Chapter Text
Even for an afternoon perched on the edge of summer, it was hot. From a cloudless sky the sun pounded down on Alicent Hightower, and in spite of the ceremony’s closeness to Blackwater Bay, there wasn’t much of a sea breeze to alleviate her discomfort. As she stood in silence, listening to a High Valyrian dirge that she barely understood, she could feel sweat seeping into the heavy dress she wore, the stains thankfully concealed by the dark green fabric.
Nor was she the only uncomfortable mourner. As the blood of the dragon, her children didn’t feel the heat the same way she did, but being still and quiet wasn’t easy at their age. Beside her, little Aegon shifted back and forth, occasionally complaining that he was bored to anyone who would listen. He had no understanding of what this day meant or the danger he might now be in, only that he wanted to go home. Helaena knew even less but was no happier with the situation, squirming in her nurse’s arms and looking as if she might begin wailing at any moment.
At least they had the excuse of youth; many of the grown members of the court were behaving little better. Old Lord Beesbury looked as if he was about to nod off in the heat, Tyland Lannister kept tugging at his collar, and Lady Redwyne fanned herself incessantly, her face the color of a ripe apple. Alicent’s father maintained his composure more ably. He had every reason to be uncomfortable, given the precarious situation of both his family and his position as Hand, but he didn't let that show on his face. Instead, he stood like a statue, starring straight ahead without any hint of the tension he must be feeling.
Although he wasn’t sweating, Daemon’s mood was still foul. The prince had worn a permanent scowl since returning to King’s Landing for the funeral and now his eyes darted around angrily, as if he was looking for someone to slaughter over this tragedy. But there was no one to blame. King Viserys, the First of his Name, hadn’t been slain in battle or by an assassin’s blade. Instead he had fallen from his from horse while hunting, breaking his neck on a jump over a log. It wasn’t the most glorious end but nor was it one for which vengeance could be taken.
Unlike her uncle, Princess -no, it was Queen Rhaenyra now, the omega reminded herself, no matter how strange it felt, seemed resigned to that fact. To the rest of the mourners, she wore the stoic mask of the queen but Alicent knew her former friend well enough to see hints of fatigue and grief beneath it. Little more than three years ago, Rhaenyra had been forced to lead this same service for her mother and infant brother. Now her father was gone as well, leaving the burden of ruling the Seven Kingdoms on the youthful orphan’s shoulders.
At last the Valyrian of the funereal dirge came to a close and the queen stepped forward from the crowd. Whatever she was feeling, her voice was clear and strong. “Dracarys!” she exclaimed and Syrax opened her jaws, sending a gust of fire toward the king’s pyre. The kindling ignited at once and the assembled mourners watched in respectful silence as the body of their sovereign was reduced to ash.
Alicent didn’t know what to feel in that moment. She would not miss her marriage, especially not the hated summons to the king’s bed. But even if she was glad to be free of that obligation, there was still grief for the sire of her children and more than that, she would miss his protection. Her father had always told her that Aegon must be king someday, that he would be king once Viserys came to his senses.
But her husband had died too soon. He had never altered the succession and with Aegon only a toddler, there was little support outside of House Hightower for the long regency that his ascension would’ve entailed. Few lords would’ve backed a coup and no dragon-riders; both Daemon and the Velaryons supported the new queen. Given that reality, her father had been forced to do what he’d always sworn Alicent shouldn’t: stand aside, allow Rhaenyra take the throne, and hope that she was feeling merciful.
“Go home,” Aegon demanded as the last of the smoke drifted away and Alicent didn’t argue with him. She too wished to be away from this place and the strange mixture of emotions it summoned up, even if the future that would follow was perilous.
Most of the other mourners seemed to feel the same way, scattering quickly in search of their carriages or at least some shade, but Alicent had only made it a few steps before before a familiar voice stopped her.
“Please wait, your Grace.”
She turned to see Rhaenyra walking toward her. Up close, the queen looked older than she remembered. Her formal black and red mourning dress and especially the conqueror’s crown resting on her brow seemed to add years to the alpha.
Alicent forced herself to smile. She couldn’t afford to let the anger she felt over what had passed between in the past them show. Not now. Though her son was too young to have posed a real challenge to Rhaenyra’s ascension, eventually he would grow up and the queen might decide it was better to nip that problem in the bud.
“There’s no need for such formalities,” she said, doing her best to sound pleasant. “You’re her Grace now, not me.”
Rhaenyra acknowledged the gesture with a smile of her own, one that actually seemed genuine. “As you wish, Alicent. I know it’s hot but I was hoping we might speak before you go back to the castle.”
She nodded respectfully. “Of course, your Grace.”
Beside her, Aegon tugged on the hem of her dress. “Go home,” he repeated, but Alicent shook her head.
