Chapter Text
Seven hells, Rhaenyra thought. In one of the seven hells, she thought she was, when Daemon left her alone in a brothel in the middle of Flea Bottom. When she had to creep her way back into the Keep, praying that she would not be seen. And when she found Alicent, well, Queen Alicent, in her chambers, somewhere she had not been in a while, distressed and desperate.
“Princess?” Rhaenyra heard the redhead’s sweet voice, which almost sounded like a cry, and realized she was in her nightgown, actually crying. “Ser Criston and I have been looking for you everywhere, where were you? I told the council I’d talk to you, and I waited for you to come back but I was starting to worry that we had lost both our…”
“Speak plainly, Alicent.” She asked, even if she felt she had understood what her friend meant. Her friend, how long had it been since she called Alicent her friend?
“Your father is dead, Nyra.” She whispered the words, as if she couldn’t say them out loud. “He died in his sleep. I told the council I’d talk to you, but I seldom find you in the Keep. I told your sworn shield to look for you without making a fuss about it, I believe he is still looking. We wondered if you were in danger. You are the queen now.”
And the queen was dressed like a common boy. The idea of ruling the kingdom, of being the first woman to do so, excited Rhaenyra. Now, she was terrified, even if a bit happy that, in that hour of night, no one would try to usurp her. “Queen? So you do not want to put your son on the throne?”
“My son is a child of four. You are a woman of ten and eight, who has spent years of your life in small council meetings, learning how to rule. You shall make a fine queen, Nyra.” She smiled. Alicent was being honest, one could see in her eyes, who gleamed as she looked at her friend.
“Thank you so much.” The silver-haired said, her eyes flooded with tears. “Now you must help me get out of these commoner clothes and put on a proper dress. I will tell you everything on the morrow.”
The dress chosen was one of dark blue, with golden and red embroidery which resembled Syrax’s scales. A simple braid was made on the now queen’s silver hair; it was a moment of despair, yet she had to show strength. She had the blood of a dragon, she needed to behave as such.
A part of Rhaenyra knew her father would not live to become an old man: his illness became, each passing day, more prominent in his face and body, as if one day it could become the whole of him. Perhaps it was a good thing his heart gave out before he suffered even more. He might have been young, just married and now father of three young children, yet he never held them the way he held his eldest when she was their age, he didn’t have the health or disposition to do so anymore.
He shouldn’t have married Alicent in the first place, a thought came upon the girl’s mind, she was so young and full of life and her best friend, and he ruined that. Now that he was death, though, they could become best friends once more. They could be anything they wanted now that she was the queen, really.
“Come with me.” Rhaenyra asked Alicent. “To the meeting. You will need to hear what will be said.”
“I do not have a seat at the council.” Alicent answered.
“You do now. If you accept to become my Hand.” A wave of shock came upon the redhead. The mere thought of becoming Hand of the King, or of the Queen, was entirely inconceivable to the Hightower. That was for men such as her father, or Lord Strong, or any other man. That was a seat made to be sat only by someone who didn’t have the misfortune of being born a woman. However, so was the Iron Throne, and that would not stop Rhaenyra from ascending into it.
“I accept. It shall be an honor, my Queen.” Alicent kneeled before Rhaenyra and kissed her hand, looking at the ring they shared. At the shiny red stone, combined with two small green ones. The symbol of their unity, one that came before Jaeherys’ crown or the Hand’s broche.
—
Alicent and Rhaenyra, two girls of ten and eight, walked into a room full of adult men with their heads up high. The latter sat on the head of the table, while the first sat by her right side, as Criston Cole announced her as Rhaenyra the first, queen of Andals and the Roynar and the First Men, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the Realm and the members of the council stood up.
“I am so sorry about the death of your father, my princess, and of your husband, Your Grace.” Were Lord Strong’s words.
“First of all, you all may address me as Your Grace or Queen Rhaenyra” the silver-haired corrected, her violet eyes shining as if they were made of pure fire “, as of Alicent, she shall be addressed as Lady Hand.”
The men become quiet, uncomfortable. “Your Grace, if I may, I believe that naming a woman, your stepmother, as Hand, is not a rational idea. You must have someone strong and wise as your Hand, someone who may guide you towards a peaceful and prosperous reign.”
“Alicent is the strongest and wisest person I know. She inherited her father’s best qualities, while also possessing a disarming kindness and strong sense of justice. We shall rule together for a long time.” Rhaenyra stated “This matter is settled. We must now discuss my father’s fun-”
The door opened, revealing no one other than Daemon Targaryen, with an arrogant smile on his face, acting as if he hadn’t left his own niece in a brothel, to be dishonored and raped and killed. Before Rhaenyra could say anything, Criston put his hand on the hilt of his sword as Alicent stood up.
“You do not have a seat at this table, my Prince.” The redhead’s voice was low, but clear as light.
His face twitched with disdain. “I hear my brother is dead, is that so? Perhaps the Dowager Queen has finally gotten rid of him.”
“I will not accept this kind of disrespect again, my Prince. I am Hand of the Queen now. And I demand you leave this council.”
He did not obey the Hand’s orders, and instead walked towards the table “I only wish to speak to my dear niece.”
Rhaenyra swallowed, gazing upon him in a mix of awe and hate. “Why? So you may apologize for leaving me to die in that brothel?” She asked in Valyrian. That had been their secret love language for so long, but now she spoke with bitterness in her tongue.
“Better yet. I wish to take you to be my wife, darling.” He answered, a twisted grin on his face. “We shall be King and Queen, two dragonriders of pure Valyrian blood. You need a Targaryen to rule by your side, not the cunt of Oldtown.”
“You already have a wife, Daemon, and I do not wish to marry a man I cannot trust and who will leave me to die at the first sight of trouble.” The words hurt to say, but were true. Her father knew Daemon was not to be trusted, and so did she. “And if you disrespect my best friend, the Hand of the Queen, once again, I shall have you executed and Caraxes gifted to her youngest son. You may leave now, uncle.”
“You will never be a queen to the people.” Were his final words to her, as he left the council table, leaving everyone there confused and shocked by their argument, which they may not have understood the content, but definitely understood its heat.