Ｅｌｅｖｅｎ

𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝑒

╚══ ❀•°❀°•❀ ══╝

Nothing looked appropriate this morning.

Those were the thoughts Rhaenyra Targaryen had on the eve of her father's birthday as she held up a red dress, switching to blue, and back to red. Soft music played in the background, but she hadn't heard a single word while she once more zipped down the blue dress, letting it fall to her feet to search her closet in a state of half dress. She had Laenor on speaker, searching through each item in her closet to no avail.

"Why are you nervous?" Laenor finally asked, and Rhaenyra sneered at her phone, even as her nausea worsened. "You're acting like you're about to meet the queen. It's just Vaemond, Nyra."

"He doesn't like me," Rhaenyra replied, biting her bottom lip. She grabbed her phone, lifting it to her face so she could speak closely. "Why must he go?"

"I think you're paranoid," Laenor said, and she heard his laughter in the background, signifying that Qarl had likely entered the room. "He's just coming for your father."

"He doesn't like my father either," Rhaenyra stated, placing the phone down and trying on the next dress. Once it was on, she switched to FaceTime, spotting Laenor's handsome face staring back at her. "What about this one?" She turned the camera, twirling in the full-length mirror. It was a modest little thing, which she hoped made her look appropriate. Vaemond had always been an unforgiving man, and he was also the loudest when her father named her heir to his entire fortune and subsequent businesses. This, of course, included Vaemond's own, which he liked to call the Driftmark throne.

"Uncle Vaemond likes your dad just fine," Laenor defended, ever seeking a middle ground.

Driftmark was the backbone of what made the Targaryens so ungodly rich, since most of the revenue coming in was associated with the distribution of oil and gas. The Valayons were the sole family in charge of ocean exports, and Vaemond did not believe her up to the task of taking over once her father was gone. He would say that she was inexperienced or immature. He would say that she was spoiled or entitled.

He would mock her law degree as if it were useless in business. Completely false. Robert Rowling was a billionaire tycoon with a law degree and Vaemond met up with him nearly every spring for golf. If he wasn't such a cunt, Rhaenyra wouldn't stress over her cousin. He wasn't even in charge of Driftmark, as that had gone to Corlys, who had more management over his tongue.

"Your uncle needs to learn to shut his mouth," Rhaenyra replied, running her fingers down the dress. "I don't care what he thinks, but when he starts whispering it to everyone in the room, we have a problem."

Laenor, shooed away Qarl when the man attempted to lean in for a kiss. "Please, my cousin is watching," Laenor said, slapping away his fiance's affectionate touch.

"Please, don't mind me. I'm not even looking," Rhaenyra said, smoothing out a wrinkle on her dress. "Lord knows at least one of us is getting some. Now, what do you think of this dress?"

"You look fab. Slay," Qarl said, unenthusiastically in a deep voice that contrasted the words. "Trouble in paradise with your 'white knight'?"

"I hope you bald prematurely," Rhaenyra bit out, staring at the white dress that ended just above her knees. It exposed her shoulders, which would certainly gain talk, but she was satisfied with the V-neck that exposed just enough cleavage that would make her look feminine. It would do, considering most of her dresses would likely make Vaemond blush, perhaps call her a whore behind her back.

Or whatever her cousin whispered to make her other family judge her so. She doubted he'd use the word 'whore', but one could never know for certain what the serpents said behind your back.

"You wanna talk about it, buttercup?" Laenor asked, and her lips pressed tightly together.

"There is nothing wrong between Criston and I," she defended, once more, as if pride would crush her if she admitted that she was miserable. Or worse, that she basically cheated on him two weeks ago. Normally, she'd just make her attempt at honesty, but how could she explain Daemon, and what would be the point?

Criston was kind. He was loving. Princes in fairy tales wished they could be like him and she had a ring inside her desk that went unanswered. They hadn't had sex in an entire year, their last discussion ringing in her head and giving her a migraine. "I want to do this right," he had told her, truly the most romantic of proposals. She also thought it random since they had been having sex just fine for two years.

