Rhaenyra Rubs Up Against An Idea

For over an hour, she crossed the bridge to Maegor's Holdfast over and over, turning back and retracing her steps the way she'd come every time she reached the end. Sometime during her pacing, Ser Erryk Cargyll appeared at the Holdfast end of the bridge, his hands clasped at parade rest behind his back, and his long hair streaming down over his white cloak. "Ser Erryk," Rhaenyra said, by way of greeting, "or is it Ser Arryk? I never am entirely sure."
Erryk smiled. "Know me by mirth, princess. My brother has always had a...sullen disposition."
"Indeed? I'll try to remember that." Her eyes flicked past him, where the Holdfast waited. None among her family were currently in residence, yet here he stood. "You are here to keep an eye on me," she observed.
Erryk inclined his head apologetically. "A canny deduction, your grace. It is true. The Lord Commander received word of your presence here, he thought it prudent to send a sworn brother along, to ensure you do not do anything...rash."
Rhaenyra snorted derisively. "I do not intend to throw myself off the bridge, Ser Erryk."
"I did not wish to presume, your grace, but you must admit, not many would walk up and down the bridge like this without an ulterior motive."
"I am thinking."
Erryk cocked his head. "Men spend every day of their lives thinking, I'd presume you were no different, your grace?"
"I'm putting things together. Stuck on a particular problem, you might say."
"A conundrum?"
Rhaenyra gazed out at the blur of the horizon, and the Kingswood beyond the city closer at hand, considering. "An apology."
"Ah, well they're one in the same, in my experience."
"You quarrel? With who, your brother?"
"I quarrel with any man who sees fit to disagree with me." He gave an airy shrug. "I make enemies hand over fist, but such is my charm that they never stay that way for very long."
"Is that the way of it, then? A charm offensive, and all the troubles between family or...friends, they just melt away like privy water in the rain?"
"Mm..." Erryk pursed his lips, his nose wrinkling dubiously. "Not always, your grace, and not entirely. When I bicker with my brother, there are often times when we avoid one another for days at a time; the longest we ever went was half a moon's turn, it was over a girl who..." He cleared his throat, straightening up. "Let's just say she was a Blacksmith's apprentice, and she offered her services to both of us, where the matter of polishing swords was concerned. I digress, eventually Ser Westerling pulled us both aside and commanded we both sit down and each tell the story that had led to the quarrel the way the other would have seen it."
"And?"
"It is an odd thing," he said, stroking his beard, "to see through another's eyes. One begins to feel in the place of the other, to think as they would have thought. It becomes...difficult, to remain angry or bitter, when you understand why they do the things they do, or say the things they say."
"Huh..." Rhaenyra mulled that over. See through another's eyes... She thought of Alicent, of her fury, and of its source. How would it be? she wondered. If I had been born the Hand's daughter, and not the King's? It was, she supposed, not altogether unlike the difference between sailing the Narrow Sea on a hulking galley and a creaking rowboat. The latter would be such a tenuous state of affairs, and she could imagine the frustration that might emerge if, as your rowboat journeyed across the waves, the galley cut straight through them and threatened to capsize its counterpart. Yes...that was it. She knew what had to be done, what had to be said. "Ser Erryk?"
"Yes, your grace?"
Rhaenyra came closer, leaned up and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I thank you, you may have just given me an idea."
"Ah," he said, a subtle blush creeping up his neck. "You're, ah, welcome, your grace." Rhaenyra took her leave, walking quickly and purposefully over the bridge back to the Keep. "Here goes nothing," she muttered.

