Chapter Text
"Your Grace?"
Alicent groaned, rolling over and pulling a pillow over her head, wincing as she moved. She was indeed horribly sore, as she'd predicted yesterday. She remembered there was yet another flight of likely equal length today and indulged in a childish, unladylike groan while kicking her feet under the bedclothes.
"Your Grace, I came to wake you. The household is preparing to break their fast, and the Queen indicated you were to join us."
Alicent opened her eyes, glaring at the pillow over her head. "I'm awake," she said. "Have any of my dresses been pressed?"
If all her clothes were still wrinkled from the dragonbags, perhaps she could excuse herself from breakfast when she felt so beastly.
No such luck was with her, as the Caswell maids had been infuriatingly efficient. There were smallclothes, a shift, stockings, and a well-pressed Targaryen black gown with the red dragon emblazoned on its chest that had all been selectively unpacked. The maids had even chosen a jewelry set for her—Valyrian steel set with garnets. Alicent supposed it must be harder to work Valyrian steel into delicate dragon-shapes, because this set once again evoked rider chains. Alicent slipped her seven-pointed star over her head to rest over the dragon on her breast.
"Will you have your hair up again, Your Grace?" the maid combing her hair asked.
"I will fly again today, so yes," Alicent said dryly. "Light on the pins. The hood presses them."
"The maids brought your riding coat to the tanner in the night," the girl said. "The tanner reportedly despaired over it, but he says he has conditioned the leather and it should not be so stiff."
Alicent was not looking forward to being back in the garment regardless, but she gave the maid a smile nevertheless. "That was well done. My appreciation to the tanner and the maids who remembered him."
The girl puffed up her chest, her chin lifting, and Alicent had no doubt she was the one with the idea for the tanner.
When she emerged from her rooms, she found the young Lord Caswell waiting for her, done up in his finery. He wore a soft grey doublet with Caswell's golden centaur archer stitched over the breast.
"Dowager Queen Alicent," he said, executing a slow and careful bow. His young brow was furrowed like he was concentrating on remembering. "Would you like an escort to breakfast?"
"Thank you, Lord Caswell," Alicent said. The boy was too short for him to escort her by the arm, but she fell into step beside him, keeping her strides short to accommodate his smaller legs. "That was a fine bow. You do your mother credit."
Some of the nervousness fell away from him in a boyish smile. "Thank you, Your Grace. Mother says I must be on my best court behavior, but we've never been to court. Not when I could remember, anyway—Mother says we came for Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena's wedding, but I would have been three."
"And who could expect you to remember things from when you were three?" Alicent asked, agreeing with him. Gryffid Caswell had a difficult road ahead of him, a lord before his majority. He was lucky he had his mother to stand beside him, and Lady Caswell seemed to have her castle well under control.
They arrived in the dining hall. The Caswells rose to greet her, as did her and Rhaenyra's sons. It was perhaps the first time Alicent realized that Rhaenyra recognizing her station as Queen Dowager—and furthermore, remarrying her to Daemon—would allow her to keep the same power she had under Viserys, second only to the crown. It was only made more evident by the fact that Rhaenyra had placed Alicent at her right hand at the table. That was Daemon's place, but Daemon was in Dragonstone seeing to his duty as Protector of the Realm, and next to him, Alicent was Rhaenyra's closest advisor and companion.
They breakfasted with light conversation, mostly news of the realm, although they tried to steer the topic away from the looming war at first. Lady Caswell offered Rhaenyra her condolences over the loss of her babe, which startled Rhaenyra as much as it did Alicent.
"How did you know?" Rhaenyra asked. "We didn't make any announcement about Visenya."
"Only because I bore and lost babes myself," Lady Caswell said. "Forgive me for saying so, but I can see it in your figure that you are not long from childbed, and I can count months. She came early?"
"Too early to live," Rhaenyra said with a long sigh. "I went into labor when I heard Aegon had stolen my crown."
Alicent flinched. She hadn't realized Rhaenyra's labor had been brought on by the stress of the succession crisis, though she supposed it made sense. She must have been struggling through the birth as Alicent lay insensate under poppy with the maester stitching her closed.
"Another grievance to lay at the Usurper's feet," said Tom Flowers. "My Lady, I believe it is time to discuss more pressing matters."
"By the Warrior, Tom, one would think you're eager to be whacking at people with swords," Lady Caswell said, but she nevertheless drew a raven scroll from her sleeve and gave it to Rhaenyra. "This arrived in the dawn hours from Dragonstone."
Rhaenyra took it and cracked the seal, unrolling so she could read. Alicent was not so impolite as to read over her shoulder, but her worry mounted as Rhaenyra's expression darkened. To her surprise, as soon as she was done reading, Rhaenyra handed her the scroll. Alicent glanced over it and then froze, her face draining of color.
"Mother? What is it?" Aemond asked, sitting forward. "Did something happen?"
"Aegon has declared all supporters of Rhaenyra to be traitors to the crown," Alicent said, her voice trembling. "He ordered the execution of the prisoners in the Black Cells. Dozens of Keep servants, men of the City Watch, even a maester."
"Their heads decorate the Red Keep," Rhaenyra said darkly. "And there is more. Aegon took Sunfyre from the Dragonpit and flew to Storm's End. Daemon's network is less effective outside of King's Landing, so we do not know if he means simply to reconfirm Lord Borros's support or if he is staging an attack."
"Should we go back?" Alicent asked, rolling up the raven scroll. Then she realized something else. "If he isn't in the Red Keep, does that mean he didn't get—"
"We do not know," Rhaenyra said. "This could be his response."
"If we could smuggle another letter in, and maybe a reply out, I could write to Helaena—"
"We keep to the task we have set ourselves," Rhaenyra said. "I will not allow Aegon to push me into a panic. However, it does seem that he has rejected my terms."
She was trying to control her expression, but Alicent could see she was both angry and upset that Aegon meant to continue this. The table quieted as everyone waited for Rhaenyra to continue, and the Queen visibly steeled herself, taking a breath.
"How many men could your combined host muster?" she asked, directing the question to Tom Flowers.
"We have five hundred men at arms in Caswell. Merryweather has three hundred, and Rowan six. If we can meet with the Costayne force, they are a thousand, and I believe Beesbury counts another two hundred."
"A little over two thousand men. The Hightowers themselves would have how many?"
"Grandfather said the Hightower host numbers in the thousands by themselves," Aemond said. "I don't know how many they would add from the Reach houses loyal to them."
"Our estimates place us outnumbered two-to-one," Tom said. "And the Greens have a dragon in Oldtown."
Rheanyra drummed her fingers on the table. "Any main force from the Hightowers will have to cross the Honeywine before they reach the Roseroad. How quickly could you, Lord Rowan and Lord Merryweather move?"
"Lord Merryweather is a prisoner in the Black Cells, if he has not been beheaded along with the rest," Tom told her, his mouth twisted. "It is the Lady Merryweather that mobilizes her forces. We believe we could be in Honeyholt within a sevennight, Your Grace. We have been preparing since we received the news of my brother's death."
Rhaenyra fell silent again for a moment. Alicent watched her eyes go distant and supposed she was imagining the map in the Chamber of the Painted Table. She wondered if Rhaenyra wished for Daemon. Part of Alicent wished he were here if only to know what he might say. He knew war better than either of them.
"We should move now," she said finally. "I meant to wait until I met with the High Septon to mobilize any armies, but if Aegon has placed himself in the Stormlands, that is too near Dragonstone to be anything but provocative action. Send ravens to Rowan and Merryweather and prepare your forces. It would be best to join with Beesbury and Costayne as swiftly as possible. The Honeywine is the place for a stand."
