Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The War had been cold. Terrible. There had been no worse atrocities committed than by those complicit in the crimes of the districts during the rebellion. And everyone from the districts was complicit in the rebellion. 

Of course, she hadn’t been alive for the rebellion, no one left in her family had survived the Long Night. That was what they had dubbed the rebellion, for it had been a time where Westeros was plunged into darkness and uncertainty, where every corner held a new horror. Or so the Faith preachers say. Calling it revolution would be futile. Things had changed, yes. But for the worse. 

As penance for their crimes, every year, two people from each district would be chosen to compete in the Hunger Games, a battle to the death where only one lone Victor would remain. When asked why King’s Landing hadn’t ordered that it be one male and one female tribute, the reply was simple; death did not discriminate, war did not discriminate, and neither did they. 

The district that provided the winning tribute would be honoured, for a period of less than twelve months, until the next Games began. But during that period, they would receive surplus supplies from King's Landing to feed the starving, more cloth and clothes for the freezing. The winner would receive more riches than could be spent in a lifetime. 

Being from District Twelve, Alicent had never reaped the rewards of the Hunger Games. When Viserys Targaryen won his Games long ago, she had not been alive. And the most recent Victor, well, that had been a special case. They were not from one of the so-called ‘Royalty-Districts’ which included District One, Two, and Four. The Royalties  were better prepared for the games than most Districts, either because their tributes were stronger from all the past victories, or because, illegally, their children were trained on the wealth of past Victors, to fight. Sure, it was illegal, but that stopped no one. Besides, what made for a more entertaining Game? Children flimsily flinging weapons about the place, or trained killers picking off the weaklings and putting on a real brutal show? 

It was a rare year when a Royalty District didn’t win, when one of the poorer ones such as Eleven or Eight did instead, but they still happened. As of current Games, each district has scored at least one or two Victors in the past seventy-three years. Some Districts had respectable numbers, but the poverty of the Districts shone through with a basic examination of their Victor pool. 

District Twelve had three and it seemed unlikely that that number would ever grow. 

Alicent could recall all the Victors of the past few years– going back ten or so years. But that was as far as her knowledge stretched. The schools in Twelve taught them about the war exhaustively, but the Games were not educational. They were a celebration. 

Last year, a thin but strong man from District One had been the Victor. Aemond Targaryen. He was younger than Alicent by perhaps two or so years. He had been a brutal player, slaughtering a total of five people personally in the bloodbath. He carried only a longsword as his weapon, nothing more. At first, even though he was a Royal, Alicent had been skeptical. But Aemond had proven himself a vicious and efficient killer with the beastly weapon. The Games stretched past the one week mark before Aemond had killed a total of eleven tributes on his own. Surprisingly, he had made no alliances, killing, hunting, and surviving on his own. Not even with his district partner, a girl named Falyse. Alicent never learnt her last name. Aemond had killed her first. 

It had been speculated that he had been favoured, given special treatment due to his Targaryen heritage, but everyone knew that was a weightless rumour. Just look at Viserys Targaryen’s line. They had been tossed into Twelve. Everyone knew that ever since they’d been overthrown, the Faith had hated the Targaryen’s. But people loved to complain whenever a Targaryen won. It made things more interesting. It was like the Districts were fighting back. 

High Septon in power now was the third since the end of the Long Night. High Septons had no names. They forsook them when they took up the crystal crown. No one knew this High Septons name, just as no one had known the names of thrones before, nor would they know the ones that came after. But they all hated the idea of supreme rulers, which is why they instead bowed to supreme beings; gods. 

There had been two more Targaryen victories in the past ten years, Aegon and Helaena, both from District One. They could be siblings, cousins, or even barely related at all, but they still bore the slowly dying name, all scattered throughout the Districts, clinging to their old ways, cleaving to the sword. 

Aegon had won the 69th Games, while not as effective or brutal as Aemond proved to be, he had successfully remained the last one standing, using a clever trap of flaming ropes and logs to destroy both resources and enemies. He had earnt a nasty burn scar down the length of his torso during the struggle, but his face had remained unharmed. But King’s Landing could repair these sorts of damages, so by the time of his first post-Games interview, you would hardly know he had been burnt at all. 

Helaena had been different. She lacked all the brutality of Aegon and Aemond, and in the 66th Games won on a surprisingly extensive knowledge of bugs and plants for someone of her well-fed status, and a sharp intuition that always seemed to guide her out of trouble. Rumours had swirled that had been cheating, however, she proved herself an able killer when she launched an attack of half a dozen tracker-jacker nests upon her awaiting tributes, without so much as earning a sting herself. It was particularly impressive, as the deadly insects hunted down anyone who disturbed their nests, but Helaena Targaryen seemed to have a sort of peace with them. 

She kept recounting all the past years as she waited for her father to call her out of her room. Jacaerys and Lucerys Black, to brothers in back to back years, both at surprisingly young ages. Jacaerys had won at age fifteen, Lucerys at thirteen, the youngest ever, stealing the crown from a Victor from District Four a few years prior. Both with swords bigger than they were. It was impressive and terrifying all at once. Jacaerys had mentored his own brother during his Games the following year and made Lucerys the youngest Victor in history. They had won the 71st and 72nd Games. Neither had even aged out of the Reaping demographic, and yet they were both Victors. 

“Alicent!” Her father called, summoning her. She walked slowly, savoring her room one last time before she could very well be sentenced to the Games. This was one of her last years. She would be nineteen in two winter’s time, and will have officially aged out. She just had to beat the odds twice more. Admittedly, they were already more favourable than most. Her father worked in the Mayor's office, beside Viserys Targaryen, so they scraped by better than most, and well fed considering the circumstances. When her brothers had all entered the Kingsguard when they reached nineteen, they had done it for the income, half of which they sent home, and the promised meals three times a day. It was a better life than most could hope for, especially being from Twelve. But Viserys had vouched for them. They still didn’t make enough money. And, of course, Gwayne’s wealth was a different circumstance. While Alicent never starved, she had never known what it was like to be full. She was the last Hightower left in the glass bowl, being ten years younger than the brother closest in age to her. In that bowl with thousands of slips within, eight of them had Alicent Hightower written in a nondescript hand on them. 