You took my virginity so now it's your duty to accept the marriage I offer, was all she heard.

Rhaenyra thought it all so ridiculous that she didn't even know how to speak about it. After asking for time to consider his offer, how could she possibly invite him to her cousin's wedding? Not that it mattered since either way, she was an adulterous whore and perhaps Vaemond was right.

"If you say so," Laenor said, sounding suspiciously like his sister. "Is he coming tonight?"

Rhaenyra felt the anxiety well up, her only solace, despite the well of longing, was at least Daemon was not. Her father said something along the lines of, 'your uncle was born second to make the first miserable'. "Yeah, he's picking me up in twenty."

"And you're wearing that?" Qarl asked, now looking at the camera, digging his lips out of Laenor's hair long enough to appraise her.

"You said I slay," Rhaenyra said with dangerous slowness.

"Qarl's right," Laenor said with an apologetic smile as he accepted another of Qarl's kisses to his cheek with one eye closed. "You do slay, but only if you were going to a bachelorette party. Perhaps something that covers those pretty shoulders."

She sneered, lifting the second dress that she had modeled with for the cover of Khaite's pre-fall collection some weeks back as a favor rather than a job. It was a long Ivory dress, off the shoulder as well, but far more conservative with its finely ribbed viscose. She held it up with a frown.

Laenor and Qarl's eyes scanned the matte finish and the stretchy material that fit her like a glove. She turned it around to show off the notched back. "It will do."

"Thank you, I so looked forward to your approval," Rhaenyra said with a roll of her eyes, but it was true. She had already studied for nearly six hours straight before panicking at the last hour to put on her makeup when getting Criston's first phone call since her old-fashioned paramour preferred it to a text. She was more than a little nervous, especially because Criston was amazing.

He gifted her with whatever he thought she'd like, he went all out for anniversaries, and he used to be the most attentive lover she ever had. This was prior to his deciding to make amends with god, gifting her instead with a ring and an ultimatum.

She heard her phone ping from her Google Nest doorbell.

He was also punctual, or always early.

"You will look stunning. Make sure to wear the pearl heels," Laenor suggested, hearing the phone ping again. "Better meet up with your man while I take care of the clinginess of my own."

"Perhaps get undressed and redressed while we're at it," Qarl suggested with a smile.

"Gag me," Rhaenyra said, rolling her eyes and saying her goodbyes.

She took a deep breath, quickly slipping off one dress to put on the next. It was quick work before she padded down her flight of stairs and opened the door. She practically threw it open, and it was barely a moment's pause before she felt him grab her, wrapping his arms around her back in order to lift her into his embrace. Somehow, it felt both amazing and terrible, all at once.

He always smelled amazing, his hands always gentle, but firm when he used to actually sleep with her. Today, they were rough as he pulled back to drag his eyes over her. She wasn't wearing shoes with one foot resting atop the other. "You're not ready?"

She licked her lips with a smile that made her feel fake. "You're early."

"And you're always late," Criston said, kissing her head, but she turned away at the last second, grabbing his hand to walk him back upstairs so she could finish. He was silent the entire way up the stairs, up until he sat on her bed, moving aside dresses that didn't work. Up against her floral duvet sheets, he looked as if he belonged or like he was everything she should want.

She was still putting on her earrings when she finally glanced over to him from the corner of her eyes, only to catch him staring at her with a slight smile from through the mirror. He was leaning back on his elbows as she bent down to put in her helix piercing, followed by the auricle. His stare left a slight mark on her skin, but it was a comfortable one that only time could bring about.

"What?" Rhaenyra asked, grabbing her perfume to spray a bit of the Tom Ford onto her wrists, making her smell like a cherry.

"Nothing. You're just the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he told her, watching her dab it against her neck. She smiled and a slight buzz of muted warmth spread over her heart, but it didn't ease away the guilt that had been a dark cloud over her head since he first got on one knee two months ago.

