Chapter Text
It's been two months, two months since she came to King's Landing and met the bane of her existence—Rhaenyra Targaryen.
If one asked her why she held so much disdain for the widow, Alicent isn't quite sure what she would say. There was simply too much.
Where can Alicent begin? Rhaenyra is pompous and arrogant—anyone with two eyes can see that straight away. She holds herself in such high regard that everyone else simply slips into the background, not worth her time or attention.
(Especially not a retired naval commander with a pronounced limp and a permanent scowl.)
On the night that they met; at a dinner that Alicent was forced to attend by her old admiral, Viserys, Rhaenyra told her that she looked like she had inhaled a lemon. A lemon!
Gods forbid that someone doesn't fall at Rhaenyra's feet every time she so much as looks at them. Another problem that Alicent has noticed is that Rhaenyra simply doesn't care about decorum—her high standing in society is more like a suggestion than something she should abide by. It infuriates her, watching Rhaenyra throw caution to the wind and do as she pleases.
A lady should be poised, proper and prim. Rhaenyra Targaryen is none of those things and does nothing to improve her behaviour—no turns about the garden with the other ladies of high society, no social outings with her father, and certainly no drawing or pianoforte lessons. It is almost unbecoming how unladylike Rhaenyra really is.
And yet, despite all of this, Rhaenyra is revered by everyone, beloved by the population of King's Landing and beyond. Whenever someone finds out that Alicent now works for Admiral Targaryen, their first question is never about how she's finding it, or why she's even here in the first place, but if she's met Rhaenyra, and if she has—isn't she the most splendid creature that you could have the good fortune of meeting?
Alicent is on her way to see said creature, cane in hand as she makes her way to the Red Keep estate—a vast plot of land that has been in the Targaryen family for generations, boasting a rather large mansion, not one but two servant houses, and a beautiful lake that stretches out wide across the greenery.
She regrets not taking a carriage, her excitement at the prospect of a walk in the lovely crisp April evening too vast to consider that she would more than likely be in agony by the time she reached the estate. The mansion isn't too far now, just another quarter of a mile or so, but Alicent feels every step—the mended bones in her leg crying out with every movement.
Over her fifteen year long naval career, Alicent bested many obstacles, braved journeys that no one else would dare to consider, and won battles that many thought were a lost cause. Now, she can't walk more than a few yards without falling over or losing her balance. It's shameful, really, what one injury has reduced her to, that it's managed to turn her into this—a cripple with a few badges and medals that don't really mean much anymore.
What would her father think of her, if he saw her now, as she hobbles along the stone path? She can't bear the thought of it, of the look of pity and disgust in his eyes as he sees what his only daughter has become—a failure. It's why she's here in the first place, none of it is real until she's standing in front of Otto Hightower and telling him that she was forced into early retirement due to a freak accident.
The injury didn't occur during a battle, or even a mild skirmish, but was the result of a flag mast breaking and landing on her right leg. It shattered the bones, leaving her with a nasty limp and a diminished sense of pride. Taken out by a pole—no one was ever going to write a ballad about that.
A servant greets her at the door and directs her to the main hall, which seems pointless to Alicent as she's here almost every day, but she says nothing and lets the man do his job. Her father's own house is magnificent, and one of the prides of the Hightower brood, but it doesn't hold a candle to this—to the fifty rooms, three halls, two kitchens, and large terrace that encompasses the rather enormous Targaryen estate.
There's wealthy and then there's whatever this family are. In another life, she can imagine them as royals, bending anything and everything to their whim. She knows without a shadow of a doubt that Rhaenyra would make a wonderful princess, content to bask in her own riches and have people do anything for her at the drop of a hat. On second thought, maybe she already is a princess, in her own way.
Alicent quietly steps into the hall, keeping to the wall to avoid any unwelcome surprises as she makes her way to a free seat. The last thing she needs is to be coerced into a long and unpleasant conversation with a lord when she can hardly keep herself upright.
She all but falls into the first free chair she spots and lets out a sigh of relief, her leg no longer screaming at her. A waiter passes by, and she snatches a glass from the tray, downing nearly the entire thing in one go.