Entries were cumulative. One additional entry for each year the child was eligible. Children could also enter their name more times in exchange for tesserae. It was a brutal tactic, intended to separate the rich from the poor in the Districts, to remind everyone that poverty was antonymic to power. She had taken out tesserae twice in her life, for herself and her father, which entitled them to a year's supply of measly grain and oil for one person, depending on how many times you claimed it. Both were during a winter so brutal that everyone who was eligible had lined up to collect tesserae once it began to snow, on behalf of herself and her father, as he was not eligible himself. Still, her chances were better than most. Some children of thirteen likely had their names in there dozens of times. 

Her father walked her to the square as he did every year, pressing a kiss to her temple before whispering, “See you soon,” then walking up to claim his seat on the podium at the right hand of the Mayor. 

Alicent stood with the other seventeen year old girls. Some of them she knew, some of them she liked. But she spoke to none of them. No one really spoke on Reaping Day. It was a death sentence. Between themselves, they called the King's Landing escorts ‘Reapers’ because they claimed them for death. The people from Twelve almost always died first. Around here, the word ‘tribute’ was synonymous with ‘corpse’. 

She knew it was about to begin, the presentation was starting. 

War, terrible war… It was the same every year. Some kids even recited it to each other quietly in amused murmurs. It was not because it was funny. It was because they were all so delirious with fear. Mocking King's Landing was the only thing that prevented them all from bursting into sobs on this day. 

The escort this year was a thin, spritely woman dressed in all pink. A horrible magenta that made Alicent’s eyes ache just to look at. She seemed to be bursting to begin the Reaping. It was a holiday, Alicent supposed. No one had to work on Reaping day. People got to sleep in. Though sleeping late in the Districts meant waking up at nine. Sleeping late in King's Landing meant waking up at noon. 

At last, Mayor Viserys moved forward and began his annual speech. Alicent didn’t even notice someone was beside her until they whispered into her ear. 

“I wonder what original, inspiring speech he’s going to give this year?” Rhaenyra joked. Alicent rolled her eyes. 

“You’re a pest.” She said, still looking straight ahead. 

Rhaenyra bumped their hips together, eliciting stares from the girls around them. 

“Say, how about we go see Syrax after this boring shit’s over?” Alicent gave her a sidelong glance and raised her eyebrows. 

“What, not gallivanting with Ser Criston today?” Rhaenyra slapped her lightly. 

“Shh, say it any louder will you? Besides, I’m not doing anything with him.” 

“Oh sure, sex is nothing these days.” Alicent replied, deadpan. Rhaenyra gave her a gentle slap again. 

“That is not what we’re doing and you know it. We’re just… talking.” Alicent stared at her. “Okay fine, maybe a little bit of sex, but that never hurt anyone!” 

“Yeah, just his job and your fathers if he gets caught.” Alicent hissed. Ser Criston was the Mayor’s personal guard, but as everyone else in this District had, he fell for the charms of Rhaenyra Targaryen and her flirty eyes. 

“Don’t be like that. It’s nothing serious.” Rhaenyra said darkly. 

“It better not be. He’s not worth anyone's life. No matter how good he is in bed.” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes but stopped talking about him, looking straight ahead, as Alicent was doing. 

“So… Syrax later?” She asked again and, against herself, Alicent grinned. 

“Alright, but not for too long, father will be furious if I’m–” 

“Out past dark, I know, I know.” Rhaenyra chuckled. “Don’t worry, Miss Hightower, I shall keep you ever so safe and secure in the dangerous terrain that is the forest” 

“It is dangerous!” Alicent snapped. “People don’t go in there for a reason! I’m surprised you haven’t died in there yet.” 

“Pure skill,” Rhaenyra replied nonchalantly, looking straight ahead, but grinning. 

Alicent knew she was right. Rhaenyra could scale the trees with ease, knowing precisely where to place her foot without tumbling or snapping a branch, and she hardly had to look to do so. She looked like she was flying when her feet danced along the bark so fast, Alicent could hardly tell where they were going. Rhaenyra knew how to kill, too. She often killed animals she found prowling in the woods with a catspaw dagger her father had given her years ago. She didn’t need the meat. But starving children did. She gave it to them without charge. She was beloved. If the Targaryens were still in power, they would have praised her as an ideal princess, a potential future queen. But those days were over. There hadn’t been a ruling Targaryen in seventy-four years. 

“And now… the Reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games…” Mayor Viserys said weakly, reclaiming his seat swiftly. 

The magenta woman rushed forward. She was bursting with eagerness. Likely hoping to be bumped up to a District that actually mattered next year if she gave a stellar performance. 

“She looked ridiculous,” Rhaenyra murmured in Alicent’s ear. 

“Shut up, we’ll miss it.” She replied, slapping Rhaenyra’s wrist, forcing them back to her sides. 

She speaks into the microphone, overly loud, voice falsely chipper. “Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!” She trotted over to the overly large bowl, filled with slips of paper, each containing the names of every eligible boy and girl in the district. In a moment, she would pull out to pieces and seal their fates. 

“She seems excited.” Rhaenyra muttered darkly. 

“It’s her job. It’s all she knows.” Alicent replied, to which Rhaenyra had no retort, just the set of her jaw. 

“Now, the very first tribute who will have the honour of representing District Twelve this year is…” the woman dug her hand around in the bowl, digging around, stirring the names over and over, until she plucked one from the rest and held it up to her lips. Alicent just kept praying that it wasn’t her. Just please don’t be her, she only had two more years. Alicent was repeating it over and over in her head like a mantra; please don’t be me, please don’t be me. 

“Rhaenyra Targaryen! Oh, another Targaryen Victor in the family perhaps!” The woman commented, turning to the Mayor, who looked horrified. 

Well. It wasn’t her. 

Rhaenyra. 

But the odds were entirely in her favour! Her name was in there six times. Six! Surely some people had their name submitted twice as much, surely someone else was mathematically more likely. How could it be Rhaenyra? Yes, she was seventeen, and thus had more entries than someone of twelve, but for someone of her age, the odds were entirely in her favour. But Alicent was smart enough to know that the odds never really mattered. The Hunger Games weren’t about odds. They were about violence and fear. Pretending there were odds just made it seem better when your District’s tributes died five minutes in. Yeah, well, the odds hadn’t been in their favour anyways. They never were. 

