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As rhaenyra steps into the dimly lit sept, the heavy scent of incense hits her. It had been long since she had darkened the steps of any sept, not since her mother's death and then her father’s and Alicent’s subsequent betrayal. True, it had been Otto Hightower's orchestration, but they fell to it with no regard for the trouble it would cause her and the realm. Her son was dead now, killed by her very own half-brother. The very thought of it made bile rise to her throat as a vision of Arrax's desecrated corpse flashed in her mind eye.
Rhaenyra drew in a shaky breath, steadying herself as she glanced around the sept. Septas and septons moved about with quiet grace, conversing amongst themselves or kneeling in prayer their soft murmurs blending with the distant hum of the city folks. Straightening her posture, she drew her shrawl lower to shadow her face as her heart thudded against her ribs, the fear curling in her chest felt like a living thing. What might happen to her here, surrounded by those who had betrayed her? and bemirched her honour?
For a fleeting moment, she regretted coming to King’s Landing. It was a foolish risk, walking into the serpent's den with no solid plan, but she could not stop herself. She needed to see Alicent, to look into her eyes and to see why her boy had to die, why the realm had to burn.
The hate that had snuffed out her son’s life had come from alicent poison after all. Would Alicent’s face betray guilt, or was she being foolish to think that the truth was anything other than it was?
She swallowed hard, forcing her trembling hands to still. She would endure this moment of fear. She had to.
The flickering light of the candles danced across Alicent’s face as she spoke heatedly of the song. Her words carried an urgency that twisted the air between them, filling it with a weight Rhaenyra could scarcely bear. It was surreal, so much so that for a moment, she could almost believe her father had shared it with Alicent.
She imagined it then, her father and Alicent, huddled together over the Valyrian steel dagger, their heads bowed in conspiratorial closeness. The same dagger that had once burned with truth under her touch, its ancient inscription revealed in the fire. Rhaenyra had shared that moment with her father.
Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a faint, incredulous smile before a quiet laugh escaped her, soft but sharp, echoing faintly in the sacred space of the sept. Her hands, raised in a semblance of prayer, trembled as she clenched her fingers tightly to steady herself. She stared at Alicent, her expression a mixture of bewilderment and disbelief, watching the woman speak with fervent conviction, twisting a dying man’s final words into some grand justification. How absurd, Rhaenyra thought, her laughter fading into a bitter hush. How could anyone cling so desperately to the fractured scraps of words they could never hope to fully understand?
And yet, her father had been doubly foolish, she thought bitterly, for choosing such words as his last. The Song of Ice and Fire, the burden of a mission, left to linger unfulfilled and now weaponized by the very people who had torn her family apart. It was almost laughable, to see Alicent hunched over this idea as if it were her birthright.
Rhaenyra tilted her head, Her voice carried a hint of amusment."It’s a story he once told” she paused to muffle her laugh “about Aegon the Conqueror."
Alicent’s breath caught in a sharp gasp. "T-The Conqueror?" she stammered, her eyes frantically searching Rhaenyra’s face for any hint of deceit. The moment stretched between them before Alicent hastily moved to stand, her voice urgent. "You must go before you are discovered."
"Please," Rhaenyra's voice trembled, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. "You can prevent this. A terrible war is looming, and even victory may be so bloody that it will feel like a loss."
"Don’t let your pride blind you-" Alicent’s eyes narrowed, and before Rhaenyra could continue, she was cut off by her harsh reply.
"There’s been no mistake," Alicent interrupted, her tone more guarded now, a wall of defiance rising between them.
"My father is gone from court. Cole is on the march, Aemond-" alicent’s voice faltered, the name hanging in the air like a curse. Her eyes flickering up to meet Rhaenyra’s. "You know what Aemond is." Rhaenyra’s chest tightened. She could feel the weight of everything, Lucerys death, the gaping void left by his loss, and the haunting memory of Visenya's stillbirth.
"It’s too late, Rhaenyra." Alicent said, her words heavy with finality. The certainty in her tone struck Rhaenyra like a slap, and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to slap her for it.
"Alicent-" Rhaenyra started, but Alicent had already stood, her footsteps echoing through the sept as she hurried away, leaving Rhaenyra kneeling.
Alone now, Rhaenyra’s heart felt empty, her body heavy with the weight of grief and hopelessness. She could almost hear Lucerys' laughter, see Visenya’s tiny form, both lost to her now. The pain of it surged again, threatening to drown her, but something held her there, kneeling in silence, the cold stone dug into her knees, but she hardly noticed. Her mind drifts, unbidden, to the past.
Alicent's righteousness and her two face nature.
Criston’s foolish request and eventual betrayal. Her father’s willful blind eye and his carelessness. Whatever did he need sons for?
And her own complicity, born of a belief that doing what was right, what her father would have wanted, would somehow be enough.
But it wasn’t enough. Her son, her sweet boy, had died for her passiveness. While she had buried herself in delusions on dragonstone and clung to her father’s ideals, the Greens had been moving, scheming and striking. They hadn’t just stolen her throne, they’d shattered her family without nary a thought.
The memory of arrax’s corpes flashes in her mind eye again, and a storm roused in her chest. Daemon wasn’t wrong to do what he did, rhaenyra thinks, her jaw tightening. His words haunting her. Blood and Cheese, it’s was a small price to pay to get justice.
For the first time, the hot white fury she had felt toward Daemon’s ruthlessness falters. Perhaps he was right, she thinks.
Her fists clenches as she looks up at the statues of the father, its stone faces staring down in judgment or perhaps indifference. “Mercy,” it seems to whisper, but mercy feels as foreign to her now as the distant stars.