Later that day, after giving her another few hours to cool off, Rhaenyra found Alicent in the usual place, sitting in the Godswood beneath the Weirwood Tree. She came to her wearing a gown of deep red samite, inlaid along the edges of the bodice with dozens of crimson gemstones and accents of pearl. The pearls brought out the white in the princess' hair, which streamed behind her, down her back, as she approached. Alicent was reading, and didn't look up until she called to her, "Not Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, I hope?"
Alicent's burnished brown eyes had a cool aspect to them as they fell upon her. She replied in an even-handed tone of voice, but there was none of the warmth in it Rhaenyra had come to expect. "No," she said, "an account of the life of the Conqueror's wife, Visenya." The ghost of a smirk threatened to surface on her mouth. "I have a friend, you see, who reminds me altogether too much of the stories they tell about her."
"She was his sister before she was his wife," Rhaenyra grinned, coming to a stop at the foot of the minute incline the tree, and Alicent, sat atop. Alicent gave a grudging nod. "True, but the Faith would have preferred it if she were one or the other, I think."
"Maegor The Cruel fought a war so that he and his kin might have both."
"And Maegor The Cruel is called 'The Cruel' for a reason." She snapped the book shut, rising to her feet as a smattering of blood-red petals floated on down to settle between them in the wake of a sudden gust of wind. "Have you come solely in hopes of burdening me with more of your witticisms, or could it be that you've seen the error of your ways?"
Rhaenyra gave her a shrewd look. "You know, it's the strangest thing. All the way here I've had the words, 'I'm sorry' just here, on the tip of my tongue, but the more you insult me, the further back they seem to fall."
Alicent regarded Rhaenyra curiously, her mouth a thin, straight line, then she inclined her head, and did a small curtsy. "Your Grace."
Rhaenyra smiled, stepping forward, taking Alicent's hands in her own, and bidding her rise. "I am sorry," she batted her eyelashes. "Look at my face, it's terribly serious."
Alicent gave her a long, weary look, before exhaling through her nose. "You're a terror, Rhaenyra Targaryen."
Rhaenyra Targaryen poked her tongue out. "Mhm, and who knows? Mayhaps one day the singers will take to calling me The Pale Dread." Her smile faltered, and for once she truly did take on a serious aspect. "In all seriousness... I thought about what you said, and I... I've made every effort to see through your eyes, rather than my own. I understand your anger, your frustration and... your shame. One of The Red Keep's turrets was casting a long shadow across the ground, its tip falling just short of the Weirwood's bounds, as if it knew to steer clear of it. "The castle is full of eyes and ears, and there are precious few safe places for the likes of us to be so... frivolous. I see the risk to your family's standing, to your standing." A loose strand of Alicent's hair was flapping freely in the breeze, Rhaenyra reached up to tuck it behind her ear. "You deserve better; I'll not risk compromising your standing like that again."
Alicent nodded several times, her shoulders relaxing. She seemed to stand a bit taller, now. Rhaenyra was glad to see it. "Thank you, that..." Alicent closed her eyes as the hand drew slowly back and the royal fingertips passed over her ear, and Rhaenyra was certain she saw her shiver at their touch. "Means a lot," she said, in a tiny, tremulous voice. "We will not find ourselves here again, I pray."
"Oh, I don't know... the Godswood is rather pretty, is it not?"
Alicent shoved her playfully. "There is a time and a place for japes."
"Is there?" Rhaenyra blinked. "How I wish someone had told me."

Their reconnection was tentative, but ultimately firm. The rest of the day passed as a blur of idle chatter and chaste displays of affection. Alicent still had a stiffness about her, an underlying discomfort over what had transpired in Rhaenyra's chambers, but she hid it well enough, and otherwise made every effort to appear generous in her attentions. Rhaenyra was glad of that. "We will begin again, tomorrow, yes?" Alicent said, taking her arm and patting it gently as they said their farewells a while after sunset. "Begin again? Yes, I should like that, I think." Rhaenyra nodded calmly. "This was nice, to be as we were; I see no reason it shouldn't continue."
"Nor do I," Alicent sounded relieved. "I'm glad we're of one mind on this matter."
"So am I." They hugged and kissed, but the kiss was a short, sharp peck that neither of them wished to linger on too long, and then they parted, and that was that.