She stood up straight, walking over to him and standing in between his legs to drag her hands over his face, gripping him firmly in her palms and pulling him close. Her thumbs stroked down his jaw the same way Daemon had cradled her. She pushed that thought down, lest the unchangeable guilt threaten to kill her slowly.

His hands went to her waist as if he wanted to pull her to him and love her the way he once had. The way she wanted him to, just to feel it again. "I don't much care for this particular scent," he told her softly, his voice peaked with his smile.

"Well, you'll have to get used to it. It's my favorite," she told him in return, attempting to push away her own doubts.

He leaned forward, kissing her softly, his hands bunching the fabric of her dress into his fists. The material began to lift, exposing more of her calves as it slid over her skin. It felt amazing, as being desired always would. She tilted her head to get more access, her hands sliding into his hair and tugging.

"Have you thought about it?" Criston whispered against her lips, and it felt rather like a bucket of ice water had been dumped upon her. She pulled away, staring down at him, at his suit that she bought him for his birthday, at his loving eyes that bared out his soul to her, and she felt vile.

It had been two months. Mind you, he had been subtly and passively nagging her about it, despite her saying she needed time to consider. Her throat already felt dry, her hands uncertain as they continued to grip and then release his hair. She let out a breath and watched his entire face fall as he let go of her dress.

"Criston," she whispered, but he dropped his head on her chest, the silence stifling. That was all she had been giving him lately, keeping him in a perpetual state of the unknown just because she was too selfish to let him go. "Why can't we just continue as we have been?"

He scoffed into her chest, his forehead against her ribs so she could feel him shake it. "Why don't you want to marry me?"

She paused, staring up at the ceiling as if she could find the right answer, written on the wood panels of her bedroom. Rhaenyra stared over at the carving of her mother's woodwork on the canopy of her bed, and her eyes burned. She pressed her lips to his head, holding him closer. She had excuses to last days. She had only just graduated, she wanted to focus on her career, or her family was filled with vipers who would rather anyone else named heir.

She was in love with someone else.

She wouldn't say that or any of it.

"I don't know what I want," she said, dragging her tongue between her teeth as if to bite it, and as if to keep everything else inside. She didn't care about the party or being late or anything at all.

He paused, and she felt his fists clench against her waist before he pushed back from her. His face had a hint of stubble on his dark complexion. There were swoops of black hair over his cheeks, cupping them as he stared up at her. "Did you know that this entire time?"

"I don't know," she said, and now she stepped back.

"I waited for your answer for two months," Criston said, his palm dragging over his face, pushing back strands of ebony hair. "Two months, Rhaenyra. I've been patient with you. I haven't said a word about the drinking. The drugs." Her eyes narrowed, and he had both elbows on his knees now, leaning forward. "I know about the drugs, Rhaenyra."

She clicked her tongue, her eyes narrow. "I'm not an addict. It's just a couple of pills sometimes when I go out. I've been safe." She never went to the hospital, she never OD'ed, and the jail incident was one time. It was just fun and she was allowed to have it without feeling guilty for a bit of molly when she felt like it. She was allowed to make it her decision to accept a bit of acid when she wanted to and it was certainly not a reason for not wanting to get married.

He let out a derisive laugh, staring back up at her. "Is there someone else?"

"I barely have time for you," she snapped, the vile emotions rising up her throat before she could stomp them out. She walked to her vanity, pulling out the ring from one of the drawers. The satin box was heavy, but now it felt like a solid iron brick. "I stare at this every day and I don't have an answer."

"Why couldn't you just say that then?" Criston was standing now, and the first signs of genuine anger appeared on his face. The patient man had finally snapped in two, and for a moment, she was nervous. Three years was a long time to never see a man angry. They had fights, of course, but they had been so civil, so uneventful, and often about nothing at all. Most of the time, it was her snapping at him.

"Congratulations on the internship," Criston had said, only for her to have grown irrationally angry and she couldn't remember why.

"Stop congratulating me!" Rhaenyra had snapped back, and he had given in, letting her have her way.