"I agree, Your Grace," said Tom Flowers, and Alicent noted an almost imperceptible sag of relief to Rhaenyra's shoulders. "If we can harry the Hightowers as they cross, or even hold the banks of the Honeywine, we might prevent them from meeting with the Lannister host. Their forces can be divided and fought more effectively on two fronts."
"I do not wish to see your houses stripped down to nothing," Rhaenyra said. "You are meant to delay, not destroy the Hightower host. If Tessarion flies, do not attempt to stand against the dragon—it will only cost you men to no gain."
"Will the three dragons you brought with you not fight?" Flowers asked, his brow knit.
"Arrax is no match for Tessarion in size," she said, "and though Vhagar could surely stand against her, there is nothing more accursed than a kinslayer. I will not ask Aemond to fight his own brother. My councilors caution me not to take Syrax to battle."
"As they should, Your Grace," Lady Caswell said quickly. "You cannot risk yourself so."
"Your Grace," Tom protested. "It is your own brother who has risen against you. If this war is to happen, kin will fight against kin. If the Greens are willing to use their dragons and you are not—"
"Have you ever seen a dragon breathe fire?" Alicent asked, interrupting him. He took a breath like he meant to continue speaking, but Alicent overrode him. "I have, when my sons took me to the Dragonpit. Aegon was so proud of his Sunfyre, he wanted me to see how well he commanded the beast. The dragonkeepers brought out a goat, I believe. Perhaps a sheep. I don't quite remember what animal it was, because when Sunfyre burned it, the flesh slid from its bones and it blackened within seconds. I felt the heat of it from yards away. Imagine, then, two dragons fighting above a battlefield of men. They strafe the earth and consume how many brave men at once—Rhaenyra, what do you think? A dozen? Tens?"
"Hundreds, if they are fighting in close enough quarters," Rhaenyra said quietly. Her gaze had gone to Alicent as soon as she began to speak. Alicent felt the weight of it—she glanced to the queen and saw something like approval in her eyes.
"Dragons are the reason House Gardiner no longer exists," Alicent continued. "Four thousand men burned in the Field of Fire—and do not forget that Vhagar was there for it. It is said that when Quicksilver's body crashed to earth after the Battle Beneath the God's Eye, hundreds of men were crushed beneath her, so dragons need not even fight men for it to be a slaughter."
"If it is only men against a dragon, it is guaranteed to be a slaughter," Tom said.
"We believe that Otto Hightower is a more clever commander than his grandson," Rhaenyra said. "So far he has kept Tessarion in Oldtown, and we have no word of movement from her. We believe that unless we use them first, he means to hold his dragons in reserve to protect his most important seats: King's Landing and Oldtown. The Greens have only two to our six of fighting strength—I do not imagine Helaena could be commanded to fly in battle on Dreamfyre—and while Tyraxes and Moondancer are too small at the moment, they will not remain so forever. The dragons are a deterrent. Let them remain so."
"And if Tessarion takes the field and burns our host entire to clear the way for the Hightowers, Your Grace?" Tom Flowers was clearly trying to maintain his courtly behavior, but the scowl on his face said he was frustrated.
"If Otto Hightower shows that he means to slaughter his way to the throne, we will be forced to respond by tightening the blockade around King's Landing and laying siege to the capital. Our forces would need to fight their way through the Crownlands, and we will need the support of the North and the Vale if we wish to cut off the Lannister force from being able to reinforce the Greens." Rhaenyra's mouth tipped down on one side, and when she continued, a reluctance had entered her tone. Alicent surmised she had not intended to share this piece of information. "I have sent my son Jacaerys to secure Harrenhal, where we may gather those riverlord houses loyal to me and where the Starks and their bannermen can join with that force."
"You sent Jace where?" Lucerys asked, then looked straight back down at his plate with his shoulders rounded when his mother's gaze landed on him with her eyebrows raised. He colored, shoving a roll in his mouth to keep from speaking again, but Alicent understood his surprise. She had thought Rhaenyra would keep her firstborn and heir away from the fighting, but instead she'd given command of a castle as large and strategically important as Harrenhal.
She means to have him prove himself as a warrior, Alicent realized. It is an open secret that he is not Laenor Velaryon's son, but she means to make it so they will not care. If he wins victories in the Riverlands and is able to command the largest portion of Rhaenyra's host, he will earn the respect of three separate Lords Paramount.
It was either a laughable irony or some sort of secret tribute between Jacaerys and Rhaenyra that she sent him to his late father's castle—his true father, not the man who had been named his father. It left no doubt in Alicent's mind that Jacaerys at least knew—and Lucerys, she imagined. Why else would he have reacted so specifically to Jacaerys being sent to Harrenhal?
"And so," Rhaenyra concluded, "Your men are meant to harass and delay. Thin their numbers, ensure they are slow on the march. It will give the bulk of our host time to gather, and if the Hightowers are able to break through your lines, you can retreat toward Caswell and then Harrenhal to join with the main host."
"And go to ground if they see the dragon," Lady Caswell said, fixing a stern eye on Tom Flowers. "I see the wisdom in this plan, Your Grace."
The rest of their meal passed with lighter conversation. Lord Caswell was convinced to speak a little—mostly to Lucerys, who was closest to him in age—about his latest nameday present, a falcon from the Vale.
"She's the loveliest creature," the boy said, his face alight. "She dives from such a height, and is so fast! Like a flash of brown lightning. I bet she's as fast as a dragon."
Aemond looked at the boy, his mouth tilting up in amusem*nt. "I daresay she could get to the air faster than Vhagar."
"Anyone could be faster at taking off than Vhagar," Lucerys laughed. He turned to Lord Caswell. "You see, she is so large and old, it takes her some time to decide she wishes to be airborne."
"Yes, but she could still outfly Arrax by hardly trying. We had to hold back so much yesterday on account of his small wings, I thought she might fall asleep in the air."
Lord Caswell smiled, delighted. Alicent briefly caught eyes with Rhaenyra and knew that the soft fondness in her face was mirrored in Alicent's own. She had resented Rhaenyra's bastards when her children were young—had seen them as Rhaenyra flaunting her freedom in Alicent's face while Alicent was trapped with the king—but as unsettling as Lucerys could be, he was also becoming quite the charming young man, with an openness that one couldn't help but respond to. She had rarely seen Aemond engage in any sort of jesting, but perhaps that was because Aegon's jests tended toward the mean-spirited, and Lucerys was not the sort. She seemed to remember Lucerys being the first to apologize to her son for the awful behavior they'd exhibited about his lack of dragon.
Rhaenyra's face was filled with the same thing Alicent felt: a relief that their children could be earnest friends.
The meal concluded not long after, and Rhaenyra was clearly preparing to leave the table. Alicent felt a stab of yesterday's panic all over again. "Must we leave already?" she asked. "Lady Caswell has been such an excellent hostess."
Rhaenyra stood, prompting the entire table to rise. "I'm afraid so. We must away to Honeyholt—if Daemon has any more news, or Jacaerys, they will have sent it there. Lady Caswell, I'm afraid I must prevail upon you for a swift and discreet rider. Word must be sent to Dragonstone telling Daemon of our movements, but the course from here to there would take a raven straight over King's Landing. I fear it could be shot down."
"The closest loyal house is Royce, Your Grace—in the Vale," Tom Flowers said. "If I send a raven north to House Royce with instructions to send to Dragonstone from there, it will fly only over loyal territories."
"That is well," Rhaenyra said, pleased. She paused at the table, considering him. "You have given me sound advice, Tom Flowers, and the loyalty of House Caswell deserves to be rewarded. Tell me, have you seen battle before?"
"With the Dornish, Your Grace," Tom confirmed. "I was under the command of the Tyrells for a brief time."
"That is well," Rhaenyra said. "Aemond, might I have use of your sword?"
Aemond looked to her, startled. "Your Grace?"