Rhaenyra rolled her shift up and touched herself to the sounds of the city. The night had fallen thick over King's Landing; in the distance, she could see the domes and spires of The Great Sept piercing its black satin skin, and below it a thousand lanterns, candles and braziers lighting the filthy streets and crooked houses to create trails of fire miles long and streets wide. It was always quieter at night, so much so that the vague background buzz of the day faded to a few spits and spurts of isolated activity and conversation. Men's voices dominated the city, especially of an evening; and it was usually to these that she played with herself. Men and women were made for one another, so the High Septon always said. Women wanted them, their strong hands on their hips, their thin, proud lips on their mouths, and their cocks jammed inside their cunts, pumping away and away, until their silvery seed came gushing forth to slide into the womb and quicken nto a baby. Her fingers probed at the tight dampness of her cunny, she'd slipped the index inside and had been pulling it softly in and out for the past five minutes, slowly, so as not to bring about the finish too quickly. The lower lips were warm, and slippery with her juices. Men... she thought, What a concept. If only the execution had been as good as the idea. Most men weren't much of anything, as far as Rhaenyra was concerned; a chosen few transcended the foibles of their sex, Daemon chief among them, and that Strong fellow wasn't so bad, now that she thought about it. She pictured Harwin, her pace speeding up slightly and her cunny wettening as she stroked and pushed.
It had a kind of hood, Rhaenyra's cunny, she wasn't sure if all girls had them, but she knew for a certainty that she did. When she pushed it back, it revealed a diminutive nub that sat almost at the apex of her sex, above the opening. To press or rub it was to know the face of the Gods, she'd found, and she was beginning to know them again now. "Mnnnf...guuuuhhh..." she moaned. This would be another wickedness in the eyes of the High Septon, no doubt. The Faith preached all manner of tedium about girls and their place in things, not least of which was a good highborn lady's role in matters of sex, which was to think about it as little as possible until the night of wedding, whereupon she should lie there like a fish and let her Lord Husband do his business inside of her. No doubt, The Faith and her defenders would throw a fit if they knew their princess was making a game of moistening her own thighs when she should be sleeping. When she was like this, her legs spread wide and her fingers dancing away, she would often find un-ladylike notions coming to her. The lust was like a heat haze, warping her senses of decency and reason both.
She had a mind to do something silly right now, in fact. What if she paused and took the shift off, then tossed it out the window? What then? I'd be naked. Yes, naked, watching the shift drift serenely down to the court yard below on the evening breeze. There was a thrill in nakedness, the illicit rush of knowing she couldn't be seen without eyes popping and jaws dropping, and the wicked thoughts she always had of what would happen if she left her chambers and walked about the castle in such a ****, compromising position. What a shame that would be, and so...embarrassing. She stopped her playing, looking down at the shift thoughtfully. Thirty seconds later, Rhaenyra was stark naked, and waching the shift make the long journey down. She tried to remember if she had others clean and ready to wear. She probably did, but what if she didn't? There's nothing in the wardrobe, she told herself, and if there's nothing in the wardrobe, you'll have to go and get it. Of course, she could always cover herself with a blanket. What blanket? asked the voice in her head, in all its wickedness. You have none. Or a gown... No, gowns are for proper ladies with shifts and underthings, you'll have to go naked. A cloak, even. The flimsiest, most precarious cloak. You're not going riding, and the night is too warm for that by far anyway. No, girl, you're naked, and you'll have to stay naked until you go and get your shift. That decided it; there was nothing for it, she would simply, unavoidably, undeniably have to go naked.

At that thought, her pretty pink flower all but flooded.