“Not yet, my dear.” She looked over to his nurse, trying to rock Helaena to sleep. “Seri, please take the prince and his sister to the coach. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
The former queen followed the new one toward the sea cliffs, the two of them closely followed by Ser Criston Cole. As they walked, Alicent could feel his eyes on her, his suspicion burning against the back of her head. The Kingsguard had been Rhaenyra’s sworn protector for several years and his allegiance in their feud was to his charge.
When they stopped, though, the queen motioned for him to keep his distance and once they were safely alone, Alicent asked, “My condolences on your father, your Grace. What can I do for you today?”
“I’m sorry for you as well, Alicent.” Before continuing, Rhaenyra twisted one of her rings, an old habit when she was uncomfortable. “As for the other matter, you know I’ve been putting off marriage for some time. But I’m the queen now. I have to find a mate.”
“Of course,” she agreed. When he was alive, Viserys had often complained about his daughter’s reluctance to wed, especially her habit of going out flying when she was supposed to meet with suitors before mocking whichever ones she did see. No doubt he would be pleased that she was finally taking the matter seriously. “As the queen, I’m sure anyone you chose would be flattered, but if you tell me a little of what you’re looking for, I’d be happy to draw up a list of the omegas and betas who would make good matches.”
“I’m sorry, Alicent, I wasn’t clear. That’s not why I came to you.” She gave one of her rubies another turn and pursed her lips nervously. Her scent was ragged as well, anxious and agitated. Alicent had assumed that must be a product of her grief, but now she wasn’t so sure.
“Then why…” she began, but Rhaenyra cut her off.
“I had thought, perhaps, I might wed you.”
For several seconds Alicent stood dumbstruck. Once, such a suggestion would've been the fulfillment of a dream. For years she and Rhaenyra had been the dearest of friends and there'd been nights, kneeling alone in the sept, when she’d prayed to the Gods to make the princess present as an alpha so that they might become even more.
But that had been a long time ago, before Viserys decided to make her his second wife and everything sweet between them had curdled. Before three years of frosty silences and cutting remarks that had sometimes left Alicent weeping alone in her chambers. She couldn’t say that though, not to the queen who held her children’s lives in her hands, and so she stammered out, “I am your father's widow, the mother of his children, your Grace. The Faith wouldn’t allow us to marry.”
Rhaenyra waved a hand dismissively. ”I can speak with the High Septon about all of that. We Targaryens are already an exception, so it shouldn’t be a problem. And as for Aegon, he can serve as my heir until we have children of our own. It would show everyone that our house remains united.”
Alicent’s mind raced, trying to catch up with all of this. There was actually a sense to this proposal, a kind of logic that made her wonder if the idea came from one of the queen’s advisors. As Rhaenyra’s wife, she and her family would be prevented from pressing Aegon’s claim, eliminating the threat he posed without the need for the queen to stain her new reign with a brother's blood. Her father would be thrilled too; his dream of seeing his grandchild on the Iron Throne some day could be fulfilled, even if not in the way he’d expected.
She ought to accept, for her children's sake, if nothing else. Yet she had already endured one loveless marriage to a Targaryen. This one would be worse, the affection she’d once held for Rhaenyra making a mockery of a union held together by nothing but duty and fear, and so she hemmed.
"You would be marrying me for politics then?” she asked. “If you are truly so worried about my son, there is no need for this. I can take him and leave court, for Oldtown or even the Free Cities if you prefer. On the Seven, I swear to you that we are not a threat.”
To her surprise, Rhaenyra seemed deeply hurt by her suggestion. The formal demeanor she’d been attempting fell away and there was real disappointment in her eyes. “That wasn’t what I was thinking at all, Alicent. Yes, there are political advantages to this match but they’re not why I came to you. I thought that you might want this, that we meant something to each other.”
Alicent turned away, gazing into the waves as they beat against the cliffs. As much as she hadn’t wanted to remind Rhaenyra of their more recent difficulties, it seemed she had no choice. Still, she had to proceed carefully.
“We did,” she admitted. “A great deal. But you know what’s happened since then, the things that we said to one another. I do not mean to be unkind and I admit I bear some of the fault. But it makes me wonder if we can possibly go back to the way we were.”
“I don’t know,” Rhaenyra conceded. “Maybe, though, we could try. Maybe you could allow me to show you that things are different now. To…” She paused, clearly searching for the right words, “To court you.”
She offered a little smile then and in it Alicent saw not the resentful step-daughter of the last few years, nor the queen that Rhaenyra had just become, but the dear companion of her childhood, the one she had missed so desperately that it made her quiver.
“I don’t know either,” the omega said and this time her smile didn’t have to be so forced. “But if it pleases you, we can find out together.”