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Rhaenyra had always known of her feelings for Alicent. Even as they grew apart, grew into monsters unrecognizable to one another, Rhaenyra loved her still. She had not forgotten her childhood companion nor the feelings they shared for one another. Because of course they had been shared. That was the one thing that made Alicent’s betrayal more than just a stab in the back, but a complete gutting. Many years had passed, though. And despite all the hatred, the love persevered.
“Laenor,” Rhaenyra greets her husband (a husband; something she always knew in the back of her mind she needed, but never expected herself to actually have. She wondered if Alicent felt the same way about Viserys). “I have an odd question.”
Jacaerys is off running around somewhere, nowhere to be found. He is probably out causing trouble with Rhaenyra’s brothers (the word brothers makes her sneer at the worst of times), and she has found Laenor rising for the day in his bedchambers, still getting dressed. Rhaenyra does wish she could feel something for him other than platonic love and the sense of duty. She knows they love each other, but not in the way the seven kingdoms need them to. Not the way Viserys needs them to. Still, he is her closest friend and that is not an accomplishment to be overshadowed by their bastard children or illustrious affairs. They have done what they needed to do to survive.
“Yes, dear?” Laenor turns his head, motioning for his servants to leave him to dress by himself now that Rhaenyra has graced his presence. The word dear is light on his tongue, a joke between the two of them. Sarcastic, yes, but the love drips from his honeyed voice still.
“Do stop me if I’ve asked this before,” she begins, lingering by the now-closed door. The flames of the fire lick at the mantle as early sun shines through the sheer curtains covering Laenor’s window. Outside, she can hear sounds of knights sparring, the birds chirping, welcoming the world to the new dawn. “But have you… always known? About your preference?”
Laenor raises his eyebrows. “Have you always known about yours?”
She thinks of laying with Alicent beneath the great tree, reading children's stories and giggling over princes and marriage. Of the longing gazes they shared, gentle touches that felt stolen, something more than just the friendships between girls. “I think so. Although I do not think the preference you’ve assumed of me is as fitting as it seems.”
“No?” Laenor rises, walking over to her, reaching out and grabbing her hands in his. “You mean to tell me the world does not stop and start with your love for Ser Harwin?”
She blushes at the mention of her son’s true father, a rumor that they must never speak aloud and yet Laenor has done so casually in the privacy of their bedchambers. It feels strange to acknowledge such things, things that could undo her if they ever passed through the wrong ears. And yet, Rhaenyra knows she will be her own undoing should she dare say her next thoughts out loud where anyone can hear them.
“No, I am afraid it does not,” Rhaenyra chuckles softly, rubbing patterns into the back of Laenor’s hand with her thumb. “Being here with… with her I fear has only made things worse. Especially now that Jace has been born, these past few years it is as if she is holding something over my head.”
Laenor does not have to be the brightest man in the world (although Rhaenyra does think him close) to know precisely who she speaks of. “In my professional opinion, it seems as if you two utterly despise each other.”
Rhaenyra laughs at this. As if it could ever be true. “It would be easier if that were the truth.”
His gaze is soft as he looks down at her, humming as he leans forward and presses a kiss to her forehead. “It always is.”
Rhaenyra should be more prepared to run into Alicent around the castle. She rules Dragonstone with an iron fist these days, always whispering something in the ill ears of Viserys as his conditions worsen. Rhaenyra can barely recognize her own father, but she can recognize his agenda being that of his queen’s.
Even so, when Rhaenyra is walking to her chambers and Alicent falls into step beside her, she finds herself surprised. “My queen, I did not expect to see you meandering about indoors on such a fine afternoon. I expected you to be out in the sun, maybe watching your children.”
Alicent ignores the slight jab, instead linking her arm with Rhaenrya’s as they walk. It feels foreign as if she were mimicking something from many years ago, but the movement does not fit them quite so well these days. “Ah, they are much too busy playing with your son. His hair is coming in quite dark, is it not?”
“Blood is a fickle thing,” Rhaenyra responds easily. “I am no woman of science, I do not pretend to understand why things work the way they do and I do not see why you should make such a vain attempt either. Is there a reason you have joined me on my walk this afternoon?”
“Maybe I saw my dear friend walking and I wanted to strike up a conversation. Where is it you are headed?” Alicent continues, seemingly unbothered by Rhaenyra’s rebuttal although her face is scrunched up in one of pure audacity. Rhaenyra expected no less from her.
The words dear friend land in the pit of her stomach, her fingers brushing against the fabric of Alicent’s sleeve the way they did ten years ago when there were fewer things to fight about. The words feel like a lie, venom dripping from Alicent’s forked tongue. And yet they make Rhaenyra’s heart warm.