Criston was not that person right now, and instead, he grabbed the box from her hand and tossed it at the opposite wall. The velvet crashed against the wall with a violent pang, bouncing against the hardwood floor thrice before rolling the rest of the way. She flinched, and a flicker of guilt swept away some of his ire. She didn't much mind the anger, but the hurt was what made something in her snap in half like a dry twig. She would rather he threw things at the wall, fuck, she wished he'd hit her. She stepped closer, trying to appear bigger than she was, as if it would provoke him.

She was exhausted with the number of times they would 'fight' and he would just stop midsentence, giving her dead silence in return. He made certain that she couldn't take issue with a thing he said, but she always knew exactly what he was going to say. Which he would deny, just because it was easier for him to end the talk on his terms, instead of solving it.

"Why didn't you just say you didn't want me? That you didn't love me?" Criston was a fantastic boyfriend, always opening the doors for her, always kissing her cheek or her forehead whenever he saw her, and always doing everything that a person should. She was the problem. She was always the fucking problem.

"Just because I don't want to marry you doesn't mean I don't want you," she finally snapped, and covered her mouth as the words came out without her say so. She kept her palm against her face, her brows drawn, and the panic rising in her throat.

"You know what is so crazy to me," he said, his voice low as he dragged his hand back. "It never fucking occurred to me that we wouldn't make it, but you know what? I don't think you ever thought it would. You'd have me at your beck and call, just to fill the empty space beside you."

Her chest was rising and falling too quickly, and she felt like she was suffocating. They had been fine just a moment ago and he had been holding her. It was like their relationship had been doused in gasoline, just waiting for the first spark.

"Were you just waiting for us to go down in flames?" Criston was in her face, his hands gliding to her arms, his touch was sensual, but it felt like an ending to something, not a beginning.

"I said I needed time. Space," she whispered, digging the words out as he slid his hands down her arms before letting her go.

"And I listened for two months, but this isn't physics, Rhaenyra, it's a relationship," Criston whispered, the anger still potent. He had always asked her to love him, but love was spontaneous energy and she couldn't direct it just because she willed it hard enough. And she couldn't turn the love she had for him into the kind that brought them into a marriage, where it would eventually become a duty. The affection she had for him might vanish entirely, not strong enough to hold onto. What then? They'd go on, never quarreling or communicating, staying in a state of unhappiness because she didn't want to let him go.

"Then leave," she whispered, watching the hurt spread over his face in so potent a way that she felt vile. She felt like they were both starving, but for different hearts than each could give.

She felt trapped in his stare, the seconds growing from one to the next. Criston Cole was a perfect man, and that much was perhaps what made it so hard to be with him. Everything she did came subpar, never moral enough, never good enough, her jokes never funny enough, and nothing ever never felt right enough. Even now, what she wanted was a reason to scream at him or some mistake that he made that would for once not end up her fault.

Criston only looked at her steadily, calmly, as if he were already ready to accept or even release her. In that, she saw the diminished expectation in his eyes, nearly melancholy, but with all the blame he left on her shoulders. The pain flirting with the shape of her face was likely what stopped the last bits of him from exploding. He likely saw her eyes growing glassy and pink, despite her being the one who ruined everything. She didn't much mind hurting people, and was good at it, but hurting him?

Thoughts of leaving had moved into her mind weeks ago, perhaps even months. They had created bivouacs throughout her bedroom where they once spent late nights talking about the future. She wondered if he noticed that they had never talked about their future.

He covered his eyes, as if to shield her from his hurt.

When he walked away, she had to stop herself from going after him, from trapping him into this loveless limbo she had imprisoned him in because she couldn't let another man go. Perhaps this was truly her fault, and that she had it all wrong. Perhaps anything with Criston was self-sabotage, thinking a new love could mend what an old love had demolished.