"I mean to give this man command of this portion of my Reach armies," Rhaenyra said. "I believe such a command should come with a knighthood."
Tom Flowers looked stunned. Aemond drew his sword, offering it to Rhaenyra hilt first with a bow, and Rhaenyra took it. She came around the table, gesturing for Tom to join her. The man took a hesitant step, then another, rounding the table and coming to bend the knee before her.
"Lady Caswell," Rhaenyra said, turning to her. "Shall I name your house?"
Alicent was startled that Rhaenyra would even ask, but she approved of the courtesy. Bastards, especially noble-born bastards, were a touchy subject. However, the Lady Caswell's eyes were shining with pride and she gave a sharp nod.
"Tom has always served our house with loyalty and pride," she said. "I would be honored for Caswell to be named in his knighting."
Rhaenyra turned back to Tom Flowers, taking a deep breath. "Tom Flowers of House Caswell," she said, and held the blade out. Alicent estimated it was heavier than she supposed it would be, because it trembled in her hand for a moment before she firmed her grip and lowered it to Tom's shoulder. "In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave." She lifted the sword and placed it on his other shoulder. "In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women. In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be steadfast and true. In the name of the Crone, I charge you to be wise."
The last tap of the blade on Tom's shoulder was silent, a reminder that the Stranger would walk with his blade—but the Stranger was not invoked, not in prayers and not in knighting. Each knight made his own silent vow to the Stranger.
"Do you swear to uphold these oaths before gods and men?" Rhaenyra asked, after the beat of silence had passed.
"I do, Your Grace."
"Then rise as a knight of Westeros, Ser Tom Flowers of House Caswell."
Ser Tom finally raised his head, and Alicent was moved to see tears standing in his eyes as he stood. "I thank you, Your Grace. I do not serve my house in the name of recognition, and you do me an honor."
"Keep Dragonstone informed of your movements when possible," Rhaenrya told him. "I am trusting to you to see that my orders are carried out, Ser Tom."
"Your Grace," he said with a deep bow. Rhaenyra extended the sword back to Aemond, who sheathed it, and the royal party left the Caswell's hall to prepare for their flight.
"That was well done," Alicent said in an undertone. "A house like Caswell would normally be far beneath royal notice, and a man Tom's age is unlikely to earn a knighthood the traditional way."
"He was bold enough to question me but respectful enough to do it with grace," Rhaenyra said. "Those are qualities I will require in my commanders and loyal vassals."
"I suppose Daemon is the only one allowed to question you without grace," Alicent said dryly, and Rhaenyra laughed, loud and startled.
"Daemon and I are bound by blood twice over," she said. "When he questions me he only voices the doubts I hear in my own mind, which makes it easier for me to refute them."
Alicent thought it may become a problem once she had a Small Counsel. If the other lords constantly saw Daemon challenging Rhaenyra, they would begin to wonder who really steered the course of the throne. Those, however, were worries for another day, since they soon separated for their own chambers and it was time for Alicent to struggle into the riding coat again.
Its time with the tanner had improved its stiffness, and Alicent found it wasn't quite so uncomfortable for her to bend her arms. The maids still did up the buttons for her, but some of the stiffness of the buttonholes had also been improved, and their fingers weren't rubbed raw by the leather. Despite how sore she felt, Alicent judged herself more prepared to board Syrax today than she had been the day before.
"See that you deliver the dragonbags to the Queen in the courtyard, and do not attempt to approach Syrax yourselves," Alicent told the maids. "She will strap them to the dragon. Pass the word to the servants as well—they should handle the Princes' bags in the same way. We have no wish for such a lovely visit to end in tradgedy."
She felt she may have been a little too dire when the maids paled, but better she overwarn than someone grow too confident around the dragons. Watching Alicent herself descend from Syrax's back without harm might give the wrong impression to those who had never been around the creatures. They were hardly tame or biddable.
Except perhaps for little Aegon's Stormcloud, Alicent thought, and was slightly disconcerted at how the thought traveled through her mind with a similar fondness to what she felt for her own grandson's exploits. She had not gone near either of the twins' dragons when their cradle eggs hatched, but she knew they both claimed one of the beasts, small though they were still. She knew their names, too, because little Jaehaerys was so enthusiastic about them—his Shrykos and Jaehaera's Morghul. She remembered him telling her earnestly that Maelor's cradle egg should hatch any day.
A sharp pang shot through her chest at the thought of her grandchildren. Maelor had just toddled his first steps before Viserys's death and all that followed. Surely he was running through the nursery by now. Helaena used to bring them to Alicent's chambers in the Tower of the Hand every day—she had moved from Aemma's chambers, which Viserys had never allowed her to change, as soon as he was too bedridden to notice.
Had Aegon been enraged by Alicent's letter? Was that why he moved to bloody executions and threatening movements with his dragon? Things were so difficult between them, and Alicent could blame herself for a large part of it. She didn't know what it was about her that twisted her fear for her child into anger at him. She tried to trace it back, the point when seeing Aegon filled her with fear rather than delight. Had it been from the very beginning? She struggled to remember those early days after he had been born. The maesters had assured her that the birth had not been especially difficult—"uncomplicated" was the word they used—but Alicent could remember only the pain. Pain, blood, Aegon wailing. Sending for the wet nurse because her head pounded fiercely and her lower half felt torn open. Had she held him, in those first moments? Viserys had taken Aegon from the maester, she recalled. He had bounced the infant and cooed to him and then put him in the wet nurse's arms when Aegon responded to his father by continuing to scream.
Was it because he had been taken from her body and given to someone else? Or was it her father, poisoning her with fear? Aegon had been only two when her father was dismissed as Hand, when he'd told her that one day Rhaenyra would put Alicent's children to the sword. Had that been the moment fear began to rule her? She thought if she pressed her son into duty and molded him into the perfect prince, Viserys would have no choice but to name him as heir. Aegon was a wild and noisy child, curious and friendly but with a deep, constant desire to have the attention of the room. She could see it now, how many times Aegon tore around a hall being chased by nursemaids, his every twist and turn aimed at bringing him closer to his father. His father, who lacked the time to play swords and soldiers with a small boy, and who later lacked the strength of body.
She could have done more to ensure Viserys remembered his son's existence. She had been concerned with presenting the image of the model Queen, knowing some of the rumors swirling. The realm did not understand why the king had married the daughter of a second son, and not even a second son to a Lord Paramount. Laena Velaryon was the king's expected bride, and yet there was Alicent. The court had whispered that she fell pregnant with Aegon before the wedding, though anyone who believed that was a simpleton who could not count months. Nevertheless, it pushed Alicent to watch her every movement, ensuring she presented an image of piety and proper ladylike behavior, which did not include bouncing a child on her knee at the high table. And yet Rhaenyra had done just that with all her children, making them visible to Viserys and forcing interaction.
If only Jacaerys had been trueborn. She would have acquiesced to marrying Helaena to him instead of Aegon—and she could admit that marrying Aegon and Helaena had not been good for either of them. She didn't think she could have borne marrying her only daughter to a bastard, but she could have married Aemond to Helaena. Aemond had always been protective of his sister, willing to listen to her ramblings and patient with her oddities. Aegon should have been allowed to choose his own bride, and Helaena deserved a husband who would be gallant with her.
Helaena seemed content enough with her children, and indeed had seemed happier once they'd been born, for neither of the twins treated their mother as though she was strange, but Aegon was disinterested in them. Alicent had tried not to take it as a bad sign—many of her ladies-in-waiting had laughed about how their husbands seemed to forget the existence of their children until they were old enough to speak and hold a sword. Aegon would show interest in Jaehaerys when the boy was older, Alicent had told herself. But the boy was five now, which was typically the age Alicent saw noble fathers teaching their noble sons how to hit things with sticks, and Aegon was no more interested in his heir now than he was the day the boy was born.