Her eyes flickered down, and she reached for a small pocket sewn into her septa attire. Her fingers brushed against the familiar paper, the torn page she had given away long ago, her quiet rebellion, her promise to alicent. She pulls it out slowly, the ink now faded but still legible in its message.
As she stares at it, a sudden, sharp clarity pierced through the fog of hopelessness. This would never be her again. She would not falter like her father, indecisive and caught in webs of doubts.
Rhaenyra held on to that feeling, and without hesitation, she set fire to the page. She watched as the flames caught on the edges, curling and blackening, until nothing but ash remained. The act felt symbolic, an end, a shift. The time for languishing was over. She would take her throne, with Fire and Blood.
The faint sound of hurried footsteps drew her from her thoughts. Maester Gerardys appeares beside her before she can truly panic, his face pale with urgency. "Your Grace,-" he began, his voice low but firm, "the gold cloaks report that the hour for our departure is ending. We must leave at once."
Rhaenyra gave a curt nod, her resolve unshaken. "Then we go."
The narrow streets of King’s Landing stretched out before her, teeming with smallfolk who moved about their lives with weary purpose. Rhaenyra, cloaked and hooded, walked with Maester Gerardys close by, her eyes sweeping over the hungry faces, the gaunt children clinging to their mothers, and the desperate merchants hawking meager wares.
Fragments of whispered gossip reached her ears, carried on the wind.
"They say she’ll be the doom of us all…"
"Rhaenyra, th’ realm’s delight, now Maegor th’ Cruel with teets. Can ye reckon it?"
The epithet made her falter and it was only gerardy touch that pushed her forward. Mysaria had said nothing of this epithet. It was disquiting to think of how close she was to trully becoming her father with her own otto none the less.
"Aye, a curse on her indeed!"
Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists beneath her cloak. These were her people, her city. Yet they spoke of her as if she were a demon sent to cast them down rather than their rightful queen.
The whispers lingered in her mind as they reached the hidden docks. Twp Gold cloaks waited silently, their faces grim. One of them stepped forward hesitantly, his expression unreadable beneath his helmet. He cleared his throat before speaking, his voice low but firm.
"Your Grace, I bring word from Ser Largent. Prince Aemond has taken Vhagar for flight. He has not been seen for days now."
Rhaenyra's gaze snapped to the soldier, her eyes narrowing. "And?"
"The Greens have left King’s Landing without its defenses. They ride in pursuit of something else." He hesitated before adding, "No one knows what."
A flicker of concern crossed Rhaenyra’s face, her mind racing through the possibilities. Why would Aemond leave now? What was so important that the Greens would abandon the city’s defense? Then a terrible thought struck her, sending a chill down her spine, what if Aemond was not riding to another keep to ensure their alligience but striking at the one place she had left vulnerable?
Dragonstone.
Her breath caught as she considered the horror of it. She had come here seeking a peaceful resolution, but had she instead doomed her family? Rhaenys and Meleys were strong, but they alone could not defend Dragonstone or Driftmark if Aemond descended upon it with Vhagar’s fury. Had she walked into a trap of her own making, leaving those she loved to the mercy of her enemies?
No! stop such foolish thoughts Rhaenyra, Aemond had been gone for days, if he had sought to lay ruin to dragonstone he wouldn’t take days to do so. Rationalizing it made it easier to breath, her family was safe, she would not meet an harrenhal on her return home.
She inhaled slowly, forcing herself to keep her composure. "Thank you for bringing this to me, good ser" she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her.
“aye, yer Grace.” The gold cloak gave a curt nod and stepped aside. Rhaenyra turned toward the waiting rowboat, her movements deliberate, her expression unreadable, but inside, her thoughts spiraled into fear and regret.
The rowboat rocked gently as it cut through the fog-laden waters. Rhaenyra sat silently, her gaze fixed on the faint outline of King’s Landing in the distance. The mist from the sea clung to her skin, cool and heavy, as it veiled the city in an ethereal shroud.
She could barely see the Red Keep now, its towering form swallowed by the haze. A bitter smile played on her lips. "It hides itself well," she murmured, the words meant more for herself than for Maester Gerardys or the oarsmen.
Gerardys, seated across from her, glanced at her but said nothing.
Rhaenyra’s fingers brushed the edge of the boat, her nails digging slightly into the wood. Then, lowering her voice, she spoke in High Valyrian, her tone low with unease. "Tell me truthfully, Maester Gerardys, have I been decisive in securing my claim, or have I lingered on the edge of indecision for too long?"
The maester hesitated, studying her closely, but the queen did not wait for an answer. Her voice dropped even lower, her eyes flickering toward the oarsmen as paranoia curled around her thoughts. "I fear I have doomed my family, Maester. With my fragile sensibilities, my hesitation have left them vulnerable. If Aemond is not riding to gather more alligience, then he may be assailing Dragonstone as we speak."
She swallowed, her hands clenching in her lap. "What if I have led them to slaughter? What if I have been too cautious, too blind to see what is coming?"
Measter Gerardys shifted, his expression unreadable. "You are their queen, your Grace. You have done what you thought best."
"And was it enough?" she pressed, her voice almost a whisper. "Or will history curse my name as the woman who abandoned her realm to ruin?"
The fog seemed to close around them, isolating her in her thoughts. What were the Greens planning? Where had Aemond gone, and had she unknowingly led her own house to destruction? The uncertainty gnawed at her, her stomach twisting with anxiety. The wind carried the distant cries of gulls, but all she could hear was the imagined roar of Vhagar’s flames.
The boat glided forward, the mist swirling around them as Rhaenyra fought to suppress the fear clawing at her chest.