Chapter Text
At first, Rhaenyra is simply curious.
Curiosity is something Rhaenyra can handle. It's not possible for her to simply shake off the feeling of the unknown. It comes to her as a second nature, she would argue. So she's not really surprised when it happens.
Okay, well, it's not something that happens, per se. It is something that builds. Grows, rather — like a seed sprouts into roots underground and blooms into a bud above. Or — if Rhaenyra were to argue further — it is something that crowds. Like bees swarming when unsettled. It comes like a paper — open and white — and it folds itself to envelope her heart.
She's always been told, since childhood, — by her peers, her parents, her peers’ parents, and possibly anyone who has seen her grow up with Alicent — that she is uncharacteristically attached to her best friend. Rhaenyra — being as curious as comes her nature — has, though, never been particularly satisfied by any reasoning that followed such a claim.
She met Alicent when they were thirteen years old. It wasn't something out of a fairy tale — their meeting or how they came to become friends. It was simple — as simple as a friendship between two motherless teenage girls can be. Rhaenyra has never in her life once felt anything uncharacteristic about any of it.
Alicent simply exists. Rhaenyra exists around her. And thus, so does their friendship.
She's dated men and women, had hook-ups, one night stands, whatever. Had come to terms that she wasn't at all interested in being with a man past the bedroom hours. Her sexual endeavours are often a topic of rowdy discussion among her friends, and nobody ever shies — Rhaenyra never — about being perceived as someone whom people would generally consider promiscuous. She simply did not care for such labels.
She does, however, care about one simple concept that her curiosity has not yet answered — why, if it is just the ordinary fact of being a man, does she not feel gratified past her bedroom hours even when she has shared herself with women?
No, it is not the women. Rhaenyra knows this much. It is not the sex, either. It is a third thing entirely. And she knows this –
Nobody has shown curiosity.
Perhaps that is half-truth. People have shown interest. Curiosity — as a third person might even add. But nothing worthwhile. Nothing satisfying — nothing that has yet made Rhaenyra feel as though it is something worthy of being kept and valued.
She tells herself it's because she's yet to find someone who consumes her entire being. But then how is she supposed to find that someone if she won't give anyone a chance to really know her — someone who isn't her best friend?
But that's not a conclusive reasoning — no, what she simply means is that she's never had a bond like the one she shares with her best friend. And she believes it is possible that she may never.
Mostly, perhaps, because it boils down to the fact that she doesn't allow herself to become attached to another being as much — perhaps she believes nobody else will ever come close to knowing and accepting and loving her as Alicent does. Or perhaps, there's something more she hasn't explored yet.
So, yes, she really is just curious when she tries to analyse what this all means. Because curiosity is something she can handle.
But soon she will realise that it is not mere curiosity — the act of searching or knowing — that keeps her. That she will have to entertain the idea of accepting the answer once it reveals itself to her.
It is the evening of Laenor and Gwayne’s wedding when it starts. The ceremony is quite minimal — only close friends and even closer relatives invited. The hall they booked is quiet and intimate and just enough to house the people who actually care. The lights are dimmed to a yellow and ambient in a way that warms the place. A small crowd is scattered around — some at the open bar, some seated on the tables with their last drinks of the night in their hands — with quiet chatter filling the room.
Rhaenyra sits beside Laena at one of the tables, who is talking — more flirting — with Mysaria. Laenor and Gwayne are the only ones still dancing — they've forgotten the world around them — a serene sight. Alicent, who stands in the far side of the room, is laughing a little too hard at something Criston has said. And Rhaenyra — well, she can't take her eyes off of her best friend.
Alicent is wearing a backless silky emerald dress that hugs her curves in the most perfect manner. The creases on the dress — smooth and nonchalant — dance with every small action. She laughs and a few curls of her gorgeously made auburn hair fall in front of her face and — Rhaenyra can't tear her eyes away.
And this is where it starts, really — starts, not to build, but as something to be acknowledged. Something that asks to be looked at.
And Rhaenyra — she feels something — a burning hot feeling in the middle of her chest with a dry throat. The kind of feeling that is accompanied by a sight so breathtaking that you can’t help but be pulled by its reverence. She knows this feeling — she knows that she knows it. She’s felt it before, she thinks. But only in passing. Never something that asked her to stay — never something for which she wanted to.