"Would you care for another one, Commander?" She asks kindly.
Alicent nods quickly, unable to form any words as she lets the last wave of pain wash over her. The servant, Ceryse, she believes her name is, puts another glass down in front of her, along with a napkin. She nods at Alicent and turns back around to weave her way through the crowd.
Looking around the room, Alicent can see at once that Viserys has spared no expense for his darling daughter on her special day. A debutante ball was supposed to be an important event in a young person's life, but Alicent knew that most of it was just an excuse for people to drink and dance without worry.
She spots Viserys and his two sons over with Captain Velaryon, but can't see Helaena, the woman of the hour, anywhere. She couldn't care less where Rhaenyra is. Probably off scandalising some poor sod with her nimble wrists, cutting collarbones, and ample bosom. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s done it, and it won’t be the last.
A high pitched and shrill voice booms from behind her, almost making Alicent spill her drink all over herself. That would be just what she needs tonight, to embarrass herself even further. She looks over her shoulder to see that it’s Aegon and he looks drunk already as he smiles at her rather stupidly.
“Commander,” Aegon says cheerfully, patting her on the shoulder. “You made it. We weren’t sure if you would.”
“Your father made me come, I had no choice in the matter,” Alicent says, adjusting the collar of her black coat.
“Come on, lighten up!” Aegon takes a long sip from his flute of champagne. “There’s enough liquor here to fill Blackwater Bay. Let’s have some fun.”
“Absolutely not.” Alicent shakes her head resolutely. “I abhor social functions, especially when it involves drunken idiots.”
“I beg your pardon; I am not an idiot.”
She gestures around the room with her cane, almost taking one of the waiters out as he passes by. “I meant in general, but if the shoe fits...”
“A few drinks won’t kill you, Commander,” Aegon says, tipping his own glass towards her.
“You can’t be certain of that.” Alicent crosses her arms over her chest, willing for this conversation to be over soon. Aegon is a nice boy, but he can talk for hours, and it does nothing but drive Alicent up the wall. “I’m better off sticking with this one for now, thanks.”
He huffs, taking another long swig of his drink. “You’re no fun.”
“So I’ve been told,” Alicent mutters. “Besides, don’t you have more important people to be speaking with? Lord Baratheon, perhaps?”
“I should,” he agrees, shoulders slumping, “but they are just so boring and talk of nothing but politics. At least with you I can have an actual conversation.”
“Is that so?” Alicent hums, trying to recall any conversation of substance that she’s had with the boy. Nothing comes to mind. All he wishes to speak about is liquor, women, and shooting. “What did you want to discuss?”
Aegon pulls out the seat beside her and presses in close, voice lowering. “Have you talked to my father yet?”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, an angry sigh forcing its way out of her. “I’ve already told you that he will not allow it, no matter what you or I say. It’s set in stone.”
“But...” Aegon frowns, eyes glossy with unshed tears. He seems to be more drunk than she thought, if he’s this emotional already. “I have no wish to go. I’m not built for the navy! Anyone with sense can see that just by looking at me. Why can’t he?”
“Your father wants what’s best for you, my lord, and to him, that’s a career in the navy.” Alicent fixes her gaze on him then, taking in his scrawny shoulders, rosy cheeks, and the faint spattering of blond hair on his jaw. He’s still just a young boy of sixteen, not made for war or a hard life at sea. “When he asked me what I thought of you, I insisted that you would do well for yourself running a business, or even going off to university, but he wouldn’t hear of it.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Aegon asks, running his palms down the length of his thighs.
“I don’t know,” Alicent says honestly. “I’m sorry, my lord.”
He swipes at his face, rubbing away a few of the tears that had fallen. “You have nothing to apologise for, Commander, I’m just thankful that you tried,” he says. “No one else did.”
Her heart aches for Aegon, knowing the future that awaits him. The unspeakable pain of having your life taken away from you, your own hopes and dreams becoming nothing but a passing thought you once had many long years ago. Isn’t that what dreams are? Fickle thoughts meant to be swiped away with the rising of the sun?
