Chapter Text
Eyes, look your last;
Arms, take your last embrace; and lips, (O you
The doors of breath), seal with a righteous kiss
A dateless bargain to engrossing death.
-
William Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet, Act V, Scene III, lines 112-115
—
All was quiet on Dragonstone, even the incessant roaring of my council—who, according to Rhaenys, were now bickering among themselves. The restless screeches and grumbles on dragons would nigh have been preferable, but it was not my time to fly.
There was much still to do.
I abandoned my chambers and Alicent’s latest—and as yet unopened—letter for a sun-warmed exterior, Ser Steffon Darklyn trailing in the shadow Ser Erryk had occupied mere days ago, taking in a sky turning grey with a distant storm and the writhing, deep blue-gold Blackwater as my feet took me to my newest guest.
Lady Mysaria, dressed in robes that were a mix of grey and pale blue, stood sentry on a corner parapet, her hair billowing behind her, a banner of silky black locks caressed by the breeze drifting from the bay. I came to stand beside her, following her gaze to Seasmoke, who flew listlessly and wildly through the gathering clouds.
“Are they always like this?” she asked.
“No, not always.” A screech carried out across the sky. “He knows war is imminent.”
“Or perhaps he is lonely. Even dragons need friendship, or companionship.”
I let my gaze drift to her. She met it equally. “Is that what you believe I’ve sought you out for?” I said. When she did not reply, I continued, “Am I in need of one?”
Her eyes returned to Seasmoke. “Those who show grace and honour ought to be rewarded. You let me go when you could have easily held me here and used me to your own ends.”
“I realised you would not have allowed me to, after suffering that fate repeatedly for years.” A pause. “How do you wish to reward me?”
“Give me a place at your court. Our enemies surely have a master of whisperers; the rightful queen deserves one. To balance the scales.”
I hadn’t the heart to remark that the scales seemed to tip in one direction or the other, and at this very moment they favoured my enemy, if the men on my council were to be taken at their word.
I spread my hands over the warm stone balustrade, grateful for its sturdiness, stopping the tendril of thought that wondered if it would feel so warm if war’s flames were to reach here.
“Very well,” I said at length. “My first order to you is to tell me all you know regarding the movements of Alicent Hightower.”
If she was surprised to hear Alicent’s name fall so casually from my lips, Mysaria did not show it, nor did she detect how bittersweet it tasted on my tongue. She gave a thoughtful hum. “Alicent Hightower is the Queen Dowager, and never far from many eyes. Most of her time is spent in the castle, drifting among her son’s lords—mostly at council, according to my last report.”
“When did you receive this last report?”
“Before the Hightowers saw fit to set fire to my home.” She turned again to me, her eyes harder than before. “Do you intend to kill her?”
I may have imagined it, upon learning she’d declared for Aegon and demanded Rhaenys do the same, but was later sickened by it, as I was sickened now, picturing my hands slick with her life’s blood—a sin so grievous no gods old or new could absolve. “I intend to speak with her,” I said.
“Killing her would be far easier.”
“Then perhaps she is fortunate that I am the one who will find her.” I ignored Mysaria’s searching look, knowing I would find a question written plainly in it: Have you not grown weary of restraint?
“If you are to find her,” continued Mysaria at length, “you must go where she is alone. The Sept of Baelor is one such place, her chambers are another.”
A scoff found its way past my lips. “Both are also under heavy watch. How do you suggest I enter these places? Don a disguise—or scale the walls and slip through her window?”
“The window will give you little trouble, as it was once yours.”
There was a sting anew in my breast.
“Both are risky ventures, Your Grace, but the smallfolk never suspect a noble in disguise.”
As that fateful venture to the Street of Silk proved, so many years ago, followed by Daemon’s escapade there to give orders for Aemond’s murder.
“I do know that Alicent ventures to the sept in the afternoon, after the council has broken up, and in the evening before she retires to bed.”
Any adventures into enemy land during daylight were risky, but a journey to the sept, which was crowded with many comings and goings, did not seem wise, no matter the time of day.
“I wait for the cover of nightfall, then,” I said.
Seasmoke roared in the distance, weaving himself into a steel-grey cloud, and vanishing.
—
I took supper in my chambers: a fine dish of baked cod in rice and salted, oiled greens, but could scarce touch a bite. It was the looming prospect of war that turned meals to ash on the tongue, or the fact that I had sent my family, my dear boys and Rhaena, far from war’s grasping fingers.