Certainly never something as an effect of the sight of her best friend. Of Alicent.
Her eyes feel hot. She scans Alicent's back. She observes the way her muscles tighten and loosen when she laughs. She traces with her eyes the light constellation of moles on the far left, mere inches above the small of Alicent's back. She notices the curve of her spine — how it so perfectly gives Alicent such a beautiful shape. She imagines her hands –
"Earth to Rhaenyra?" She hears her cousin's voice break her out of the trance she was happy to be trapped in.
"Yeah?" Rhaenyra turns her head to find two beautiful faces looking at her with confusion and yet — a subtle hint of a smug expression is shared between them — wonders what that could be.
"Why are you gaping at Alicent," questions Laena. Mysaria raises her eyebrows. The two work quite well in tandem to make Rhaenrya see something that perhaps only exists in their minds.
Rhaenyra scoffs. "I'm not gaping at her." Wait, was she? No, that's ridiculous. She doesn’t remember such a thing. She is simply admiring her best friend's beauty. Like all friends do, of course. If she got lost in the view, well, then that's hardly her fault.
"No, more like drooling," Mysaria adds with a knowing smirk. She looks at the woman in question and eyes her up. "I mean, I can't blame you. She does look amazing."
Something flares in Rhaenyra at Mysaria's comment. Yes, of course, Alicent looks amazing — she is amazing, always. But hearing the praise coming from Mysaria, something about her rapt tone, the way she looks at Alicent — Rhaenyra is having trouble naming this feeling, but she knows she does not favour it.
Rhaenyra clears her throat. “I'm gonna go get another drink –” if only to escape this impossible situation of being interrogated for a crime she did not commit. Or, perhaps, to give herself the excuse of it. She gets up from the table quickly enough to not hear a small round of chuckles behind her.
(Alicent knows Rhaenyra has been looking at her. She's felt the blonde's gaze on her back ever since Criston started sharing about his ridiculous sexcapades. An interesting development, she thinks.
She turns her head and sees Rhaenyra now talking to her cousin and Mysaria. She notices a light blush on her best friend's cheeks as her blue eyes focus in confusion at the other two women.
She wonders what they're talking about when she finds Mysaria eyeing her up. They lock eyes for half a second and Alicent feels her curiosity bubbling up. Just as Rhaenyra turns to look at her again, Alicent's eyes find Criston's figure again, avoiding, for some reason, the blonde's gaze. He's still talking, animatedly, not having noticed her tiny moment of distraction.
Just as he's about to say something again, Alicent watches Rhaenyra get up from her seat and make her way to the bar. Alicent excuses herself — and her curiosity leads her feet over to the bar as she downs the remaining martini in her glass.)
She orders an old-fashioned, and then also a martini when she sees Alicent making her way to the bar with an empty glass in her hand.
Now that she gets a proper view of her best friend again, she notices the neck of her green dress, sitting shy above just her cleavage and — oh, God, Rhaenyra is staring again. This realisation comes in the voice of her dear cousin — something she did not have to worry about until it was brought to her attention, much to her chagrin.
"I think Criston's crazy," the redhead starts without ceremony — brown eyes wide — as she stops in front of Rhaenyra, who has again been reminded to not just look at Alicent but also to listen to what's going on around her.
"What'd he do now?" Rhaenyra accepts the drinks the bartender presents in front of them and slides the glass of martini over to Alicent, who takes it with a smile and a nod.
"He was telling me about his threesome experience," Alicent is whispering now as if her words are contraband. "That he joined with a couple."
"Okay, that's one of the less crazy things he's done," Rhaenyra entertains.
"Yeah, but he got so invested with the guy that they didn't even realise that his girlfriend had left until they heard the flat's door shut."
"Okay, now that is crazy." And now they're both cackling at the image of that.
"I know, yeah." Alicent takes a sip of her martini and Rhaenyra follows the action with keen eyes. She watches as Alicent swallows the liquid, eyes trained on her perfect throat — wait, what's happening with her? She doesn’t remember, for the life of her, ever having paid attention to such insignificant actions whose consequences bear no fruit. She feels like her mind is actively attuning itself to an entirely new set of stimuli to which she absolutely did not agree.