“You’ve still got some time,” I didn’t, it was taken from me on the eve of my fourteenth birthday Alicent thinks bitterly. “Enjoy it while you can.”
“Who knew that you weren’t such a miserable git all the time?” Aegon says, a slight smile on his face. “Uncle Daemon bet ten crowns on you having an actual stick up your arse.”
She holds up her cane. “Not up my arse, no. It’s right here.”
Aegon laughs at that, bright and cheerful, his sadness almost gone in an instant. “Commander Hightower, did you just make a jest?”
“Me?” She points at herself, smiling slightly at him over the rim of her glass. “I would never.”
“Well, well, well, what are you two girls giggling about over here?”
Rhaenyra.
“None of your business,” Aegon snaps. “Piss off, Rhaenyra.”
Rhaenyra steps up beside them and ruffles Aegon’s hair, purposely pushing it down in front of his eyes. “Is that any way to talk to your dear sister?” She says, snatching the near empty glass from his hand and drinking the last dregs of champagne. “Especially in front of the servants.”
Her awfully bright purple eyes focus in on Alicent as she says servant, reminding Alicent once again that she is nothing but a stain of dog shite under the heel of Rhaenyra’s shoe. It could be worse, she thinks—if Rhaenyra held her in any regard, then Alicent would be forced to spend more time in her, quite frankly, unbearable presence.
“For the millionth time, my lady, I am your father’s port official, not a lowly servant,” Alicent says, already exasperated with Rhaenyra after a single sentence.
“How hard is it to run a port, I wonder?” She says to no one in particular. Her long fingers come up to stroke her chin in mock thought. “It must be pretty simple if he chose you.”
Steam pours from Alicent’s ears. “Oh, yes, forgive me, Lady Rhaenyra, how could I be so obtuse?” She spits, eyes ablaze as she stares up at Rhaenyra. “The admiral left me in charge as he knows that I am the most dim-witted person in all of Westeros. How did I not figure it out sooner?”
This happens quite often around Rhaenyra—a jest at her expense will cause Alicent to lose her temper, making a mockery of herself for all to see. Sometimes, she thinks that Rhaenyra does it on purpose. Stays up all night thinking of ways to make Alicent’s life a misery. She’s done a pretty good job of it so far.
There’s something about this particular jab that hurts her, makes the ever-present weight on her chest tighten up into something unbearable, something begging to be let loose. Perhaps it’s that she feels there is some truth to what Rhaenyra says—after all, what sort of a fool gets their leg smashed underneath a flag mast?
She stands up abruptly, not accounting for the fact that she drank two glasses of sherry in quick succession, and stumbles a bit, her foot catching on the leg of Aegon’s chair as she tries to make a break for it.
Two hands reach out and steady her, one gripping onto her forearm and the other firm against her waist. She blinks and it’s Rhaenyra standing before her, a worried expression on her face as she holds on tight to Alicent.
If there is one thing that she cannot stand, it is pity, and that’s how Rhaenyra looks at her right now—eyes wide and curious, like she can’t understand what’s wrong, like she doesn’t know that she’s turned Alicent’s world upside down.
She hates it, her body itching all over as she glances around them to see that a few of the other nobles are now looking at them, whispering to one another as they take in Alicent’s slumped form and Rhaenyra’s hands. They pity her, too, she can tell at once, knows it as well as she knows the back of her hand.
Alicent grasps at her cane and wrenches her arm free from Rhaenyra’s grip, unable to look at her as she rights herself. “Don’t— don’t touch me,” she snarls, voice dripping with venom. “I can stand by myself.”
Rhaenyra’s face drops, hands hanging limply by her sides. “Commander, I’m— are you alright?”
“Quite,” she snaps through gritted teeth. “Now if you don’t mind, my lady, could you please get out of my way?”
Rhaenyra does nothing for a moment, eyes simply tracing over Alicent’s face. She must look a right mess—eyes wild, cheeks flaming, and hair everywhere, her short curls falling upon her forehead in disarray. The ever-present worry etched across Rhaenyra’s face does nothing but infuriate Alicent even more. Rhaenyra must notice it at once as she promptly steps to the side, allowing Alicent to pass.
