Chapter Text
The moment the door to the small council chambers closes, Rhaenyera leans back in her chair with a sigh, taking a moment of rest. The great hall is blanketed in quiet now, eerie, after so many hours of debate and argument.
Rhaenyra suspects the stillness will not last long.
While her other councillors have left for their chambers for the night, Alicent has remained. Now she stands, by one of the pillars to the side, eyes boring into Rhaenyra.
“Alicent.”
“Rhaenyra.”
“Something on your mind?” Rhaenyra closes her eyes. Asking is a formality. They both know what Alicent wants to discuss tonight. It will be the same as it was the night before, and the one before that.
“You did not address the matter of the assassins during today’s Council.”
“Daemon is already looking into the matter.”
“With little success,” Alicent bites back. “It has been weeks, Rhaenyra. If Daemon is not up to the task, then ―“
“No,” Rhaenyra says, rising from her chair and drawing closer to the Dowager Queen. She could never bear to hear that tremble in Alicent’s voice. The kind borne of fear. “I trust him. Daemon knows King’s Landing better than anyone ― he still has connections from his time with the gold cloaks. He will find the culprits. Just give him some time.”
“This is already the third attempt this year,” Alicent emphasizes, frustration leaking into her words. “I saw you bleed, what if―“
“A shallow wound,” Rhaenyra says gently, grasping Alicent’s hands so she cannot continue to pick at her cuticles. They are now close enough that their breaths mingle, and Rhaenyra can see wears under Alicent’s eyes that match her own. “I’m fine, I promise. The bleeding stopped long ago, and the maesters ― yes, including the second one you insisted I see ― have cleared me for my duties.”
“Then why were you wincing like a wounded dog all day?” Alicent demands.
“A dog?” Rhaeynera murmurs. The edge of her lips curl up. “I distinctly remember you calling me your dragon last ―“
“A pup, if you continue to act so childishly,” Alicent snaps, her cheeks warming despite her best efforts.
Rhaenyra laughs, draws closer in a way that has Alicent stepping back, pressing into the pillar behind her. “I’m just a little tired. That’s all. Surviving an assassination is hard work.”
Alicent is not strong enough to deny Rhaenyra the kisses that follow, but she recovers quickly enough to place a hand on Rhaenyra’s sternum, preventing the Queen from chasing for more.
Rhaenyra rumbles, removing Alicent’s hand from between them ― only to have Alicent then grab her by the jaw, holding her in place. “I’m serious, Rhaenyra. You will not gamble with your life. The realm depends on you.”
“Alicent ―“ Rhaenyra winces as Alicent’s grip tightens.
“The children depend on you. I depend on you.” Alicent cannot stop her hand from trembling. She swallows. “You cannot leave me. You cannot ―“
“I won’t,” Gone is the mischievousness, replaced by a fierce, solemn sincerity. Gently, slowly, Rhaenyra pries Alicent’s fingers from her face, presses a kiss to her open palm. “Forgive me, I jest out of weariness, but I should not have. You can trust me, Alicent.”
“Swear it.” Alicent whispers. “I need to hear you swear it.”
“I swear it.” Rhaenyra says, breathing the vow into Alicent’s lips. “I’m here, my love. I’m here, and I will not leave until the day you bid me so.”
Alicent rewards her with a kiss. And then a second.
Soon, Rhaenyra is running her tongue down Alicent’s neck as the Dowager Queen tilts her head to give her lover better access.
“Then we are agreed. If you do not feel better within the week, you will see both maesters again.” Alicent rasps, closing her eyes as Rhaenyra suckles on a particularly sensitive spot. “And push the matter with Daemon tomorrow.” When Rhaenyra does not reply in favor of snaking her hands up Alicent’s dress, Alicent tugs at the blonde hairs at the back of her lover's neck. “Or I will enlist Lord Strong’s aid as well.”
Rhaenyra pauses, her face still buried in Alicent’s neck. “Really? Now is the time you want to bring up Larys Strong?”
Alicent knows Rhaenyra holds an intuitive distaste for the man, though Rhaenyra herself has never quite been able to explain why (“I don’t know, Alicent. He just rubs me the wrong way, I suppose”). Still, even Rhaenyra cannot not deny his usefulness and competence. Just last year, he helped the Queen dispatch of two fledgling challenges to her rule before they became serious problems.
“Will you discuss the issue with Daemon or not?”
“Yes, my Queen,” Rhaenyra murmurs, and Alicent can practically feel that smug smile return. With practiced ease, Rhaenyra grinds the heel of her palm between Alicent’s legs, eliciting a ragged moan.
There is no precision to how Rhaenyra moves tonight. Blunt, hard, fast. But it will also not take much for Alicent to reach her peak this time. Between their duties and Rhaenyra’s bed rest after the attack, it has been too long since they last had sex.
Alicent’s breath hitches as Rhaenyra lifts her up. The Queen is no warrior, but years of dragon riding ― including the reckless aerial maneuvers Alicent abhors and Rhaenyra delights in ― has made her strong.
“Show-off,” Alicent groans, though she hooks her legs around Rhaenyra’s waist all the same, wetness now leaking generously down her thighs. Rhaenyra merely nips at her neck before sliding a finger, then another, between her folds, deep inside that wet warmth. Alicent’s toes curl.
“You love it,” Rhaenyra pants as she began thrusting and curling against that spots she knows Alicent loves.
Alicent can do nothing but moan. She is close. She is close, and Rhaenyra knows it. Her pace quickens, and Alicent ―
Alicent feels the thrusts taper off. Whimpering, she digs her nails into the back of Rhaenyra’s neck. “Rhaenyra, don’t ―“ but then Rhaenyra’s arm falls away, and Alicent feels her legs stumble, plant unsteadily on the ground. Rhaenyra leans against her, face buried in her neck, her steady pants now harsh and uneven against Alicent’s skin.
Alarm cuts through Alicent's haze of arousal. She grips Rhaenyra, turning her head to face her. That unfocused look in the Queen's violet eyes, those labored breaths ― those signs that Alicent had originally taken to mean desire now seem something different. “Rhaenyra,” Alicent says, voice sharp with fear. She grasps Rhaenyra by the chin. “Rhaenyra, look at me ― what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Rhaenyra murmurs, though she stumbles when trying to stand on her own. Alicent has to catch her so she doesn’t fall. “Just a little tired. Give me a moment, and I’ll―“
Whatever Rhaenyra means to say next is lost to an incoherent mumble as she slumps against Alicent and down to the floor despite the Dowager Queen’s best attempts to hold her up.