One of the pillows used last night rested beside Alicent’s belly and she instinctively hugged it, sniffling. As she smelled lavender and lemon cakes, she fell asleep. 

No omens were revealed that night. 

A relieved Alicent started her new day. 

Talya returned in the morning with warm water and some herbs. Alicent thanked and dismissed the servant, preparing the bath herself. Alicent washed her reddish hair, taking good care of the curls, and then scrubbed her skin. Lazily, she leaned her head on the bathtub. 

Abruptly, the doors were opened. Alicent didn’t have the time to react as Rhaenyra walked in, “ Alicent? Where are you? ” 

“Right here!”

Rhaenyra followed Alicent’s voice.

“Oh, Gods, you are naked.” Rhaenyra’s neck and cheeks went purple.

Alicent shrugged. 

“Well, yes, I am in the bath.”

They have seen each other naked countless times. When they were little girls and the servants were too tired to do more, they would make the girls share a bath. Then, when they were big enough, they aided one another while dressing complicated dresses and other formal attires. Alicent was also used to washing Rhaenyra’s hair. And, of course, they had some intimate moments —but they were always playful and tentative and underneath the nightdress. This somehow sounded different. 

To say that Rhaenyra was mesmerized by Alicent’s round breasts was an understatement. The Princess gasped and her shoulders heaved. Then she turned around, huffing like an entitled child. “I heard about your encounter with Ser Harwin in the stables.”

Alicent’s nose scrunched. 

“You heard about it?”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra barely turned her face. 

Alicent then pondered, “Are you entertaining yourself with the court’s gossip, Rhaenyra?” 

“No.” Rhaenyra’s arms crossed over her chest. “You know I do not engage in this kind of behavior.”

“Of course.”

“The walls have eyes and ears in the Red Keep. It is a fact, everybody knows.”

“Then you must know I was visiting Arion as I am planning to ride today.”

“Where do you intend to go?”

“Street of Flour.”

Rhaenyra's second gasp was audible.

“And what about me ?”

“Yes?”

“Were you planning to invite me?”

“Yes, my Princess.”

“And-and what about Ser Harwin?”

“What do you wish to know?”

“I heard Ser Harwin asked for your hand.”

“It is a lie.” Alicent answered before standing up in the bathtub. The Lady quickly dried her hair and then wrapped herself up in a towel. “Ser Harwin, however, did compliment me but he seemed regretful.”

Rhaenyra grunted. 

“Are you jealous, Princess?”

“No, of course not. I understand that you and Ser Harwin share the same… Preferences .” Rhaenyra followed Alicent to another part of the room, intently watching Alicent’s search for a chemise. 

“Oh yes, you should be worried about the other ladies in court.” 

After that, Rhaenyra became grumpy.

“My feelings are not to be your source of entertainment!”

“They are not, I assure you. But you are jealous.”

Rhaenyra laid down on Alicent’s bed, a tragic look on her face. 

“I want to eat pigeon pie.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. And to drink a good cup of hippocras.”

Alicent, dressed in a white chemise, crawled in bed until they were eye to eye. Rhaenyra, with puckered lips, turned her face away. Alicent kissed Rhaenyra’s forehead, cheekbones and jaw. She asked,  “Tell me your thoughts.”

“I was frightened, very frightened, when the stable boy reached me.” affirmed Rhaenyra. “Your father is an evil cunt . When I heard the story, all I could think was how he had pushed Ser Harwin into madness, and how Otto would force his wishes on you.”

Alicent squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand.

“You do not have to worry about my father or…”

“Yes, I have!” interrupted Rhaenyra. 

“Then do not worry about Ser Harwin. It was only a misunderstanding.” 

Rhaenyra shuddered and looked at Alicent with melancholic eyes. She opened her mouth, readying herself to say something but gave up, wrapping her arms around Alicent’s neck. Alicent felt Rhaenyra’s warm breath on her face, the sugary smell, and their lips met. They kissed slowly but continuously, breathing during stolen moments, and parted ways when both were overwhelmed and clinging tightly to a higher desire. The Princess was the first to speak again:

“If we are about to go to the Street of Flour, we must find a way to hide my hair.” 

Alicent agreed.

Chapter Text

The Queen Consort was incredibly aware of every single movement in the Red Keep. She knew of the servants' schedules ― when it was time to wash the clothes, to polish the silver, to clean the floors, to cook the food, to feed the horses, dogs, and dragons. Likewise, Aemma was familiar with Viserys appointments and behaviors: the Small Council meetings, the many sweet snacks, the idle talk about tournaments and knights, the waste of gold dragons, and now the discussions about the heir-to-be. In the last weeks, Viserys had also started growing restless with Rhaenyra’s unmarried status; he remembered Aemma becoming with child for the second time when she was their daughter’s age. 

Aemma embraced Rhaenyra’s demeanor. She enjoyed the girl’s youthfulness, her love for dragons, swords, desserts, and Alicent. The Queen always argued in favor of her daughter, delaying Viserys’ ideas about marriage as soon as Rhaenyra first moonblood came. Lately, she would admit, Rhaenyra had been excessively careless, sleeping until the middle of the day, skipping lessons, and spending nights in her friend’s chambers. Syrax, Aemma learned, was a mirror of Rhaenyra: the dragon rarely accepted to hunt, preferring fat calves brought by the Dragonkeepers, and regularly slept half of the day. 

Afternoon was nearing when a scrawny stable boy came by the Queen’s chambers, hat in one hand. “Your Highness,” the boy stumbled in a curtsy. 

“Rodrik” the Queen greeted. 

Queen Aemma was sitting on her bed, busy knitting a small wooly hat. It had been one day since the dragon’s tooth elixir and she had been feeling a little bit better: still easily tired and with shortness of breath, but less swollen and without hot flashes. She smiled a lot in the morning when the baby kicked for the first time in days. 

“The Princess was seen outside the Red Keep. Apparently, she left in the morning with… Hum… With the witchy lady.” Rodrik stuttered a little. “The Princess asked for Roswell and-and she- The Princess was dressed like a boy. The other lady took Arion, the wild mare.”

“Something more?”

“I heard they visited the Street of Flour.” the boy licked his lips. “The Princess and her friend … they have already returned. The Princess seemed a little tipsy.” Aemma sighed. “They are in the gardens now, my Queen.” hungrily, Rodrik stared the basket of fruits on Aemma’s bedside table. “And that’s all, Highness.”

Aemma stopped knitting. Bertha, one of the serving girls in the corner of the room, nodded and opened a satchel, taking out six coppers and giving it to the boy. Rodrik 's eyes shone and he thanked the Queen before leaving. 

*** 

In the grass field behind the forgotten tower of the castle, the washerwomen worked. Sat on stools, putting dirty bed linens on basins with water, the splashing sounds mixed with the low singing of the women. Alicent skillfully walked through the maze of hanged clothes, reaching the small group of working ladies:  “Lady Ali !” a small sturdy three-year-old boy ran towards Alicent, raising his arms above his head, “Please, Lady Ali?”

Alicent giggled before taking the boy in her arms. “Lord Jon, how are you doing?” she asked. Jon nested against Alicent’s hip and hid his face on her neck, answering only small puffs of air. “What is the matter, small Lord?”

“The boy is growing fat and spoiled, Lady Alicent” the verbal answer came from the boy’s mother, Magda. As she spoke, she didn’t raise her eyes from the Queen’s pillowcases. “You are pampering him too much, aye .”

Alicent sat down on the grass, holding the boy close to her side while opening with one hand a basket full of herbs, teas, and lemon cakes. The youngest maid, at the corner of the field, smiled and her eyes grew interested: “Stop upsetting the Lady, Magda!” 

“No offense was taken, Amabel… ” said Alicent. “Well, the kitchens were scarce today, I believe there is a small celebration in the King’s chambers… But there are plenty of lemon cakes.”

“Lemon cakes are fine!” assured Lea, a blonde woman, before whisking a round cake. She licked the sugary icing, savoring the delayed taste of fresh lemon. 

Amabel chimed in again: 

“You are mannerless, Lea!” 

Jon crawled away from Alicent’s arms, choosing the biggest lemon cake before running to his mother. The boy gave a hungry bite and shared the delicacy with Magda. As the women rinsed and dried their hands, Alicent pushed the basket forward.

The arrangement is considerably new , Alicent reminisced herself as the women ate and talked with each other. Before Duskendale, the young Hightower barely bothered to remember the servants' names ― and for that she was deeply embarrassed. Now, after the drowning, she caught herself among all kinds of women, searching for knowledge. 

Brew tea, grind and toast herbs, it all came naturally as Alicent’s spirits were high. Supported by prohibited books hidden in the Red Keep library, healing practices became almost instinctive. But not everything was written or instinctual, Alicent learned quickly. She was a maiden, she was no Mother and her body was too inexperienced for some pains.

A few moments later, when the women finished eating and returned to their activities, the conversation flowed easily. Lea, the only pregnant servant of the group, didn’t mince her words: “These Maesters’ know nothing at all. They think themselves smart with those damn leeches and lukewarm baths but they are just stupid.”

Magda laughed a little. “I heard the noble ladies give birth on their backs. Is that true, Lady Alicent?”

“I believe so.” she agreed.

“What a beautiful show.” Lea’s voice was laced with scorn.

Magda just rolled her eyes.

“My mum gave birth quite quickly. She just squatted and my brother fell off.” Amabel whispered.

Magda and Lea snickered. 

“I don’t believe it works like this, Amabel.” said Alicent.

“Indeed not, Lady Alicent.” said Magda. “But squatting is probably the best position for laboring.”

“My older boys came out when I was in all-fours.” added Lea. 

“Are you with child, Lady Ali?” Jon quipped in. 

Alicent gently stroked the boy’s reddish hair:

“No, Lord Jon. Maybe someday.”

Alicent wasn’t entirely sure, not after the butchering she saw in a recent dream.

“If I was the Queen…”

“But you are not!”

“Oh, quiet, Amabel!” grumbled Lea. “If I was the Queen, hear me Lady Alicent, I would ask for the midwives in Oldtown.”

“They are smart women.” Magda nodded. 

“My husband called an old midwife when my last girl wasn’t upside down. She helped me turn the baby,” continued Lea. “Of course, it was expensive and we are still paying until now, but the Queen mustn’t suffer from shortage of money.” 

Alicent said nothing. 

The conversation went without interruptions. They discussed cramps, cravings, and ancient knowledge.  Afterwards, Alicent assisted Magda and Amabel with preparing moon tea. Lea asked for a way to alleviate morning sickness and Alicent taught the woman to properly brew red raspberry leaves. When Jon ate the last lemon cake, Alicent waved farewell and thanked the women for their time.

Alicent returned the basket to the kitchens. 

The corridors that led to the gardens were cold and silent, and Alicent felt a shiver down her spine as anguish settled in. Some days, she was cursed with a haunting empathy, breathing the energy of others. Therefore, Alicent was not surprised when in the royal garden she met Larys Strong. 

Alicent sighed. 

The encounter was cursed. 

“Lady Alicent.” Lord Larys smiled, sat at a wooden bench. 

“Lord Larys.” 

Larys was an easy read, Alicent thought, as his past, present and future were written in his face. He was a quiet and pietied man, a neglected hurt child deep within. He imagined himself cunning but Alicent knew an evil person when she saw one. “Are you feeling well, my Lady?”

“Yes, of course.” Alicent cleared her throat. “And what about you, Lord Larys?”

“Eh.” he shrugged in an informal manner. “The pain never subsides.”

Alicent gazed into her own hands, avoiding Larys’ grievous glance. 

“Have you heard the story of the day I was born, Lady Alicent?” Alicent bit her own cheeks. “The midwife twisted my foot at the birth.”

“What a short story, my Lord.” was Alicent’s answer.

Larys smiled. “Yes, it is short. But, you must see, the scars of that day will never stop punishing me.” 

“I shall pray for you tonight, Lord Larys, so the Gods may relieve your pain.”

“How generous.” Larys leaned in his cane. “Tell me, Lady Alicent, do you still pray to The Seven?” 

“No, not anymore, Lord Larys.” she said. 

“And who do you pray for, then?”

Alicent looked into Larys grayish eyes. “Another God, a higher one.”

It was a lie, a tremendous lie. 

There was no higher God, there were the Spirits above and the calming touch of what Alicent thought must have been a Goddess as only a woman could provide such love. There were no names, no denominations. There was only faith and the reassuring warmth of divine arms, the joy to those who followed the right path. 

Alicent would never share her truth with Larys Strong as he was not worthy of enlightenment. “Say your part, Lord Larys” she finally demanded. 

“I hear your footsteps in the Red Keep, Lady Alicent.” Larys puckered his lips. “I hear the rustling of leaves as you walk, the sound of the washboards, the cry of babies. You are not subtle, Lady Alicent. In fact, I believe you are as loud as the Princess’ dragon.”

Alicent's body tensed. 

“Your father, the Lord Hand, I would say is even louder. What do you think about snow, Lady Alicent? I heard Ser Otto is planning to send you to the North.” Larys deviously grinned. 

No, it would never happen. 

Rhaenyra would never allow Alicent to leave the Red Keep, at least not without her. Syrax would roar in the skies of the North if necessary, Alicent was sure of that. And Otto’s power was limited. The snake’s venom would not take control of the King’s mind. No, Viserys wouldn't be so compliant. Would he? 

Alicent closed her eyes for an instant. 

“Tell me soon what you wish.”

“Me?” Larys laughed to himself. “I wish nothing, Lady Alicent. I am just an observer.”

“You are truly humble, Lord Larys.” Alicent spitted the words.

“But, one day, I might be more than an observer, maybe even a helpful hand.”

***

Rhaenyra was in deep slumber, laying on her belly and cocooning in a comfortable red bedspread when she was suddenly and rather abruptly awakened.  She whimpered like a wounded dragon, “ What? ”

It was probably Father. 

“Will the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms honor me with her company?”

It was Mother.

Rhaenyra sat immediately: at the foot of the bed, Queen Aemma was standing in a beautiful pink dress, with her hair carefully braided and tied up, as one her hands was in the bedpost and the other was lovingly rubbing her belly. “Mother,” Rhaenyra beamed with pleasure. “You look wonderful.”

The Princess’ mind worked hard as she tried to remember the last time she saw her Mother walking around the Red Keep. Ah! Months and months ago, when the Queen was in the beginning of the pregnancy. Rhaenyra kneeled on the mattress and reached out her Mother, holding her hands dearly. 

“Oh, thank you.” the Queen smiled back.

“Are you feeling well?” Rhaenyra looked at her Mother’s hands, where beautiful rings adorned her fingers and swoleness was nowhere to be found. She kissed the Queen’s hand. “Am I dreaming?”

Aemma’s blue eyes softened.

“I am well, daughter.” she said. “And what about you? How is your head?”

Rhaenyra frowned.

“My head?”

“Yes.”

“I am … Well ?” 

“Is Roswell fine too?”

The King’s stallion . 

Rhaenyra’s eyes grew bigger as realization hit her. 

“Now, Rhaenyra, I am very forgiving of your acts but I will not tolerate a drunken Heir to the Throne.” Aemma squeezed Rhaenyra’s hand. “You are only six-and-ten. You have few responsibilities, there is no need for foolish acts.”

Aemma and Rhaenyra separated hands.

“I just drank two cups of hippocras.”

“Yes, I understand you get lightheaded easily. And that is why you should not drink.” 

Rhaenyra simply nodded and then replied, “I am sorry, Mother.”

To argue with the Queen was unknown territory to Rhaenyra as the arguments always happened between the Princess and the King.  In the last months, Rhaenyra’s resentfulness with Viserys had grown together with Aemma’s round belly. “Now, it is time to eat. Up up!”

Aemma seemed excited, enthusiastic as she hadn’t been in many moons, and Rhaenyra happily obeyed. After a warm bath and dressing in a blue and gold dress, Rhaenyra felt like crying when Mother dismissed the maids and took good care of her hair. Aemma poured lavender oil in her hands before braiding Rhaenyra’s hair in a crown. 

King Viserys was delighted when trays and trays of food were carried to his chambers. Apples, apricots and figs were carefully arranged around a roasted duck. The smell of venison pie and fresh bread filled the King’s nostrils. Wine, almond milk and cream were disposed of in different jars. Then, as if the small feast wasn’t beautiful enough, he was graced by his Queen’s presence and not longer after, the Princess. What a blessed day!

They all sat together and enjoyed the food.

Aemma smiled and ate a lot and her cheeks were flushed in the same pink color as the dress she wore that morning. Viserys told stories about Old Valyria and Rhaenyra shared about her newest acquisition, a heart-shaped necklace for Syrax.  At some point, Viserys tried to chastise Rhaenyra about her extended absence in the Small Council but Aemma interrupted her husband, ensuring Rhaenyra’s return to the meetings. 

It was a joyful morning. 