She makes her way through the dancing crowd, her cane echoing across the hardwood floor as she heads towards the rose gardens for some much-needed time alone. Rhaenyra won’t bother her now, not after a display like that. As she makes her way towards the doors, some people stare after her, their eyes flitting between Alicent and the fading presence of Rhaenyra behind her.
What did she think would happen, coming to an event like this? That it would be nice and easy, a reprieve from her never-ending duties with Viserys? That she could have a pleasant evening and enjoy herself?
Rhaenyra was right. Alicent is a fool.
****
It’s quiet out in the gardens, so quiet in fact, that she misses Helaena’s entrance all together, to the dismay of Viserys. When he finds her later on by the pianoforte, he asks what happened, clearly having no notion as to what transpired between herself and Rhaenyra. It’s for the best, she thinks, that he doesn’t know how fragile she really is, that despite fifteen years as an officer, she is still just an angry and lonely fourteen-year-old girl that cries for her dead mother every night.
(How can one grow at sea, when all you learn is battle? How to cause war and destroy, to obliterate everything in your path, to suck up your feelings and get on with the matter at hand. What will happen when she stops?)
“You look dashing, by the way, my dear,” Viserys says, admiring the fit of her black coat, white shirt and matching black breeches. “The ladies of King’s Landing will be after your hand in no time.”
She blushes, so unused to this sort of praise. “That’s very kind of you, sir, but I have no interest in marriage at the moment. I’m content as is.”
“That’s a shame,” he tuts. “I think a wife would suit you. She might even get you to crack a smile every so often.”
“Very funny, sir,” Alicent says, plastering on a fake smile.
“Gods be good,” he exclaims, pretending to spill his wine in shock. “Don’t do that again. It felt like looking at a goblin of some sort.”
“A goblin?” She repeats.
“Yes,” he says, “you know, those hideous little green creatures with the sharp teeth and pointy ears.”
“I know what they are, sir, it was just an odd comparison to make.”
“I don’t think so. It was uncanny.”
He dismisses the thought with a wave of his and continues talking, “Anyway, what have you thought of the evening so far? A party at the Red Keep is always one to remember.”
It certainly is, she thinks to herself.
“It’s been very pleasant,” Alicent says. “Helaena looks lovely. The dress is simply stunning.”
“Rhaenyra picked it out for her— she’s got a good eye, that one,” Viserys says, searching for his eldest daughter out on the dancefloor. “Wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes,” Alicent forces out. The mere thought of paying Rhaenyra any sort of compliment is almost painful. “Very good.”
Viserys hums, pleased. “And what do you think of her?”
“Of who, sir?”
“Rhaenyra, of course,” he states plainly. “You’ve been here for two months, surely you have some opinion of her.”
What is he getting at? Alicent isn’t sure if she wants to know.
“She’s a very pleasant lady,” Alicent says, trying not to think of all the times that Rhaenyra has gotten on her nerves. “I can see why people are so taken with her.”
“Are you not?” He asks, one eyebrow raised.
Alicent balks, caught off guard by the question. She supposes that, yes, in a way, she is taken with Rhaenyra, but it’s not for any positive reasons that she wishes to share with him right now.
“I’m afraid that even if I was, I wouldn’t be worth the time of a lady of her calibre.”
Viserys laughs, clutching at his chest. “Very good answer, Commander. You’re a quick thinker— I’ve always liked that about you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He looks over her shoulder at someone and waves, a joyful smile spreading across his face. “If you’ll excuse me, Commander, there is a glass of whiskey calling my name.”
“Of course, sir.” Alicent nods. “Enjoy.”
She watches as Viserys makes his way over to his brother and cousins, his arms stretching out over their shoulders to pull them all into a tight hug. A deep-seated ache blooms in her chest. She misses Gwayne, and Ormund too, longs for their familiar comfort. Alicent turns away and looks out the window instead, watching as the birds fly by.