When Criston left, she sat on her bed and stared out into nothing, watching the last pieces of her life that fit together like a perfect puzzle, all shatter. She laid back on her bed, staring at the top of the white dress of her canopy. The fight that had sizzled in her had suctioned out, and she felt like an air mattress with holes. Deflated. Uncomfortable. Useless.

She wanted to crawl under the blankets, burrowing herself so deep that nobody would find her. She didn't do that, instead sitting up, her eyes half open as she reached for her phone to check the time. There were some missed messages, but she didn't have it in her to read them.

Party first, self-sabotage later, she thought with a frown of finality.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Nobody truly looked forward to seeing their family. Rhaenyra Targaryen refused to believe anyone stayed up the night prior, thinking 'I can't wait to be passive-aggressively insulted for seven hours and embarrassed for the last 2'. The moment Rhaenyra had pulled up to her father's Southampton home, parked on the driveway that was already filled with rows of cars. She placed her head against the steering wheel, wishing it would swallow her up.

The house had white lights up on the trees, decorating the long driveway and giving her gleaming illumination when all she wanted was complete dusk. Where her uncle and her preferred the chaotic city, deep in its bowels, Viserys Targaryen preferred the quiet and green land that was Southampton. It made her antsy and agitated. It made her an outsider, and it made her wish she had brought her lithium.

She took her time to get out of her car and approach the gleaming bright porch where her father's men stood outside. She forced a smile, letting them open the double doors for her as she pretended like she didn't just end a three-year relationship. While she pretended Daemon Targaryen had nothing to do with it.

The inside was a pristine white, with a leather bench resting on her left and an entry table with a lamp on her right. It was loud, and Rhaenyra could hear her family from each room which created a crossroads before her. She was likely the last one to arrive, considering she had sobbed onto her pillows for twenty minutes before covering the redness with makeup hacks that she had to Google.

She took out her phone, turning it to her front camera, just to check her face one last time. She was still checking when she saw Alicent immediately walk through one of the cross-road entries. She wore a stunning green dress, radiant and glowing with her belly once more bulging. Rhaenyra smiled weakly, even as a three-year-old Aegon stood beside his mother. Wherever Aemond was, Rhaenyra could only guess. Likely, since Rhaenyra knew Alicent well enough, he was with the nanny.

"Rhaenyra," Alicent greeted, and her eyes were grazing down Rhaenyra's skin with slow scrutinization that made Rhaenyra nearly squirm. "You're nearly two hours late," Alicent's scolding was weak, but still apparent and making Rhaenyra eyes grow weary. Their relationship had mended with little progress the last three years, and not because of pure resentment. It could just be so hard to determine the correct mixture of sacrifice and growth that a friendship deserves. Friends weren't like lovers or family, where you are taught that stretching was natural. Rhaenyra had always thought that abandonment was completely appropriate, even without conversation.

But Alicent had welded herself into her family, and strife would only divide the house.

"Alicent." Rhaenyra allowed her stepmother to grab her hand, bringing her palm up to her ribs in that same affectionate way she had when they were children. "I'm sorry, I lost track of time."

They had tried, going through the motions and attempting to get to know one another again. In between classes and babies and bitterness, what stood out were the uneasy silences and awkward dinners. Even on the spa getaway that Alicent had invited her to with some of the other socialites, there had been very little to offer in the ways of bridging the gap. In hindsight, it was likely due to Alicent's new friends being absolutely terrible. They were the worst their community had to offer, all put into one package.

So, if you're going to take a depressing, relationship-saving vacation, Rhaenyra would disinvite the rich bitches and recommend a hot spring spa in its stead. If they truly were too different to approach a friendship, at least they could be silky soft.

"He was so excited to see you," Alicent said, bringing Aegon a step closer, gently guiding his steps.

Rhaenyra's eyes were on Aegon, still not certain how to approach a child, especially one who she thought was a bit of an cunt. It was a terrible thing to say about a kid. It seemed like despite it having been three months, with all three of them constantly shifting into different people, it was all exactly the same in the house of Targaryen. Politicking and family drama that she and Alicent were always swept into.