I tried to force him into a mold he did not fit. I did it because I thought it was the only way for him to survive, but he did not want it and was not suited for it. He still is not suited for it, only now that he wears the crown and has done all I asked of him, the realm splits itself in two and his brother abandons him. He must think I have abandoned him as well.
She remained lost in her thoughts as she made her way to the castle's gates, chasing her memories of Aegon's childhood around and around in her mind, examining them from every angle.
Aemond was there already, standing just outside the gate. There was a small pile of dragonbags near him, but instead of moving to load the luggage, he stood straight-backed with his hands clasped behind him. He wasn't wearing his eyepatch, Alicent noticed, and the sapphire winked in the morning light.
"Mother," he said, nodding to her. This was the Aemond she was familiar with, reserved and formal, and something about his manner made her roiling thoughts begin to settle themselves.
"Aemond." She followed the direction of his gaze and her eyes caught on the dragons. The three of them were in flight, wheeling over the town below Bitterbridge, appearing to weave in and out of each other's path like a dance. "You are nine and ten, a man grown. It's... an odd thing for me to think of, my children being grown. It seems that I still thought of you all as children—even Aegon, at two and twenty—until my husband was dead. Then, all of a sudden, you were men and women at the brink of a war my father meant to start."
"You tried to keep me from going with Ser Criston that day," Aemond said. He still hadn't turned to her, still watching the dragons. "Was it because you thought of me as a boy or was it because you were afraid of what I would do with my own brother?"
Alicent kept her silence for the span of several heartbeats while she struggled against herself, but there was something about the morning light and the dancing dragons that forced honesty from her.
"Both, I think. I don't believe the thought entered my mind fully-formed, but part of me must have been nervous you would seize the crown for yourself." Alicent took a long breath, steeling herself for the next question. "Do you judge me to be a good mother?"
Aemond finally looked at her, startled out of his impassivity. "Of course—"
"Honesty, Aemond," she said tiredly. "You are a man grown."
Aemond's mouth twisted down, and his single eye flicked away from her. She'd made him uncomfortable by asking, which told her the answer without him having to say. "You were a better mother than Viserys was a father," he finally said.
Alicent let out a humorless laugh. "Damning me with faint praise."
"You were younger than I when Aegon was born, were you not?" Aemond asked her. "I don't believe I'd ever thought of that before. That you were a bride and a mother before you turned nine and ten. I wouldn't have the first idea what to do with a baby if someone handed me one. Did you know that when the twins were born, Helaena asked me if they were going to die every time they cried? She was four and ten, so even younger than you were with Aegon, and didn't have the first idea what she was doing. Did you?"
"No," Alicent admitted. "But it was my duty to figure it out."
"You had us educated as we were meant to be, ensured we were protected, defended us, and kept us all alive—the Old King Jaehaerys was not nearly so lucky, and the histories say he and Good Queen Alysanne doted on their children. Perhaps Aegon would have been happier to spend his days hawking and hunting and fighting in tourneys, but we cannot know now." Aemond looked away from her again, his voice turning halting. "You have always had my utmost esteem."
His cheeks colored a little, like he was embarrassed to be saying so. Alicent wondered if she had done that, too, or if this reluctance to speak with affection was her father at work.
"I love you," Alicent told him. "I did not say it enough when you were small."
Aemond cleared his throat and reached down to heft a set of dragonbags to his shoulder. "I should call Vhagar down." He glanced back at her. "You and Helaena were the only family I could ever trust, and after I lost my eye, you were the only family who cared for me."
He walked away toward the bridge, leaving Alicent feeling warmed and saddened at the same time. You and Helaena were the only family I could ever trust. It had been from the beginning, then, that Aemond and Aegon were set against each other. She wished she knew why, or whose fault it had been. Perhaps it was simply the nature of brothers. Had it been similar between Viserys and Daemon, when they were small? Jacaerys and Lucerys? But Rhaenyra's children all seemed to hold great affection for one another, and Daemon had raised an army to defend his brother's claim to the throne.
She was distracted from her thoughts by the dragons coming to the ground. Syrax landed very close to the front gates, making Alicent jump and gasp before freezing to stillness as the dragon's head swung her way. Syrax seemed to regard her for several moments, then stretched out her neck and rumbled low in her throat, almost like she was telling Alicent she was ready to go.
Rhaenyra appeared behind her, leaving Alicent wondering how long she had been there. She slung a set of dragonbags over her shoulder from the pile. "Are you more ready today than you were yesterday?"
The morning light glittered on Syrax's yellow scales. Further back and well away from Vhagar, Arrax settled down with his pearlescent scales also reflecting the sun. If she didn't think about flesh sliding from bone, they were beautiful.
"Ask me again when it's time to get in the saddle," Alicent said. "My knees feel like jelly."
"It's been a long time since I've ridden that far," Rhaenyra said, with a sigh that sounded a bit like a groan. She'd removed her crown by now, though she'd worn it to breakfast, and looked once more like the Rhaenyra that Alicent was most familiar with. "I am terribly sore, and we still have to return once we've spoken to the High Septon. We can only hope he takes some time to travel from Oldtown. Perhaps a day or two to deliberate."
"We should pray for his swift travel," Alicent said, lightly scolding. "I worry, the longer we're away from Dragonstone."
"About what?" Rhaenyra asked. She handed Alicent her extra pair of gloves. Alicent pulled them onto her hands, following Rhaenyra as she began to walk without quite thinking.
"About Daemon, and what he might do with Aegon as close as the Stormlands, for one," Alicent said. "About what Aegon might do now that he is in the Stormlands, for another, whether the Lady Hand is able to keep the Lord Protector from riding off on Caraxes for a third—"
"Daemon won't leave the Dragonglass Throne while I've left him to sit it," Rhaenyra said, unconcerned. "I do worry about him attempting to find riders for some of the dragons on the island. He spoke ceaselessly of having them claimed while I was there, but I don't see where he might find any such folk. My father was not prone to siring bastards, and none of my brother's would be old enough to be of use in battle, even on Vermithor or Silverwing."
The way Rhaenyra casually spoke of Aegon's bastards made Alicent's shoulders hunch. She took a breath to reply and let it out on a sharp squeak when a shadow fell over her.
Rhaenyra looked back to her, amused, as she mounted the rope ladder with the dragonbags slung over her shoulder. The shadow was Syrax's wing, stretched out over her head because she was standing next to Rhaenyra, next to Syrax, because she had followed Rhaenyra straight up to the dragon without thinking.
"Stay there and you'll be fine," Rhaenyra called down. "Don't make sudden movements. I'll be back down in a moment."
"Rhaenyra!" Alicent clutched at her own fingers, the gloves keeping her from picking at them, and froze in place, her eyes on the dragon. All she could truly see this close were the folds of Syrax's wing and the shifting of her sides as she breathed, same as the day before, but it was her own unthinking lack of caution that had her terrified out of her mind.
You walked straight up to a dragon, you fool. Her own thoughts sounded panicked. She tried to breathe in slowly through her nose, determined not to swoon.
Rhaenyra's boots hit the dirt again. She caught Alicent by the arm and Alicent stumbled in her wake, pulled along away from the dragon until she stood once more by the castle gates.
"Wait here," Rhaenyra told her, amused, and hefted another set of bags.
Alicent waited.
When all three of the beasts were loaded, they convened at the gate again to bid farewell to Lady Caswell and her young son, as well as Ser Tom.
"The raven is on its way to Runestone, Your Grace. There are instructions to send it on to Dragonstone from there."
Rhaenyra nodded to him, said their formal farewells to the small Lord Caswell, who was able to accept them this time with a bow and words of thanks, and grabbed Alicent's hand as she had done on Dragonstone.