Chapter Text

Seven days after the dragon’s milk-tooth elixir, Alicent was once again requested in the Queen’s chambers. She was escorted in the Red Keep’s corridors by two knights, one on each side, and they spoke nothing. 

“My Queen.” Alicent bowed. 

“Lady Alicent!” the Queen smiled from the other side of the room. She was inclined in a rocking chair, carefully working on a embroiderment. The Queen removed the needle from the canvas and turned the fabric to Alicent, showing a beautiful falcon nestling beside a dragon. “Tell me your opinion.”

“It is beautiful, Your Grace.” honestly answered Alicent.

The falcon was a dark blue and the dragon was a lighter shade, as the sky on a sunny day, and had silver markings. Aemma said, “Rhaenyra said the baby’s egg is from Dreamfyre. Can you see the similarity?”

“Unfortunately not, my Queen. I am not familiar with Dreamfyre’s appearance, although I have heard it is an exquisite dragon.” 

Aemma chuckled. 

“It is unbelievable, Lady Alicent, my daughter has not been able to persuade you to visit the Dragonpit.” 

“Yes, it is. The Princess’ biggest desire is to convince me to fly on dragonback.” added Alicent. 

Aemma’s eyes returned to the embroidery: “Again?”

“Excuse me, my Queen?” Alicent blinked twice.

“When Rhaenyra rescued you from Duskendale, both of you returned on Syrax. The Dragonkeepers were impressed that Syrax carried swiftly two, they thought she was not prepared yet.” Aemma pulled the threaded needle through Dreamfyre scales, adding extra layers of  details. “Rhaenyra rewarded Syrax with the fattest goat on King’s Landing.”

Wordlessly, Alicent only nodded. 

Her memory was still foggy, a confusing puzzle. She remembered the drowning, the salty water lingered on her mouth. The cacophony; the bells, the prayers, Rhaenyra’s voice, oh , she would never forget. Somewhere in her mind, Alicent imagined, the truth was hidden: why she had left the Tower of the Hand and wandered through the streets and roads. What were her intentions? What motivated such a journey? What was in Duskendale, after all?

Alicent only knew of her awakening. 

Rhaenyra’s tired figure near the bed, sobbing like a child when Alicent’s eyes opened once again. Otto’s disappointed gaze. Gwayne’s happiness. The infinite talking about blisters and fevers, about hallucinated grumbles. More importantly, how different Alicent felt. 

Forever changed, shaped into a new woman. 

Deeply connected to something holy. 

“You look distressed, Lady Alicent.” Aemma’s sweet voice brought Alicent back to reality. 

“I have few memories of Duskendale, Your Grace.” she said.

“Oh,” the Queen stopped embroidering. “Maybe you should sit, darling?”

“No, thank you.” replied Alicent. “However, Your Grace, I am interested in why you requested me this morning.”

“Yes, of course. I wish to discuss your payment, Lady Alicent.” stated the Queen. 

“Payment?” echoed Alicent.

“Yes, my dear, your payment.” agreed Aemma.

“I am not understanding, Your Grace.”

“Lady Alicent, can you not see how well I look?” the Queen gladly grinned. “I believe your healing potion is doing its part. And for your part, I wish to pay you. Tell me what you desire and I shall arrange it.”

Alicent anxiously picked her cuticles. 

She desired a lot of things: 

To bind herself eternally to Rhaenyra. To have a crown upon her head. To own a castle deep in the Vale. To witness more life than death. To never watch or hear Rhaenyra’s bones and flesh breaking and tearing apart. To never mourn children. 

“The baby is not born yet, my Queen,” she said at least.

“Yes, I am aware.” Aemma affectionately rubbed her belly, feeling the small Prince’s against her skin. “But I am feeling better, so much better. My days were on the bed, sweating and cramping, but now I am able to supper with my daughter and husband. I can sew again, I can walk in the gardens. The baby kicks day and night.”

“It is wonderful, indeed.” conceded Alicent. “But what about the birthing, Your Grace? And afterwards? The baby is a fortnight away.”

“Nothing is guaranteed, I know. I am still scared,” Aemma shook her head. “But at the moment I feel fine, and for that I am thankful. Maybe death will have me at the end of this pregnancy but at least I will not suffer in my last days.”

Alicent’s body tensed, and she felt her heart sink with sadness and fear. Her vision became blurred as she fought against watering eyes, suddenly consumed by her own emotions. Blood dripped off Alicent's finger and she gruntled slightly.

Aemma’s powers were small compared to what she truly wanted. “So, tell me, what is your desire?”

***

Rhaenyra sighed next to the open window, a flagon of watered wine in her hands. 

Viserys was at the end of the long wooden table, excitedly peeling hard-boiled eggs while speaking about the big tournament to come, in the honor of the young Prince. Before the frivolous talk, Rhaenyra endured a long debate about taxes in the Dornish territory. Lord Corlys was demanding and short-tempered, and Rhaenyra filled his goblet three times. 

Looking through the window, Rhaenyra could see the parts of the gardens and a small portion of the training area, where some members of the royal guard were wielding swords. Ser Harwin Strong was laughing as he watched the young knights.  Rhaenyra leaned in, scrutinizing eyes on the Strong men. 

It's all becoming a bother , the Princess thought.  

When Rhaenyra was only one-and-ten, she was painfully infatuated with Ser Harwin. It was after her first moonblood: Rhaenyra’s body was changing, becoming rounder and taller all at once, and boys suddenly were pleasant. Ser Harwin was not a boy, he was a man, and she watched him from afar, blushing and heaving. Alicent, two-and-ten at the time, was unable to understand Rhaenyra’s feelings. Ser Harwin never glanced in Rhaenyra's direction, and when she was three-and-ten, she noticed how Alicent’s downward-turned lips were inviting. A year later, under the weirwood tree, Rhaenyra was brave enough to steal a kiss from Alicent. 

The Princess’ bit the insides of her cheeks. 

Uncle Daemon always said dragons were jealous creatures, and Rhaenyra never believed. Until she heard the stable boy gossiping about a small affair between Harwin and Alicent. She was a reasonable person, she understood how Alicent would never be able to share those feelings with the Strong knight. Still, Rhaenyra’s chest burned with bitterness and wrath. She felt, in a way, betrayed by Ser Harwin. She trusted him, she encouraged his relationship with Alicent. His only right was to brotherly love Alicent, not to court her. 

Had Harwin also thought about Alicent’s lips? How supple and pink her mouth was, how sweet it tasted? Rhaenyra felt like screaming and huffing in a childlike manner. Alicent’s charms were only to her, and hers only: to the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Lost in thoughts, Rhaenyra gasped in delight when Alicent’s figure suddenly appeared in the corner of the training patio. She was beautiful, as always, in a mint green dress with a complex pattern of black needlework in the cleavage. A dream becoming a nightmare, Rhaenyra’s stance went stiff when Alicent reached the left fence and stopped, waiting for something. It didn’t take long for Harwin, like a well-trained dragon, to happily retreat from his activities and follow Alicent under a stone canopy. What were they talking about? 

Rhaenyra couldn’t hear a word but she stared intently, furrowing brows as she tried to guess some of the words that they spoke so rushedly. Alicent lowered her head, whispering something, and Harwin gestured with his hands. If Rhaenyra wasn’t flabbergasted enough, now her sharply drawn breath was heard across the Small Council chambers. The Princess was so focused that she jumped when the King’s deep voice resonated, “What is the matter, daughter?”

“Father.” 

“ Daughter. ” Viserys chuckled and then looked out the window. Alicent and Harwin exchanged a few more words and left together, walking towards a corridor. “Oh.” Viserys scratched his chin before returning to the Council table. “Otto, my friend, it seems like your daughter is getting acquainted with Ser Harwin Strong.”

The Lords stopped the bickering over types of cheese, and Otto Hightower’s face faltered for an instant before he spoke, “Is she, my King?”

Later in the day, Rhaenyra was sulking. 

After the Small Council meeting, the Princess attended a Septa Marlow’s lesson, where she annoyedly listened about a woman’s duty and the blessings of the Mother. The midday meal came and Rhaenyra ate alone like a grumpy child, avoiding vegetables and eating an awful lot of honeycakes and iced blueberries with sweet cream. In the afternoon, Rhaenyra absently allowed to be measured and pinched by a seamstress in the Queen’s chambers. 

“Oh, hold your stomach, Princess.” the seamstress asked as she tried to lace a red corset. 

Rhaenyra squinted her eyes. 

“ What ?”

The seamstress seemed unaware of Rhaenyra’s offended tone as she repeated herself. Irritated, Rhaenyra complied. Aemma, surrounded by ladies-in-waiting, was too enthralled with a baby apron to notice her daughter’s discomfort. Some days are simply plagued , Rhaenyra reflected briefly afterwards. 

The Dragonpit was Rhaenyra’s final destination of the day. It was not a scheduled visit and before running to the Hill of Rhaenys, the Princess dressed in a rush, finding comfort in wearing black leather and trousers. The Dragonkeepers greeted Rhaenyra before entering the cave with burning torches.

Syrax was bought by three Dragonkeepers, growling and ruffling in heavy chains. The female dragon roared, lowering her head to look into Rhaenyra’s eyes. A flash of purple and green. Syrax opened a golden wing, thrusting against an old Dragonkeeper. Valyrian commands were shouted and Rhaenyra dismissed the Dragon guards, assuming Syrax’s care. 

Rhaenyra unlocked the chains and affectionately patted Syrax’s scaly neck, “ Issa jorrāelagon ,” Syrax’s breath was scorching as fire itself but Rhaenyra didn’t falter. The dragon raised her snout, a snobby and gigantic baby. Rhaenyra's grin was wide. “Let’s fly together, dear girl.”

Boastfully, Syrax walked out the cave alone, long tail swinging. More orders in Valyrian were chimed and the Dragonkeepers retreated as the young dragon came down the steps of the Dragonpit. Syrax snarled a last time before bowing, neck low in a clear invitation: Rhaenyra held tight the straps, propelling herself up and comfortably sitting in the saddle, posture straight. No words were needed when rider and dragon mind were one. 

The sun was already going down, the skyline a beautiful hue of pink and blue. Syrax’s wings were silent and gracious, fast movements as she ascended between clouds, higher and higher. Rhaenyra happily welcomed the fast dizziness, ears ringing. 

Syrax’s roars were heard across the Red Keep like a pearl of thunder in the skyline. The dragon tilted a little before swirling completely, causing Rhaenyra to scream as she tried to steady herself. Syrax’s snarls sounded like a mocking laugh. “ Your ungrateful beast !” accused Rhaenyra, flushed face and tousled hair. Syrax snarled a second time, still jesting, and swirled again. “ Paez ilagon, Syrax, paez ilagon! ”

It was not Syrax’s first mischief in the skies. 

Rhaenyra and Syrax were cut of the same cloth. They shared the same wilderness and temper since the cradle, when a small yellowish egg was deposited below Rhaenyra’s chubby feet. The Princess still remembered the heat, the gentle licks on the face as a newly hatched Syrax climbed atop of the bed and screamed furiously, announcing herself to the world. The nursemaids on the watch fainted. 

Then Rhaenyra and Syrax grew up together.

The Princess’ first steps were followed by the dragon’s chained first flight, and the words that filled Rhaenyra’s mouth were big enough to name the dragon. As Rhaenyra tried to eat porridge with her own hands, childishly fighting at the breakfast table, Syrax only accepted the softest rabbits, spitting small flames at the Dragonkeepers. Syrax would never accept another rider, Rhaenyra knew. It was a bond too strong and Rhaenyra imagined some nights, when she was having trouble sleeping, that Syrax would become a wild dragon after her passing. 

Suddenly, Syrax stopped:

Wings flapping in a nervous demeanor, half-shut eyes with suspicion. Birds flew in desperation. Rhaenyra scowled a little as her eyes captured a red shadow and fire rushed between clouds. Syrax instinctually dove, hissing and turning around, flying back towards the Dragonpit. No dragon’s noise was loud enough to hide Daemon Targaryen’s laugh. 

Rhaenyra raised her head, one hand holding tightly the saddle straps as the other comforted Syrax, and watched Caraxes’ slim red blood body above them. Caraxes long neck was almost Syrax’s length, and his paws were big enough to engulf the younger dragon’s skull. “ Niece! ” Daemon’s playful voice was heard above the creature. 

“ Uncle. ” Rhaenyra’s response was a grumble.

“ What a beautiful pet you’ve got! ” Caraxes plunged, gliding side-by-side with a still scared Syrax. “ Is she afraid? Poor thing. ”

Rhaenyra glanced as Daemon flaunted his talents, riding with his hands in the air. The Rogue Prince smirked, adjusting his silver hair. “ You are a week early, uncle. The tournament has not started yet .”

“Aye, such a rude welcome .” complained Daemon in a well acted hurt. 

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, an ironic retort in the tip of her tongue, but Daemon's movements silenced the Princess as he encouraged Caraxes to push against Syrax wings, causing both dragons to complain: “ Visenya’s Hill ?”

A quick race, Daemon invited. 

Rhaenyra, incredulous but always proud, could only answer “ Visenya’s Hill .”

*** 

When the night fell in the Red Keep, King Viserys ordered a small feast in celebration of the return of the Targaryen Prince. It was a last minute decision and the cooks exhausted themselves over the stoves, reading trays and trays of food. It was the hour of the bat when the food was served:

Viserys and Daemon were already drunk with Dornish red when a roasted venison was cutted. The table was full with a cornucopia of colorful fruits, fresh bread, and different dressings. A rich stew was placed near a lamprey pie. There was steaming soup, braised chicken thighs, and bacon. Rhaenyra asked for a little bit of jam, always a sweet tooth. Queen Aemma, however, was restless as she waited for a kidney pie. “ Pregnancy cravings” , she explained later while eating a third piece slice of pie. Between the jugs of wine, a servant brought mead ― and Aemma shamelessly swatted Rhaenyra’s hands as the girl reached for the sweet beverage. 

“Let the girl drink, my Queen!” Daemon was hiccuping. “Only the weak get drunk with mead. She is the blood of the dragon afterall!”

There was teasing in Daemon’s deep voice and Rhaenyra fought against her own temper as she was still sore after losing the race to Visenya’s Hill. She shouldn't feel so upset, she remembered herself, Syrax was a baby compared to Caraxes. All in all, Rhaenyra decided to abstain from mead and obeyed the Queen, drinking pomegranate juice and then feasting a second time at the desserts table. It was the hour of the wolf when the Queen excused herself, a full belly and a kicking baby urging her to lay down. 

A few moments later, Rhaenyra also left the table.

As Rhaenyra steps guided her through the corridors, the Princess’ mind drifted a little and before she could notice, she was in front of Lady Alicent’s chamber doors. Ser Criston waited outside and Rhaenyra quickly entered without a knock, finding Alicent sleeping face down. 

The Princess sighed slowly. 

Alicent’s auburn hair was poorly braided, her body clad in a buttoned white nightgown. The Lady’s legs were hidden under a sheet and her hands were white-knucled as she pressed anxiously, unconsciously, against a pillow, imprisoned in what must have been a bad dream. Rhaenyra kneeled in the mattress before moving towards Alicent, laying beside her childhood companion in a warm embrace. She breathed deeply in Alicent’s perfume as her head laid between the girl's shoulder blades, and Rhaenyra’s hands found Alicent’s, interlacing their fingers in an attempt to relieve some of the painful tension. The Hightower girl shuddered, slurring, “ Nyra? ”

“It is me.” now, inebriated by Alicent’s presence and warmth, there was not an inch of bitterness in Rhaenyra’s body. There was no stupid chattering over politics and tournaments, no Ser Harwin, no insolent seamstress, and nothing to fright Syrax. 

“I missed you today,” Alicent said, yawning. “How was your day?”

“Awful.” Rhaenyra kicked off her shoes. “I missed you terribly. May I sleep with you tonight?”

“Who am I to deny something to the Heir to the Throne?” joked a sleepy Alicent.

“Alicent Hightower.”

“ Hum ?”

“You are Alicent Hightower,” whispered Rhaenyra as she spooned her best friend. “That is who you are.”

“Oh, thank you.”

“And they said chivalry was dead.”

Both girls giggled.

 When morning came, Rhaenyra lazily stretched out in the bed. Alicent was at the dresser, fondly combing her hair. Over a small charcoal disc something burned alongside candles, giving the chambers the same smell as the Sept. Rhaenyra groaned and said, “What is that?”

“Frankincense.” Alicent replied shortly. 

“The smell is foul, argh.”

“Is not foul,” Alicent rolled her eyes. “Stop nagging.”

“Oh, Syrax’s quarters smell better!”