She missed the old days, before complicated feelings and changes in station got in the way. Back then, they would meander about, sipping bubble tea in Queens, coffee on the east side, and chatting about anything at all. Rhaenyra knew about Alicent's mother, who died of lung cancer years ago. She knew all her old fears and sadnesses, but Rhaenyra could never be certain if those still existed or if motherhood truly blotted out pieces of a person's individuality.

It was hard to tell because they simply could not find time for one another.

Alicent smiled down at little Aegon, but Rhaenyra was staring down at the subtle bump on her stomach that would have just looked like excess weight if Alicent hadn't already told her. Does my father not know how to pull out? Rhaenyra decided that voicing this would not be kindly received with such an unstable relationship. "Come on, offer it up to your sister."

Rhaenyra hated the word, but she swallowed the urge to say 'half' with bitter resentment. She wanted to be different, reserved even. If she could just reign in that tongue, she'd get through tonight and go home to her bed where she could huddle under the covers and cry. She allocated 20 minutes earlier, but the well of despair had made a canyon in her stomach.

Aegon slowly lifted a small clay something to her, and Rhaenyra's eyes went from it, back to Alicent, trying to keep her expression clear. "He made a clay dragon in his lessons today," Alicent said with a slight twitch of her lips. "He wanted to gift it to you."

Aegon frowned, and she watched her half-brother's face contort with ornery indignation. For all his tantrums, Rhaenyra thought he lasted pretty well before shouting, "I made it for me!"

Rhaenyra's brow arched, but she slowly knelt down to pluck the little dragon from his fingers with a smile that she hoped was friendly. She examined the dragon in her hands, but besides the name, she saw little features that made it so. "You're quite the talent," she said, glancing up to meet Alicent's hopeful smile. Rhaenyra felt as if this was a manipulation, but at the very least, an unharmful one. Except for Aegon's frown, the gesture was rather sweet. "Does he have a name?"

Aegon was still frowning, his arms crossed over his chest, but it appeared he wasn't about to start sobbing as he might have months prior when Rhaenyra saw him last. She rather preferred Aemond, if she had to choose. He was a quiet baby, and a watchful one at that."Sunfyre and he's mine." As if to accentuate his point, Rhaenyra watched him stomp his foot against the ground.

It was odd to see a boy who looked so much like her own father behave like a twat.

"It is yours. He looks strong, I hope to one day make one of my own, Hae Dārilarot Āegot Vēsperzomy," Rhaenyra said, switching to high Valyrian mid-sentence, not wanting his shit dragon anyway. Aegon stared up at her, his expression vacant. Alicent was shaking her head back and forth, a tiny smile peaking as she watched the flicker of a discombobulated uncertainty pass over Rhaenyra's eyes. "Does he not know High Valyrian?"

"He is in the process," Alicent said carefully, which, in Hightower speak, meant her son was terrible at it.

"I simply said," Rhaenyra said, turning back towards her half-brother who looked like the portraits of her father at 4 years old. "As prince Aegon has with Sunfyre." Somehow, it had the opposite effect that she had been reaching for.

"I hate that stupid, dead language," Aegon said, and now his cheeks were ignited with his mother's grip tightening.

"Aegon," she warned, staring down at her son. "That's enough."

Aegon twisted out of her grip, grabbing the dragon from Rhaenyra's grasp. The clay crushed in his fist, bits of what was supposed to be a dragon tail fell to the ground and shattered into pieces against the tiles. "I don't even know her. It's mine," Aegon shouted, and both of them watched as his tiny steps pattered across the room in a run that was surprisingly fast for how ungraceful he was.

"I am so sorry," Alicent said, shaking her head. "We were molding clay yesterday, and I wanted him to-" Alicent broke off, her fingers twisting to her hair, digging into the soft chestnut curls as if she wanted to tear them off her head. "I guess I wanted you to like him."