There were loud murmurs in the square. The children of the District Mayor being drawn was uncommon, but not unheard of. Uncommon because they could always be counted upon to never enter their names more times in exchange for resources. They were the only people who had enough. But this was some cruel reminder from King’s Landing that even the wealthy were not to be spared. You could be from the wealthiest family  in your District and still have your name called. Rhaenyra had just proven that. 

“Rhaenyra?” Alicent asked, dazed, turning to her friend. But Rhaenyra’s face betrayed no emotion. 

“You have to go up,” some girl behind them murmured. “They’re waiting.” Alicent wanted to slap her, to berate her to allow Rhaenyra a moment. But she knew the girl was right. The longer Rhaenyra stood here, the worse it would look. This was all televised. Every second was analysed greedily. 

Rhaenyra did move. Slowly, the crowd parted for her and she walked the long ascent to the podium. Alicent watched each step, her heart beating so very fast. Rhaenyra could win, couldn’t she? She would never leave her father alone in the world, not following her mothers death. She would fight for him. And he was a Victor! He had likely prepared her for this exact scenario! 

But Mayor Viserys did not look confident at all. His face was pale and beside him, her own father was murmuring furiously fast into his ear. 

Rhaenyra reached the podium woman, and the magenta pulled her closer to the bowl by her hand. 

“Lovely! Let’s get you a partner now!” And her hang plunged back in. 

Rhaenyra’s face showed none of the fear she must surely be feeling. She wore no emotion at all. She looked like… like the District was beneath her, like this was nothing. She looked vicious. 

She had been so busy feeling fearful for Rhaenyra, that she had forgotten to internally beg for her own name to be spared. 

“And the second tribute representing District Twelve in this year's Hunger Games is… Alicent Hightower!” 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

—

Alicent looked horrified. Rhaenyra could still see her face in the crowd. She was frozen in shock, as though she thought moving would condemn her, make this fucked up situation real. Alicent’s eyes locked on hers from where she stood, and Rhaenyra tried to convey with her look that it was okay, it would be fine. 

But it wasn’t fine. At least one of them was going to die this year. 

Alicent’s ascent looked as though it was happening in slow motion. She walked so slowly towards the escort woman. She had the same look in her eyes that Rhaenyra often saw in prey before the death blow was delivered  

By the time Alicent reached the podium, Rhaenyra thought her heart might have stopped. 

“Come, come,” the woman beckoned, extending her hand. Alicent looked like a deer with a flashlight in its eyes as she took it. “Everyone, please give a big round of applause for your tributes in this year's Hunger Games! Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower!”

No one clapped. 

Everyone in this District knew Alicent and Rhaenyra, and knew their friendship. But more than that, she knew these people. She had given animal pelts, plant roots, berries and animal meats to so many people in the Markets that they called the Hob, for a reason Rhaenyra didn’t know anymore. She had taught Simon how to hunt with the miniature bow and arrow his father had crafted for him. She had learnt that Joy had a fondness for blackberries, and went out of her way to bring some for her, whenever she saw the girl. She knew them. And they knew her. And they knew that she and Alicent were inseparable. It was Alicent who gave her last coin to children to purchase a pastry.  Alicent who had helped nurse little Daisy out of her cough with a tea recipe her mother had taught her. Alicent who made the rounds with Rhaenyra, offering comfort to the sick or mourning. 

But this, their silence. It was rebellion in itself. It was a message to King's Landing that they did not condone this. District Twelve, who never stood a fighting chance, who never expected a Victor, who often sighed with relief when their children were spared another year, did not clap. They did not cheer for their champions. They did not hail them as future Victors. They were silent. It was a rebellion. The smallest flicker of it. 

They were ushered into separate rooms, where soon their families would come and say goodbye. Or, perhaps to one of them, see you later. 

As predicted, only one person entered Rhaenyra’s room. Her father. He looked like he did following her mother’s death. With two words, the pain and grief had brought it all back. Like he was walking through time, the same death haunting his eyes once more.

“Father,” she croaked, and he enveloped her in a hug. “What do I do?” She felt twelve again, reeling from her mothers death, desperate for comfort, for assurance it would all be okay. 

“You win,” he replied at once. “You win this thing like I did. You kill who you need to kill, fight who you need to fight, and you win.” 

“How?” 

“You’re a hunter Rhaenyra–” she made a move to protest but her father held up a withering finger. “Don’t deny it, you are. Gods know what you do in the woods, how you give food to people.” 

“They’re starving,” she whispered. 

“I know.” Was all he could reply. Because of course. Even being the Mayor had its limits. Especially when it was District Twelve. Especially when you were a Targaryen. “But it’s a skill. Half the reason people die in there is because they don’t know how to survive. Rhaenyra, you’re the blood of the dragon, if anyone can survive in there, it’s you. Your mother would say the same thing.” Rhaenyra was determined not to cry, but her father nearly made her. 

Blood of the dragon, it was a saying her father repeated in times of strife. Rhaenyra didn’t know what it meant, but it meant something to him, and it meant something now. 

“Promise me you’ll fight, promise you’ll come home.” Her father whispered. 

“I promise,” because if she died, who would he have? He was dying, she knew it. Slowly, surely, painfully. He had been dying ever since her mother had. He needed her. She couldn’t leave him on his own. She couldn’t let him live with the burden of knowing he had outlived everyone he had ever loved. 

“They let you take a token from your District with you,” her father said, reaching for the chain around his neck. “Will you wear this?” He offered to her the Valyrian steel chain that bore a single red ruby, the last remnants of Targaryen royalty, the only surviving piece of their crown. 

“I can’t take this father. What if I–” she couldn’t complete the sentence. “How will I get it back to you?” 

“By winning.” He said firmly, placing the chain around her neck. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Someone else is here to see you,” he said, pulling away. 

“Who?” 

Her father raised his eyebrows, then opened the door, slowly, Ser Criston stepped into the room. 

“I’ll see you when you get home, my darling.” He said, exiting the room and closing the door. 

Criston rushed over to her and, even though they weren’t in love, even though they never would be, Rhaenyra accepted his embrace, because she could count the number of embraces she likely had left on her two hands, and she wanted to seize as many of them as she could.

“Rhaenyra,” he gasped, hugging her. “You’ll be fine. You’ll win and you’ll come home and you’ll be fine.” he assured her. 