“Let me stand at your side, my queen,” she’d said, so earnestly that I was sorely tempted to rescind my order. “If I am to remain dragonless, let me stand with you at court and learn their ways.”
“Much as I would wish it, Rhaena, I need you in the Vale.” I took her hands in mine. “My sons need a mother, one I cannot be. The young dragons and the eggs need a protector.”
She’d shaken her head, broke us apart. “I was parted from Luke,” she whispered, “and now you part me from my dear sister, and grandparents…”
“It is with the greatest reluctance that I do so.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with a great breath. At last she turned her back to me, stoic. “You are the queen. I am duty-bound to obey, even if it is done with all possible reluctance.”
I pushed away my platter, my goblet of strongwine, placing my aching head into my hands to knead my temples. “Forgive me.” Though if it was spoken to Rhaena and Baela, or my sons, or those who had already perished in my name, I knew not.
The goblet came with me to my writing desk, its contents a bolster as I dug through my youngest sons’ wooden toys in search of Alicent’s letter. She had sent many, according to Grand Maester Gerardys, but this was the first and only one to reach me, as Daemon had ordered the rest be burned. Its seal—deep emerald wax stamped with the flaming Hightower—was unbroken. The wax snapped softly, the parchment crackled as it was unrolled, revealing a hand I could recall even in the deepest depths of dreams.
Rhaenyra,
I write in the hope that this letter reaches you before the tides of war can be stopped. I have battled with my council for all the hours I can stand; my reaching to you is the only gamble I’ve left. I believe you also wish for a peaceful end to this dithering. If that is so, then allow me first to express my remorse in my part, and to tell you I prayed to the Mother for Lucerys’ peace and rest.
May the Seven guide you.
The letter slipped from my trembling fingers.
You prayed for my son. The one yours murdered.
There was a small flicker in my breast, akin to hope, yet quickly dashed. What if it was a ploy? A deliberate plan for me to reply and thus alert the Greens—and consequently, their armies—to my movements? Or one to lure me into King’s Landing so the Kingsguard could hack me to pieces on the doorstep?
No, I thought, standing, gulping a swig of wine; you know her better than that.
There was not a hint of challenge in her words, but it was one all the same. One I would answer.
I strode to the parapet, embraced by cool air and night’s dark cloak. It was moonless; the stars were only just beginning to emerge, dim, distant holes pierced through fabric. The afternoon’s clouds had moved off to the west, in the direction of the Riverlands. Opposite of where I would soon be venturing.
“Your Grace.”
“Elinda,” I said, placing a hand against my rapid heart. “Forgive me; I was elsewhere.”
“None would blame you.”
“What is it?”
“Lady Mysaria waits outside your door.”
It was as if she knew I’d made up my mind. “Show her in.”
We met at my table. She bore a sack in her hand, which she proffered to me. I opened it, pulling out a black cloak fit to my size, or very nearly. I would look like any ordinary citizen prowling King’s Landing’s streets after nightfall.
It suddenly seemed a mad plan.
“If you’d rather, Your Grace,” said Mysaria, “I could send a note in secret—”
“No. She would be immediately suspicious, as would I, if I ever received such a thing. It must be done face to face.”
“This is madness!”
There was anger in Jace’s voice—and rightly so—but beneath that was an unsaid plea. Do not go. I cannot lose you too.
Salty air embraced us. Waves licked at the side of the boat that would take me to the fishing bay. I peeled back my hood. “Have you another suggestion?” I asked. “One that does not involve sending out the dragons?” Shame made itself plain in his features, warm in the torchlight. I closed the distance between us, taking his hand in both of mine, an echo from years ago. “Grief gnaws at us like starving wolves,” I murmured, “and will consume us if we do not put other matters first.” I pressed his hand. “If there is a chance at peace, I must take it.”
“Peace is to be bartered with your enemy facing you directly? With a woman who was once your friend but has aided in the usurpation of your throne?”
“She has not the capacity for wanton violence, nor do I believe she desires war.” I broke our hands apart; the night was not getting younger. “Keep a watch for my return.” I returned my hood to its place and stepped into the rocking boat, followed by Ser Steffon, who wore a similar disguise.
The captain rowed us out onto the water. Jace’s figure grew more distant on the shoreline. Once the wind caught the sail, he turned into an outline, and then was lost among the landscape.