Rhaenyra was being dramatic, Alicent knew; the chambers were filled with a woody and citrusy scent, faintly molten wax. Alicent’s heart was heavy with concern, even after a reassuring night in Rhaenyra’s lovely arms, and the frankincense had a soothing effect. The two candles, almost burned to the hilt, were testaments of early prayers said in the Princess sleep during the sunrise. Swallowing hard, Alicent paused the brushing movements and watched Rhaenyra in the mirror:

The young Targaryen had slept in a golden gown, ears, wrists, and neck tensed with the finest jewelry, leaving reddish imprints in her skin. Now she was stirring and sitting, skirts wrinkled and hair in a disarray. “I must tell you something.” finally admitted Alicent.

Rhaenyra's chest tightened as her friend standed up, walking and then stopping by her side in the bed. “Do you remember the dragon tooth I asked you?” 

Rhaenyra nodded. How could she forget? Alone in the Dragonpit, covered in dirt, while climbing her dragon, stealing a tooth from one of the deadliest mouth’s in Westeros. Then, of course, not tooth related but the claiming of her brother’s egg: the roaring of Dreamfyre, the spitting of fire and the biting attempts as Rhaenyra intruded the dragon’s nest. Oh, what a night! She wouldn’t forget in a thousand years. 

“The dragon tooth was crushed, then dissolved, and used in an elixir,” Alicent held Rhaenyra’s hands. The Princess’ face scrunched up and she whispered to herself “how weird” before Alicent continued, “The potion was for your mother, the Queen.”

“ What ?”

“She asked me to prepare a healing potion,” Rhaenyra's eyes shone with surprise and something else that Alicent was not able to describe or comprehend. “An effort to improve their health, to ease the journey.” 

“Alicent, what… Why… How ?” Rhaenyra was speechless. “Have she already drank it?”

“Yes, days ago.” Alicent’s cuticles itched. 

Rhaenyra pondered for a while and then conceded, “She seems healthier.”

“Indeed.”

Magic was no surprise for the valyrian descendants as they were baptized with the fire of dragons. Rhaenyra always heard of old tales, of power exchanges and how her House rose to power: Targaryen babies born with twisted bones and scaly skin, Dreamers whose visions changed history. But Alicent was no Targaryen, she would never share their cursed-blessed blood, and the manipulation of magical forces was forgotten together with Old Valyria and its former glory. 

“Where did you learn it?” demanded Rhaenyra.

Alicent released Rhaenyra’s hand. 

“I cannot explain it.” 

“ Alicent …”

“I am not sure of how the knowledge found me, but my heart guides me. I dream of awful things, Rhaenyra, I must tell you, but I also dream of spells, fire, and herbs.” she spoke softly. “The Queen trusts me, she believes in me.”

“So why tell me now?” 

Alicent had changed since Duskendale, Rhaenyra was no fool. She was patient and would indulge in Alicent’s new beliefs and behaviors, quietly watching as she burned incense and asked for different items, yet they never talked about it. Not until now. “I am sorry for not telling you before,” Alicent’s shoulders heaved. “But I am growing scared and I am not sure if I can… Endure it alone.”

Rhaenyra searched for Alicent’s hands in the mattress. 

“Tell me of the awful things you dream about.”

Alicent lowered her eyes, “Death,” bones, blood, babies crying. “A terrible future,” an unhappy arranged marriage, silver-haired children, a black crown, and green banners. “Loneliness, hatred.”

Rhaenyra fell in silence. 

“You must think I am becoming crazy but I feel your presence before you enter the chambers, and sometimes I know your words before they reach your tongue. You called for me in the narrow sea waters, and the bells rang…” Alicent was fretting. “The Queen said we returned in dragonback but I only remember dying. I wished I was dead, then I felt you. It was warm.” Alicent nipped at the skin in her index finger. “I dreamed of forbidden words and found in the tunnels, behind the library, spell books. It is not enough, the books are not enough. I do not care about binding spells against envy, no one envies me. I care for you, Rhaenyra, I care for you more than I care for myself. And I fear, right now, what will happen if the potion does not work.” 

“Nobody will punish you, Alicent.” 

“I do not fear punishment, Rhaenyra,” tears rolled down Alicent’s cheeks. “I will never know if they choose to have my head in a spike.”

“But I will know,” Rhaenyra grasped Alicent’s fingers, preventing more biting. “And I will not allow it, do you hear me? I cannot convey all of my thoughts at the moment, I do not believe I understand all that you confessed… But I will stand with you. I witnessed the happiness in my mother’s eyes, how much she improved, I am thankful for that, Alicent, I really am thankful.” Rhaenyra touched Alicent’s face, cleaning teardrops, and then kissing the swollen skin of the girl’s closed eyelids. “But I must know what you are planning, Alicent, what you are doing. All I ask is your honesty, so I can stand with you.” 

It is a fair request , thought Alicent.

“I am sorry.” mumbled Alicent.

“Do not apologize,” Rhaenyra kissed Alicent’s forehead. “Have you sinned?”

“Hm?”

“Have you sinned?” repeated Rhaenyra. “Why, you are apologizing.”

“Is it a sin not to conform?” Alicent opened her eyes. 

“I do not believe it is a sin, Lady Alicent.”

***

Six days later, nobles of Westeros gathered around the Red Keep as the tournament in honor of the new heir began.

Chapter Text

Deep in the godswood, among elms and alders, there was a small lake filled with the most crystalline water whose surface reflected the full moon. The lakeside, where dragon’s breath grew, was some yards from the oak heart tree. Bare feet, Alicent wandered through the maze of trees; behind her, Ser Harwin Strong carried in one hand a fire lit lantern. 

Even though the Red Keep was swarming in an excessive amount of people, Lords and Ladies of the noblest Houses in Westeros reunited to celebrate the new Targaryen prince, the godswood was silent and empty. The only sounds were the rustling of leaves and murmur of crickets. Alicent looked quickly over her shoulder and stopped, saying “That is enough, Ser Harwin.”

Ser Harwin, the good ally, nodded shortly and let the lady follow her path. The wind, a howling that called for Alicent, was now quiet. An imperceptible drumming under the ground guided her steps and Alicent kneeled near the flowers, stretching her hands towards the clear water. As her fingers were immersed in the cold, she shivered. 

Looking into the water, Alicent retreated her hands as the liquid mirrored images that only she could see or understand:

The silver-haired Queen on her back, screaming as blood leaked between her pale legs. The same Queen on her knees, crying for help as women surrounded the room. Then there was a child being held, a naked baby boy. The Princess’ eyes wet with tears. And a hand holding a dagger, and someone at deathbed. Who were they? Was fated to death the same hand that held the dagger? 

She touched the water surface a second time.

The same forces that guided her to the narrow sea were in the woods, understood Alicent. Maybe a Goddess herself, a merciful but mysterious Mother; in the earth, among the plants, in the air, and even in Alicent’s blood, she was there. No other power could explain the momentum, the certainty that woke her from sleep and led to Ser Harwin’s chambers, to the godswood where older gods were adored. The same certainty ran through Alicent’s veins as she opened a drawstring pouch, drawing some herbs and a Myrish stiletto. 

***

On the first morning of the big tournament, Rhaenyra was awakened by two anxious maids. They spoke of bubbly baths, warm milk, and silk dresses. Rhaenyra silently complied, yawning as one of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting entered the quarters, sent to help the Princess with the washing and combing of her long hair. As the woman scrubbed Rhaenyra’s scalp with little to no care, the young Targaryen groaned unsatisfied. Alicent’s hands, she reasoned to herself, were so much softer and kinder. 

In the Consort chambers, Rhaenyra broke the fast in the company of her heavily pregnant mother. The King was nowhere to be found, probably already engaging in the court frivolities. Aemma, sitting on fluffy cushions, was eating slowly, chewing almonds and sipping tea. Rhaenyra, after finishing a slice of blackberry oatcake, said, “You look beautiful today, Mother.”

And truth it was! The Queen’s skin was shining and pink, her hair in a waterfall of braids, and her fingers and wrists adorned in gold. She was dressed in the richest silk, her dress mostly blue, goldy embroidered, with red and white long bell sleeves. Aemma smiled. “Oh, thank you, Princess. You also look…  Tidy .” 

Rhaenyra giggled a little. “So kind, Mother.”

The Princess gown was also another beauty. Red as blood, with long sleeves which needlework was made with threads of gold. “I would look better if only Lady Alicent would have helped me.” she mentioned. 

“You look stunning, daughter, do not worry as I was jesting.” Aemma’s comforting hands touched Rhaenyra’s pinned hair. “As for your companion, I saw her today.”

“Have you?” Rhaenyra’s eyes lighten up.

“Yes, yes. She brought castor oil early in the morning,” Aemma rubbed her pointed belly. “Maybe the boy will be excited with all the festivities, hopefully so, and then he will be born soon enough.” 

The Maesters' previsions were wrong, noticed Aemma, as one week became two and Alicent’s idea of a fortnight was right. The Grand Maester argued the baby was late, worrying about the long pregnancy, but Aemma chose to believe the child was taking their own time. The Great Midwife, against the King’s wishes, arrived in the Red Keep a few days ago, when Aemma was wild as a dragon every time a Maester came by. 

The old and famous lady was from Oldtown, a lowborn woman whose titles were given by equally lowborn women. “ The Great Midwife ”, repeated Viserys in mockery. But there was greatness in the woman, Aemma witnessed as she heard the woman talking about life and death and how many children she helped into the world. How many breathing children , Aemma thought, breathing children even if fragile.

  Oh, and there was no fear! No, not anymore. Aemma had lost too many children to fear the unknown, the new. No Maester was able to save her babies, and Rhaenyra’s healthy birth was a blessing from the Mother Above. “Do you think he will be King someday?”

Rhaenyra’s voice was soft spoken, waking Aemma from her reverie. The Queen sighed deeply, “I am not sure, Rhaenyra, but your Father always desired a male heir.”

If not the baby, then Daemon. 

Rhaenyra said nothing in return. 

No, she would not envy an unborn baby nor hate her uncle. 

But the Princess' wrath was barely hidden as her eyes were always glowing with resentment in her Father’s presence. No allegiance was sworn to Rhaenyra, no knees were bent. There were no allies besides her sweetheart. Disappointment was not new to Rhaenyra as she grew used to being the last option. When old, she imagined, they would nickname her “ Rhaenys Reborn ”: both rightful heirs, damned because of a pair of tits. 

After the meal, two ladies-in-waiting accompanied the Queen outside. Near the door, a flirtatious voice was heard, “My Queen.”

It was Daemon, already cladded in a black armor. 

“Oh, Daemon, you are too old for this!” admonished Aemma.

“Am I truly too old for the charms of my Queen?” he continued.

There was a swatting sound and Daemon’s dramatic “ Ow !”

“And what about Lady Rhea? Where is she?” asked Aemma.

“Running with the sheeps.” Daemon pursed his lips. “Not a very good wife, unlike you, my Queen.”

If they exchanged more words, Rhaenyra was unable to hear as steps followed and Daemon entered the room, “Oh, I see, you are done flirting with my Mother.”

“ Aye . Another grumpy woman you are.” unceremoniously Daemon pulled out a silvered necklace from his pocket. The jewelry flew across the room, landing in Rhaenyra’s eager hands. “ Valyrian steel for the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms .”

Rhaenyra fingers interlaced with the two silver chains, and she carefully touched the medallion studded with rubies. “ So you will not resent me .” said Daemon as Rhaenyra came closer to the door. “ Your dragon is an adorable pet, niece. ”

“ I do not need a consolation prize. ” Rhaenyra pushed the necklace against Daemon’s armor, a loud clicking sound. 

“ May I compliment you, then? ” Daemon smirked. 

“ If the Gods are good, no. ”

“ What a sore loser you are, Rhaenyra! ” Daemon was guffawing. 

But Rhaenyra paid no attention to him, and left the Queen chambers. 

Outside the main castle, a small stadium was redesigned. Between stages, there was a long sandy racecourse. The balcony was organized with upholstered chairs and small tables, occupied with the highest nobility. The smaller nobles and the richest smallfolk stood on the other side of the racecourse, in the grandstands. The King enjoyed the attention and he was delighted when his Queen, with the help of the Princess, climbed the stairs and found her spot in one of the main chairs. The crowd erupted in applause, and Viserys announced the beginning of five days of tournament. 

As the knights started jousting in horses, Rhaenyra boredly sat under her parents. The only empty chair was beside the Princess. In the background, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon, were gossiping between goblets of wine. 

“I see the fun has not yet started.” Rhaenyra found solace in Alicent’s voice. 

The Princess smiled as the Hightower girl sat by her side. Breath taken, it took Rhaenyra some time to speak as she lovingly watched Alicent, taking in every detail: the girl’s brownish gown, her naked shoulders, half of her shiny curls tucked in a pearly-cladded snood. The hair ornament was recognizable. It was Lady Rosamund’s favorite hairnet, the one she always wore during celebrations and holidays. Rhaenyra noticed, finally, how Alicent was the spitting image of her late mother. 

Would Alicent grow to have gray streaks in her hair like Lady Rosamund Hightower? Would she also be able to talk only with her eyes? And would Alicent have many children and walk around the Red Keep with them? Rhaenyra remembered seeing Lady Rosamund for the first time, a row of Hightower toddlers behind her. It was easy to warm up to the idea, Rhaenyra immediately knew, especially if Alicent’s ducklings were to be silver-haired.

“I heard the men were fighting over your favor.” remarked Alicent as she and Rhaenyra interlocked their fingers. 

Rhaenyra brows furrowed, “No man has asked for my favor.”

“Oh! But they will, Princess,” giggled Alicent. “They were arguing before the tournament, bickering in the stables like children.”

“And who told you that?” inquired Rhaenyra.

“Ser Harwin Strong.”

A bitter taste lingered in Rhaenyra’s tongue as she said, “Maybe Ser Harwin is starting to behave like his brother, a gossip of the worst kind.” 

Alicent gave Rhaenyra’s hand a gentle squeeze. 

The tournament came alive as men fell off their horses, screaming and fighting, blunted weapons clashing. A young knight of the House Arryn came riding towards the balcony and recited a poem to the Queen, asking for her favor. Some whispered, others laughed but most cheered, and Aemma wobbled her away to the balustrade, giving the knight one of her white gloves as she accepted his request. The King mockingly threatened the boy. Two rounds later, the Arryn was defeated and a proud Lannister stood before the Princess, asking for her favor. Rhaenyra denied and laughed ― later a Baratheon asked the same, and Rhaenyra barely raised her eyes from her cup of mead. 

“Gods, Lady Redwyne and those ugly dogs!” Rhaenyra shuddered as Lady Redwyne offered the Queen one of her fat and wide-eyed pups. 

Alicent held a laugh and then said, “Oh, Rhaenyra, they are cute!”

Lord Baratheon asked for Princess Rhaenys favor with crude words, shamelessly referring to her as The Queen Who Never Was. She accepted and Lord Corlys fummed, then Viserys said between laughs, “I could have his tongue for that.”

Rhaenyra turned around, already too lightheaded and irritated after a few sips. “Then why won’t you?”

The King's disapproving look was enough for the Queen to intervene, giving the Princess a discreet pinch. Lady Alicent watched quietly the scene, knowing for sure that Lord Corlys would never forget Rhaenyra’s small act. 

Half a candlemark later, Ser Gwayne Hightower, on top of a white horse, boldly shouted behind his helmet, “I would be honored to carry the favor of the Queen to Be, our Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Gasps were heard across the Realm, and Rhaenyra gave Gwayne her finest piece of embroidery. Rhaenyra could feel Otto Hightower staring daggers on her back. 

***

The first banquet was served in the beginning of the afternoon. 

Pole tents were set up in the gardens, and long tables were filled with foods and beverages. It is said that the feast was large enough to feed the Flea Bottom for a whole week, but few members of the Royal Family witnessed the gluttony fest as the Queen labors started at the end of the morning. 

*** 

The Maesters tried to interfere. 

They spoke highly of themselves, holding small cups of milk of the poppy and carrying scalpels in their kits. The Queen was not easy to deter and she kept her consciousness high, pure as the daylight, and faced the excruciating pain as her pelvis stretched. 

“Where is the midwife?” she was crying. 

Aemma’s howlings were heard in Maegor’s Holdfast. She was covered in sweat, hair pinned, and her luxurious gown was long forgotten as she only wore a summer nightdress. The fabric was stained with blood, and the Grand Maester was whispering in the King's ear, talking about lying women and new birthing techniques. 

“Here, my Queen, please, drink some milk of the poppy.” a young man, still training at the Maesters’ arts, offered a cup to the Queen only to be swatted away by trembling hands. 

As Aemma gathered all her physical and mental strength, she felt old and weak, oddly unprepared for the task. It was not her first time on such a battlefield but no words were enough in the Common Tongue or in High Valyrian to describe the intoxicating pain. She murmured prayers to the Mother. 

Poor girl! You will find your end at your sixth child . 