"Do you believe me now, that Syrax knows who I favor?" Rhaenyra asked her as they came to the base of the ladder. Rhaenyra didn't release her hand right away. Hidden from the others behind the fold of Syrax's wing, she kissed the back of Alicent's glove and raised her hand up to the ladder, the way a lord should help his lady wife onto a horse. The way nobody had ever done for Alicent.
"I," Alicent said, and took a shaky breath. "Rhaenyra."
Rhaenyra smiled at her, reminding Alicent a little of Syrax baring her teeth. Possessive as a dragon. Alicent pulled her hand away, finally, and began to climb.
She was less distracted by Syrax herself this time, and more distracted by Rhaenyra's body pressed against hers. She went for the right handholds on the saddle without having to be told, and Rhaenyra leaned low over her back. Her hand splayed out on Alicent's belly, and though the thick leather of the riding coat kept her from feeling the warmth, she felt the pressure of Rhaenyra's hold. Her breasts pressed against Alicent's back and Alicent's heart quickened in her chest.
"Sōvēs!" Rhaenyra shouted, and with a throaty roar and a stomach-dropping leap, Syrax was airborne. Alicent only screamed a little this time, quickly strangling it off into a gasp. Rhaenyra laughed in her ear once again. Alicent couldn't feel Rhaenyra's breath in between the wind from the dragon's wings, but she imagined it and shivered.
Flying in the bright mid-afternoon sun was a different experience than last evening's spent flying not quite into the sun. This time it shone high and slightly to their left as they bore southwest. The hood of the riding coat shaded Alicent's face, and the wind whipping around them kept her from feeling very warm at all, despite the cloudless sky.
She began to ache sooner than she had the day before, and shifted in the saddle to try and alleviate the pains. The saddle chains were heavy against her legs, not giving her very much range of motion at all, and Alicent dared not let go of the handgrips. Her thighs were the most grievously sore, followed by her shoulders, her lower back, and the less said of her buttocks the better. She felt like she was having her monthly courses, though she knew full well she wasn't due.
To distract herself from her discomfort, Alicent tried watching the other dragons as she had yesterday. Vhagar was flying lazily, mostly gliding with the occasional beat of her wings, keeping her course with powerful strokes. Yesterday, Arrax had flown in showy loops and spirals, occasionally rolling beneath Syrax to come close to Vhagar, nearly playful. Now, the younger dragon was plainly struggling a little to keep up the pace set by his elders. His flight drifted to the side, and once when he strayed too close to Vhagar, the enormous dragon let out a low rumble that vibrated the air around them and made Arrax dart away erratically.
"Are dragons afraid of one another?" Alicent asked.
"I believe dragons have a healthy respect for one another," Rhaenyra said. "There's a wild dragon that dwells on the seaward side of Dragonstone. They call it The Cannibal, because it is known to eat dragon eggs and young dragons. None of the others will go near The Cannibal's lair, even to drive him out. That may be fear, or it may be healthy caution."
Alicent shuddered to think of a dragon that preyed on its own kind. "I remember Aemond told me that the dragonkeepers scolded Aegon for getting Sunfyre too close to Dreamfyre's lair, but later he said the two nested together."
"She-dragons come for clutching on their own time. Dreamfyre wasn't ready, and she might well have killed Sunfyre for the insult. The keepers were right—we don't command the dragons when it comes to one another. If they feel threatened, they'll respond. If they wish for companionship, they'll seek it, and either find it or be rejected violently. It's their way."
Alicent thought of Arrax giving Vhagar a wide berth despite any friendship their sons might have struck with one another and swallowed, deciding she didn't want to know what show of annoyance Vhagar had displayed that cowed the young dragon's antics. She only hoped they wouldn't receive word of some poor homestead in the Reach destroyed by a dragon spat. They might be the glory of Old Valyria made manifest, as Viserys had often said of them, but they plainly had wills of their own. It didn't bring her any comfort to think that the Targaryens might not have full mastery over their beasts.
The conversation petered out, and Alicent was once more reminded of the throbbing in her lower body. She tried tensing her muscles slowly and releasing them, and now and again she shifted enough to be aware of the press of Rhaenyra's body against hers. Her heart thudded in her chest and she tried to put some separation between them to calm the thundering of her blood in her ears.
"Are you well?" Rhaenyra asked. "We'll be flying for at least another hour."
"I can bear it," Alicent said. "Whose lands are we over?"
"We should be passing over the Highgarden, if you dare to look down and see it."
Alicent had been to the Highgarden, but the name of a familiar sight made her look down despite herself. She had avoided doing so on the first flight, and was momentarily dizzied by the height, gasping and tightening her fingers on the handgrips.
"You are strapped in and I have you," Rhaenyra told her. "You can look."
Alicent tried again, seeing the Mander wending its way through the countryside below them. On a high hill somewhat to their right side and below were the white, gilded towers of the Reach's largest castle, the seat of the Tyrells. Little moving dots crawled along its walls, and after a moment Alicent realized those were Tyrell men-at-arms. They stood neutral, but would they inform the Hightowers of the presence of three dragons in the Reach? Would they stand so neutral they kept their silence?
From this distance, the Highgarden reminded Alicent of Viserys's model of Old Valyria, like a toy placed in the middle of the countryside. Now that she had done it once, Alicent found it easier to watch the ground flit by. They passed over neatly plowed rows of wheat, and the field looked like a patch on a worn pair of trousers. The Mander, a river Alicent remembered being wide and mighty despite its laconic current, looked like a spool of ribbon dropped on the ground.
To her right, Alicent watched Arrax stoop into a dive in the open countryside just beyond the wheat fields. The young dragon snapped his wings open at the last moment, a gout of flame spraying from his jaws before his hind legs splayed and snatched something from the ground. Mid-flight, the dragon craned his neck upside down and swallowed his catch whole.
"Arrax is young," Rhaenyra told her, shouting to be heard over Arrax's triumphant bellow. "He must eat more often to replenish his strength and fuel his growth."
"How often does Syrax hunt?" Alicent asked. She had no notion of how often the dragonkeepers had fed the dragons in the Dragonpit.
"Once a month or so," Rhaenyra told her. "She will fish off the coast of Dragonstone, and her catches are improbably large at times. I have seen her with a fish the size of a small donkey."
Alicent wasn't sure she believed a fish that size existed, but then again, the only time she truly saw fish was when a cooked one was served to her at meals. The dragons flew on, Arrax's wingbeats speeding up to keep pace with the other two. Alicent found that she could watch the ground go by without feeling dizzy, and distracted herself for the rest of the flight by trying to judge when they had passed from one family's lands into another.
The castle of Honeyholt backed up to the Honeywine river, with its rear curtain wall poised over a sheer drop down the side of the hill it was built on. The front of the castle stood separated from the town below by a dense wood, which opened up into several leagues of space that seemed to have been deliberately cleared, likely to ensure the castle could see any enemies coming. As with Bitterbridge, the castle's courtyard was too small to contain any of the dragons inside it, so the three of them touched down outside the castle walls.
Rhaenyra dismounted first, separating from Alicent with a sigh. Once more, Alicent was left sitting alone on Syrax's back after Rhaenyra threw off the riding chains and climbed down the ladder. Alicent tried to keep herself steady as she descended, but her shaky knees betrayed her. Her foot slipped and she yelped, her hands clamping around the rope ladder.
"Alicent!" Rhaenyra cried from the ground. "Be careful, please!"
Alicent found her footing, taking a deep breath to steady herself before she continued to the ground. Rhaenyra caught her by the arms immediately, her brow creased.
"Are you hurt? You didn't turn an ankle, did you?"