Dark water stretched out before me, mirroring the scattered stars. For long moments it seemed I floated between two worlds: sky and water, peace and war…
“It was a fine burial you gave the twins, Your Grace,” said Ser Steffon softly.
“I… am glad to hear you say so,” I admitted. Many were unhappy with the decision. Burying a traitor with his far more honourable brother.
“There are few who would grant such an honour and mercy to their enemies.”
I could not meet his eyes. “Ser Erryk spoke often of his brother, even once they were divided by water and loyalties. Memories, mainly; recalled with the most tender fondness… How could I not bury him with his brother, with whom he shared a soul…?” I closed my eyes to the world, willing away the red-tinged nightmare that was seeing a man skewered by his brother’s sword, and that same brother falling on his to inflict an identical mortal wound.
Gods, how I had misjudged him! There was a true knight the songs sung of, brave in the face of certain danger even when it came from a mirror image, loyal to his queen and to her house. He is, I thought, braving the sight of the world once again, seeing Ser Steffon gazing almost forlornly out at the black ribbon of water, what all those who take up the white cloak ought to strive for, but not all men are fit for it.
“I hope, ser,” I said, “you do not think I diminish the good deeds you have done and have yet to do. You and Ser Lorent.”
“No, Your Grace,” he said. “I never could think that, nor would Ser Lorent.”
The docks drew nearer, and then were upon us. Grey stone glowed beneath a line of orange torches. Despite the hour, a handful of workers tended the boats, cloaked on account of the chill in the air.
We walked unobserved through cobbled streets populated by smallfolk. Suffering could be seen in the eyes and appearances of the needy, but there was joy as well, the closer we came to the Street of Silk, before which lay many taverns, and far more who had reached drunkenness hours ago.
We turned up the King’s Way, passing the Dragonpit which crawled with workers of all kinds, still repairing the damage made by Rhaenys’ fleeing on Meleys. Would it still stand, if war were to come here?
Steadily the Red Keep came into view, looming above our heads like a silent stone god, the sounds of the city fading. I glimpsed soldiers patrolling the upper walls, armour glowing silver-gold. There were also several catapults, and—
“A scorpion,” I whispered, my words half a disbelieved gasp.
“Gods be good.”
I did not wish to think of the cost it took to build such a contraption, nor to stand and leer and picture in vivid detail the death it was capable of delivering.
You have been busy, brother.
The sight of the extensive preparations hastened our steps. My old chambers soon came to greet me, as did an all-too familiar path that led to the secret passage. (Mysaria did not recommend their use; they were being watched by Lord Larys’ bees.)
“Take this with you, Your Grace,” said Ser Steffon, sliding a small knife from his sleeve. “There are no guards by Alicent’s chambers on the outside; I cannot say as to within.”
I slid the weapon into my own sleeve. “Thank you, ser. If I do not return within the hour, assume you must infiltrate the Keep and seek me.”
Ignoring the roar building in my ears, and my heart’s increase, I retraced the steps left by an insolent youth. Climbing reminded my hands that they were used to gripping other things; before long, they felt raw and hot, and there was still a ways to go before the ledge.
Voices sounded above me, drifting in the night’s silence, the conversation indiscernible. I pressed myself against the stone, hoping my boots would not slip.
Laughter.
A theatrical groan.
The voices fading, clearly moving on.
With a long expelled breath, I continued upward. My fingers found the ledge, guiding my hands; with effort, I pulled myself up, slipping near-silently onto it just as two guards passed below.
Alicent had left the window open.
From this angle I saw the orange flicker of a fire blazing in my old hearth, turning the room a brilliant, waxy gold. I glimpsed no movement, and thus took my chance. Feet onto stone, body following, and I was surrounded by a chamber that seemed almost cold in its tidiness, far too regal to be considered anyone but Alicent’s. Heart in my ears, I did not at first hear the rustle of clothes to my right.
I turned, slowing and silencing my footsteps, and was met with the very woman I ventured here to see.
Alicent stood naked before the hearth, the whole of her backside visible to me: slender shoulders and arms, a fine plane of pale, silky back dotted with beauty marks new and old, wide waist, full buttocks, shapely legs—all aglow. Her damp auburn hair was dark as ink, spilling in beautiful curls over her shoulders.
She bent, pulling up a creamy nightdress, breaking me from my study. The knife hidden up my sleeve burned against my skin. The hilt did when I drew it out, stepping to her in the same instant she turned.