The woods witch voice reverberated in Aemma’s mind, haunting as a ghost. What else had Paloma said? Aemma could not remember completely as she got down on all fours in the mattress, groaning like Balerion during his last breath.

As the Queen's body trembled in contractions, life opening its own way, the chamber doors were abruptly pushed by the Great Midwife and her herd of pupils. Aemma was not sure of the passage of time ― if she had cried for minutes, days or centuries, but she felt like a child in a motherly embrace when the midwife barked orders, rolling up sleeves and washing hands in a bowl. Mother stands for comfort !

“Excuse me, my Queen,” said the Great Midwife as the young girls helped the Queen to lay down and lifted her skirts, exposing her lower half. Gentle hands wiped the sweat of Aemma’s face and the older woman worked in silence, first performing an examination and then pressing down the Queen stomach. 

“Such vulgar techniques!” argued the Grand Maester.

“Shut your mouth, old man!” screeched the Great Midwife. 

“A ridiculous situation, my King,” continued the Grand Maester. “These women know nothing! I am a physician, please, allow me to guide the small Prince…”

But Viserys, conflicted and curious, raised one hand and the Grand Maester fell silent as the Great Midwife said, “The child's head is up!”

Aemma groaned, “No, no, please, no…”

She heard of such deliveries before, of the risks and the horrendous tales of broken necks. The Great Midwife, however, spoke with confidence and calm, “With your permission, your Majesty, we can turn the baby.”

“Can you?” Aemma cried another time, face wet with anguished tears. 

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Please.”

And so did the Great Midwife: a girl oiled the Queen’s skin and the woman worked, feeling and pushing the Prince’s little body with her own hands. The young midwives said comforting words, reassuring the Queen and guiding her breathing. It was not violent and neither painful, although uncomfortable, and Aemma's relief gasp echoed when the Great Midwife smiled. “Now, my Queen, it is your turn.”

Three pairs of arms helped Aemma to stand up. 

“ Push .”

There was more pain and uncertainty, the Queen fearing her own body as she squatted, supported by women around her. There was a change in the room, a loud silence, and Aemma swore she could see herself from above, silent screams and weak knees as she pushed and pushed and pushed. The Great Midwife was relentless as the birth itself, “Another time. Again. One more time!”

The cracking sound was the sign to Aemma’s soul return to her body: relief washed over her and the baby’s first piercing cry was heard. The midwives' compliments went unnoticed as the Queen opened her eyes, demanding and anxious hands, “My baby, please, I want my baby.” 

Still naked and covered in blood, the baby was placed in the mother’s arms. It was a boy, Aemma noticed, as he kicked and fussed, stretching his limbs. “My gorgeous boy.”  cooed Aemma, kissing the boy’s forehead. 

Aemma felt a warm hand in her left arm but she refused to look up, enthralled by the sight of her newborn. A chubby boy with violet eyes and locks of brown hair, “Why, wife, the child is Rodrik Arryn reborn!” the King’s joke caused laughter and Aemma, for the first since the beginning of the birthing process, glanced at her husband.

“I am still here”, Aemma held the baby tightly, “I am not with the Stranger. I am a Mother again and the Mother is with me.”

She imagined the words were said in her mind, only to herself, but Viserys kissed her cheek and said fondly, “You are still here, wife.”

The baby cried again, and swiftly more women entered the room, now the nursemaids. The Great Midwife cutted the umbilical cord with an orange's thorn and praised the Gods. 

“Is it better for the baby to be suckled by the mother, my Queen.” one of the midwives said later, when the afterbirth was finished and the young Prince was being bathed in front of the Queen. “Your body knows the child’s needs.”

***

Dutifully, Rhaenyra awaited outside the Queen’s chambers, hearing the screaming and rushed footsteps. She also heard the shrill of a baby but was only allowed in the room after all the birthing was done. In the large bed, she found her mother: happily exhausted, one breast partially covered by the head of a hungry creature. 

“Come closer, daughter.” as Rhaenyra complied, the small bundle assumed human features; feet, hands in the air and an upturned nose, pinkish skin. So weird and so small, and one of the most beautiful things Rhaenyra had ever seen. The boy’s eyes were closed in concentration, sucking and sucking like a desperate kitten. “He is greedy, a greedy boy, but the midwives said it is a good thing, he is healthy as a horse.”

Rhaenyra sat down next to her Mother, “Are you fine, Mother?”

“Sore,” the Queen sighed. “But alive. I am more than fine.”

“Alicent told me about the healing potion.”

Aemma just nodded, one finger caressing the baby’s brown hair.

“She is a wise girl,” she said. “And blessed with unique talents.”

Rhaenyra rested her head on Aemma’s shoulder and smiled when graced with a kiss. 

“What is his name?”

Alicent said many times before that it would be Baelon but the Queen answered:

“ Aegon. ”

The bells of the Red Keep rang, announcing the birth of the new Heir to the Throne. 

***

The Goddess said in the mists of a forgotten dream… 

You must know, my sweet girl, nothing is random and everything has a price to be paid. The world is a wild place, and how fragile is the balance of life! I know of the fire of the dragons, and of the fire inside your heart. As you would ask for the eye of another child, I must ask for something in return. Do not weep as I know your intentions were pure. Now, as I am compensated, do not turn your back on me, because you are my daughter and I am your mother, and nothing is holy until I sanctify. 

*** 

The second banquet was served at the end of the night. 

Many hugged and congratulated the King, wishing health for the baby and the mother. There was music and dancing, and many nobles entertained themselves in friendly talks. It seemed to be a jolly moment for the whole Kingdom as the news spreaded, all chanting the name of the blessed Prince.

Uneasy, Alicent stood in the green sea of Hightowers. 

She wished to see the baby boy, to witness the little life with her own eyes. The King had announced excitedly, before any rite in the Sept, that the boy’s name was Aegon. The name bought Alicent shivers of terror and she lashed at her fingers’ flesh, soul shaken. No , she tried to convince herself, a name does not draw the lines of someone’s life .

The child was brunette, more Arryn than his own mother.

No, he would not inherit the Targaryen madness nor the cruelty.

He would be different… 

“Ali!”

Rhaenyra's joyous voice found Alicent, and the girl smiled.

Yes, it was all because of that sound…  

All for that smile… 

The prayers, the dreams, the bloodied knees, the fresh knife wound in her forearm… 

Hand in hand, they run through the gardens, hiding behind a statue.

Alicent’s breath accelerated as Rhaenyra closed the distance between them, leaning forward in a lingering kiss. Pressing against each other, tasting the same sweetness, humming in contentment… It was so difficult to remember why she was worried when Rhaenyra’s lips were so soft and familiar. As Alicent’s hands rested in Rhaenyra’s hips, they kissed another time, and again, and again, Rhaenyra’s hands cupping Alicent’s face before wrapping arms around her neck. Absently Alicent noticed the melodies as the festivities continued with a song about Jenny of Oldstones. 

Hunger was all around and Rhaenyra devoured Alicent’s lips, “ Please …”

Neither of them understood what they were asking. 

Rhaenyra’s corset suddenly felt too tight, her bosom too heavy, and her legs too tingly. And Alicent felt the same, panting and hoping for a relief, for something to put out the fire in her belly… Rhaenyra smelled like fresh honey and Alicent’s lips osculated in the Princess’ cheekbones, chin, porcelain neck, and finally between her neckline, tongue tasting the skin. Rhaenyra moaned and then… And then ended too soon, and screams were heard:

“ The King!”

“Someone help the King!”

“Fetch the Grand Maester!”

“Oh, the King, oh!”

Laying on the ground, they found King Viserys I. 

As the Black Dread, he was gone. 

Chapter Text

Archmasters disagree over some of the happenings after the death of King Viserys I…

It is factual that the mysterious death of the monarch left the Seven Kingdoms in a disarray, and many mourned the name of the peaceful King. Queen Aemma Arryn, now Dowager Queen, was stricken with grief with the news, and is said to have argued against the midwives and Maesters, choosing to ignore the postpartum seclusion and attending her late husband’s funeral. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen was the one who led the ceremony and her dragon, Syrax, was the one who lit the pyre. The Princess did not shed a tear but was seen close to her childhood companion, Lady Alicent Hightower, daughter of The Hand. 

During the first week of mourning, political matters were not discussed. Nevertheless the topic could not be further avoided as the Kingdom needed a new head of state. On the tenth day of the tenth month, the first Small Council meeting was held without a King, headed by Ser Otto Hightower (The Hand). The attendees were: Grand Maester Mellos, Lord Lyme Beesbury, Lord Lyonel Strong, Lord Corlys Velaryon, the self-proclaimed Prince of Dragonstone, Daemon Targaryen, and the only of age descendant of the King, Rhaenyra Targaryen, also representing the interests of the newborn Heir, the then seven-days Aegon Targaryen. Historical controversies started around the meetings and discussions about the succession order as King Viserys I left no will. 

According to some sources, Lord Corlys Velaryon argued in favor of his kin, proposing a marriage deal between his only son, Ser Laenor Velaryon, and the Princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen, they both would reign together. It is said Daemon Targaryen laughed at Lord Corlys Velaryon's face, suggesting that Laenor Velaryon would be more interested in the small Prince, Aegon Targaryen, than the Princess. As such conversation is disputed, other sources claimed the Princess advocated for herself, not accepting the proposal and arguing over her legal rights as Heir to the Throne, being already six-and-ten name days. It was rumored at the time that Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen had taken Lady Alicent Hightower as a bedmate. Many take the rumors as true as it was confirmed years later that Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen secretly married Lady Alicent Hightower in a Valyrian ceremony in Dragonstone. The union was not recognised under the laws of the Faith of the Seven but was blessed by Dowager Queen Aemma Arryn and (allegedly) Prince Regent Daemon Targaryen.

Prince Daemon Targaryen’s regency was followed after weeks of discussions and altercations in the chambers of the Small Council as the idea was opposed by Grand Maester Mellos and Otto Hightower, both arguing in favor of the Hand’s position as Regent. Lord Lyme Bessbury and Lord Lyonel Strong were supporters of the Rogue Prince. Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's plea to take the Throne was unheard as no woman had ruled alone before; Lord Corlys Velaryon was the only one to support the Princess, even though no marriage deal was arranged between their Houses. Daemon Targaryen’s claim was supported by Rhaenyra Targaryen only after the Prince’s forfeit of becoming King. 

On the twentieth day of the twelfth month, Prince Daemon Targaryen assumed the post of Prince Regent, agreeing on serving the Kingdom until the adulthood of Prince Aegon Targaryen. Prince Daemon Targaryen regency would be short-lived as the War for the Stepstones worsened months later.  

***

Rhaenyra was sobbing like a small child. 

Hiccups and sniffs were no longer muffled by stone walls, and Maegor’s Holdfast was plagued with heartbroken sounds. Inside the chambers, where pain was endlessly laid in a series of cries, the young Targaryen was held to the breast of another woman. It is my fault, it is my fault, Alicent repeated in her mind, I did this, I bargained with the unknown and the Gods have punished me by torturing my love . 

“Oh, he was a fool, Alicent!” Rhaenyra groaned, sorrow echoed in the room and Alicent felt puffs of air in her neckline, the top of her dress smeared with drool and tears. “He was a fool but he was healthy! He was a glutton but oh he never catched a cold!” 

Alicent said nothing in return. What could she say? No, her own heart was sinking in the depths of despair. She only kissed Rhaenyra’s hairline, breathing the honeyed fragrance, and hugged her tighter. There were no comforting words for a motherless child as there were no comforting words for a fatherless one, Alicent had already met the destructiveness of such pain. Rhaenyra kept crying, her head throbbing, desperately snuggling against Alicent's chest, wishing all pain could fade away if they were two pieces of a puzzle. 

In the wood-burning hearth, flames danced. The cracking sounds grew louder and Alicent stretched out her neck, looking at the fire. There, among the blinding heat, she watched the past just as she had watched the future in the crystalline waters: a happy King laughing, drinking wine and eating grapes, coughing until no air remained in his lungs. He choked to death. He died alone in a room full of people, gasping for air. Now, deep in the castle, Maesters and Silent Sisters butchered open the King’s body, searching for something: clogs in the veins, swoleness in the main organs, some hidden skin disease… They would find nothing. The Gods cannot punish me directly, I do not care for my kin no more. Oh, Mother Above, please forgive! Spare Rhaenyra of all this pain … 

“Alicent, please, tell me!” Rhaenyra tilted her head up and Alicent looked her in the eyes, carefully fondling cheekbones and wiping tears. Rhaenyra's eyes, always a beautiful tone of diluted blue with purple flecks, were now burning amethysts. “The healing potion… It has worked! My Mother has never given birth to such a healthy child, not even I was so, oh… Please, I know of Targaryen magic. Our family is cursed with half-dragon stillborns… Deals were made… There is a price!” Rhaenyra was frantic as she grasped Alicent’s arms. “Have you done something?”

Alicent’s face was still. 

Yes, I did something. I deviated from my path, I became too confident… 

I played God and now you will suffer the consequences … 

Alicent didn’t notice how bloody her hands were before Rhaenyra held them with fury, stopping the tearing of flesh: “Stop that now!” Rhaenyra’s voice was loud and demanding, the voice of a true Targaryen. “Tell me the truth!”

Drops of blood stained Rhaenyra’s skin. 

“Alicent!”

She will never trust or love me again, it was all for nothing … 

“I am not sure,” Alicent could not look into Rhaenyra's eyes. She glanced at their hands, Rhaenyra above hers. “I am not sure I understand what you are suggesting.”

They were quiet for a while, not even the fireplace daring to make a sound. 

A tidal wave of remorse and fear hitted Rhaenyra, and she started crying again, “I am sorry, Alicent, please! Forgive me!” she kissed Alicent’s hands, feeling the metallic taste of blood. “I am scared, please…” 

Alicent held her another time, and Rhaenyra shook with the power of her emotions. “Forgive me… I am scared… I have known you since we were children, you would never do such a thing… No, you are not cruel, you are my Alicent… Will you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to be forgiven,” Alicent said with a heavy heart, trembling inside as she considered her next words. She should speak her part, even if only a little: “I fear… I fear the Gods are punishing me.”

“The Gods?” repeated Rhaenyra.

When was the last time Alicent spoke something about Gods?

“Yes, I should… I should have died in Duskendale but they gave me a second chance, and then I deviated…” 

“No, no!” Rhaenyra interrupted. “Say no more.”

“Rhaenyra…”

“You saved my family… Yes, my Mother said you are wise. Please, say no more.” 

But Alicent continued: “The Gods cannot punish my family, no more. My Mother is dead, and I despise my Father. They can only punish the one I love, to punish you…” 

“And what about Gwayne? And your other brothers?” questioned Rhaenyra. “Do you not love them?”

“I love them dearly.”

“Then why won’t the Gods punish them?”

Embarrassed, Alicent barely nodded. 

There was so much to say, to consider, but her mind and heart were full of confusion and fright… They basked in each other’s company for a while, a lingering silence, and when Rhaenyra was strong enough, she decided it was time to talk with her sweet Mother. 

They walked together, hand in hand, and Rhaenyra's expression was sober, although her puffy eyes and reddened skin could do little to hide her suffering. Before entering the Queen’s quarters, Rhaenyra took a deep breath, preparing herself to deliver the news, but as she opened the doors, her Mother was silently crying, rocking herself while breastfeeding Aegon. 

Otto Hightower had announced the King’s death after only a candle-mark.

***

As for tradition, the Targaryen King was cremated. 

For they were of fire, to fire they should return. 

The ceremony was held in the hill behind the Dragonpit, where the family reunited around a pyre, mourning the King. Daemon's silence was loud, uncomfortable, and his hands were anxiously gripping the pommel of Dark Sister, scanning the surroundings as a frightened creature. Caraxes’ long figure shadowed the field, and Rhaenyra held her head up. Started raining, a storm in formation, and Syrax crawled around the Dragonpit, slowly walking down the hill; the dragon walked among the guests, curious, and reclined over Viserys’ body before roaring in agony. Rhaenyra closed her eyes for a few seconds, feeling Syrax’s emotions underneath her own skin. 

Rhaenyra's eyes opened again.

Alicent was beside her, dutiful as a wife, and whispering prayers. Her beloved Mother was pale as a ghost, clad in black robes, and close to her a nursemaid held a sleeping Aegon. The members of the Small Council were farther in the back, and Otto Hightower was head down in respect. Daemon angrily glanced in Rhaenyra’s direction and Caraxes’ screeched, landing miles away. 

Syrax retreated, and obeyed Rhaenyra as she screamed “ Dracarys !”.

No rain was enough to contain Syrax’s fire. 

*** 

Seven days later, Alicent found herself in the chambers of the Small Council. 

It was bittersweet to watch as they finally offered a chair to Rhaenyra, the table awfully empty without the King’s presence. The Princess sat near where her Father would sit, posture straight and regal as expected of the Queen she would be. She was hauntingly beautiful as if she had matured years in days, Alicent noticed. Majestic she was, a young Targaryen growing with the hunger of power. 