Alicent shook her head. Her chest felt like it was fluttering, and she could barely calm her racing heart, but she didn't think it was solely due to nearly falling off a dragon. It would be quite convenient for Rhaenyra if Alicent met some kind of sudden end—by now it seemed vastly unlikely the war could be prevented, so nobody would blame her for shrugging off Alicent's loss as an unfortunate tragedy, but also a windfall. Rhaenyra didn't only want to keep her, she cared for her. Alicent bit back a smile.
"Not to worry. I'm merely more tired than I thought I was. I confess I may have changed my mind about wishing swift travels to the High Septon. It might be quite restful to spend a small while in one place."
Rhaenyra squeezed her arms and climbed back onto Syrax for the bags. Alicent waited at the base of the ladder, listening to the sound of Syrax's breathing beside her.
Once more, Rhaenyra handed Alicent the crown, and once more Alicent settled it on her head. It had been a matter of practicality the first time, but now it somehow felt charged. Rhaenyra's eyes didn't leave hers as Alicent straightened the golden crown atop her silver hair, and Alicent found herself lost in them.
"Mother?"
Alicent jumped, finally tearing her eyes away from Rhaenyra. It was Lucerys who had spoken. His eye flicked between Rhaenyra and Alicent and his one visible eyebrow lifted, as if he was asking what they were doing standing there staring at each other.
Rhaenyra also seemed startled out of a reverie, hefting a set of bags. Alicent grabbed the other without being asked and staggered under their weight, exhaustion pulling at her. She was more than grateful to drop them a few seconds later when Syrax took off, wheeling over the castle before making for the dense parts of the forest behind the curtain wall.
The group that came to greet them was considerably larger than the Caswell party, and Alicent's steps slowed as she took in the gathering.
"My, the Beesburys have been productive," Rhaenyra murmured, and Alicent bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the jest.
In the center of the large party stood a man who looked to be a handful of years older than Rhaenyra, clean-shaven with a shrewd look in his eye. Besides him was a stooped, wizened old woman—Lyman Beesbury's wife, Alicent supposed. There were others ranged beside and behind those two, spanning the generations in age.
"Your Grace," the man said, as they approached. "Allow me to welcome you to Honeyholt. I am Ser Alan Beesbury, my grandfather's heir. This is my lady grandmother, Senna Beesbury, and my lady wife, Hazel Beesbury."
The party bowed or curtseyed, save for the ancient Senna, who lowered her head.
"Please forgive me, Your Grace, my knees are not what they used to be," she said, her voice just as reedy and as strong as her late husband's. Alicent's throat closed, her memory suddenly pulled back to the Small Council chamber and the sickening crack of Lord Beesbury's head.
"No forgiveness is necessary," Rhaenyra said. "Your husband was a faithful servant to the crown for decades. That you have stirred yourself to greet me at the gate does me honor."
"I could do no less for the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Senna said. Her knobby hands tightened on her cane, and her shoulders seemed to slump. "He is dead, then?"
"I fear it is so," Rhaenyra said heavily.
The silence that spread through the Beesburys at this pronouncement was like the same horrified silence that had spread through the Small Council chamber as Lord Beesbury lay still. Alicent squeezed her hands together tightly.
"I was witness to it," she said, forcing herself to speak around the lump in her throat. "Lord Lyman was loyal to the very last. He spoke for Queen Rhaenyra, and in a fit of anger, one of the Green supporters handled him far more roughly than any man his age should be."
"Which man?" Alan Beesbury asked sharply, his eyes boring into Alicent's.
"The Dowager Queen," Rhaenyra said, with subtle emphasis, "informed me it was Ser Criston Cole."
Senna's head bowed again, a long sigh winding from her. "We lived apart for many long years while he served in King's Landing," she said heavily. "And yet, somehow I still knew the very moment the Stranger took him. Alan wrote to the Usurper demanding his release from the Black Cells, but I knew."
"I had hope, Grandmother," said Lord Alan. "I suppose that makes me Lord Beesbury now. We've prepared rooms for your party, and sent your raven ahead to the Starry Sept per your instructions, Your Grace. We have yet to receive a reply."
"I expected as much," Rhaenyra said. "It is one thing to announce that I will arrive and quite another thing to actually do it. I admit I have all but cloistered myself on Dragonstone in recent years, so I cannot fault my subjects for doubting they will truly see me in person. Still, please dispatch another raven informing the High Septon of my arrival. We will see if that will stir him to move."
"The High Septon is an elderly man with a great number of duties," Alicent protested. "He may simply need more time to make arrangements before his departure."
"May it be so," Rhaenyra said. "Lord Beesbury, might I trouble you to be shown to our chambers? With baths? Riding a dragon for hours at a time is tiring on the body."
"Of course, Your Grace. I have also received word from Lord Costayne that he means to ride to Honeyholt any day with his force of arms. We will be prepared to defend the Honeywine against the Hightowers when they come."
Alicent swallowed. Up until now she had tried to avoid picturing the faces of her family, lined up on the opposite bank of the river in armor, but the reality of it drew ever closer.
"Have any ravens arrived from Harrenhal or Dragonstone?" Rhaenyra asked, as the group of Beesburys parted to let Lord and Lady Beesbury through with the royal party.
"I had letters sent ahead to your chambers, Your Grace," Lord Beesbury confirmed. "One came with the Hand's seal, one with the Targaryen dragon, and another with the Velaryon seahorse."
Rhaenyra smiled, praising the man's foresight, and Alicent watched him stand a little straighter. This was Rhaenyra's power—her regard. In many ways withdrawing to Dragonstone had been a mistake, but in some ways it had created an air of exclusivity around her. Lords and ladies who received her particular attention believed themselves elevated because of how rare it was. She won loyalty with a smile and an encouraging word, or with a knighthood granted to a bastard. Alicent wasn't sure if Rhaenyra herself was conscious of it, but she needed to be. Alicent would have to speak with her later on how she could use it; she should have remembered from their girlhood that when Rhaenyra wanted to be, she was a courtly and charming creature.
"What should we do while you're waiting for the High Septon, Mother?" Lucerys asked as they were all being escorted to their rooms. Rhaenyra gave him a thoughtful hum.
"I'm sure Lord and Lady Beesbury would appreciate if you ensured that Arrax doesn't grow restless around the castle or the town below. Daily flights, at least, and supervised hunting. Practice your swordplay with Aemond and have a maester see to your eye to check the stitches."
"Surely they can be removed by now," Lucerys grumbled.
"It has been less than a sevennight," Rhaenyra admonished. "Maester Gerardys told you they must remain for a fortnight."
Lucerys muttered something mutinous under his breath about cutting out his stitches like he'd cut out his eye and Aemond cleared his throat.
"I have a salve for the itching," he said. "Now that the soreness is abating, it should—"
"Oh yes, itches like the Seven Hells," Lucerys complained. "I'll gladly take you up on that offer, lest I irritate Mother by doing something drastic."
"You've already done that," Rhaenyra said, dry, and Alicent shook her head. She couldn't believe they could jest about something like that.
"What about me, Your Grace?" Aemond said, drawing out the title. "I imagine you brought me along to keep an eye on me, and daily exercise with Vhagar is out of the question."
"Vhagar is old enough not to need daily exercise, but you may fly her as you wish provided you do not cross into Hightower lands. You're not wrong that you're here so I may watch you, but it is more because I believe having you and Daemon in the same castle without supervision would be a disaster, and less about anything you might do while we are trying to secure the future of the realm. My impression of you is that unlike our mutual headache of a brother, you exercise your mind."
Aemond's expression went blank, as it was wont to do when he was taken aback. He looked at Rhaenyra like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. "I quite enjoyed sparring against the Lord Protector," he said finally, trying to muster up some of his laconic bravado. "I would have behaved myself."
"You would have smirked at him again," Lucerys said, his mouth quirking up. "You would have done it on purpose just to infuriate him."