“How? Twelve never wins. And there are kids in there who have been training for years, Criston. I hardly stand a chance.” The words felt like a confession, a failure. 

“You’re going to win. You’re smarter than everyone else in there. And you can hunt.” 

“I hunt animals. I’ve never killed anybody.” 

“How different can it be?” Criston replied calmly. “If you just imagine they’re a deer or a wolf–” 

And she could imagine it. She could imagine killing a man and pretending he was just a snow leopard for the family around the corner. She could tell herself it wasn’t that different at all. 

The Kingsguard, the ones that belonged the Faith Militant, ones from King's Landing entered the room. 

“Time’s up,” they said indifferently. 

“You’re going to win.” Criston reiterated as they ushered Rhaenyra out of the room. “You’re going to win.” 

She didn’t even know how to reply before they shoved her into the train. 

—

It was the most wonderful thing Alicent had ever seen. The Mayor’s house was nice. Frugal in comparison to the rest of the District. But this… it was sleek. She didn’t even notice it was moving until she glanced out the window and watched the District disappear in a grey blur. 

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” The magenta woman said, guiding Rhaenyra and Alicent to two armchairs. Alicent sat down. It was a sleek chair. Black leather, unbelievably comfortable. “Now, some introductions are in order!” 

Alicent dared to glance over at Rhaenyra, who still bore her steely expression from the Reaping. 

“I’m Laena, Laena Velaryon. It is simply such a pleasure to meet you both!” The name meant nothing to Alicent, but it clearly meant something to Rhaenyra. Her icy mask broke and she leaned forward. 

“Velaryon… as in Corlys and Rhaenys Velaryon?” She whispered. Laena blinked, the only real sign of surprise, as her eyebrows were drawn on in a way that gave the impression that she was perpetually in shock. 

“Why… yes…?” The woman, Laena, replied uncertainly, a puzzled expression painting her face.

“Rhaenys is my fathers cousin. He talks about her, but they’ve never met. He just likes to keep track of the family tree.” Rhaenyra paused, furrowing her eyes together. “He’s a big fan of the histories.” She said by way of explanation. “But how are you from King's Landing? They live in District Four.”  

Lanena waved her hand noncommittally. 

“Oh, they do live in District Four. I was simply fortunate enough to not bear the same fate!” 

“How come?” Rhaenyra pressed. Alicent thought she was being rather impolite, but, admittedly, Alicent was also curious. 

“Well… I… the High Septon took a liking to me when I was a child, plucked me right out of the hovel of District Four and brought me to King's Landing! How lucky am I?” She smiled as though this were the best outcome possible, and perhaps, it was. To Alicent, it sounded more like ‘Targaryen-Captive’ than ‘Generous-Faith-Rescue-Mission’, but how could she judge? If she had a chance to escape the Reaping, she would have too. But by the sounds of it, Laena had lived in King's Landing for so long that she didn’t even know what it meant to fear the Games. 

“Yeah,” Rhaenyra muttered darkly. “Lucky.” 

She sat in silence after that. Laena tried engaging her in conversation at multiple points, but seemed to ultimately realise it was futile. Then, she turned her attention to Alicent.

“I heard your father is the Mayor’s right-hand-man, is that right?” 

“Yes,” Alicent replied carefully. She didn’t want to sound rude, even though she would very much like to be. Their escorts were the only ways to get sponsors in the Games. Besides their mentor, a past Victor from their District, who Alicent had yet to even meet yet. The pickings were slim from Twelve. And she knew it wasn’t going to be Viserys, otherwise he would’ve been on the train with them. It could be Daemon but he was basically the black sheep of the Victors and he didn’t go down very well with the citizens of King’s Landing, so he generally didn’t do anyone any favours by mentoring them. She didn’t think about the other alternative. Maybe he wouldn’t show up. Maybe this year, they’d get a different mentor. Maybe they were tired of him killing all the kids from Twelve and decided someone who wasn't drunk should mentor them instead. Maybe a past Victor from a Royalties District? There were certainly enough of them. 

“Well, does that mean you and Rhaenyra here are acquainted?” Laena cast a hopeful glance toward Rhaenyra but received nothing in return. Rhaenyra seemed focused on the wall ahead of her. 

“Yes, we know each other.” As soon as she’d said it, Laena clapped her hands together.

“Oh! How fun! It’ll be like having a friend all the way in King's Landing!” 

That hadn’t been Alicent’s thinking. Alicent’s thinking since the moment her name had been called was that, in all likelihood, Rhaenyra would have to kill her to win. 

Alicent was feeling much less talkative all of a sudden. 

“Well, you’ll eat and then I suppose it’s off to bed!” It was still quite light out, but Alicent didn’t mind. She was eager to slip away unnoticed. 

Dinner was a quiet affair. The food, however, was more decadent than anything else Alicent had ever eaten in her life. Rich roasted pheasant coated in a sticky-sweet orange sauce with fluffy bread. Not tesserae grain bread, but real bakers bread. There were spring beans and diced carrots, white rice and a delicious smelling greenish soup that steamed for several minutes until it was cool enough to eat. There was also wine. Alicent had drunk wine on a handful of occasions, and she dared a sip of this one. It was bitter and made her recoil. 

Dessert was an overly large chocolate cake with bright red berries topping it, and a thick, creamy icing piped around the edges. Alicent had to remind herself to slow down, or else she’d be sick. She managed to hold out on eating a third slice of cake.  

“What do you do with these leftovers?” She asked while the food was being cleared away by servers in plain white tunics with neutral expressions on their faces. She felt a little ill after such rich fare, but she was determined not to be sick. She needed to eat as much as she could now. People starved to death in the Games. The fatter she got in these brief days before they started, the better. 

“Oh, who knows!” Laena chuckled airly, sipping daintily from the bitter wine. Alicent thought she had misheard.

“You don’t… give people the leftovers?” 

“Oh, I suppose some of the staff nibbled at it, but otherwise, no clue. Probably toss it before it goes off.” The words made Alicent feel sick. Made her wish she had eaten more, so that less would go to waste. A sidelong glance at Rhaenyra told her she was thinking the same thing. 

“You just… throw it away?” Rhaenyra asked, breathing deeply. 

“Well, what else would we do with it?” Laena inquired politely, as though there were truly no reasonable answer. 

Rhaenyra looked as though she was going to retort, but instead, she rose from her seat and stormed out of the room. 