Alicent stood behind the Princess, a hand on her lover’s shoulder. 

Otto Hightower sat in the King’s chair, and the meeting started. 

It was disgusting to watch as those elderly men fought with words. Loyalty was easily forgotten as they argued, offenses taking little time to rise as the Rogue Prince's patience was short and he was a man of few words. Lord Beesbury and Ser Otto spoke the most, each one arguing over different solutions. Lord Corlys, after a while, stood up and said: 

“I believe it is time to strengthen our bond, dear Princess, it is the moment to reinforce the power of the House Targaryen and Velaryon,” Rhaenyra fixed her eyes on the Sea Snake. “I propose to unite our Houses! My son, Laenor Velaryon, and you shall reign together. Your children will be heirs to the Iron Throne and to the Driftmark. It is a strong alliance, it will be a prosperous time for the Kingdom.”

Alicent shuddered, her heart filling with dread… 

Daemon roared with laughter and the whole room went quiet, shocked. 

“What a ridiculous proposal!” his shoulders were shaking as he laughed. “Why, Lord Corlys, you think of us stupid? Your son, Laenor? Aye , why not propose marriage between him and the young Aegon?”

Blood drained of Lord Corlys’ face. “I will not allow you to speak of my family!”

“There is not a single soul in the Seven Kingdoms that is unaware of your son's preferences,” Daemon pursed his lips in mockery. “There is no need for false moralism, Lord Corlys. You know it's the truth because you spend most of your days trying to hide it. Why propose such a marriage?” 

Rhaenyra sighed. 

“Your crude words are not needed, uncle.” she finally said. 

“Yes, apparently the dragon has teeth,” he rolled his eyes. “Say you part then, niece.”

Rhaenyra also stood up, facing Lord Corlys with respect: 

“Lord Corlys, I appreciate your proposal and I thank you for speaking. I also apologize for my uncle’s words, even though he does not represent the House Targaryen.  Laenor is very dear to me, I adore my cousin, however I will not marry to sit in the Iron Throne. The Throne is my birthright as the first born child of the King, the late King,” Rhaenyra's voice was smooth and determined. “My plea is for the Council to remember who I am. The King never appointed a direct successor but he never mentioned his desire to crown his brother,” Daemon scowled. “I remember you that I have spent my last years in these chambers, serving you wine as I learned the ways of the court, the politics of the Kingdoms.”

Rhaenyra and Lord Corlys returned to their seats. 

“But you will need heirs, Princess,” said Lord Corlys. “A Queen cannot live by herself, your lineage must continue.”

Alicent lowered her eyes. 

Rhaenyra’s devotion ran deep in her veins, pure as the fire of the first torches. Some would say she was stubborn and proud, and oh she was, but beautifully so. Alicent flushed as she witnessed Rhaenyra’s words and body language changing, more regal than ever as she answered Corlys without hesitation: 

“I will name Aegon as my Heir.”

Lord Strong and Grand Maester Mellos gasped in surprise. 

“And if not enough, I propose to betroth Aegon and Lady Laena Velaryon. She is a young girl, yet a child like my brother. Let them bloom into adulthood and we shall unite our Houses and they will reign together, after me.”

Rhaenyra's attitude inspired awe and admiration within the Lords and for some moments it was believable they were convinced. Daemon’s second wave of laughter came as a remembrance of the court cruelty as he said: “ Niece, you are so cunt-struck you cannot see how ridiculous you look !”

Before anyone could react, Daemon continued his defiance, “You are the devil disguised, Otto! A always taught little of you but I never considered you would whore your only daughter for the Princess.”

And then all happened in a flash, like a striking lightning bolt: the hem of Rhaenyra’s long skirts rustling in the ground as she stormed in the room, her left hand finding Daemon’s face in a sharp blow. The Rogue Prince smirked as his cheek reddened and then he was up, one large hand grabbing Rhaenyra’s neck. Alicent screamed in fear and Ser Criston opened the way, faster than the others, shoving Daemon away as Rhaenyra fell coughing. 

“The meeting is adjourned for today.” decided Otto Hightower. 

***

Later in the day, as Alicent applied balm of arnica in Rhaenyra’s bruised neck, Aemma commented as she watched Aegon sleeping in his cradle: 

“Daemon is a treacherous creature, like a mutt he will bite the hand that feeds him.” Rhaenyra shivered as the sensation of her Mother’s words and the feeling of Alicent’s delicate fingers mixed in her brain. “Your sweet uncle is gone, Rhaenyra, as you represent a threat to his claim to the throne. Daemon always wanted to be King, I remember when he was younger…” Aemma's eyes were tired as she looked from her baby to her older daughter. “He would sneak into the throne room and sit on the Iron Throne.”

“Arrogant.” muttered Alicent as she finished applying the balm. 

“Like the King,” said Aemma. 

“Mother…”

"It is true, Rhaenyra. Your Father was arrogant to blindly trust in fate," Aemma's sigh was loud, her frustration clear. "He should have named you Heir when you were 8 name days old... But I was blind too, wasn't I? I never pushed him, I never asked for more... Oh, Rhaenyra!"

Aemma’s face contorted in pain before her eyes leaked fat tears, her second crying spell of the day. Rhaenyra hugged her Mother, comforting her as Alicent called for a nursemaid. “It is not your fault, Mother, please. Do not blame yourself,” affirmed Rhaenyra. “You never failed in your duties.”

Alicent quickly washed her hands in a basin of water, picking Aegon up as he started wailing. Such a weird day, Alicent didn’t notice it was the first time the small Prince was in her arms. “Shh, shhh,” Alicent gently rocked the baby, keeping him close to her body. Aegon’s hands were in the air and he stirred a little, mouth red and full of drool. His eyes shot open, revealing periwinkle orbs. Suddenly he stopped crying, curiously gazing at Alicent. 

Together they went into a trance state. 

In Alicent’s arms, laid a young but so odd soul. A boy full of life and cravings, mind still too unconscious to know all its desires. So hungry and demanding, he would grow to be ambitious ― in those clear eyes, Alicent read years of love and misery. He would suffer, as all humans, but would also be loved, truly cherished. She catched glimpses of a near future, a chubby boy running in the grass, playing with a wood dragon toy, a scrawny teenager in the skies in a golden beast… 

“Lady Alicent?” Alicent woke up, hearing the nursemaid voice.

When had she sat? She didn’t remember but she was in an armchair, Aegon sleeping another time as he sucked her little finger. Rhaenyra was still in the bed, tending Aemma’s fragile state. 

***

Since the death of the King, Alicent hadn’t slept in her quarters. 

Everynight, after a long day of discussion with the Small Council, Rhaenyra would request her company in bed. Ser Criston would escort Alicent, uncomfortable as a Septa witnessing some sinful act. But Alicent, and neither Rhaenyra, blamed him because the word had spread and the whole Red Keep believed the Princess was shameless in her indiscreet acts. There was no sin, they knew ― they slept in each other's arms, whispering sweet nothings and hoping to forget the chaos around. There was no escape; the morning would come and together the endless fight for a new leader. 

As days turned into weeks, Rhaenyra’s claim lost its strength. 

She was royal and dignified but still a girl at heart, she knew little of the world and was still poorly skilled in the constant bickering of politics. She grew tired rapidly, and even with the surprising support of Lord Corlys, the other Lords seemed focused on ignoring their pleas. An outcast supported by another outcast , Rhaenyra thought one day, Corlys is trained in the arts of supporting usurped Queens. First his wife, now me .

Daemon was cunning and untiring, a skilled dragon at war. He spoke violently, not even his supporters, Lord Beesbury and Lord Strong, free of offenses. At the end of the month, Lord Corlys catched a lung infection and suddenly Rhaenyra’s only supporter was abed, unable to attend the meetings. Princess Rhaenys fell ill with the same disease a few days later, and to represent the Velaryon was left Ser Laenor. He was good at the sword, Rhaenyra heard, but weak at the oratory. 

The Queen Dowager was also too exhausted to advocate for her daughter’s claim. The Maesters said she was weak-minded, weary after the birthing and the King’s passing. Rhaenyra attended the Small Council meetings alone as she only trusted Alicent to keep company with her Mother. One evening, as Alicent helped Rhaenyra in the bath, tenderly scrubbing the Princess’ scalp, she said, “I believe your Mother will soon feel better.”

Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder, “Have you dreamt of this?”

“No,” Alicent dried her hands before filling a cup with water, rinsing the balm of Rhaenyra’s hair. “But she seemed better today. She ate all of her meals, she slept well in the afternoon and even started a new embroidery,” Rhaenyra only listened. “Some of the washerwomen told me about how… How some women can feel melancholic after birth. They said it is because the mother’s body misses the baby inside.”

“Do you think it's true?”

“I am not sure,” Alicent fingers ran though strands of silver hair. “But I know about melancholy, I felt it when my Mother passed away… I still feel some mornings when it is difficult to get out of bed…”

“And you still feel it when you bite your fingers.”

“I do,” agreed Alicent. “But your Mother will thrive, she is a strong woman…”

As they went to bed later, Rhaenyra kissed Alicent on the lips and asked, “Please, tell me of your latest dreams, reveal them to me.”

But there were no recent dreams… 

Until one dawn Alicent dreamt of sand, sea, and crabs, broken bones on the beach and dragons in the skies; a silver-haired Prince covered in human blood. As Alicent broke the fast in the early hours, licking remnants of honey off her fingers, she said to Rhaenyra, “I dreamt of your uncle fighting near the sea…” 

In the following meeting of the Small Council, Rhaenyra defended Aegon’s right to the throne as a male heir. The Lords paid no more attention to her rights, each one of them hungering for something different, and she painted Aegon as the late King’s greatest dream, the miraculous child who would unite the Kingdom again. Aegon II Targaryen, the King’s final wish, a King without a damaged image and with the youthness to rule. 

Otto Hightower gestured with his head, “A Regent, then.”

“And who do you suggest as Regent, niece?” Daemon was nursing a goblet of wine. 

Rhaenyra looked him in the eyes, and she swore she could feel his fingers strangling her again. Nonetheless she said with false calm, fear buried deep down, “You, uncle.”

Chapter Text

There was an unspoken resentment in the air. 

It was only the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month, a few days after Daemon’s promotion to the position of Regent, and Rhaenyra could feel the bitterness lingering all around. In the same way that Daemon had loved her as a niece, now he despised her as an opponent, the walls in the Red Keep did not lie. Rhaenyra's ears burned as whispers traveled:

She had moved and supported Daemon’s position as Regent but ensured he was not given the Royalty treatment, the pompous ceremony his ego lusted for. No, the old King was dead and the new one not even crawling, Daemon surge to power would be built in the laws, where Regent’s were given no crown or space in the Iron Throne; a carved wooden chair was positioned besides the throne, and Daemon would rule as the rightful Regent and nothing more. Some said it was a disgrace upon the Rogue Prince, a mockery. The smallfolk already thought of monikers for the Targaryen prince. But Rhaenyra knew of the reality, of the fact that Daemon would never cease his position in the Iron Throne if one day he seated on it. Whether war was coming or not, Daemon was greedy, and Rhaenyra would not play blindly with destiny like her late Father. 

It was only the twenty-eighth day of the twelfth month, and the servants worked anxiously around the castle, Rhaenyra noticed as she crossed the main aisle in Maegor’s Holdfast. Many women were polishing the floors and the kitchens were noisy, swarming with stressed workers. A strange movement, so hurried… 

“Ser Criston,” Rhaenyra stopped, looking over her shoulder to meet the eyes of the knight. “What is happening today? Do you know something?”

“Err, no, Princess.” Ser Criston gestured with his head. 

“Then why the agitation?” her body turned completely. “Are the servants excited about work?”

“I don’t know, Princess,” he answered and then added in a whisper: “Would you like me to learn about it?”

“Well, of course,” Rhaenyra nodded. “I am short of allies, am I not?”

“I am your sworn protector, Princess.” recalled Ser Criston. “I am at your service.”

“Good, then,” Rhaenyra sighed. “After escorting me to my Mother’s quarters, venture as my personal Master of Whisperers.” 

Rhaenyra’s body turned another time, and as she walked she said, “Ask for Ser Arryk, please. The visit to my Mother will be short, I intend to go to the Dragonpit after.”

Near the chambers of the Dowager Queen, the Princess dismissed the knight, pushing doors with renewed vigor and entering the room with a smile. It was a surprise to find Mother on the balcony, anxious as she listened to a young man’s voice. “Mother?” Rhaenyra asked, cautious. 

Aemma stretched her neck suddenly, started, and as she noticed it was just her daughter, she said “Rhaenyra, come, please.”

Behind the curtains, comfortable in a chair, Ser Laenor Velaryon sipped a teacup. Regal as always, the Velaryon was dressed in the most expensive blue-velvet, silver sword on the right side of the waist. “Cousin,” he greeted with a smile. 

“Laenor,” Rhaenyra sat beside where her Mother was standing. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Laenor extended his stay, as you may know,” oh, Rhaenyra knew. There were stories about Laenor’s endeavors, about his charms with young knights and married men… Some said he was leaving behind a trail of broken hearts. “He heard some… some… disturbing, vile, rumors.”

“What rumors?” Rhaenyra straightened her posture. 

“People are talking about young Aegon’s appearance,” Laenor licked his lips as he spoke more: “How he does not have the Valyrian features,” as if to remember the fact, Laenor gently pointed out the boy sleeping on a crib. Even from afar, it was possible to discern the brown hair atop of his head. “Some folk already call him the Bastard King.”

“This is ridiculous!” exclaimed Rhaenyra. “He is Arryn too, after all.”

“No doubts, cousin,” agreed Laenor. “I am not questioning Aegon’s parentage.”

“But people are...” Aemma slumped down in the chair in an unladylike manner. “Oh, before passing away Viserys’ even jested about how much the boy looks like my Father…” 

“Rodrik Arryn reborn, yes, Father told me too,” Rhaenyra furrowed her brows. “Laenor, tell me what else they are saying… If not my Father, who is the child sire?”

“There is no apparent father for the boy,” Laenor reclined in the chair. “But they are saying the late King was… Feeble. That is the reason why the Queen took so many years to birth another child… The miracle baby is the result of some affair, a desperate act to save the Crown…” 

“Lazy, disgusting rumors,” said Rhaenyra. “How long until they suspect my parentage?” 

“Oh, cousin, they will not!” Laenor's smile was wry. “You are white as a ghost, your hair silver as the moon… You are what they expected of a Targaryen.”

“People cannot be so easily convinced of such a lie,” argued Rhaenyra. “He’s a Targaryen, Mother is a Targaryen…”

“Half-Targaryen,” corrected Laenor. “And that's why the boy looks ordinary.” 

“He is a beautiful boy,” Aemma tone was hurt. “The most handsome child in the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“Beauty is not the problem, my Queen,” Laenor served himself more tea. 

Rhaenyra was in silence for a few moments, lost in thoughts. “Since the first Aegon took his sisters as wives, our family has cherished the Valyrian features.” 

“Yes, and now the new Aegon will pay for this foolishness,” Aemma’s sigh was loud, tired. “They are working to weaken Aegon’s claim.” 

“ They …” repeated Rhaenyra. “Laenor, where did you hear the rumors?”

“Everywhere, cousin,” he answered. “Inside the Red Keep, in the Street of Steel, in the Fishmonger’s Square…”

“I need a name, Laenor,” interrupted Rhaenyra.

“I cannot give you a name, cousin… I know the same as a commoner. I heard the boy is adored in the Street of Silk…” 

“Of course,” said Aemma. “The Bastard King, son of a harlot of a Queen.”

“Mother,” reassuring although sad, Rhaenyra interlocked her fingers with her Mother’s. “Do not repeat such things, please.”

Rhaenyra gazed at Laenor, still drinking from the steaming cup. 

“Where was your voice, Laenor, when I needed you weeks ago?” demanded Rhaenyra. 

“I am not well versed in politics, cousin,” he said unapologetically. “Still, I can be a good ally. I do not want the image of my sister's betrothed to be stained with lies.”

“Aegon and Laena are not betrothed,” said Rhaenyra. 

“But they will be, won’t they?” asked Laenor. “You have a debt with the Velaryon House.”

“Do I?” 

“Of course, cousin,” Laenor smiled over his cup. “We may not have been able to defend your claim to the Throne but we secured Aegon’s. He will be King, and my sister his Queen.”

“And will I reign, then?” defied Rhaenyra. “The betrothal would take place if I was to be Queen.”

“Maybe you will reign, cousin,” he shrugged. “Who am I to tell the paths of destiny? Maybe the boy will fall dead before his sixteenth birthday and nor will my sister be Queen.”

“Laenor!” chastised Aemma, shocked. “Pray the boy will continue to grow healthy!”