"If all it takes to infuriate him is smirking—"
"You have a particularly infuriating smirk."
The boys continued down the hall in the wake of one of the improbable number of Beesburys, while Alicent and Rhaenyra were led to a set of guest rooms with two bedchambers and a shared solar. Rhaenyra sighed and sank into a chair, removing the crown and tossing it on the side table in a manner that made Alicent wince.
"I'm going to close my eyes for a few moments," she said, letting her head tip back in the chair. "Will you find the letters Lord Beesbury spoke of?"
Alicent wanted nothing more than to get into a bath, but by the sounds coming from further into the set of rooms, the tubs were still being filled. She looked around the room and found the three scrolls sitting on a desk beneath the window and brought them to Rhaenyra.
She waved a tired hand. "Read them to me?" she said, a plaintive note in her voice that reminded Alicent so powerfully of sitting in the godswood as girls that she took a seat nearby and cracked the wax of the red dragon seal, beginning to read a beat before she realized that Rhaenyra was trusting her with her most intimate correspondence.
She cleared her throat, shaking away the mess of feelings that rose within her at that, and read.
"Jacaerys reports that Harrenhal is yours. He merely had to land Vermax on Kingspyre Tower and the castellan struck the banners immediately. The Targaryen dragon flies over Harrenhal now, and he has sent for Cregan Stark and the Northern armies."
"Good," Rhaenyra said, some of the lines smoothing from her face. "Vermax could have handled the castle, though he isn't nearly Balerion's size, but it is better it came without casualties. Anything more?"
Alicent shook her head, putting the scroll to the side, and picked up the letter sealed with the golden hand. "Rhaenys writes that Rhaena has been weaned from the poppy and now cares for her own injuries. The ship to White Harbor and then to the Fingers departs in three days." A smile tugged at Alicent's lips as she read on. "She and Daemon have discovered Joffrey in several unlikely hiding places to escape the fate of his betrothal. Not even Daemon telling him he might get to see the Wall has assuaged him."
"Poor darling," Rhaenyra said, though she also had a faint smile on his face. "He was the baby until little Aegon came along, and he still expects to be doted on like one at times. All else is well?"
"She reports that Daemon spends hours in the library tracing what genealogies he can find to discover if there might be any likely descendants from the wrong side of the blanket. It seems to differ from generation to generation, whether any were recorded. He has not given up hope on finding a rider for Vermithor or Silverwing."
"It isn't only the blood that's important," Rhaenyra sighed, sounding tired. Alicent got the sense she had said this to Daemon before. "A dragonrider must also understand the importance of the dragons to our family and to Westeros. A far-flung descendant long separated from the main line will not be bound by our cause in the same way, and we cannot trust them. We shouldn't court disaster by handing out dragons to anyone who might claim a little Valyrian blood."
This, Alicent agreed with. She set aside Rhaenys's letter and unsealed the last, cracking the seahorse and unrolling it.
She sucked in a breath. Rhaenyra's eyes opened and she sat up, her expression going from the edge of exhaustion to sharp focus in seconds. "Is it from Corlys?"
"Lord Corlys writes that the Stepstones are once again besieged by the Triarchy," Alicent said, dread rising in her bones. "The garrison he placed there only months ago fights fiercely, but they are nearly overrun."
"Otto, you stupid f*cking c*nt," Rhaenyra swore, jumping to her feet and beginning to pace. "We had finally convinced those opportunistic rats that it was too costly to continue challenging us for the Stepstones, and then he causes a crisis and here they are again! f*ckers!"
Alicent swallowed against her dry throat. "There is more. Lord Corlys reports that two Volantine ships sailed with the Triarchy fleet. They did not join the siege in the Stepstones, but made for the Sapphire Isle."
"Volantine?" Rhaenyra stopped her pacing, confusion taking over her anger. "Why would Volantis have any interest in Aegon? It is Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh that compose the Triarchy. Volantis has always declined to meddle in their affairs."
"It is only two ships," Alicent said. "Hardly a fleet. Perhaps they slipped into the Triarchy fleet for protection and slipped away when they came to Westeros."
"Pirates would hardly pass up a fat merchant target if it sailed into their midst," Rhaenyra said. "No, I see Otto's hand in this. I imagine Daemon isn't the only one seeking more dragons, and Volantis might be the only other place in the world who would know where they might be found. They are the last true remnants of Old Valyria, aside from us."
"I didn't think any of the Essosi dragons escaped the Doom," Alicent said. She began picking her cuticles absently as she thought. "Perhaps he is after Valyrian blood?"
"Then he is more fool than Daemon," Rhaenyra said, but her tone was worried, not dismissive. "How would he go about securing the loyalty of a distant descendant of extinct Dragonlords? More likely they would take advantage of any invitation to the last known home of dragons and attempt to steal one back. I must write to Daemon—the dragonkeepers will need to be put on high alert. Or perhaps they will try for The Cannibal and rid us of the problem outright."
"I will pray to the Seven that we are both wrong, and they are simply extremely clever merchants," Alicent said, but she didn't believe the words even as she said them. Her father was likely acutely aware that he only had two fighting dragons, vastly outnumbered by Rhaenyra's beasts. She would not put it past him to write to Volantine houses who were possibly descended from old Dragonlord lines in desperate hope of securing one of the unclaimed on Dragonstone.
"Any news of Aegon's movements?" Rhaenyra asked.
"None since yesterday. I imagine he would have arrived in Storm's End by now, if that is his destination." A thought occurred to Alicent as she rolled up the letter. "Does Lord Corlys know of your proposal for Driftmark?"
"Of course he does," Rhaenyra said with a tired sigh. "It was one of the things we all three spoke of before I named Rhaenys as Hand—it's why I was so startled when you suggested the same thing. Lord Corlys believes the name is the important thing, and so Baela marrying Lucerys from whom she will take the name Velaryon was important to him. I tried to make it seem to the children like I did it for their benefit, but it was his condition. He will be less pleased about Jacaerys inheriting the throne without one of his cousins as a bride, but he will still be a king with the Velaryon name, and that should be enough for him."
"You didn't tell him of your decision not to simply swap the betrothals?"
"I left that to Rhaenys," Rhaenyra said, with a faint smile. "She is the man's wife and the Lady Hand, which are two good reasons for doing so."
"You didn't want to offend him again," Alicent said, raising her eyebrows. "You will need to tread carefully with him, Rhaenyra. Lord Corlys is a prideful man that sits in one of your most important strategic positions. If the blockade fails and the Triarchy fleet can make it into the Blackwater—"
Rhaenyra sucked in a breath through her teeth, the sound of it like a displeased hiss. "You suppose they have come to support Aegon? I suppose your father could have paid them out of my treasury."
"You believe it a coincidence that precisely when Aegon needs a fleet, quicker than the Lannisters could manage to make King's Landing, the Triarchy sails for the Stepstones? After Lord Corlys so recently defeated them again? I believe only gold could make them do that."
"The threat will come sooner, then, if they get past the garrison," Rhaenyra said. "They need not sail all the way to King's Landing to assault Dragonstone, and Triarchy ships began carrying scorpion bolts after Daemon won the Stepstones the first time."
"If the Lannister fleet can come up behind them, it may give them what they need to push through," Alicent said.
Rhaenyra's head fell into her hand, elbow propped on the chair, and she rubbed her temple as she glared into the fire. "Even with the Manderly ships, the Velaryon fleet isn't large enough to stand against the Triarchy and the Lannisters. Perhaps we can hope the Dornish will raid them as they sail along the coast, and the Lannister fleet that arrives will be much damaged."
Alicent picked at her fingers. By the time the Lannister fleet was able to join with the Triarchy and push past the Stepstones, it was beyond likely that they would all be back in Dragonstone, facing down a siege that could hold even a dragon trapped on the island.