Rhaenyra stole down the hallways as a lithe white shadow; since she'd left her bedchamber she'd been teasing herself with the tips of her fingers, still lost in a lusty haze. Once or twice she'd had to stop on a winding flight of stairs or behind a tapestry and 'pluck the petals' so to speak, invariably finding her way back to the hooded nub and pressing on it in small, repeating circles, her cheeks rising to a ruddy glow as the fork between her legs grew wetter and wetter, and her cunny burst its banks like The Trident in the Autumn rains. The last stop before she'd reached the courtyard had resulted in her crouching behind a statue of Aegon's Queen Rhaenys, holding herself upright by placing a hand on the statue while the other was wedged between her closed thighs as she stood waiting for a Kingsguard to pass by, trying to resist the urge to keep stroking herself while her sex pulsed and gushed runnels of liquid down her shapely legs. If he only knew she was here, if he only heard the noises she was making and caught her. What would he do, whichever of the white cloaks it was, if he found the daughter of his King down here in the dead of night, all naked and leaking? Briefly, she envisioned him pulling his 'sword' out of its 'scabbard' and forcing it down her throat. In her mind's eye it was a greatsword, long and thick, with rippling veins like Valyrian steel that throbbed and pulsated as he made a sword-swallower of her, and made her suck on the big, bulbous tip. The fantasy faded as she heard his footsteps receding into the distance, a faint pang of longing for that imaginary sword going with it. She looked up to realise she was cupping one of Rhaenys' finely sculpted stone buttocks in her palm, and the notion made her knees knock together, a twinge of pleasure reverberating outwards from her crotch. I... I must do it, she thought. Just quickly, to regain some of my...sense.
With that, she'd pressed herself into Rhaenys' backside, squashing her breasts against the toned calves. The stone was like ice on them, and within the smooshed softness she could feel her nipples rising to attention. She picked up where she left off, sliding her index finger up and down the length of her slit while working at the nub with the ring finger. Her breaths soon became slower, more laboured, and she had to close her mouth to stop unwanted sounds from escaping it.

She pictured Daemon, standing at the foot of the Weirwood. He was strong and tall and handsome, like always, and his hair was being tousled by the wind. His eyes bored into her, their bright purple turned the colour of a dusky evening sky by the sunlight. In one hand he wielded Dark Sister, her steel shining smokey grey, in the other his cock. With equal skill he wielded both, but it was the latter that got her attention over the former. I'll swallow it whole, she thought, then I'll drain it dry, and walk away with a belly full of seed. That was what she wanted, that was what girls were supposed to want. The stroking continued, up and down the slit, round and round the nub, eddies of heat from both meeting one another inside her. "Will you now?" Daemon asked, a sly smile playing over his lips. "Such vision, niece, but I wonder if you possess the conviction to follow through?"
"Why...why wouldn't I?" she gasped, her head drooping and her gaze falling to her feet. "I have...vigour enough for any task..."
"Oh, of that I have no doubt," Daemon chuckled. "You truly are a terror, Rhanyera," he said, in a voice that was not his own. Wait, I recognise that voice... Rhaenyra looked up, and when she did she found Daemon was...different. His hair had darkened from the ashen white of their Valyrian forbears, to the chestnut brown of the Andals; his features had softened, his blocky, chiseled chin and sharp cheekbones replaced by soft, womanly angles. He was shorter now, too, almost of a height with Rhaenyra, and his clothes hung loose and shapeless on him, as if he had shrunk. Beneath her shirt, Rhaenyra could see a pair of smooth, pert breasts moving freely, and her breeches were so large on her that, with the slightest movement, they tumbled to the floor and left her naked below the waist. Alicent Hightower blushed, and quickly hid her modesty by placing the flat of Dark Sister between her legs, the point biting into one of the Weirwood's roots underfoot. "I-it...it seems...I am undone." She smiled sheepishly, her supple thighs pressing into the blade's edge either side of it. Rhaenyra's heart lifted. What a face, she thought, what a body... It was a curvy, brimful thing, and looking upon it made her feel delirious.

She kept the image going behind her eyes, and then, without further ado, Rhaenyra Targaryen plucked herself to completion, fiddling with the slick, pliable nub atop her flower to the thought of her very best friend in all her nakedness until she could sense the ending quickening in her loins; it was a cloud of awesome rapture that made her lips tingle, and set the opening behind them aflame. She sank forward into the stone, pushing her arse out behind her and rubbing her cunny with gay abandon as the climax rose to meet her. Her mouth fell open of its own accord, and then the moans came forth, "Ohh...ohhhhh....ohhhhhhhhhhhh..." each one was higher and more breathy than the last, and louder too. She felt she was standing on the edge of it felt it play over her crotch and thighs, an overwhelming, buzzing roar. Rhaenyra buried her face in Rhaenys' buttocks, rose up onto her tiptoes and played on to the squelching, squealing finish, her legs almost going out from under her entirely as the cloud enveloped her.
When she'd ridden out the rolling wave of her climax, Rhaenyra sat against the wall behind the statue, trying to catch her breath. What a rush, she kept thinking. The best she'd ever had; the only problem was that she no longer had any appetite to go on a saucy naked run to retrieve the shift, since she'd finished pleasuring herself, the silliness of the idea had grown too big to ignore. I have other shifts, she remembered, and it's no terrible thing to wear a gown without the proper undergarments besides.
It was as if she'd had cold water splashed over her face, all the folly of the whole idea brought into stark relief by the fresh eyes with which she now saw it. She took a further five minutes to calm herself and wipe away some of the excess wetness that was still streaming down her legs, then dried her fingers on the nearest tapestry. My chambers, I have to get back before someone sees me, Rhaenyra thought, and so she set off, creeping back up the stairs and along the hallways, trying her best to forget the shift as she went.