"Let's dance," Alicent says. And before Rhaenyra can say anything — before the attuning can even attune itself to the offer — she's being tugged by the wrist toward the dance floor, which is occupied only by the couple of the hour.
Before Rhaenyra can even gain sense of the music, she finds her hips swaying gently, mirroring the woman in front of her. Their hands are on each other and Rhaenyra is careful not to touch Alicent's exposed back. She's never had to be careful before, yet right now, she feels like she should.
"Didn't really get to talk to you today," Alicent says, her brown eyes fixed on Rhaenyra's blazing blue.
For a moment, Rhaenyra is unfazed at what Alicent has said, too busy tracing the outlines of the redhead's eyebrows with her gaze. But then she lets herself comprehend Alicent's comment.
It's true — the two women didn't get to talk as much today. But that is to be expected — Alicent has been busy the whole day, making sure everything went perfectly for her brother's wedding. Rhaenyra helped with the event — as much as she was assigned to — but that barely led to a conversation with Alicent.
"Yeah, I know, but you did great today." Rhaenyra is infinitely in awe of this woman and her ability to manage things so efficiently. Alicent makes up with her management and planning skills where Rhaenyra lacks, whereas Rhaenyra makes up with her spontaneity where Alicent lacks — they complement each other so seamlessly, so effortlessly, that claims of uncharacteristic attachment have no space to exist in their relationship. "I'm really proud of you."
The small compliment does its job; Alicent blushes furiously and something happens to Rhaenyra's heart — no idea what — but it feels like she's soaring for some reason. So she decides to push it, chase the feeling again — if only to let it satisfy her curiosity.
"I didn't get to tell you this earlier, but you look gorgeous." Rhaenyra deliberately drops her voice an octave lower and — it serves its purpose as she is greeted by the sight of Alicent's face turning redder than her hair. Another something happens in her heart — a beat or two is skipped — like a film reel running its course through presentation. However, she files it away to analyse at another time. Right now, she simply focusses on the blushing woman in her arms.
"Thanks," Alicent huffs out and, in an attempt to hide her flushing visage, rests her chin on Rhaenyra's shoulder, who welcomes the embrace with a hum.
Rhaenyra closes her eyes as she holds Alicent just a tad bit tighter — tighter than she believes she has ever wanted to — ever allowed to. Her heart relaxes in their embrace. With their chests in contact, she feels her heartbeat settle itself in rhythm parallel to Alicent’s. In that moment, everything else around them melts away. She feels — and she assumes so — what Laenor and Gwayne must have been feeling the whole night: just two people, passing through a seamless existence.
(Alicent lets her arms meet in an embrace around her best friend's neck — her nose buried right above the collar of Rhaenyra's white shirt. She breathes in her favourite scent of sandalwood and her senses feel hot and heavy.
She's not sure when this started — this urge, this desire to be impossibly physically close to Rhaenyra. To be always around her, all the time.
Don't get it wrong, the two women have always been close. They're familiar and comfortable with their touches — with each other's bodies. But this want for something more, something different that plagues Alicent has been simmering in her heart for quite a while.
And Alicent is afraid she knows just what this desire means. It's more than the sweet, innocent platonic love they have shared for a decade and a half. No, this is something, perhaps, more daring, more… lustful. A lust that Alicent wants to be ashamed of, but she can't bring herself to.
And then she feels the ghost of fingertips trailing on her bare back. She takes in a sharp breath and her body, as if with a mind of its own, presses itself flush to Rhaenyra's front with no room for even air to pass.
She feels the other woman shiver when the contact allows the fingers to finally touch her back. Her entire body burns under it — has wanted to since the moment she decided on this particular garment.
They've touched each other countless times. Their bodies know each other. They've even seen each other naked a couple of times. Rhaenyra's touch has always been the same as it is now.