“My bedchambers to take a brief rest. I am afraid childbirth has ruined my joints for the rest of my days.”
Alicent snorts at this, “Just wait until you pop out three, you will never want to leave your sheets.”
Rhaenyra shivers at the thought, although she knows this will probably be her fate regardless. The more sons she has, the stronger claim she has to the throne. She pities any child brought into the world beneath this war for the kingdom, but there is not much choice in the matter. Not for Rhaenyra, not anymore.
They nod to passing knights and other nobles as they walk and Rhaenyra even earns an odd look from one of her chambermaids who has heard many heated words about Alicent in the evenings of undressing and preparing for bed. It is almost laughable how obvious their familial feud is even though they masquerade as allies. Even so, having Alicent by her side like this, like they used to, part of her is almost happy. Rhaenyra cannot remember the last time she felt like a little girl; one with no worries, no fear of being ousted or being forced to produce heir after heir.
Together, they arrive at the door to Rhaenyra’s bedchambers and she expects Alicent to depart from there. They have not spoken much more on their walk and the other woman’s expression is entirely unreadable. There are dark rings under her eyes and her cheeks are more gaunt than they used to be, but she is still Alicent. Rhaenyra resists the urge to run her thumb across her dark circles, knowing somewhere deep within her she craves the feeling.
“Well, this has been lovely—” Rhaenyra begins to say, but Alicent cuts her off harshly.
“Do you mind if I can discuss something in private with you?” Her expression has become frantic, following Rhaenyra into her bedchambers as she wrings her hands. Her fingernails are no longer red and torn the way they always had been when she was younger, but they are pink as if the flesh has been freshly healed.
“Alicent, what has gotten into you?” Rhaenyra asks with a light scoff, closing the door behind her. All she had wanted was a nap and now Alicent is pacing the room as if there is war afoot. Briefly she wonders if the war has been turned upside down.
In lieu of an answer, Alicent rushes towards Rhaenyra. For a moment, she thinks the queen is going to deliver a blow—finally knock out any competition to the throne now that Rhaenyra was foolish enough to be alone in a room with her. No weapon is brandished, though, nothing except for Alicent’s smooth hands grabbing Rhaenyra by the face and pressing their lips together.
Rhaenyra had always wondered what Alicent’s lips would taste like. Right now they are salty as if she had been weeping before she found Rhaenyra in the hall. She tastes of honey and mulled wine and Rhaenyra cannot help but kiss her back for everything they have between them, this has always been the strongest connection of all. She feels young again, rolling in her youth as she lays in the sunshine on the lap of her best friend, fingers twisting in her hair and childlike giggles rife in the air.
“Alicent, what are you doing?” Rhaenyra finally comes to her senses as she pulls Alicent away from her, one hand clutching her wrist as she pushes, but doesn’t let her go too far.
Tears brim her eyes when she meets Rhaenyra’s gaze. “I needed to know what it felt like. When it means something.”
And if that does not make Rhaenyra soften, then nothing could. Her shoulders drop, her grip on Alicent’s wrist loosening as she rubs soft patterns into the exposed skin where her sleeve has fallen down. For the briefest of moments, she sees Alicent. Sees the young girl who never meant to betray her best friend. Sees the girl she loved.
Rhaenyra has always been reckless, but this is the worst decision she could possibly make. Even so, it feels horrendously easy to push forward and kiss Alicent once more. She can taste the tears fuller now, fresh on Alicent’s fair cheeks and lips as she melts into the kiss. It has been at least a decade since she has seen Alicent undone, let alone by her hand.
“I want—” Alicent breaks away to say, choking back a sob as she brings a hand over her mouth. It is as if the words feel foreign on her tongue, as if she can not remember the last time she entertained her wants over those of others around her.
“What is it? Whatever it is, I will give it to you,” Rhaenyra rushes out the words before she can stop them, a hearty promise for the girls hiding within them. She reaches out and tugs Alicent back to her, hands on her wrists as they stand in the middle of the room, sunlight streaming in through the window though not quite touching where they settle.
“You, Rhaenyra. Always you,” Alicent breathes out, sounding like a prayer of pure desperation as they cling to one another.
Rhaenyra is in no place to deny her. Slowly, she brings her hand to the small of her own back, tugging at the lace that holds the bodice of her dress together. The fabric loosens around her chest and with that her shoulders drop, relaxing every so slightly. Alicent’s breath hitches as she takes a tentative step towards Rhaenyra, gentle hands tugging at the thick fabric, pulling it forward until it falls to the floor around her feet.