“Horrible manners that one. You’d think, being the Mayor’s daughter and all…” Laena muttered into her wine glass. 

“Excuse me,” Alicent rose from her seat and quickly trailed after Rhaenyra. 

She found her sitting on a bed in what Alicent presumed was one of their bedrooms. Well, it was Rhaenyra’s now. 

“People are starving everywhere, and they just throw it all out. It’s disgusting.” She spat, not even bothering to look up at Alicent while she spoke. “It’s vile.” 

Alicent carefully took a seat beside her, her body releasing a deep exhale as she did so.

“I know. But there’s nothing we can do.”

“That makes it worse.” Rhaenyra snapped, and something about her tone, about how exhausted Alicent was, about how she was already having to resign herself to death, made her snap too. 

“Well, forgive me, Rhaenyra, I’m not really thinking about how best to help the people back home, I’m more worried about, hmm, I don’t know, my impending fucking death?” Alicent shrieked, rising off the soft bed to stand over Rhaenyra. “Did it ever occur to you that some of us don’t have a Victor for a father? Some of us haven’t been into the woods, learning how to hunt everyday–” 

“I’ve offered!” Rhaenyra replied, aghast. “And what about–” but Alicent didn’t let her finish the sentence she knew Rhaenyra was forming. 

“That is besides the point!” Alicent retorted. It took her several minutes to catch her breath and calm herself. “Rhaenyra, I’m going to die in there.” 

“No you won’t–” 

“I have no survival skills. At all. At best I can identify some plants. But what use is that if they throw us in some desert wasteland or some ice terrain? I can’t even hit people. For fucks sake, I can’t kill a stupid bug without crying, how on earth am I supposed to kill twenty-three people?” 

“You don’t have to kill them, you have to survive them. I’ll protect you, I’ll help you, I’ll–” 

“And when it’s just you and me? What happens then? I kill you? You kill me? Hmm? What’s the grand solution then, Rhaenyra?” 

“I hadn’t–” Rhaenyra faltered. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Alicent couldn’t help but scoff. Because of course Rhaenyra hadn’t thought about it. She probably hadn’t been considering the odds stacked against her for the past hours like Alicent had. She had a fighting chance, and she was smart enough to know it. 

“Yeah, well, the odds aren’t exactly in my favour.” 

Rhaenyra went silent 

“It’s fine. There are twenty-four of us. Odds are someone will kill me before you can.” Alicent rolled her eyes and turned for the door. 

“Alicent, wait–” Rhaenyra latched onto her arm. Alicent stopped. “Wait,” Rhaenyra repeated. “What if we… what if we just…” 

“Just what? Rhaenyra? Formed an alliance for a little while? Learn to protect each other out there? Kill for each other? How much harder would it be if we did that? Hm? When do we break it off? Final ten? Eight? Four?” Rhaenyra fell silent. 

“I don’t know. But I can’t just let you die.” 

“You have to.” Alicent said bluntly. “Face it, Rhaenyra. Between the two of us, your father needs you more than mine needs me. You have more to live for.”

“That’s not true–” 

“Yes. It is. The only person I'd live for is you. ” Rhaenyra retreated a step, seemingly unknowingly. “Look, it’ll be even harder if we try to stay together. It’ll be easier for us both if we don’t have to worry about killing the other when it comes down to it.” Not that I could ever kill you. 

Rhaenyra looked at her with an expression Alicent had never seen before. Silent for several moments. 

“Fine.” Rhaenyra agreed. “We’ll both try and win on our own.” Rhaenyra stuck out her hand. “Promise me you’ll try and win.” 

“Fine,” Alicent lied. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

“Now, your mentor will be awake shortly, and he’ll come and prep you on what to do today.” Laena said brightly over breakfast. “But I’m sure he won’t begin until Rhaenyra arrives…” Laena said distractedly, glancing around, as if the silver-haired girl would suddenly make an appearance. 

The vast amount of food was almost too much for Alicent to take in. A tureen of ice filled with so many fruits that she wasn’t even sure she could name them all, sat in the middle. Rolls of bread, varying in shapes, sizes and colours were scattered across. Bacon and sausages were piled high, eggs and butter, vegetables fresh and roasted and steamed and fried all sat before her. She could eat whatever and however much she liked. A variety of drinks were available. Juices, she recognised as orange and apple juice, they were a luxury, even for a Merchant girl, but she had tasted them both once or twice. There was also coffee, a drink Alicent herself wasn’t fond of, but her father loved. She had a sip once, in richer days, and had almost spat it out, holding it in only on the knowledge that it was a luxury her father had struggled to afford. She steered clear of the stuff. A teapot that contained a herbal tea, wafting in the air, and another jug full of creamy dark liquid that Alicent could only guess was hot chocolate.  

She helped herself to bread with a hearty serving of butter, accompanied by no less than three eggs and six pieces of bacon, even sneaking a sausage on there. She loaded one cup with apple juice and the other with hot chocolate, and was just beginning to break her fast when an electronic door behind her swooshed open, indicating the arrival of another person into the carriage. Assuming it was Rhaenyra, who from now on she was determined not to interact with more than necessary for both their sakes, Alicent continued eating, not turning around. 

“Ah good, you’re here. Take a seat, take a seat! Chat with Alicent while I go see if I can rouse Rhaenyra…” Laena said the person behind Alicent who clearly was not Rhaenyra. Alicent turned slowly in her chair, a piece of bacon drifting to her mouth on her fork. 

She dropped it. 

“Alicent?” Her brother asked groggily. 

— 

When Rhaenyra entered the dining cart at Laena’s incessant insistence, she found a shocking scene awaiting her. 

“Gwayne?” She blurted, and the older Hightower turned to face her.

“Rhaenyra?” He asked back. He looked shocked, as though he were not expecting her. Based on the way Alicent had been looking at him, he hadn’t been expecting his sister either. Did he not watch the Reaping? Or was it not mandatory viewing for Victors? Surely it must be. Everything to do with the Games is mandatory. 

He seemed to compose himself somewhat. “This isn’t good.” 

“No fucking shit,” Alicent mumbled, eliciting a gasp from Laena and a muttering of something like “the language on these tributes…” 

Gwayne took an uneasy seat opposite Alicent and then the two siblings looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to join them. Rhaenyra sat at the head of the table, back to the window, so that she wouldn’t have to be directly next to nor across from either of them. 