Rhaenyra had wondered to herself, as she had many times throughout the last few years, if it were possible to ever have a true friendship with Alicent. How could friendship endure if one person always expects betrayal? It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but those thoughts lingered, even now, as she wondered if Alicent would push for her selfish and greedy son to have more than birthright or inheritance demanded. It would certainly make Vaemond and Otto happy.

"I do like him, Alicent," Rhaenyra said carefully, wondering how long they'd be standing at the entrance, forcing something that was as incorporeal as fog. Alicent's brows hiked, glancing over to where Aegon had just ran off. She was likely remembering the last visit where the little bastard tugged on Rhaenyra's hair so hard that he pulled pieces from her scalp. Or perhaps the time before that, where he had thrown his applesauce at her face, ruining her coat and solidifying the first act that made Rhaenyra hate kids. "Maybe not right now," Rhaenyra said, biting her bottom lip to hold in the smile that began to creep out. "If anything, I don't think he likes me."

Alicent's gentle expression continued to morph into a familiar one from their youth. "Maybe if you'd come with gifts, he might be inclined to associate you with good fortune."

A bit of her old self, something that was shelved in replacement of motherhood, came out. Strict, funny, no-nonsense Alicent, how Rhaenyra had feigned dislike of it. "Are you attempting to make me buy your son's affections?"

"He likes legos," she told her with a smile, offering her hand. Rhaenyra took it with slight hesitation, allowing her step mother to walk her into the sitting room. It was empty, away from the party that Rhaenyra had yet to announce herself to. Rhaenyra kept her questions to herself, holding them in her throat for a while longer as Alicent grabbed her clutch bag from the little reading table near the unlit fireplace.

Rhaenyra always loved to watch her father read in this room, sitting by the fireplace as he recited aloud fairytales and all manner of books in his little voices. She wondered where that father had gone, or if he was now reading them to Aegon and Aemond in her stead. She wet her lips, attempting to block off those thoughts as she watched Alicent pull out a tiny tube of concealer.

"What's that for?" Rhaenyra asked, as Alicent offered it to her, outstretching her hand to reach her. The sitting room had been her space, where she had fallen asleep on the Persian carpet, scattered her dolls atop the shelving of the books, and admired the portraits upon the walls of old ancestors.

It hadn't changed, but somehow, she felt like an outsider.

"You've been crying," Alicent told her, watching carefully as Rhaenyra took the concealer from her outstretched hand. "And I see Criston is not at your side."

Rhaenyra stared down at the concealer before Alicent handed her a compact mirror. She was numb at the reminder, but Alicent's eyes softened, closing the distance and gently taking back the concealer. She opened it and gradually began to dab bits underneath Rhaenyra's eyes, the gentle adagio echoed from two rooms away. It had a soft melody, calming even when so low in tempo. Rhaenyra stared at her while she did, the soft pads of her fingers tapping to blend in the color from Rhaenyra's puffy eyes, likely from the few tears shed in her car.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Alicent asked carefully, and Rhaenyra shook her head. "Do you want me to talk?"

The words were familiar, and with it came an old ache. The girls stared at each other, and Rhaenyra thought, there you are, before the tears began to gather in her eyes. She nodded, as if time had reversed and they were back in that hospital on the worst day of Rhaenyra's life. Alicent slowly wiped away the trail with her thumbs, lingering on the touch that reminded Rhaenyra of Alicent's individuality, outside of the consuming nature of motherhood.

So, Alicent talked, walking Rhaenyra to the little reading couch, curled to the cushions and spoke of nothing at all. Nothing substantial or even memorable, but it was all familiar. That was what she always did, what they used to do, before the awkward silences and uncomfortable dinners. As if to say, 'now your mess is my mess. I'll stay and we both clean it up.'

It was at least twenty minutes into the night, twenty minutes more that Rhaenyra was late to greet her father, when Rhaenyra finally said, "He asked me to marry him."