“Strong as a horse, kicking as a goat,” Laenor’s agreement was laced with a deeper hidden tone, something Rhaenyra was not able to name. “I wish only the best for the young King, my Queen. I would not be here if I was interested in his failure.” 

A strong knock on the doors attracted their attention, and after a second knock Ser Arryk entered the room. He gave a curtsy with his head, cleared his throat and said, “Princess, the Prince Regent requests your presence.” 

***

“It is true?” 

Alicent and Harwin were in the godswood, behind the oaks. The Strong knight was on his feet, one hand in the pommel of the sword, and Alicent was on her knees, picking up herbs on the grass. 

“What it might be true, Ser Harwin?” inquired Alicent without looking at him. 

It was not the first time Harwin accompanied Alicent to the godswood. She never felt truly safe to wander alone in the depths of the woods, even though her heart beated with the Goddess' power and love. There was something evil in King's Landing, and it was not spiritual; it was made of flesh and bone. 

“I have been hearing a rumor for the last months. First I thought it was only a vile lie,” there was no judgment in Harwin's voice, only uncertainty. “But then I started watching the way you and the Princess interact,” Alicent stopped digging for herbs. “Please, forgive my crude words, Lady Alicent, but are you and the Princess lovers?”

Lovers . 

Alicent wished there was a more proper word to describe the affection they shared. If they were a boy and a girl, maybe they would be betrothed. Maybe they would already be husband and wife, and no word such as “lovers” would be used to describe such a pure connection. Bitterly, Alicent remembered when her father said she and the Princess were “ good friends ”. Yes, some people on the Red Keep said that too… Other’s said she was the Princess’ pet. 

“Will you condemn me if I say yes?” Alicent stood up, cleaning her hands on the apron on her waist. She turned around, and her eyes met Harwin’s. 

“I do not believe I have the power to condemn someone, Lady Alicent,” was his answer. 

“Then, yes,” she said. “Although I do not approve of the word ‘lovers’... It carries a negative connotation, as if we are doing something clandestine.”

“It is against the Faith,” commented Harwin.

“Yes, like kinslaying,” nodded Alicent. “But I do not follow the Faith, not anymore, Ser Harwin. And you know of that. Do you think what we are doing, me and the Princess, is equal or worse to kinslaying?”

“No, not at all, Lady Alicent,” he answered quickly. “But now I understand…” Harwin's eyes wandered beyond Alicent, as if watching something in the woods. “I understand more the reason for your refusal.”

Oh .

Months ago, the unfortunate event in the stables. 

“I am sorry if I disappointed you, Ser Harwin,” Alicent picked up her basket, organizing the leaves and roots. “You are a good friend to me, a faithful one.”

“It’s no disappointment, Lady Alicent,” he assured her. “I asked myself for a time if I had wronged you in some moment.”

“You could have just asked me , Ser Harwin,” Alicent smiled shyly.

“Well, I guess I can be a fool too.” he shook his head. 

A candlemark later, they started their return to the castle. It was a slow walk, and Alicent explained to Harwin the benefits of the grapple plant for his health and how it would cure him of joint pain. At the entrance of the patio, Harwin stopped Alicent on her tracks, and they watched wide-eyed as two cooks carried an enormous dead pig on a tray. 

“Daemon is vulgar,” spatted Alicent. “A feast?”

“He is the Regent now,” said Harwin.

“Yes, to rule while the young King is unable to do so,” two knights carried a slaughtered fat deer. “Not to be ostentatious.” 

“The Princess didn’t allow any ceremony…”

“The Small Council.”

“Yes,” Harwin conceded. “But he’ll remember the Princess because they share the same blood… She supported his claim as Regent as she supported his humiliation.”

Alicent’s face scrunched up.

“He is not worth such nobility, Ser Harwin. ”

“No, he is not,” acquiesced Harwin. “But he thinks he is.”

More servants passed by, carrying barrels of wine and pots of honey. 

“I must talk with the Princess.” said Alicent before crossing the patio. 

***

“ Dragonstone ?” Rhaenyra repeated with an incredulous gasp. 

“Aye,” Daemon, head down, was signing some papers. “It is time for you to fully assume your responsibilities. Besides, I believe it’ll be good for the Dowager Queen to breathe some fresh air.”

“Mother is already better,” it was true. The deep melancholia that plagued Aemma had worn away in the last weeks, slowly becoming the usual mourning routine of a widow and nothing more, without crying spells or depressive mornings in bed. Laenor, a few moments ago, had remembered the Queen’s lineage, her half-Targaryen blood, but Rhaenyra watched after the King’s death: Aemma was more dragon than herself, untiring and protective. “There is no need to…”

“It’s decided,” Daemon glared at Rhaenyra. “And it is arranged. You’ll leave King’s Landing before the evening.”

“ What? ”

Rhaenyra’s mind swirled, confused and still shocked. 

“Don’t worry, niece,” Daemon’s smile was painted with false sympathy. “There are plenty of servants in the castle to help you pack your dresses and jewelry, and you can also take with you some of your maids. The same applies to the Dowager Queen and the small King…  Although I heard he is not very fond of nursemaids, you may take with you as many as you like.”

Speechless, Rhaenyra opened her mouth but no sound came out. 

“And I know you think of me as some kind of monster,” Daemon continued. “Honestly, I don’t understand why, Rhaenyra. I am good, I assure you. Even generous,” his smile grew more and more. “I had always been a good uncle to you, even if you never appreciated my affections.” 

Alicent hadn’t dreamt about such a turning of events, and neither had Rhaenyra considered it. Rhaenyra couldn’t remember a moment where the Red Keep wasn’t her home, a moment where she thought about living somewhere else… 

“Continue your stupid dalliance! ” proposed Daemon. “Go to Dragonstone and take with you the Hightower whore, aye? Be happy!”

Awakening from the short stupor, Rhaenyra’s eyes gleamed with rage and within seconds her body was moving in a white fury… Daemon rose to his feet, and pointed a finger towards Rhaenyra, “Now, you slap me again and there won’t be any guards to save you this time.”

Chest heaving, Rhaenyra stepped back. 

“ Good girl .” 

Rhaenyra swallowed hard, and said: 

“What are you doing?”

Daemon sighed as if he bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

“What is your purpose here, Rhaenyra?” he answered with a new question. “Tell me, please, enlighten me what you are still doing in the Red Keep. You are not a part of the Small Council, not anymore. You’ll be no Queen,” he smiled another time. “And you will not marry, even if of age. And Aegon is still shitting on his pants. Neither of you, honestly, are useful here.”

As rage boiled in Rhaenyra’s veins, she fought her own emotions, feeling too small and too stupid for such conversation. There wasn't a fightback, or there was? No, she didn’t believe there was. She was powerless, and alone. I am short of allies, am I not?

“You are exiling me from my own home.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic!” Daemon laughed. “You are welcome to visit whenever you like.” 

“To visit.” echoed Rhaenyra.

“Aye, Dragonstone will be good for you too, niece,” asserted Daemon. “You are too temperamental lately. The fresh air will heal you and your dear mother. Besides, I heard some worrying stories about your young brother… ” 

***

As Alicent strode in the Red Keep, decisive steps and mind resolute, more and more servants worked, cleaning in a hush and carrying food enough to feed an army. Entering Maegor’s Holdfast, Alicent turned right, believing she would find Rhaenyra in the Dowager Queen’s quarters. But as Alicent’s body rotated partly, a hand gripped her arm and shoved her in the nearest darkest hall: 

“Oh, Lady Alicent! It was so hard to find you… ” and even in the dark, it was easy to distinguish Larys Strong’s cunning eyes and square face, rattling like a snake. “Oh, the days had been so long after the King’s death! I miss him dearly, don’t you miss him too?” to a sick man, Larys hands were incredibly strong. Alicent's mind wandered, and she trembled in a sudden wave of fear, and she questioned how purple would be the bruises in her neck if Larys strangled her like Daemon did to Rhaenyra. “Long, long days, and without a King! But I heard young Aegon is growing healthy, what a miracle!” 

“Indeed, a miracle,” with a free arm, Alicent pushed against Larys, and she felt his breath on her face as he stumbled. “I do not know of your intentions, Lord Larys, but I do not believe it is proper to grab a lady like this!” 

“Oh, forgive me!” he giggled like a child. “I thought it would be alright. You seem very close to my older brother.” 

Alicent’s expression hardened. 

“Ser Harwin is a friend,” Alicent smoothed her dress, and then touched the sleeves of it, pretending to care about the details of her appearance when in fact she was feeling the burning on her forearm. “And I assure you, Lord Larys, he is an honorable man.” 

“Of course,” Larys’ shoulder bent as he held his cane. “But are you an honorable lady?

“And who are you to question how honorable I am?” she retorted back. 

“There are some interesting stories,” he shrugged. “You must be more discreet when warming the Princess’ bed.”

“Alright, Lord Larys,” said Alicent. “Are you done?” 

“Oh, no, Lady Alicent,” he smiled. “I am here to bring you a message from your Father.”

“Does my Father also intend to suggest I am a whore?” she asked. 

“Oh, Lady Alicent, in truth I did not wish to suggest such a thing,” he explained. “But to warn you, my Lady, of the rumors and how careful you must be.” 

“I see you are very considerate, Lord Larys,” mocked Alicent. 

“I said I can be a helpful hand,” he agreed, ignoring the scorn on Alicent’s voice. “But I won’t delay you much more, Lady Alicent. Your Father is a good friend of mine, and the poor man has been so busy since the King’s death and now with the Regent, oh, even worse! I come here to tell you all is set for your travel.”

“Travel?” repeated Alicent. “What…? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, your journey to Dragonstone,” slowly, Larys leaned towards Alicent. “Your Father gives you his blessing. He believes you might be on the right path.”

“It’s not my intention to travel to Dragonstone, Lord Larys…”

And as she spoke the words, the same died on her tongue. 

Larys surprised interjection barely hid his satisfaction, “Oh, Lady Alicent! You do not know, do you? The Princess and her immediate family will move to Dragonstone.”

Since when? Alicent heard her confused thoughts. 

But when she was to question more, a pair of hands circled Lord Larys’ arms and he was pulled with a scream. Alicent ran towards the backlighted corridor, and there was Ser Arryk and beside him a disheveled Rhaenyra, sweaty forehead and panting. “Alicent,” Rhaenyra's smile was short-lived. “Come with me,” Rhaenyra joined hands with Alicent, and soon they were walking. “Ser Arryk, do your part.” side-eyed, Alicent watched as Ser Arryk dragged Lord Larys. 

“What will happen with Lord Larys?” Alicent tried to move, to turn completely, but Rhaenyra’s hands and steps were firm, prompting Alicent to keep walking. 

“They will only talk, do not worry,” she said quickly. “I do not know what that disgusting man was telling you, but he will not come any closer.”

“What is happening, Rhaenyra? Please, tell me!” cried Alicent. 

“Daemon exiled me from the Red Keep,” announced Rhaenyra. “Not only me, Mother and Aegon too… I cannot fight him to stay, I believe he is planning something… It was a stupid plan to give him power, even though you said there is a war coming… And now there are rumors about Aegon’s parentage.” 

“ Aegon’s parentage?” 

“Because he looks more Arryn than Targaryen,” continued Rhaenyra. “Daemon used this against us too… He says it's better if Aegon grows far from the public eye, he is taking advantage of our disgrace, and the bastard dared to call you a whore again.” now they were in front of the doors of the Queen’s chambers, and Rhaenyra’s hands were shaking, enraged and nervous. “Come with me to Dragonstone, and I swear to you I’ll make things right. I will not marry any man, not even if it means more power… Come with me to Dragonstone, marry me in a Valyrian ceremony.” 

Alicent’s heart hiccuped, and her face grew hot.

“Rhaenyra…”

“Please,” Rhaenyra’s eyes were wild like a storm. “I cannot face this without you, and I will not allow them, no, not any more, to call you a whore. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, considering a way for us to be officially together… You are no longer devoted to the Seven, and there is no law against our love in the Valyrian religion…” 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent’s words discontinued Rhaenyra’s. “I will follow you wherever you go, there is no need to ask for my hand in…”

“But I want it, please ,” Rhaenyra’s eyes watered. “Do not make me beg. I love you, I need some security right now. I am already losing my home, I will not lose you too.”

Your Father gives you his blessing , Larys said before, he believes you might be on the right path . Alicent shuddered as she reminded herself of the brief conversation. Otto Hightower, the man who neglected and despised her presence for months, was suddenly approving of her actions… 

“Alicent…”

“Yes, yes. I will marry you,” Alicent kissed Rhaenyra cheekbones.

And although Alicent ardently desired a title, a proper name for their love, dread spreaded across her chest as she heard again, again, and again Larys’ words. He believes you might be on the right path … 

*** 

The scorching heat of the Dragonpit fed Rhaenyra’s own fire, and she ignored Dreamfyre’s growlings as she walked down the stairs, listening to the clanking of Syrax’s chains. The she-dragon screeched, and her body spined around the cave, tail and wings moving in an uneasy manner. 

“ Gīda ilagon, Syrax. Gīda, issa hāedar, ” Rhaenyra hands were empty and upwards, and Syrax eyes were half-shut. “ Ziry iksos jēda naejot jikagon, Syrax. ” Syrax ruffled some more, and then her snout nuzzled Rhaenyra’s hands. 

As Syrax lowered her long neck, Rhaenyra’s eyes captured the image: behind the dragon, a poor nest sticky with recently laid eggs. Five scaly eggs, two golden as Syrax and three bloody red as Caraxes. 

***

Some would say the Prince Regent held a farewell feast for Princess Rhaenyra. 

Some others would say he was celebrating her departure from the Red Keep. 

Chapter Text

In truth, Alicent had never seen Dragonstone before. 

She always heard tales about the Targaryen castle, the grim island and its unique architecture. She heard about spiraling dark ghosts, screams of dragons, and sorcery; the blood of many who altogether with fire molded black stone. No childish tale could prepare Alicent, and she audibly gasped when Arion stopped trotting, clopping sounds turning into silence: 

Behind the fog and between towers, dragons of stone framed the castle, long contorted necks rising between towers. The gates were haunting, molded like the wings of a dragon, and the fortress was adorned with basilisks and gargoyles. The day was cold and heavy clouds hung from the sky, the distant sounds of the storm mixing with the rumblings of the sea. The air was humid and salty, and as they approached the gates, Alicent’s nose scrunched with the smell of brimstone. Inside the main patio, Arion struggled one more time as if unsure of her next steps, and Alicent shuddered as Syrax growled above, landing in the main patio, tail swinging irritably and swatting a small dragon statue. 

“What do you think?” the place was so strange, so new, it was easy to forget that Rhaenyra was by her side the whole time, riding on Roswell. A mile behind, the Dowager Queen and the young Aegon were on a big carriage, comfortable and protected. 

“Oh, it’s terrible,” Alicent couldn’t hold the truth, and Rhaenyra laughed dryly.

“It will be temporary, I promise you,” Rhaenyra patted Roswell's long silver hair, smiling as the horse clearly still remembered Dragonstone. “And it is not always gloomy. The sun still reaches the island.”

“It smells like the Dragonpit,” commented Alicent, clearly disappointed. 

“You will marry a dragon,” smiled Rhaenyra. “You better get used to the smell.”

Alicent imagined if there was a way to disinfect Dragonstone, to scrub the walls and wash the floors until everything smelled like soap. After Rhaenyra’s flights on Syrax, Alicent usually helped the Targaryen girl in the bath, carefully washing and rising until there were no more remnants of smoke, sweat, or dragon; the castle, however, looked too big for Alicent’s hands, and it seemed like there wouldn’t be enough lavender oil to perfume the place. Alicent chose to stay quiet and Rhaenyra’s laugh was amused. 

Rhaenyra dismounted Roswell and cleaned her hands on her pants, taking in the view before helping Alicent out of Arion. Alicent wore a dark green dress, and she smoothed the skirts before getting off the sidesaddle. 

“A sidesaddle can cause strain on the horse's back… ” said Rhaenyra. 

“Only if the rider does not know how to position their own weight,” replied Alicent. “And I believe I am a decent rider.” 

“Indeed,” conceded Rhaenyra. “But why not use a saddle?”

“As I am not fond of pants, it’s a question of modesty, don’t you think?.” 

“Oh, yes,” Rhaenyra smiled wickedly. “It would be so scandalous… The winds blowing up your skirt, oh, what a tragic vision !”

Alicent pinched Rhaenyra's arm, and they both laughed. 

Rhaenyra’s ironic remarks had become scarce in the last two months, her heart and mind focused on the Small Council and in the succession order. Moments outside of the chambers of the Council were used to eat, sleep, and worry, and sometimes to cry in Alicent’s arms. The first few days after Daemon's ascension as Regent were filled with fatigue, and on the day she was exiled, it was the first day since the King’s death she was about to ride Syrax. To hear Rhaenyra jesting again, what a blessing! 