“Well,” Rhaenyra said awkwardly as she reached to load up her plate as Alicent had done. “I suppose there's no point avoiding it. What’s your advice?” Gwayne took a long moment to respond, seemingly analysing his now silent sister who was deliberately not looking at either of them. 

“The most important thing in the beginning is getting sponsors.” Gwayne said as he pulled a flask out of his pocket and gave a generous pour into his teacup. He finished it in one swallow and repeated the process of filling the cup. 

“Sponsors now? Shouldn’t we work out what we’re up against? Figure out what strengths we could play to?” 

“For someone who has a Victor for a father, you seem wholly unenlightened as to how these things work.” Gwayne replied drily. This made her recoil in embarrassment. 

“He doesn’t like to talk about it.” She replied stiffly. 

“I’m not surprised,” Gwayne said darkly. 

“So, sponsors, how do we get them?” Alicent asked coolly. 

“You have to win over King's Landing,” Gwayne replied. They both looked at him expectantly. 

“How?” 

“There are several different ways. It all depends on your approach and your personality. And your skill set.” She and Alicent still said nothing, in fact, they communicated more than they’d done all morning by exchanging a confused look. Then they both remembered they weren’t in this together and looked away. Gwayne sighed and drained his cup again, then signaled for a King's Landing attendant. “Another bottle of scotch, please.” He asked, then turned back to them. 

Laena made a tutting noise but said nothing from her perch on the couch, where she daintily sipped at her coffee. 

“You’re a Targaryen, your father is both Mayor and Victor. But don’t play into that. Too many Targaryens have come out of these Games with the strategy of their ‘king’s blood’. It won’t do you any good.” He said, pointing his butter knife at Rhaenyra.

“Then what?”

“You two are life-long friends. Bring up how hard but also how wonderful it will be to have a friend in the Arena–” 

“No.” Alicent cut in. “Something else. We’re…” She glanced at Rhaenyra. “We’re not going to be allies. We’ve already decided.” Gwayne blinked once in shock. 

“No.” He responded at last, looking between them both, a curious expression on his face. 

“What do you mean, no? ” Rhaenyra growled. “You can’t just decide –” 

“Yes. I can.” Gwayne retorted. They both shot him an incredulous look and Rhaenyra opened her mouth to reply, but he beat her to it. “I’m your mentor, like it or not. I’ve played these Games and won. Listening to me is your best chance at surviving. Your friendship is probably the most marketable part about you.” 

“I’m Targaryen, surely that counts for something, surely we can spin it a new way. You just said–” Gwayne looked at her irritated

“There’s a Targaryen almost every year. Or at least enough people that could pass as one. You need to stand out. You’re from the poorest District, the laughing stock of King's Landing. You aren’t a Royalties District Targaryen, you’re a slums one. And that’s been done before, too.” Gwayne cut in before Rhaenyra suggested she do exactly that angle. 

“But we’re both related to Victors, surely that–” Alicent began. Gwayne shook his head. 

“It won’t be enough. It’ll come up, but don’t focus on that. Makes you seem… unoriginal.” 

“But then how will us being friends solve anything?” Alicent said bitterly. 

“It’s tragic. Think about it. Two childhood companions, forced to battle to the death, the Gods have cursed you and now you’re stuck with the remnants.” 

“But I don’t want the King's Landing citizens crying over my tragic friendship while I’m in there dying! It’s ridiculous.” 

“It’s smart.” Gwayne countered, pointing between the two of them. “Get them to root for you. For them to want to see you kill and die for each other. See how far you would go to protect one another. See how difficult it will be to return without the other.” He said the last part in an unaffected tone and took a healthy swig from the scotch bottle. 

“Root for us? They'll probably start cheering if we start fighting.” 

“Precisely.” Gwayne said over the rim of the already rapidly emptying bottle. “You’re entertaining them, giving them a story. A story they can work with, but two tributes with nothing to give them? They won’t even care to remember your names if you die in the bloodbath. They won’t even bother betting on when you’ll die.” 

Rhaenyra was agast, she felt as though King's Landing was prying into her private life. She had never been ashamed of who she loved, when it wasn’t dangerous. But there was something about showing off her relationship with Alicent purely for the entertainment of King's Landing. She looked to Alicent, ready to hear her agree with Rhaenyra and defend their right to choose their strategy. 

But Alicent just nodded slowly. “Okay, so we’ll show them we’re close. Make them care. Then what?” Rhaenyra stared at her, shocked, betrayed. 

“You can’t be serious–” She began. Alicent whipped her head to her, finally looking her square in the eyes, fury blazing there.

“Rhaenyra, put aside your fucking pride. We’re nothing more than circus animals to them. The least we can do is be well-liked, rich circus animals.” She spat before she turned back to her brother expectantly. 

Rhaenyra stewed in silence. 

“What skills do you both have? I know you’re handy with a knife, Rhaenyra. We all know you can kill animals and forage for food, but anything else?” Gwayne laced his hands together and leant forward. 

“That’s about it, actually.” Rhaenyra grumbled.

“It’s better than nothing. It's better than some people.” 

“I don’t have anything.” Alicent said sullenly, reaching for an orange half from the tureen of fruit. 

“Untrue,” Gwayne countered. “You’re charming, Alicent. You’re a politician's daughter. You know how to play these Games. I know you do.”

“That’ll hardly save me when someone’s got a knife to my throat.” Alicent retorted, slowly peeling away the skin. 

“Don’t you get it? The tributes don’t matter. King's Landing is who you have to convince. If you charm them, you’ll already stand a better shot. Besides, stop being modest, we both know you know your poisons.” Gwayne scoffed, affronted. This was news to Rhaenyra. 

“What do you mean, poisons?” She asked, incredulous. Alicent flushed. 

“I just… I read, okay. Old books my mother had. She was an apothecary’s daughter. She didn’t teach me nothing. I know what plants are deadly. There’s a reason I always check what plants you give people, Rhaenyra.” Alicent said somewhat smugly. “You aren’t the best medical forager.” 

“Then why didn’t you come with me?” 

“It gave you a sense of purpose, to save people. I wasn’t going to take that from you. Besides, you were smart enough never to eat anything unless you were absolutely sure.” Gwayne was chuckling quietly as he watched them bicker. 