Alicent’s eyes widened. Her full lips parted, uttering a gasp before my left hand darted out to muffle whatever sounds would follow, propelling her back against the hearth, shushing her all the while, knife point resting where Ser Erryk had stabbed his brother.
“Shh,” I said, taking my hand away to pull back my hood. She was calmer now, but no less shaken. “I must speak with you.”
Alicent swallowed thickly. “I’ll scream.”
“And I will slip this knife into your belly.”
“Thus resulting in my death and my guard slaying you where you stand—and then what?”
Like stalling gears, my mind refused to budge, as it always had when she threw her damned logic in my face. I took the knife away, stepping back, returning it to my sleeve. “I’ve begun badly.”
Alicent scoffed. She eyed me as I perched on the nearest settee, all the words I wished to say, all the plans I outlined, vanished like fog when met with sunlight.
Cautiously, she sat across from me. Her nightgown flattered her, made plain her neck that held no seven-pointed star on a chain, the shelves of her collarbones, the suggestion of full breasts. The fire crackled. A log hissed as it was consumed.
“How did you get past the watch?” Alicent asked.
“Your goldcloaks never suspect there are nobles in disguise sneaking past the gates, much less wandering the streets.”
“An oversight that will be amended on the morrow, if you’ve not gone through with your threat.”
I clasped my hands. The knife seemed all the heavier. “I came to speak with you, Alicent, not to shed blood.”
“Despite already having done so?” The venom in her voice was palpable.
“Your grandson’s blood does not stain my hands but Daemon’s!” I spat. “I confess I wanted your son dead, as payment for mine, but do you truly believe I would so blatantly order the decapitation of a child? Helaena’s child?”
Alicent’s hands tightened in her lap, fingers duelling with each other, more than likely battling the temptation to dig into delicate nailbeds.
“As for the matter of my throne,” I continued, “you have yet to answer for the part you played in usurping it with your son.”
“Rhaenyra,” said Alicent lowly, “there was no part.”
“Naturally you deny it, just as you have spent years denying that my father loved me. He named me heir, insisted upon it for years, fought every tongue that wagged, even when he rose from his fucking deathbed to declare it before the whole of the court! Like your father, your ambitions were always aimed at the highest reaches of the realm—”
Alicent leaned forward and hissed, “Your father changed his mind!”
It felt as if I had been struck with the sharpest of blows, or thrown naked into one of the North’s great icy rivers. All that escaped from my chest was a weak, “What?”
Alicent gentled her tone. “He changed his mind, Rhaenyra.”
The room’s focus dimmed. “I… I saw him that night, Alicent.”
Her chest rose and fell with a deep, stuttering breath. “Not at the end.” She licked her lips. “He was weary from pain, and… clouded, on account of milk of the poppy.”
Tears turned my eyes to stinging glass. “H-he did not mention my name?”
Alicent shook her head.
My tears spilled down my face.
“He whispered Aegon,” continued Alicent, “and called him the prince that was promised, the one who would unite the realm.”
I had been plunged before, and now was pulled from the icy waters and into fiery clarity. “He used those words?” I demanded. “Truly? My father spoke to you of the Song of Ice and Fire?”
Alicent’s eyes met mine, puzzled at my barrage of questions. “What is your meaning?”
I could not tell her that it was a prophecy passed from king to heir. “It… was a story, a legend, Father often told me. About Aegon the Conqueror.”
I witnessed all the colour drain from her face. “T-the Conqueror.”
“It is not your son he spoke of, Alicent, but an ancestor.” In haste I rose and knelt at her front, taking her hands in mine. “Here is our chance,” I whispered, uncaring that my tone bordered on desperate, or begging. “You wrote to me, and said you wished for peace. You can remedy this—”
Alicent tore herself away from me, standing, trembling like an autumn leaf still clinging to its branch despite being ravaged by winter winds. She began to pace. “It’s too late, Rhaenyra,” she whispered. “Aegon has declared war. My father is gone from court, my Lord Commander has ridden out to battle, and Aemond…” She trailed off, facing me, composure cracking under many unspoken weights. “You know what he is.”
Kinslayer.
She crossed her arms over her middle. “Even if your father had lived another night, or if I had openly declared for you with all the council’s eyes upon me… those scheming men would have installed Aegon regardless. It-it was a plan that was seeded years ago, without my knowledge, or your father’s.”