But something has changed. Her body's response to the touch has changed. It's changing right now as her best friend traces the trail of moles on the small of her back. She finds herself breathless at the action, her nose burying itself deeper into the blonde's neck. Inhales the scent — lets it ground her, lets it surround her, lets it wrap her in a spiritual embrace.)
Rhaenyra feels her fingertips fire a series of sparks on the redhead's back. This is different. This isn't how it's ever been. Something is changing. She feels Alicent's soft lips hover slightly on her neck, the small hairs on the skin darting up to bridge the contact.
Something happens again. A twitch. A sting. Then a pull. Something unfolds. Like origami. It starts warm. A bright light. Then something hot. A blaze. A blue fire. Her lungs are on fire. There's smoke. Her chest heaves. Oxygen is scarce. Her face is too hot. She inhales. The familiar smell of roses fills her senses. The fire burns brighter. The fire has a name –
Suddenly, she takes a step back. Alicent does not catch up. Their bodies jerk away, forcing a chasm of distance between them.
"Rhaenyra, are you okay?" Alicent sounds breathless in her own life, her brown eyes darker than Rhaenyra has ever seen — a colour that adds fuel to an already bright fire.
Her mind is hazy and her thoughts are — well, she's not sure what she's thinking. And now she feels hot again. Hotter too, under Alicent's concerned gaze. She bites down on her lip — hard enough to almost draw blood if she so wished — to ground herself in the present.
"Yeah, I think I had too much to drink –” which can be the only explanation for her body feeling so strange tonight, especially when Alicent is close. However, she's only had less than half a dozen glasses of diluted alcohol tonight and Targaryens are known for their tolerance. But what else could explain what she's feeling? What is this line of questioning that Rhaenyra is missing to follow?
And so, here’s the thing — the question can only arise if it is nudged upward to be heard. If such a question is even something that is dared to be considered.
"Do you wanna sit down?" Alicent grabs Rhaenyra's arm gently as she searches for her eyes — concern laced in the brown of them.
"No, it's fine. Let's just dance." Rhaenyra reels herself, flashes a smile. As long as Alicent is here and with her, everything is alright. It's not, but it is — there is no reason it shouldn’t be.
After a while of dancing together, with a bit more space between the two, people start to empty the hall. The party has filtered out and everyone has said their goodbyes.
Alicent and Rhaenyra drive back home with not much more than the easy conversation of their usual flowing betwixt. Laena left early tonight, she's home already — but Rhaenyra decides against knocking, and instead uses her key — because Mysaria also accompanied Laena when she left. She does not wish to disturb her cousin's hours of pleasure.
Once the two of them are inside, Alicent plops down on the sofa, exhaustion clear on her forehead and pouty lips. Rhaenyra smiles as warmth floods without notice. She reaches out and holds one of Alicent's hands, giving it a small squeeze of acknowledgement.
"Do you want me to put on some tea?"
"Oh, yes, please. Gods, that'd be nice."
Rhaenyra smiles at the affirmation, feels a huge part of her deflate at the ease of their existence. She goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. Just as she's loosening her tie, she hears unfiltered sounds — breathy and pleased — coming from the far side of the hallway. Her ears perk up as a grin tugs up her lips.
Rhaenyra knows well enough to whom the moans belong. She does not pride herself over this knowledge. However, having shared a flat for over a year with her cousin and her countless sexcapades, she knows, unfortunately, the sounds Laena makes when she's having an unusual orgasm.
It seems Alicent is on the same train of thought as Rhaenyra as she strides into the kitchen with her mouth hanging open with amusement clear in her open mouth and mirthful eyes. She, too, shares the same knowledge of Laena-related moans with Rhaenyra.
"Do you think it's Mysaria?" Alicent whispers, her brown eyes bright up with amusement and full-blown curiosity.
Rhaenyra knows it's Mysaria. "They've been flirting all night. I saw them leave together.”
"Damn," Alicent sighs, delight swimming profusely in dark brown pools. She's very clearly impressed.
Rhaenyra chuckles lightly, letting her tie fall loose round the collar of her white shirt. She doesn't notice Alicent following her hands when she undoes the first couple buttons of her shirt, because if she does, that feeling would perhaps return.