A maid appeared in the doorway while her thoughts were turning in dark directions and announced the baths were ready. It seemed that the only set of rooms in Honeyholt splendid enough for the queen were an adjoining set likely meant for a visiting lord and lady, and the bathing room as well as the solar was shared.
Alicent rose to her feet, her pulse quickening when Rhaenyra did as well. You're being foolish, she admonished herself. The maids dressed you together for years. It will hardly be the first time you bathe beside one another.
It was different now, though. It was different now that Rhaenyra had made her desire plain and Alicent found it echoed within herself, a yearning that she shoved ruthlessly to the back of her own mind as the maids began to strip them down to shifts. Alicent closed her eyes as they whipped the shift off her head and settled a bathing gown over her.
"No," Rhaenyra said. "They always stick to me awfully and I feel I don't get clean."
Alicent made the mistake of glancing to the side as the maids helped her into the bath and spotted Rhaenyra without the bathing gown she'd refused, fully nude and unconcerned with it as she stepped into the water. Alicent tried valiantly to wrench her eyes away and found herself arrested by Rhaenyra's bare breasts, larger and heavier than they had been when they were both girls. Her middle and thighs were striped with the marks of childbearing, and there was still the thickness of recently carrying one around her waist. Alicent finally succeeded in averting her gaze as it began to fall to the silver curls between her thighs and took a deep breath, dunking her head under the water. She came up with a gasp, clutching the sides of the tub.
"Take care you don't slip, Your Grace," one of the maids told her, and began to work soap into her hair.
"I'm all over sweat," Alicent said, trying to put enough lightness into her voice that it was as if nothing at all had happened. "I would wager we also both smell like smoke."
"The hazards of riding a dragon," Rhaenyra said, a contented sigh leaving her as she tipped her head back against the side of the tub. "I admit, when we were young I didn't mind it, but I see now why Father used to despair of me coming to the Small Council straight from Syrax. I imagine I was not pleasant company to the nose."
"I did try to tell you," Alicent said, a smile pulling at her mouth.
"You would politely suggest that you have the servants draw a bath," Rhaenyra said, flicking water at her. "You never did outright say, 'Rhaenyra go bathe, you stink of dragon.'"
Alicent became lost in her own thoughts. It was true that despite how many times Rhaenyra pushed her toward less formality, spoke casually to her, behaved far more like a friend of the same station than the princess, Alicent could never quite bring herself to bridge the gap.
"It would have been improper of me," she said slowly, "and... Father frequently reminded me that I was your companion, not your sister. You were the princess, which meant that if I displeased you I would be sent away."
Rhaenyra sat up, giving Alicent another eyeful of her breasts. "I would never have sent you away for something like that," she said. "Alicent, you must know you were my only friend. Laena and I should have been close, but Princess Rhaenys was still carrying a grudge against Father at the time and stayed away from court. When you mentioned that Baela and Rhaena should have ladies-in-waiting, it startled me because all I ever had was you. It wasn't until I began thinking of the alliances the girls could cultivate that I realized there was something odd about that."
Talking of her father was distracting enough that Alicent's cheeks only felt a little pink and she was able to refrain from staring at all the bare skin revealed above the water. "Your mother was always in childbed, or recovering from it," Alicent said. "She didn't have the time or energy to organize your court. It would have fallen to your father."
"And therefore to your father, because mine never did know what to do with a girl. He must have absently remembered Otto had a daughter my age and decided that would be sufficient. Of course, Otto would hardly dream of diluting his own power by granting any other noble ladies the honor of being companion to the Realm's Delight."
Alicent wasn't sure she believed it to be so sinister—her own father never knew what to do with a girl, either. "I was to always watch my words and actions," she said. "He made me believe my position to be precarious, at the whim of a capricious princess."
"It seems to be his favorite tool," Rhaenyra said sourly, sitting back against the side of the tub again. "Fear, that is. Fear of being dismissed, fear of angering the king, fear of losing your children. I would wager he used the same fear on my father—fear of war, fear of what Daemon might do, fear of angering the nobility. I wonder, did he never tell you to be proud of anything?"
"Pride is a sin against the Seven," Alicent said, though it felt like Rhaenyra had reached into her chest and squeezed when she asked the question. Had her father ever said he was proud of her? Or told her to be proud of herself? He had been pleased when she married Viserys, but when he spoke to her at her wedding it was to remind her the importance of bearing the king more heirs. Gods forbid something happen to Rhaenyra, he had told her, his brows knit in concern Alicent supposed had been false.
"It was rare from my father as well," Rhaenyra confided. "He told me he was proud of me after I rode Syrax for the first time, and then seemed to forget my existence for many years. It was not until he named me heir that I began to hear words of praise from him, now and again. It is why I'm so encouraging with my children—I spent much of my childhood doubting my father truly cared for me, and I wish to ensure none of them feel this way."
Alicent felt another sharp pang. "I wish I had been older when Aegon was born," she said. "I might have had the wisdom to do the same, instead of sending him to the wet nurse as soon as he began to cry or be a bother."
"You did not want to be married to my father or bear his children," Rhaenyra said. She idly skimmed her fingers over the water. "Despite how afraid I was of the birthing bed, I did want children, and not only for duty. I wanted them because I wanted to be a mother to them as mine was to me. She is my fondest memory, the brightest spot in my life. I wanted to be that for someone else."
"The Gods do laugh, don't they?" Alicent murmured. Her, resentful of the children she bore the king and the fear they brought into her life, while Rhaenyra longed for children in a marriage that would not give them.
"I would prefer they not laugh at me," Rhaenyra said, shaking her head. "I never truly placed much faith in gods. If they wished to intervene, they would, but it seems as if they are content to allow us mere mortals to blunder through our lives unguided. It isn't just the Seven I feel this way about—the Fourteen Flames are also silent unless it suits them, and the Old Gods of the North, and the Red God in Essos. What use is prayer if their concerns are plainly loftier than us?"
Alicent had often thought this, doubt wriggling through her mind as her prayers went unanswered or more hardships were laid at her feet, but she couldn't quite bring herself to conclude as Rhaenyra did that there was no point to it.
"Please don't say as much in front of the High Septon," she said instead, trying to lighten the conversation with a jest.
Rhaenyra laughed. "Is he quite the pious man, then? The histories teach it is not always so."
Alicent wondered which histories Rhaenyra had been reading. "The High Septon speaks for the Seven to the living. He guides us in our faith and ensures the septons and septas teach it correctly to the realm's children."
"I understand his purpose, Alicent, I'm asking about the man. Is he a true believer? A man of politics? Does he wish to expand the influence of the Faith? Would he wish me to attempt to show piety myself, though it is ill-fitting?"
Alicent shook her head. "I haven't met the man, but I doubt he would wish you to show any false subservience. He would know quite well that House Targaryen does not follow the Faith."
Rhaenyra let her eyes slip closed. "We will talk more on this tomorrow, and possibly the next day if the High Septon still has not arrived. I am weary, and I imagine so are you."
"So long as you don't fall asleep in the bath and drown," Alicent warned, and Rhaenyra let out a long groan, sitting up.
"Your father would throw a celebration, and so I will get out of the bath out of spite, even though I would dearly like to linger." She rose to her feet and Alicent fixed her eyes on her own knees as the maids bundled her into towels. The slap of bare feet on stone approached her and she was forced to look up again. She could still see most of Rhaenyra's thighs and the tops of her breasts, but the towel did cover her and Alicent was able to look her in the eye.
She stood for a moment like she meant to speak, but in the end she said nothing, swiftly bending down and pressing a chaste kiss to Alicent's cheek before leaving the bathing chamber without a backward glance, oblivious to the thudding of Alicent's heart.