In the entrance of the castle, in front of the main doors, there was a long line of servants, and they curtsied while the Targaryens walked towards them. Alicent remained a little behind Rhaenyra, suddenly anxious and self-conscious, and Aemma strode along with a sleeping Aegon in her arms. The welcoming was warm, although the weather was not, and the servants happily introduced themselves. There were many maids and wardens, and Rhaenyra felt safer as she entered the castle with her family and betrothed, behind them some nursemaids of the Red Keep, the Cargyll twins and Ser Criston Cole. 

Inside the castle, the walls were decorated with more dragons and small claws held candles and torches. Mystic creatures were all around, and Alicent hugged herself as she felt too small to such tremendous magic. What an eerie and blessed and cursed place! Invisible hands pushed and pulled on Alicent’s shoulders, accepting and refusing her presence, unsure about Alicent’s bloodline and its power. 

The rooms were in the same tower, as requested by the Dowager Queen. The biggest chambers were Rhaenyra’s and now Alicent’s too, she remembered herself. Rhaenyra asked beforehand if they could officially share the same room, and Alicent accepted as there was nothing traditional about their relationship. The room was partially furnished with a long couch and an even larger bed, bookshelves spilling hardcover books, a vanity, mirrors and a desk. Alicent flustered as she noticed the artwork above the bed, on the wall:

A dragon and a woman interlaced in an intimate embrace, the brunette woman naked, mouth ajar as the dragon penetrated her with its tail. The white dragon’s claws were human-like, and there was something feminine in the animal. It was not the first time Alicent was seeing an erotic piece of art, the rooms in the Red Keep were plagued with images of dragons and humans in heated encounters. The art in their room, however, was different: no cock was sprouting out of the dragon. 

“A female dragon,” said Rhaenyra. “How fitting!” 

“Have you requested this art?” asked Alicent, cheeks ruby red.

“No,” she answered honestly. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I can ask the servants to remove it.”

“No, no, it’s not necessary,” it was difficult to stop staring at the painting, and Alicent lowered her eyes before exploring the room another time. Her chest was heaving, and breathing was a lot harder when a tingling sensation grew over her body. It was embarrassing, and improper, and Alicent despised how easily influenced she was by the image. 

While many people took Alicent for Rhaenyra’s bedmate, the Princess’ whore, the truth of it all was the same as before: even though they kissed and playful touched each other, and even though they slept in the same bed, they never crossed the final line. Before the King’s death, Rhaenyra and Alicent would indulge themselves in a more explorative affection, enjoying sloppy kisses in the privacy of the Princess’ chambers… But since the King’s funeral their physical affection was during stolen moments, hugs and gentle pecks. Alicent caught herself missing the rush of open mouth kisses, and the sensations worsened as if fueled by old memories.

“Are you well, Alicent?” Rhaenyra knitted her brows. 

“Yes,” she nodded immediately. “Just tired from the journey.”

There was so much pent up energy in Alicent’s body, deep inside her core, that she thought she could strike Dragonstone with lightning bolts. But she chose silence again as she considered it foolish and inappropriate in the current situation. They were exiled to an island, far from the politics in the King’s Lading ― Daemon Targaryen, now Regent, was the most important man in the country, and the head of it all. Oh, there were more important matters, Alicent thought, more worrying problems… 

Rhaenyra had been frantic after the marriage proposal at the Queen’s doors, Alicent would never forget. Rhaenyra had stormed into the room, those Targaryen eyes glowing with fury and resentment, and Aemma, poor woman, had listened to Rhaenyra’s summary of the events, voice loud and nervous. It had been chaotic for a while: Rhaenyra furiously riding to the Dragonpit to collect Syrax, Aemma gathering money and jewelry as if they had been sentenced to a life of poverty, and Aegon wailing in Alicent’s arms, punching the air as if he was conscious of the happenings. Many of the maids were busy with the feast, and Alicent helped the servants while they were packing the Princess’ belongings;  in her room, Alicent found two trunks organized with her clothes, jewelry, and most cherished items, including some of her Mother’s dresses and hair accessories. There were no more cryptic messages from her Father, and soon it was time to leave for the port, where the ship was waiting for them. 

And they were late as Rhaenyra returned from the Dragonpit with five dragon-eggs. Rhaenyra's hands were burned and she said the eggs were from Syrax’s first clutch. Ser Harwin, always the good ally, was the one who brought the Princess a cauldron big enough to protect the five eggs, and she thanked him one time, and a second time when he helped to load the ship.

Yet, since their departure, Rhaenyra said nothing more about the situation. Alicent heard some ramblings about Daemon’s character, some complaints about the treatment they received but no words about how they would overcome it. Alicent knew of the nature of Rhaenyra, she knew about the rage and jealousy behind the girl’s facade… If no plans were being made, Rhaenyra probably was silently feeding more of her hatred. 

“I will ask for the servants to bring hot water,” Rhaenyra sat at the bed, taking off her boots. “And some warm food. Gods, I would not survive another day on dry meat and cheese.” 

“Some wine would be good too,” Alicent said as she side-eyed the painting one more time. “Or even black beer, something stronger than cold tea…” 

Rhaenyra looked over her shoulder, where a woman and a she-dragon copulated, and continued: “The old gods are a lot more tolerant. There were no laws against men who loved men, or women who loved women… There were neither laws against polygamous relationships.”

“Do you plan on entering a polygamous relationship?” Alicent tone was dry, full of discomfort.

“Only if it is your wish,” she said humorously. 

“Gods, no,” Alicent gestured with her head. “I think I would prefer to pluck my eyes out than watch you with another woman… or man.”

Rhaenyra laughed, “I believe the feeling it's mutual.”

Alicent bit her lips, considering a little before speaking again: 

“And what about your heirs, Rhaenyra?” 

“I don’t believe I have any heirs, not that I know of,” she was still smiling. 

“Your future heirs,” corrected Alicent. 

“What about it?”

“We will be each other's wives… I cannot give you heirs.”

“Is that so?”

“What about the future of the Targaryen lineage?” 

“Aegon seems very healthy.” 

“Rhaenyra…” 

“I’m not worried about children, Alicent. I want to wed you, and that is enough for now.”

“Yes, for now. And later?”

“We will find a way… The Targaryen blood is not the same as the common man, and neither is yours.” 

Alicent tried to picture Targaryen children, somehow also related to her. She shivered, stomach turning upside down, as she remembered the drunk King she once saw in a vision, and the one-eyed revengeful boy… 

“You are overrating my powers.” Alicent sighed. 

“Maybe I’m not,” Rhaenyra stood up, and soon her body was closer to Alicent’s. “Will you wash my hair, please?” 

Rhaenyra leaned in, arms circling Alicent’s neck. Alicent’s hands were in the Princess’ hips, “You do not have to ask.” 

***

On the first morning on Dragonstone, the Princess and her betrothed had breakfast with the Dowager Queen. 

They ate on the balcony, and the sun peeked through the mist. The food on Dragonstone was slightly different, unknown spices and fishes, and Alicent marveled how an island, not so far from King’s Landing, had its own culture. After the meal, Alicent and Rhaenyra explored the castle. 

Down the arch of the Dragon’s Tail, they found Aegon’s Garden. It was a slice of heaven, far from the sickening brimstone smell, and the grass was dark green and the roses were a dazing red. There was a variety of herbs and plants, and Alicent pretended to ignore the statues between thorns, not turning an eye to the hellhounds and wyverns. In the afternoon, they walked to the Sea Dragon tower, where Maesters and students awaited to meet the Princess. In the evening, Alicent accompanied Aemma to kitchens, and the cooks celebrated the royal visit, guiding the Dowager Queen in a quick tour. 

On the second day, after a restless night, Alicent followed Rhaenyra to the Stone Drum, and Rhaenyra analyzed the map on the Painted Table. “Maybe I would reign from Dragonstone,” she said at one point. “The Red Keep is full of adulators, and snakes like Larys Strong.” 

“Don’t you think a Queen should be close to her subjects?” Alicent was near the window, watching the waves crashing against the outside walls. 

“No,” she answered. “A Queen’s duty is to protect and provide for her subjects, not to be popular.” 

“You are popular,” recalled Alicent. “The Realm’s Delight.”

“My popularity is declining,” Rhaenyra smiled bitterly.

“The lack of support you received inside the Red Keep does not reflect the people, Rhaenyra… They have not forgotten you…”

But Rhaenyra ignored Alicent’s reasoning, and instead commented, “Laenor said the smallfolk adore Aegon,” Rhaenyra’s eyes met Alicent’s. “He will be more popular than me, and people will cherish him despite the rumors.”

After the midday meal, Alicent strode alone to the library and fell asleep on a small couch as she read about Valyrian rites. Rhaenyra spent the rest of the day on Syrax’s back, flying above the island, and when she returned to her chambers, Alicent was drinking tea near the hearth. 

Soon it was the third day at Dragonstone. 

And then it was the fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth day at Dragonstone. Time was flying faster, and Alicent became used to the castle, to the halls and to the different smells and tastes. The nights were hauntingly quiet without any premonitions, and the days were occupied with mundane tasks. Reading in the library, studying herbology, drinking tea on the balcony. Pacific, uncomfortably pacific ― and Alicent silently asked herself when Rhaenyra would say something, when her eyes would lit up in anger again. 

Rhaenyra, the new Lady of Dragonstone, was constantly busy, and Alicent imagined if Daemon’s plans were succeeding as the Princess’ head was buried in paperwork. The Princess was a good administrator, no doubt, and in a few days she was able to solve many of the problems concerning the servants and the nearest villages. The problems, as the tasks, were mundane, and Alicent feared the day she would foresee Daemon weakening Aegon’s claim, the day he would overpower all of them… 

A tyrant of a King, an usurper. 

***

“Lady Alicent!” a chubby servant moved fast as she saw the shadow of a green dress. Alicent stopped on her tracks, hands behind her back, and gave the woman a short nod. “A raven arrived today,” the woman extended to Alicent a small roll of paper sealed with red wax. “It’s for the Princess but she is in the garden with the dragon.”

“Of course,” Alicent accepted the letter. “Thank you, uh…”

“Beatrix, my Lady.”

“Beatrix, thank you.” Alicent smiled. “Do you know who sent it?”

“No, my Lady,” she answered quickly. “But the raven is from King's Landing, oh, I know it… The ravens from King’s Landing are skinny but smart. The old raven even said a few words.” 

“Maybe it has read the letter,” jested Alicent. 

“Oh, no! It would be terrible! ” Beatrix seemed flabbergasted. “Crows are big mouthed! Garrulous birds, my Father always believed pigeons were more trustworthy… But pigeons are too damn tasty, aye, that’s why people use ravens.”

“Well, thank you, Beatrix,” Alicent giggled. “I will hand in the letter to the Princess.”

Beatrix curtsied before leaving, and Alicent took a deep breath. 

The curtsies started some time ago, when Rhaenyra scolded one of the working men at Aegon’s Garden. Dragonstone, as all places, had its share of gossip and some already talked about how curious it was for the Princess to share a bed with another woman; Rhaenyra heard one of those remarks as she strolled in the afternoon with Aemma. It was not supposed to find royal ears, no, but the men were too distracted pruning the roses to notice the Princess behind them. Since then it was well-known Lady Alicent was engaged to the Princess, and being so they curtsied and the frightened servants even called her “Lady Targaryen ''.

The marriage would take place after some days.

The ceremony, a Valyrian one, required only the couple, a few instruments, and a priestess, which was to arrive in less than a fortnight. The seamstresses were in Dragonstone five days after the family’s arrival, and the ceremonial clothes were already adjusted. There would not be great festivities as the King’s death was still recent, but Rhaenyra and Alicent agreed on a small banquet and some music. 

“Rhaenyra!” like the servant said, the Princess was in Aegon’s Garden with Syrax. It was a ridiculous scene, almost comic, Rhaenyra sprawled on one of Syrax’s wings as the dragon slept. Rhaenyra's eyes were reddish and Alicent understood she had been napping alongside the beast. 

“My love,” Rhaenyra opened her arms, inviting Alicent.

Alicent crossed her arms in answer.

“What?”

“I am not coming near Syrax, not even one more step.” 

“Will you deny a hug and a kiss to your Princess?”

“Yes.”

“And what about denying a hug and a kiss to your future wife?”

“Do you wish to be a widow before our marriage?”

Dramatically, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and then stood up, walking to Alicent. 

“What is the fuss all about?” 

“A message from King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra opened the paper in an anxious manner, and then squinted her eyes as if an old lady trying to read, “I cannot comprehend.” 

“What?” Alicent touched her own neck. “What is the letter about?”

“I wish I knew,” Rhaenyra sighed. “I cannot comprehend this horrendous calligraphy.”

“Oh, let me see…” 

Immediately, Alicent recognized the poor handwriting, the inclined unfinished letters… “It is from my Father.”

“Otto Hightower?”

“Yes, I’ll read it…”

Princess Rhaenyra, 

Your absence has been celebrated in court and the new Regent has been feasting on your father’s carcass like a vulture. The legitimacy of the young King has been constantly questioned among the Lords, although the smallfolk love the child. The peace of the Kingdom, as always, lies in the hands of the people. 

Aside from the feastings, the Regent's newest acts includes annulling his marriage with the respectful Lady Rhea Royce and bringing a prostitute to the Red Keep. The council is pushing for the official nomination of Aegon as the Heir. 

There are rumors about a Triarchy forming in the Stepstones.   

There was no signature. 

“Rhea Royce is the Lady of Runestone, she is a dear woman to the Vale,” commented Alicent. 

“And the Vale is loyal to the Arryn Queen,” completed Rhaenyra. “Daemon is weakening his relationship with the Vale, it is good for Aegon.”

“Indeed.”

“Is Otto Hightower now an ally?” 

“I am not sure,” admitted Alicent. 

“Larys Strong suggested so.”

“I do not trust my Father, Rhaenyra,” she said. “He can be a malicious man.”

Malicious, and strong minded. 

“I do not trust your Father,” Rhaenyra folded the letter. “But I believe now Daemon is more dangerous.”

And then, finally, Alicent was witness again to the obstinate light in Rhaenyra’s eyes, the shine which accompanied the madness of many Targaryen. “Let your Father send us how many letters he wishes. The war in the Stepstones is forming, and soon Daemon will be away, he is too wild to be tamed to an office. When we return to the Red Keep, the Lords will bend a knee for Aegon.”

“And who will be Regent?” questioned Alicent. “Your Mother will not accept the position.”

“Then I’ll be Regent,” Rhaenyra smiled. “They will have no other choice. I will be considered the closest relative to Aegon…” 

“My Father will not support a woman as Regent, he will claim it is his right as Hand.”

“He has no rights, Alicent,” denied Rhaenyra. “He is fortunate Daemon has not yet plotted against him. Your Father has a strong voice in the council.” 

“And will the council accept you, Rhaenyra?”

“They will have no choice either,” she said simply. “And they fight against a Queen, not a Regent. It is not permanent and I doubt history will remember me.”

“Oh, Rhaenyra…” Alicent held Rhaenyra’s hands. “Of course they will remember you.”

“I will secure Aegon’s claim.”

Then they were silent, and the only sound was Syrax’s steady breathing. 

“I wish you were the Queen,” Alicent whispered.

Rhaenyra kissed Alicent on the cheek. 

Chapter Text

Mother helped daughter to dress. 

It was a long drop-waist gown with trumpet sleeves, richly embroidered with threads of gold, half-white and half-red. The Dowager Queen hummed to herself as she knotted the strands of a gold belt against the Princess’ waist, a heavy piece of jewelry. Rhaenyra’s hair, lustrous silver, was styled in a double waterfall braid, an artwork carefully crafted by Aemma’s slender fingers. 

“I wish my Mother had dressed me on my wedding day,” Aemma commented in a melancholic tone, voice dripping with her own heart. “But I am happy and grateful to be here with you, my daughter. I am proud of you.” and then she kissed Rhaenyra’s brow, sighing. 

The priestess was behind the main castle, in the middle of the mountain where torches burned with fire. The chalice and the dagger, both of Valyrian steel, were positioned in a stone table, and some witnesses gathered around. Ser Criston Cole, irrefutably loyal to the Princess, Elyana, Aegon’s favorite nursemaid, and the young King himself, babbling and beautifully clad in black and red. Not far from their view, Syrax peeked through trees, slowly rumbling. 

The blustery wind tickled Rhaenyra’s face, and she felt a shiver running through her body. The mists were low, an inconspicuous white, and although it was the middle of the day, the sky grew darker. The weather was cruel, relentless, and not even on a wedding day the gods graced Dragonstone with sun ― it was a good omen, one of the servants said. The gloomier the day, the more blessed the couple was by the isle. 