“What’s so funny?” Rhaenyra snapped. 

“Nothing. I just think you won’t have a rough go of selling your story, is all. You’re so clearly familiar.” Rhaenyra crossed her arms.

“So, Rhaenyra has hunting and gathering, I have charm and homemade poison, great, sounds like we’ll definitely be a match for the giant guy from Seven.” Alicent said flatly. 

“Well, there’s another thing. Why don’t we watch a recap of the Reaping and see who you’re up against?” Gwayne suggested, rising from his seat, scotch bottle in hand, walking over to the sleek, massive TV pressed against a wooden panel. 

Alicent and Rhaenyra mutely followed as Gwayne said over his shoulder, “I didn’t really watch it the first time ‘round.” 

Laena gasped. “What?” She said, affronted. 

“Get a hold of your hairnet, woman.” Gwayne retorted gruffly, to which Rhaenyra snorted, earning a dark look from Laena. 

Gwayne pressed a button on the sleek remote, much more complex looking than anything found in District Twelve, even the Mayor’s Mansion, and the screen boomed rather than flickered to life. They sat in silence as they watched the replay of the Reapings.

A handful of tributes stood out to her, but she was hardly paying attention, too busy looking at Alicent out of the corner of her eye as she studied the screen. 

The large man from District One who had a look of pure malice overtake his face when his name was drawn, Hugh Hammer, towered over the King's Landing escort. His muscles, clearing from years of working in the less glamorous aspects of the luxury items district, threatened to rip open his shirt, they were that large. How could she fight against him and win? 

The other tribute from One seemed less frightening in comparison, but she didn’t catch his name. The tributes from Two seemed fairly stock standard. Strong, tan from the sun, tall, proud. District Three was the second District to have two tributes of the same sex. But whereas One had been two men, this was two women. They both looked terrified. 

No one really caught her eye until the name ‘Laenor Velaryon’ was called. Her head, of its own accord, whipped to Laena, who wore an impassive expression, as opposed to her usual bright and cheery one.

“Is he your brother?” 

“By blood only,” she replied stiffly. But she didn’t watch the rest of the Reapings, instead busying herself over the state of the spotless carriage. 

The man from Seven, the one that Alicent had commented on, Harwin Strong, lunged to volunteer when a young boy who looked no more than twelve named Joffrey was called. He didn’t have that look in his eye that suggested he hungered for violence, as the boy from One had, but rather a reserved and stoic mask, making him seem as impenetrable as stone. He looked much older than his maximum eighteen years and strong enough to break bones. 

“How did you know about him, anyway?” She whispered to Alicent. 

“I couldn’t sleep so I watched the Reapings. It’s worse watching a second time.” Alicent replied, eyes still fixed on the screen. 

Most hauntingly by fair, was the girl from District Eight who shook violently when her name was called and looked as though she would faint on stage. She had to be only twelve of thirteen, but she looked younger as she trembled in place. She stood shivering with nothing but the wind offering to take her place. 

No one else captured her interest until a woman, who was slightly older than Rhaenyra, likely eighteen, then, was called. She had a sly, almost... owl-like eyes, and a wraithe-like frame that exuded cunning and calculation. When she ascended the podium, she didn’t look vicious or indifferent, but rather… intelligent, omnipotent, even. Which seemed impossible to draw from an expression at a Reaping, but Rhaenyra was struck with the suspicion that the girl from ten, named Alys, was not to be trifled with. 

Then, suddenly her name was being called. She watched her own climb toward the podium, thankfully, looking cold as ice. However, she caught the flicker of panic in Alicent’s eyes when her name had been drawn. Rhaenyra’s own face was panic-stricken once she heard Alicent’s name drawn in turn. That would help their apparent strategy. That she looked more worried about Alicent than herself. 

Alicent shook from head to toe as she walked towards Laena, her eyes shining bright with fear. Rhaenyra was filled with the same horrible sense of dread she felt the first time she had heard Alicent’s name called rush through her again. 

When it was over, Gwayne silently clicked off the TV and said nothing at first. 

“So, who stood out to you?” He asked slowly. 

“The boy from One. The first one. Hugh.” Rhaenyra said at once. Alicent nodded numbly. Gwayne turned to his sister. 

“Him, and the girl from Two.” She hadn’t stood out to Rhaenyra, but clearly something about her made Alicent uneasy. 

“Obviously you won’t know much about what you’re up against until you see them in the Training Centre,” or in the Arena, Rhaenyra thought darkly. “But it’s vital that you don’t underestimate anyone. They could all be vicious killers hiding behind an innocent mask.” There was a girl who did that a few years ago. Alysanne Blackwood, from Nine. Rhaenyra couldn’t have been older than six when she won, but she has the vivid memory of the first time she saw Alysanne shoot someone with an arrow, straight into their heart, after acting like a pathetic coward for most of the Games. It had been deviously clever. 

“What will happen?” Alicent asked. “In the Training Centre.” 

“There will be weapons of every kind in there, and several tributes who will know how to handle them, too,” he added with a pointed look. “There will also be survival stations. Plant identifications, snares and traps, fire-starting, you name it. They are, perhaps even more important than the weapons.” Gwayne cautioned. 

“What good is it starting a fire if someone who can handle a twenty-kilo sword comes up to you?” Rhaenyra asked, exasperated, head feeling as though it may burst. 

“What good is it knowing how to use a twenty-kilo sword if you die because you froze on the first night?” Gwayne countered. That shut Rhaenyra up. 

He looked as though he was going to say more, but they all felt the train slow. They had arrived at King's Landing at last.

—

King's Landing was beautiful. It shimmered with lights and colours that didn’t even exist back in Twelve. The cameras from the news didn’t do it justice. It was magnificent. 

But the most beautiful sight of all was by far the Grand Sept. It stuck out like a mountain in the centre of the city. It was breathtaking, with colourful, refracting glass that shone in the sun, and a beautiful, curved dome atop it that seemed to be pure crystals, compared to the windows. Even from here, she could see statues of the Holy Seven, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Father, Warrior, Smith, and Stranger. No one believed in the gods anymore. No one in the Districts at least. But they were popular in King’s Landing. She spotted several seven-pointed stars, a symbol of the faith. 