Rhaenyra never would have guessed that Alicent would be the first one she'd tell, always thinking that would be reserved Laena or even Laenor. Her cousins were the closest thing in her life, and the most stable. But there was history, past the hurt, that she had only with Alicent. After all, who else had truly seen the wreck that Rhaenyra had been after her mother's death quite as closely? That was what made the betrayal sting, as if Alicent had slit Rhaenyra's wrists, just to see the blood drop.

Now, Alicent's fingers were dragging through Rhaenyra's hair, rather like a mother, rather like a friend, mixing and meeting in the middle.

"I couldn't do it," Rhaenyra's voice was in a whisper, even as Alicent's stroking fingers paused, a small beat of a movement, before continuing. "And I hurt him more than need be."

"Do you love him?" Alicent asked carefully, slowly, her touch not unlike sympathy, not unlike condolences.

"I wanted to," Rhaenyra said, feeling the break nearly cleave her. She had been telling herself that it was love for so long that the words were unfamiliar as they disagreed with everything she'd been shouting. "I feel like I needed to."

"Why?" Alicent asked, and Rhaenyra pressed her head into her friend's shoulder, letting Alicent's arm drop around her as both their dresses hiked up, cuddled together as they had when they were children.

Because the person who she pictured with her would never be as she wished. It was him who she imagined calling first when she had received her letter from Yale, the audience that she imagined when she recalled all the important and even insignificant details of her day. He was who she saw in the crowd in her exit speech at Yale, looking up at her as if to say 'I knew you'd do it'. When she imagined calamities or disasters, like hurricanes or storms that would wipe out and flood New York, it was him that she wanted near her. When the night was quiet, when it was loud, when she was in the arms of someone else, he was who she felt beside her. The only hand she ever wanted to reach for in the dark was his.

"Why?" Rhaenyra repeated, feeling her stomach lurch as a sense of self-hatred overwhelmed her.

"Why are you punishing yourself?" Alicent asked. There was a pause in her motion as if she saw all these thoughts. It was as if she was carrying half the burden, even if she didn't know the nature of the weight.

"He hates me," Rhaenyra said, and Alicent pressed her lips into the side of her head, just over her temple.

And she held her there, for long moments bleeding into the next. It was comfortable, a silence they hadn't had in the years filled with chaotic tension and old resentments. It felt as if it were finally beginning to ebb away within the room they both sat in to play with puzzles as Viserys and Aemma cuddled together and chatted about their day. The walls were the same, with the green little leaves and black flowers on the wallpaper, mixed with cream backgrounds and small initials written somewhere in the corner. Alicent had cried, thinking Aemma would yell at them for marking the wall.

She had not as Rhaenyra's mother had been a rare soul, never one to raise her voice. Instead, she had lifted the pen from Rhaenyra's fingers and wrote her own name, just underneath Alicent and her daughter's scribble. Elegant and beautiful and so easy to have replaced. Rhaenyra could see it from next to her estranged friend, see the black ink near the golden lamp that filled the room with bits of light.

It was still intact, something even Alicent wouldn't change, despite the betrayal that had split them. It made Rhaenyra feel like she was home again.

Just as the peace fell between them, there was shouting from the other room, chaos followed by laughter. It cut through the sitting room, and Rhaenyra and Alicent lifted their heads from resting against one another. They stood in one fell swoop, opening the door to view the entryway, and watching as her uncle entered with a group of gorgeous dancers.

He had glanced left, briefly, his eyes filled with wicked amusement that passed right over her. It was barely half a second before he was facing his brother, who entered with a fury that only Daemon Targaryen could illicit from her father.

"Brother," Daemon greeted, ever the uninvited and unwanted guest, arriving with belly dancers, shattering the peace as if it had no place. "I heard there was to be a party. I thought it might due to have some entertainment to celebrate your birthday." Daemon's eyes went to Alicent's belly, at the barely noticeable swelling that Alicent had been telling everyone was old baby weight. She had, of course, told Rhaenyra straight away, but they were waiting until the sex was confirmed to tell the family. It was supposed to be a surprise. "And a new baby I see. What a year for you."

The anger on Alicent's face was a new surprise.