As the wind howled, the Dowager Queen took King Aegon in her arms, bringing him to the comfort and warmth of a shawl. The last to arrive, Alicent emerged from the forest with the wilderness of a true witch, untamed hair more red than brown. Her gown was sea green, textured, and Rhaenyra noticed with deep satisfaction the stomacher filling the front of the bodice: a cream panel whose needlework was a golden dragon around a green tower. The embroidery, so fine and creative, contrasted with Alicent’s milky skin and heaving chest, and Rhaenyra felt her body tingling, excitement pooling in her belly. 

Alicent’s smile reached her glassy eyes, and the priestess started speaking. The elderly woman guided them through the ritual, sharing words in the common tongue and in High Valyrian. Rhaenyra cutted Alicent’s lower lip with precision and devotion, watching as the blood spilled from the flesh. Alicent repeated the act on Rhaenyra, firm hands and determined eyes, and they faced each other as they marked their foreheads with red. Then Alicent tore open the palm of her right hand, and Rhaenyra did the same with her own left hand, joining their hands together. Rhaenyra’s blood was scorching hot, and Alicent knew then the Targaryen were more gods than men. 

As the priestess blessed them, binding body and soul, Rhaenyra felt Alicent’s blood mixing with her own, so deep and mystical, more intoxicating than the magic of Old Valyria. They would be a strong couple, and maturity would only bring them closer. 

They shared the same chalice, throats burning with herbs, alcohol, and their own blood, and when the priestess announced the last words, Rhaenyra could no longer hold her desire: she threw her free arm over Alicent’s shoulder, bringing them so close together it was hard to breath. And then they kissed passionately, without shame or fear, only uncontrollable hunger and desperate love. 

Athirst and metallic, the kiss ended when their lungs were too exhausted to continue. It was hardly appropriate, and Rhaenyra laughed loudly when she saw Ser Criston Cole red as a beet. “Oh, boy…” Aemma playfully swatted Criston’s armored chest. “You are lucky there will be no bedding ceremony.” 

Alicent feared Criston would faint in front of the witnesses but he only cleared his throat and lowered his head as all had a laugh. The priestess extended Rhaenyra and Alicent clean bandages and they washed their hands on a basin of water. 

“Let me help you, wife,”said Alicent before kissing Rhaenyra’s fingers and applying a calendula ointment in the wound on her hand. Rhaenyra straightened her posture. She had never felt so worshiped and loved, and she flushed deeply when Alicent touched her lips, cleaning the blood and smoothing on the skin with the same medicine. Later, when they went down the mountain, Syrax flew above them. 

*** 

When they returned to the castle, the feast was being organized in the drawing room. The large table quickly became full, the testament of would be an abundant and pleasant meal. A variety of fruits was served alongside a fat roasted duck and venison steaks, there were also uncountable dishes of fish cooked in the most different techniques. Fresh bread, sweet and salty pies, and a great amount of Arbor gold, blackberry wine, and black beer completed the table. 

“Thank you for the embroidery, Your Grace,” Alicent said to Aemma while Rhaenyra conducted the priestess to the most privileged spot on the table. “It’s gorgeous.” 

“It was a small thing compared to your services to the Crown,” Aemma reassuringly touched Alicent’s arm. “And I still believe it is not enough. If not for you, I would be with the Stranger now and only the Gods know of what would be of my dear boy.”

“We were blessed, Your Grace.” answered Alicent.

Blessed, and then cursed with the death of the peaceful King… 

“Stop with the foolishness,” demanded Aemma. “We are a family now. You may call me Mother or Aemma.” 

Alicent nodded, holding a giggle.

“Then I shall call you Aemma.” 

“Good.”

The Dowager Queen soon found a seat beside the priestess. 

Alicent smiled another time when she felt Rhaenyra’s arms circling her. 

“It’s time to celebrate, ābrazȳrys .”

Alicent recognized the word. Wife . It was the first time Rhaenyra referred to her as ābrazȳrys and Alicent felt her heart swelling with pride. It sounded so proper, so perfect ― so different from the fear she faced each time she tried to picture herself married to a man… 

“You like the title, don’t you ābrazȳrys ?” whispered Rhaenyra. 

“Very much,” Alicent buzzed with contentment.

“Tell me, ābrazȳrys,” she continued. “For how long have you been hiding this work of art?” Rhaenyra's fingers touched the embroiderment. “Were you planning on becoming my wife?” 

“It was one of my dreams,” she admitted. “Although your Mother gave me the piece after the healing potion, she insisted on a payment.” 

“Of all things, you chose a embroiderment?” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“She was the Queen. She could have given you anything, anything you wished for…” 

“She has given me you,” shrugged Alicent. “My childhood companion, my best friend, and now my wife. Will you not agree with me that’s enough?” 

“I’m rather important, then.”

“Yes, you are.”

Side-by-side, they sat at the table. 

One servant on the left, another on the right, Rhaenyra’s cup was filled with blackberry wine while Alicent’s cup almost overflowed with Arbor gold. Aemma indulged herself in some black beer, and the priestess politely asked for some water. Rhaenyra was about to open her lips to say some words before the meal when two servants scurried in her direction. 

“Princess,” she curtsied to Rhaenyra. “Lady Targaryen,” then she curtsied to Alicent. 

“Is the food poisoned?” Rhaenyra inquired with disappointment. 

“No, no, hopefully not, my Princess…”

“Hopefully not?” Alicent gasped. “Are you not sure?”

“I’m sorry, my Princess,” the woman gulped. “There are no traitors in Dragonstone, I am sure… You are the kindest of the ladies… The kindest Princess, of course, you are not only a Lady, you are a…”

“Princess,” the second servant interrupted the anxious woman. “There are people outside the gates.”

“People?” Rhaenyra echoed the words. 

“Yes, people from the village,” continued the ginger woman. “The word has spread around the isle and they have brought gifts for their ladyship.” 

“Gifts?” 

“Yes, wedding gifts,” said the woman. “It’s a tradition in the isle to celebrate its lord or lady on their wedding day.” 

“And how has the word spread?” questioned Rhaenyra. 

“There are no traitors in Dragonstone, Princess, that is the truth but there are a lot of loose-tongued people, aye…” the woman leaned a little. “The cooks and the washerwomen, especially…”

“We didn’t warn you before because we thought people would not accept two ladyships!” squeaked the other woman. 

“Oh, Gods…” Alicent slumped down more and more into the chair. 

“Remember me your name, please,” asked Rhaenyra. 

The servant curtsied another time, and answered, “Ivana, my Princess.”

“Alright, Ivana,” Rhaenyra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Calm down, please.” 

“I am sorry, Your Grace!”

“Rhaenyra,” Aemma stood up from the other side of the table. Rhaenyra looked at her Mother, “Daughter, you must meet and greet those people.” 

“Of course,” Rhaenyra gestured with her head. 

“It will be quick, my Princess,” the servant said.

In a rush of movements, Rhaenyra and Alicent found themselves in the hall of the castle. The servants lit the fire on the hearth, feeding the flames with logs, and Rhaenyra and Alicent awaited near a pair of chairs. The metallic sound of armor-clad footsteps announced the arrival of people. 

Rhaenyra fought against herself, biting her lip to suppress a surprised sound, when groups and groups of people entered the castle. Women of all ages, some pregnant and some still maidens, were the first to appear, and in their arms there were trays of food, fabric rolls, yarns of wool, and garnished bouquets. 

“Our best wishes to the Princess and her Lady,” a woman bent the knee for them before offering some of the gifts. Soon another woman stepped forward, asking to kiss their hands, and as they allowed she blessed them with a simple prayer. Rhaenyra thanked them, and for an instant she tasted the glory of the first Targaryen: more than human, a person whose silver hair was the proof of a kinship to the Gods.

“May you find great happiness together,” said an old lady as she handed branches of chamomile to Alicent. Beside the woman, a girl offered Rhaenyra two balls of red wool. “And may you bless the isle with a new generation of princes and princesses.”

“Thank you,” Alicent smiled shyly while smelling the sweetness of the chamomile flowers. The old woman kissed their hands and left, but her granddaughter stayed, eyes fixed on Alicent. Without fear, she said:

“You are a witch.”

And without batting an eye, she left too.

A servant laid the branches of chamomile on a table. 

“Many years of love and prosperity to our ladyships,” said one woman. “Please, accept our gifts, Princess! It is simple but honest,” and to them, the woman offered two slaughtered rabbits.

“We appreciate the presents,” assured Rhaenyra with an honest smile while Ser Criston collected the bloody rabbits from the woman’s hands. 

“Oh, Princess, thank you, thank you,” another woman came forward. “I bring you no presents now but I promise the next harvest will be yours! Only yours, ladyship! We were able to buy seeds, and oh…”

Alicent identified the roots of such gratitude. 

Weeks ago, when the Princess first assumed her position as the Lady of Dragonstone, one of her first acts was to change the tax regulation on the isle. The land tax was almost abusive, and untenable for the poorest farmers. Dragonstone, Rhaenyra learned after a few nights of reading, was wallowing in money ― only greed could justify the high taxing values. She decided then to reduce the taxes. 

“What seeds did you buy?” Rhaenyra's curiosity peaked. 

“Pumpkin seeds, my ladyship.”

“Alright, then,” acquiesced Rhaenyra. “May the next harvest be yours.”

“Princess…” the woman blushed.

“Although I’ll accept a pumpkin pie,” said Rhaenyra. “But only one.”

The woman smiled greatly. 

“The first pumpkin pie of the season will be yours!”

Half a candle mark later, the table was becoming too small. 

When the men came forward, Alicent's eyes grew big with astonishment: they bought pigs and goats, and more slaughtered animals were offered. An elderly presented them with two puppies on a leash, “Sighthounds, they are funny dogs,” he explained. “These ones are different, your graces. They are from Essos, small funny dogs… Good temperament with children.”

“Thank you, sir… ” Rhaenyra patted one of the animals. 

“The young King will love them.” Alicent completed. 

Then other men offered food and beverages. 

Honey pots, barrels of beer, roasted chickens, fruitcakes, shrimp soup, freshly baked bread, cheese, milk, butter… Another half candle mark and the table there was no space left in the table. When the last man kissed Rhaenyra’s hand, she sighed. 

“It’s ridiculous…” she said to Alicent in a whisper. “There is enough food to feed an army, and animals to satisfy Syrax for weeks.”

“It is time for you to admit I was right,” smirked Alicent. “Your popularity has not declined.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra crossed her arms over her chest. “But what will we do with all of this?”

Rhaenyra gazed at the overfilled table, stacked with trays of food. 

“Maybe our wedding celebration is not destined to be private,” Alicent said as she fixed Rhaenyra’s hair. “Sounds fair to celebrate with the people that cherish you so much.” 

***

Ser Criston Cole almost collapsed. 

It was dangerous, reckless and childish ― and he had no other choice but to agree when the Princess demanded to open the gates of Dragonstone. Quickly the hall was overcrowded with the same people whose gifts were accepted by the Princess and her Lady Wife. The servants arranged a second and a third table, and the food in the drawing room was also shared with the men and women. 

“My Father, the late King Viserys, always enjoyed big celebrations,” Rhaenyra said as the people yearned for her words. “I thank you all for your generous gifts, and invite you to celebrate not only in the honor of my wedding day, but also in the memory of my Father.”

The people cheered. 

The musicians rearranged themselves in the room, and a note of a shawm introduced a celebratory song. Accompanied by the priestess, Aemma arrived during the second song and people celebrate her presence, kissing her rings and blessing her health. As people ate and drank together, Rhaenyra felt her body fluttering with the effect of the blackberry wine. 

And happy she was, so content. The food was delectable and the beverages were cold and sharp, and Alicent’s kisses were sweet. They laughed a lot, finally free from the constant tension surrounding the Red Keep, and people applauded when Alicent fed Rhaenyra a slice of seedcake. 

The music, initially simple, changed to a rhythmic symphony, a warm melody that invited people to dance. Rhaenyra stood on her red shoes and asked Alicent to dance, and dance they did. Maybe it was the wine or the magic in their veins, maybe it was their blood mixing together or Dragonstone, oh, they didn’t know, but the rapture was unique and addictive. They led each other with ease, as if it was instinctive, and they felt more alive than ever before. 

When the first dance was over, people joined them. 

How delightful it had been when flute and lute became one melody, and people clapped their hands and circled the newlywed couple, bodies moving to the sound of an old Valyrian song! Interlaced fingers, Alicent swirled Rhaenyra and Rhaenyra swirled Alicent.  When dizzy, they held each other while giggling. 

***

It was late when the couple retired to their room. 

The celebrations came to a stop only when there was no more food left in the plates and the cups were irremediably empty. People cheered the couple one last time, and then they were gone, leaving with full bellies and happy minds. Alicent and Rhaenyra strumbled their way to the main tower, both tipsy and pleased. In their rooms, a bath was already prepared and they removed their clothes whilst sharing playful touches. 

“Will we fuck in the bathtub?” Rhaenyra asked bluntly. 

Under the bubbly water, Alicent kicked Rhaenyra.

“Oww! It is a crime to kick your Princess!”

“And it is a crime to be so crude to your wife.”

“Then,” Rhaenyra smiled. “Will you make love to me, Lady Wife?”

“If it is your wish.” 

“More than anything else.”

After the bath, they went to the room dressed in simple nightgowns. The air was humid, and Rhaenyra was not sure if she was sweating because of the weather, the excitement, or the alcohol she ingested before. Near the slender couch, they found green tea and buttery caramel candy.  

“Are we supposed to drink tea on our wedding night?” Rhaenyra complained. 

No, they were not supposed to ― but Alicent had feared the night before they would exceed themselves in the feast, and asked beforehand to the servants to prepare tea and candy. Rhaenyra ate some caramel, and moved to the bed. Alicent sipped tea, and took a deep breath as she watched the dragon and the human female copulating in the painting. Then she went to the bed, crawling until her body was above Rhaenyra.  

“You look beautiful,” Rhaenyra said as her fingers ran through Alicent’s hair. “You look beautiful everyday, and everynight, but you look especially beautiful now.”

Alicent smiled, “I love you.” 

And then they kissed so quickly, so lightly… Rhaenyra complained another time but Alicent grinned, “Are you ready to be tamed, my dragon?”

Blood and Arbor rushed through Alicent’s veins when she sealed lips with Rhaenyra. 

Slowly at first, and then with hunger, biting and lapping at Rhaenyra’s lower lip before extending enough to feel their tongues twisting together. Rhaenyra pants were loud as she leaned more into the kiss, bending towards Alicent's mouth as if her life depended on it. Palpitating heart and burning cheeks, Alicent ignored any insecurity as her fingers went down Rhaenyra’s neck, collarbone, gently touching with fingertips until she found a fat breast, pressing gently before finding a soft spot. Rhaenyra whimpered . 

“You are so sensitive,” Alicent’s voice was victorious, satisfied. 

Rhaenyra grumbled as Alicent licked and bit the skin on her neck, leaving behind reddish marks. “A dragon cannot be tamed,” she said, impatiently. Alicent loosened the laces on Rhaenyra’s nightgown, kissing the tender skin before sucking a pink nipple. Rhaenyra taste and perfume were the same, Alicent understood with a groan of her own: honey. “ Oh , good…” Rhaenyra’s fingers tangled on Alicent’s hair, and she closed her eyes, one leg wrapping around Alicent’s hips. 

The sensation was more addictive and sweet than mead, hell and paradise altogether. And suddenly Rhaenyra felt incomplete, terribly so. Warm all over, restless, and empty. “ Please …” 

“Shhh,” Alicent’s lips were swollen and red, and her hands were steady when she removed Rhaenyra’s nightgown. Rhaenyra’s body gleamed in the room, sweating and burning hot, and Alicent admired glistening curves. Rhaenyra’s figure had become fuller in the last months, large thighs and a soft belly, and Alicent sighed. “Gods, you are gorgeous…” and then she latched on to the other nipple, and Rhaenyra cried messily. They kissed on the mouth again, and Alicent ran her hand down Rhaenyra’s rib cage and stomach before rubbing lightly against her mound. She felt the soft patch of curly hair, and then sank her fingers into the wetness. 

“ More … Oh, Alicent… That’s it, please… ” 

“Are you already tamed, my dragon?” Alicent whispered as she kissed Rhaenyra’s face, feeling the scorching heat while Rhaenyra rolled her hips, going deeper and deeper, closer and closer… 

“A dragon cannot be tamed,” she repeated. “A dragon must accept its rider, oh …”

“Rider?” echoed Alicent. 

“Yes, yes! Kiss me again, please!”

As Alicent came closer to Rhaenyra’s mouth, she whispered, “I believe you are riding me, love.”

And that was enough: Alicent’s devoted mouth and skilled fingers, and Rhaenyra shuddered as waves and waves of pleasure hit her. It was long and still short, more than ever hell and paradise colliding, and as the feeling subsided, Rhaenyra mourned that she couldn’t feel such euphoria all the time.