****
The evening is slowly coming to an end, and Rhaenyra hasn’t even so much as looked at her since Alicent walked away from her. She’s kept an eye on her from time to time, observing as she jumped from conversation to conversation seamlessly, drinking and laughing with anyone who happened to be in her path.
She wonders where it all went wrong. Was it when she failed to play along with Rhaenyra’s charms the first night they met, or was it when Rhaenyra made a harmless jest that landed wrong, and cut her deeply? Even if she knew, Alicent isn’t quite sure if she would go back and fix it. There doesn’t seem to be much point, not when they were so irrevocably different.
Alicent is too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice the door of the study opening and a blonde head popping in.
“I thought I might find you in here,” Rhaenyra says in lieu of a greeting. There are two glasses of champagne in her hands, and one of them is currently being held out to Alicent, in what she assumes to be a gesture of peace.
She takes the glass, happy to have something to fiddle with. “Yes, well, I needed a moment to myself.”
“Oh,” Rhaenyra says. “Do you want me to leave?”
“You’ve already disturbed me, so there’s not much point in you leaving now.”
She sits down beside her on the window seat and Alicent pauses for a moment to take Rhaenyra in. Despite all of her grievances with the woman, Rhaenyra truly is gorgeous and makes no effort to hide it. She’s gone for a low-cut black and red gown, which, for some god forsaken reason, has a waist chain clipped onto it.
“You’re a very unusual person, has anyone ever told you that before?”
Alicent scratches at the back of her neck, ears pink under Rhaenyra’s intense scrutiny.
“It’s been mentioned once or twice, yes.”
“Good, I’m glad that I’m not the one to break the news to you,” Rhaenyra says. “I’d worry for my safety.”
“What do you mean?” Alicent asks, extremely confused.
“Well, you’re quite scary, too,” Rhaenyra says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I can never tell if you’re going to give someone a pat on the back or a slap across the face.”
“Can’t it be both?” Alicent retorts.
“I suppose it can, but only an extremely unusual person such as yourself would say that.”
“My lady,” Alicent says lowly, exhausted all of a sudden. “What did you come in here for? If it was for another petty argument, or anything of the sort, I’m really not in the mood.”
“I have no wish to fight with you,” Rhaenyra says, looking almost sheepish. It’s not something that Alicent is used to seeing, and she braces herself for whatever it is that Rhaenyra is about to admit. “I simply just... wanted to see you.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Lady Rhaenyra—”
“Yes?”
“You’re a very unusual person, has anyone ever told you that before?”
Rhaenyra grins. “No, they haven’t,” she says. “You’re the first.”
“Hmm.”
“Commander?”
“Yes?”
“Do you... do you hate me?” Rhaenyra asks.
Alicent takes a sip of her wine to make Rhaenyra squirm and feels a sick wave of pleasure surge through her as she watches the tips of Rhaenyra’s ears turn pink.
“No, I don’t think I do,” she answers, eventually. “Do you hate me?”
“No,” Rhaenyra says. “Not at all.”
“Well, that’s good,” Alicent says. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?”
“Yes, I suppose. It could be worse.”
Rhaenyra puts her hand down on the seat beside Alicent, their fingers just a touch away from each other. “Most certainly. We could be as drunk as Aegon is at this very moment, which I imagine would send us to an early grave.”
Alicent fishes out her pocket watch from her breast pocket. “It’s barely past ten.”
“He’s been at it since noon. My uncle is a terrible influence.”
“Ah, that will do it.”
Rhaenyra stands up rather abruptly, brushing out the creases of her dress. “Yes, well, I better get back to it before my father sends the cavalry.”
“If he hasn’t already,” Alicent says.
She smiles at her, looking at Alicent with something that can only be described as fondness. Alicent can’t figure out what to do the bloom of warmth the spreads through her chest as Rhaenyra continues to smile.
“Enjoy your peace and quiet, Commander.”
“Thank you, my lady, I shall.”
Rhaenyra closes the door softly behind her and Alicent lets out a sigh of relief. What in the seven hells just happened?