The two of them are on fire from there. Flames licking at their skin as they kiss one another, frantically tugging and untying their heavy layers as years upon years of yearning come to bittersweet fruition.
Rhaenyra pushes Alicent back towards the bed, a gentle hand on her shoulder holding her against the silk sheets, hovering over her as silver-blonde locks fall over her shoulders. Alicent’s eyes are still wet with tears and Rhaenyra knows she is not far from such a show of emotion herself. Her eyes linger towards Alicent’s swollen, pink lips, leaning down and meeting her in a kiss far too sweet for their animalistic nature.
The last of their layers are tossed aside as Rhaenyra’s hand traces up the skin of Alicent’s thighs, the other woman shivering at her touch. Rhaenyra can’t help but ask, “Has anyone ever truly touched you? For your pleasure rather than their own?”
Alicent doesn’t hesitate when she shakes her head. Rhaenyra, who has always had the luxury of chasing her own pleasure, mourns for her. However, she knows she has the power to change this, to give Alicent what she needs so desperately. The hand lingering on her skin grips her thigh, spreading her apart as Rhaenyra settles between her legs.
Rhaenyra is not going to pretend she is the most experienced in this area, but she is no stranger to being pleasured. She knows what feels good and what doesn’t and that is as good a place to start as anywhere. Settled between Alicent’s legs, she looks up at the woman’s chest rising and falling rapidly. She leans forward and presses a kiss to her stomach, aged stretch marks darkening areas of her skin. Rhaenyra runs her hands over them—a stark reminder of everything that is at stake. A reminder of where they stand. Even though, in this moment, they are the same.
She keeps her hand against Alicent’s stomach when she takes the first tender exploration with her tongue. The moment she makes contact with the soaking heat of Alicent’s cunt, the woman below her gasps, fingers reaching out and clasping the hand that is not gripping her thigh. Her grip is unforgiving, but so is Rhaenyra’s tongue. Their fingers are laced together tight enough to bruise, Rhaenyra’s other hand holding onto Alicent’s thigh and keeping her spread for her to devour.
There is nothing Rhaenyra wants more than for this to be about Alicent. Feeling the woman writhing beneath her may be the sweetest gift she has ever received. She licks up every last drop leaking from Alicent’s folds, reveling in the taste of her and the sounds of the soft whimpers falling past her lips.
“Fuck,” Alicent speaks for the first time in what feels like ages, the word breathless and spoken like a prayer.
When Rhaenyra looks up through batted eyelashes, she can see her chest rising and falling, her done-up hair falling to pieces against the pillows. Rhaenyra brings her hand up to get a grip on one of Alicent’s breasts, fingers brushing slightly against her erect nipple just to hear the way Alicent moans. She wants to commit this image to memory for she knows she will never see it again; Alicent wrecked beneath her is a beauty that could never be captured in portraiture.
Alicent throws her head back when she comes, hand gripping frantically at Rhaenyra’s blonde locks as the other grips the sheets, searching for any sort of purpose. Her thigh rests on Rhaenyra’s shoulder and she takes pause just to press a kiss to the milky skin there, something far too intimate for the two of them yet at the same time all too fitting.
Rhaenyra ignores her own dripping heat between her legs in favor of resting her head on Alicent’s stomach, the woman caressing the back of her head as she catches her breath. She kisses the first bit of skin she can reach, her hand coming to rest on Alicent’s waist. Selfishly, she wants this one moment to last forever. Yet she knows it never will.
Above her, she hears Alicent laugh—it’s wet and tired, but it’s laughter nonetheless. Rhaenyra can’t remember the last time she heard Alicent sound so… elated.
“I did not know that was… that was what it felt like,” Alicent breathes out the confession that surprises neither of them.
Rhaenyra clears her throat, bracing a hand against the mattress so she is hovering above Alicent once more. Her hand remains around the back of Rhaenyra’s head, fiddling softly with locks of hair just as they used to when they laid together beneath the tree.
Alicent moves her hand so it cups Rhaenyra’s cheek, lifting her head to meet her in a kiss. This one feels final, like a signature on a warrant for execution.
“This… should not happen again,” Alicent says when they break apart, mirroring Rhaenyra’s thoughts.
“I know.”
Alicent kisses her once more. Rhaenyra lets it linger, holding her for just a little while longer so that maybe when she lets go, it will hurt less.
“Thank you.” Alicent’s words are a whisper so faint Rhaenyra almost thinks she has imagined them. When she meets the queen’s eyes, they are welled with tears.
They stay in bed longer than they should. Rhaenyra mourns for her. For both of them.