My ears began to ring, filled with a high-pitched tolling. The room spun. “That,” I said around harsh breaths, “is impossible.”
“I have been terribly unkind to you, Rhaenyra, but never untrue,” Alicent said. “Do you truly believe me capable of such naked deceit?”
I could offer no reply, or rebuttal.
Alicent approached, reaching for my hand, pressing it in the same manner she had when I’d promised to return on dragonback. “You must go,” she whispered, “before you are discovered here.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I said, “Come with me.”
She froze, bewildered, eyes wide as if she’d just seen her gods.
I pulled her closer. “Come with me.”
Alicent’s lower lip quaked. “It’s too late.”
“It could yet force their hand, make them see reason—”
“And have my son’s armies on your doorstep to cut you down and return me here!”
“Would he do such a thing?” I murmured, my thumb stroking her warm, silky wrist. “Will you not try for peace, Alicent, as your letter to me implied?”
Her internal battle showed on her face. “What is there to be done?” she asked breathlessly.
“Come with me,” I repeated. “You and Helaena and her daughter.”
She was silent for such a long stretch, I was afraid she would call her guard, that I would be hauled to the dungeons and await whatever fate my false king brother would see fit to give. At last she pulled away, fetching a cloak from the trunk situated at the foot of her bed, donning it over her nightgown. “You must go the way you came,” she said.
“There is another path.”
I led her to the bedroom, past her bed, pressing against the portion of wall that had once taken me to Daemon. The hidden door swung open admitting a gust of night-chilled wind. I turned back to see Alicent gazing with horror at the passage beyond.
There was no time to wonder why.
“Would Helaena be in the nursery?” I asked.
“No. She’s… abed at this hour.”
In the queen’s chambers.
“These passages are being watched. We must be cautious in our hastiness.”
We went at much the same pace Ser Steffon and I had taken, once I’d shut the passage door and knew it had sealed. Our breaths echoed in the large space, mixing with the gentle whistle of wind. I dared not speak, nor did Alicent; every corner we rounded, every flight of stair ascended, risked being the moment of our discovery.
It was, then, a miracle crafted by the gods that we reached Helaena’s chambers unscathed. The door was slightly stiff from disuse, and yet swung open when given a little effort.
Light filled my eyes, and then Helaena herself, dressed for travel, holding her daughter tightly to her. In my bewilderment, Alicent flocked to her, but Helaena’s eyes—so wide and bright like Alicent’s, strangely knowing—stayed steadfastly on me.
“You,” she said, her voice soft yet strong. “That is not what I expected.”
What is one to say to such a thing?
She found her mother, whose hands settled lightly on her upper arm.
“We may never get this chance again,” I heard Alicent whisper.
“We must take the ones the gods send us,” Helaena returned, and used her free hand to flick up her and her daughter’s hoods.
—
Night met us outside the castle walls. The hour had passed move quickly than I believed; the streets were filled with speckles of people filing home from varying adventures, most of them swaying on their feet. My heart crawled hotly into my throat as I passed them with my captives beside me, fearing they would be recognised. The fear diminished somewhat when I caught sight of Ser Steffon striding quickly up the lane.
“Wait a moment,” I told Alicent and Helaena. They remained uneasily behind.
“Your Grace, this was not what was discussed—”
“Plans change often in war, ser, more so when there is a slim chance of peace.” He knew as well as I that my court would not approve of this outcome—but they did not approve of my restraint, either. “We sail back to Dragonstone with them.”
He gave them a wary look. I assured him, “They are none of them armed.”
With a resolute sigh, he said, “Very well.”
Each step toward the docks pushed our luck to the limits. It felt as if the very buildings turned to gaze at us, judging and studying, ready to raise a cry if they deemed us suspect. I hoped to be mistaken for a family who had passed through the front gates, having travelled a great distance to escape the possibility of open war.
The boat and its captain remained where Ser Steffon and I left them, the latter immediately standing, confusion crinkling his brow. Ser Steffon gave him two gold dragons from a hidden coinpurse, and once the captain busied himself with the sail, I offered my hand to Alicent. Once again her touch burned itself into my marrow.
I gave Helaena my hand next. Her grip was firmer, steadying herself from the boat’s bobbing. She said, with sudden, soft earnestness, “Thank you, Sister,” and took her place beside her mother.