No one saw her, and in fact the halls of this part of the Keep seemed almost entirely empty. Regardless, she only truly let her guard down when she was safely behind the door of her bedchamber, had pushed the latch down and locked it. She was growing tired, now, and saw no reason to waste good sleeping clothes at this hour, so she crawled into bed and drew the sheets over her still naked body, watching the dark blue light of the early morning peek in through the closed shutters. Sleep did not come easily; her thoughts dwelled on Alicent. To see her face in the throes of self-pleasure, and for her body to react the way it had...it unsettled her. The kissing and the tickling had been games, Alicent had had the right of it when she'd pointed out that others would see it differently, but in Rhaenyra's mind there had been no doubt of its innocence, at least...on the surface. Below, under the thoughts she permitted herself to think, something altogether stranger lurked, something curious in nature, curious...and queer.
Even without the issue of privacy, Alicent had still not seen it the way she'd seen it. It was always, 'The Septa' this and 'The Seven' that; with that in mind, was it even worth trying to make her see things her way? It was such a shame, because Rhaenyra had seen it; Alicent's face had betrayed some peculiar, secret enjoyment, beyond the simple, backwards joy of tickling. The kiss had jarred her, the tickling had delighted her, and in her anger she had lost control of herself, pushed Rhaenyra down onto the bed and mounted her, almost like...

A bedding.

There was something there, the more she tossed and turned, the surer she grew. I should like to see her bite her lip like that again, she thought, then chastised herself for having allowed herself to think it. But...she would, if she were completely honest about that which lay in her heart of hearts. No, stupid girl. She turned to lay on her stomach and planted her face in the pillow. It's not possible, and you shouldn't want it even if it were.

...But she did.

She did, and she did not think she could make it so that she didn't. But...how? The question rang like the Great Sept's bells, clear and loud across the landscape of her mind. She found that she was putting together an idea even as she denied the impetus behind it. The key was to ensure no one else would ever know, because no one else would ever understand, Rhaenyra scarcely understood it and it had been her thrice damned idea. Somewhere private, somewhere truly private... But there was no privacy in the Red Keep, none.

Except...

The tunnels. She sat up, the covers falling off of her to rest on her lap. The Red Keep had a network of tunnels, constructed in the time of Maegor The Conqueror, so that he might skulk about his castle in secret and evade his enemies at the drop of a hat. That was all well and good, but the other fact about them she recalled was that most of them were unexplored; they did not appear on any map, and few had working knowledge of their very existence, let alone their layout. Anyone that went down there, anything that happened down there... No one would ever know. Not among the living, at least. The dead might see, but what was the expression? Dead men tell no tales? Yes! Rhaenyra got up and went over to a small bureau by the wall opposite her bed, paying no heed to her nudity, so excited was she by the prospect. She got a candle and lit it, setting it down in front of her as she searched for a blank piece of parchment. "Aha!" A crumpled piece of paper, hidden in one of the drawers, and a quill next to it. She dipped it in her inkpot, and held it over the page, faltering. What to write? she asked herself. This would require a delicate hand, and would doubtless require what remained of the night to pen and arrange for delivery. She would need one of her handmaids to take care of that second part, but the first part required doing before that. Rhaenyra sighed, glancing at the blue light piercing the shutters, getting lighter every time she looked back. Down to business, then, she thought, carefully scratching out the first letter.

[Author's Note: I always enjoy and appreciate feedback in terms of what's working and what isn't, so please feel free to like and/or leave comments!]