(Alicent huffs a breath as she gets lost in the dance of Rhaenyra's fingers around her tie and collar. With the top two buttons undone, she can see the stark skin with a bead of sweat adorning her perfect collarbones.
She swallows. Licks her lips. Desire burns in her abdomen.
But she catches her breath. Dismisses sinful thoughts lest she be damned by her best friend.)
"I'm glad she's getting some action. I know she's tired too," Alicent sighs as she sits down on the stool by the kitchen island.
"What, you wish that were you?" Rhaenyra teases, throws her tie in Alicent's direction and it lands squarely on her head, covering her face. She laughs as she scores the perfect goal.
Alicent's face deadpans at the offence. She does not, however, move to remove the fabric from her face, just accepts it. Unbelievably adorable. "Yeah, honestly, I do."
A terrible thought passes through Rhaenyra's head at the confession. A thought she shouldn't even be thinking in all seriousness, let alone let it be heard. She does, however, voice it out — against her better judgment, of course. "Want me to help you?"
The kettle whistle blows.
Alicent all but yanks the offending tie sitting on her head and throws it away somewhere toward the living room area. Her eyes are wide, horror simmering in her brown irises. Rhaenyra bites her tongue and gulps. Perhaps she didn't sound as humorous as she intended to.
(Did Rhaenyra just say what Alicent heard her say? Alicent can't tell if her best friend teasing her as is so common is actually a pass she's making or simply something that the redhead is making up in her head.
Could it be, that perhaps, Rhaenyra — with the way she has been acting late evening — is also on the same train of unspoken desires, urges, wants as her? Could it be?
Of course not. She needs to stop projecting.
Alicent deflates. She knows Rhaenyra is simply joking. Like she always does.
So Alicent gives in. Responds to her teases with one of her own. A dance.)
But then Alicent relaxes and a glint of mischief replaces the horror. "Oh, I'm sure you'd love to," she smirks and — fuck, that thing happens in Rhaenyra's chest again — the thing for which she has a name but her tongue won’t wrap itself around the word. For fuck's sake, can her body go back to being in her control tonight!
"Fuck off," Rhaenyra scoffs but she knows it comes out half-hearted as Alicent's face turns smug all of a sudden — something passes in Alicent’s eyes, a thought, perhaps — an idea of sorts, though nothing substantial that Rhaenyra can make sense of.
So she ignores it — ignores the feeling she refuses to name and turns around. She takes out a cup — not two — and pours the hot water in it, drenches in it a teabag. She feels her feet stumble — not visibly — as she takes the cup over to where Alicent is sitting. She places it down on the island and pushes it in the redhead's direction.
"Goodnight, Ali." Rhaenyra kisses Alicent's temple like she always does but now — that thing is also there. Waiting for her to do something so that it can threaten to blush her cheeks. But she ignores it — no other way around it — not yet.
"Goodnight, love," Alicent whispers. Her voice is sincere and gentle and sweet and slow and exhausted and perfect — Rhaenyra's heart skips a beat again.
Which she ignores again. For tonight.
Even if it's all she can think of when she changes into her night clothes; even if the backless green dress is all that flashes before her closed eyes as she lies down in her bed; even if Alicent is all she can dream of as she slips unconscious — no, it doesn’t mean anything significant. It was just the day playing tricks with her — perhaps she ought to get herself checked for haemoglobin. Surely, there must be a medical explanation for all that has transpired today.
(Alicent holds the cup of tea with royal fingers and blows on the hot steam. She smiles. The tea is hotter than how Rhaenyra usually makes — than how Alicent usually likes.
Her smile grows wider.
She saw Rhaenyra blush.
When she kissed her temple, Rhaenyra blushed.
But that’s not all. Rhaenyra has acted uncharacteristically the whole evening. Alicent heard it all — a breath hitched, a beat skipped, a name lorn. She saw it all too — the redness of cheeks, the nervousness of chest, the enforcement of a distance — all unannounced.
This has never happened before.
Oh, Alicent is deliciously curious now.
Perhaps now is the real time to put her social sciences degree to use. The only way to sate her curiosity regarding her favourite blonde is to experiment.
She giggles softly to herself as she finally sips the tea once its heat is settled.
This should be fun.)