As they pulled into the station, several citizens of King’s Landing were there already, all in different arrays of poor or eye-sore fashion choices and colours. Some had modifications that left jewels implanted in their skin, some had unnaturally large breasts or impossibly small waists. Alicent was positive she saw a man who was a startling shade of electric blue. 

She pressed her face against the glass and the citizens erupted in cheers at the sight of her. Tentatively she waved back at them. She knew it was a good strategic move, to make them like her. But some girlish part of her also delighted in the fact that she captivated the attention of this many people before. She had never captivated anyone before. It made her feel giddy. 

“What are you doing?” Rhaenyra hissed from the couch, looking appalled. 

“Charming them.” Alicent replied coldly, and returned her attention to the gawking flock of people that had likely already begun to place bets on how long she would live.

Chapter Text

Jessamyn was on her way to her office, prepared to focus and collect her thoughts before her tribute arrived, but she was interrupted by Dalton Greyjoy, who pulled her into the main hall. 

“Jessa, Jessa, come come, the people have need of you,” he says in a sing-song voice, clearly already several drinks in. 

“I can’t, Dalton, I have to get ready–” 

“Jeyne was asking for you,” Dalton quips. You’ll have to do better than that, Greyjoy, she thinks, amused.

“No, she wasn’t. She knows not to interrupt me on arrival day.” She replied flatly. Dalton’s face fell, disappointed. 

“Really thought that one would work…” She twisted out of his grip and headed back in the direction of her office, but he reached out and gripped onto her arm again. 

He was quite drunk, so it threw her off for a moment. Forgetting how strong he was, forgetting that this man was a Victor who had fought and killed to stand here. Who was strong enough to break a man's neck with a simple headlock. She had watched him do it in the 65th Games. 

She sighed and turned to him, piercing him with her stare.

“What is it, Dalton?” 

“We’re throwing a little… party. Call it a preemptive celebration for this… momentous day.” He said the last words darkly, looking as though he were about to start spitting. 

“Careful,” She whispered as she extracted her arm from his iron hold. “You never know…” who’s listening. Dalton’s eyes seemed to clear with sobriety as he whipped his head up. 

“You be careful, Jessa. You can probably die from too little fun, you know.” He said, not missing a beat. She forced herself to chuckle and roll her eyes. She gave him a meaningful glance in parting. “Hey, hey wait!” He called as she strolled away, jogging to catch up with her. 

“Dalton, I’m serious, I have to go.” 

“I know, I know,” he replied, holding his hands up in surrender. “I was just curious what District you got this year.” 

“Twelve. The Targaryen girl,” she added before he could ask. He made a face as though he had smelled rotten eggs. 

“They stuck you with Twelve? That’s plain insulting.” Then he glanced around. “Insulting to me, I was hoping you’d finally get Five.” He added, once more, not missing a beat despite his inebriation. 

“I asked for Twelve.” She replied. Dalton made a disappointed face, clutching his hand to his heart. 

“You wound me, Jessa. I thought we were friends.” Jessa laughed, genuinely this time. 

“In your dreams, Greyjoy.” He stopped walking alongside her as she approached her door, backtracking his steps. 

“One day you’ll understand the value of my company!” He called as he inched back to the main hall, likely back to the party she had no doubt was taking place. She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, making sure he could see. 

“Unlikely!” She called out before she closed her door behind her. 

“Miss Redfort,” a squeaky voice said, startling her so much that she actually jumped in place. 

“Oh, Emphyria, you startled me!” She said, clutching her chest, willing her heartbeat to return to normal pace. 

The girl blushed– or she would have, but her skin was a perpetual shade of violet, making blushing a rather difficult prospect, more a darkening of the cheeks as opposed to a red flush. 

“Sorry Miss,” she twiddled with her purple thumbs. “I just wanted to let you know that we’re ready for when you need us.” Each word got quieter than the last. 

Jessamyn knew she had to make up for her dramatic response earlier, so she put on her best pageant-smile. “Thank you so much, you know what you need to do when they arrive? No questions?” Emphyria shook her head. “Wonderful, I’ll see you soon.” Emphyira gave a shaky smile in reply and skipped off. 

No sooner was she finally alone, than her office door burst open. So much for collecting my thoughts, Jessamyn sighed inwardly and turned to face her most recent intrusion upon peace and quiet. 

“Jessamyn, good, you’re here. I was wondering if we could go over the semantics one more time before the tributes arrive, just to be sure everything is perfect–” this was all spoken very fast, with a lot of rapid hand movements accompanying it. It took Jessamyn a moment to register what had actually been said. 

“Alyssa, everything will be fine. I promise.” Jessamyn said through a good-natured laugh. “You worry too much. We’ve tested it dozens of times.” She assured the woman. Alyssa Royce was eight years younger than Jessamyn, and was a fairly new hire, but, ever since Alec had died, her previous partner, she had proved more than eager and skilled enough, despite her youth. 

However, she did possess a tendency to worry slightly more than necessary. 

Alyssa loosed a deep sigh and sunk into the chair near Jessamyn’s bookshelf. “You’re sure?” She asked, voice still uncertain. 

“Positive.” Jessamyn replied. And she was. They had tested it dozens of times. She was sure that nothing would go wrong. This was going to be her year. She would finally show King’s Landing what she was capable of now that she had surpassed the role of Alec Hunter's mentee. She could do this. 

“Okay, good,” Alyssa said distantly, eyes scanning furiously across a screen in her hands. “Because they’re here.” 

—

“You can’t resist anything they do, and I mean anything.” Gwayne instructed as he guided them towards the ‘Re-Make Room’. “It will likely feel slightly, if not overly humiliating, but you have to do what they say. As bizarre as they seem, they know what they’re doing and they know what King’s Landing wants to see.” Alicent nodded, but Rhaenyra looked skeptical. 

“See you soon.” Alicent said nervously. Her brother nodded his head and watched as they stepped through the twin doors before them, clearly marked ‘District Twelve Tributes’. Beneath the engraved plaque was a piece of paper, lazily stuck on, that bore ‘Rhaenyra Targaryen’ and ‘Alicent Hightower’ respectively. So non permanent. Even in a wealthy place like King’s Landing, why bother to immortalize their names, even for a few brief days? Why waste money on people who don't matter? She didn’t even have the energy to be insulted. 

Her prep team was definitely… interesting. The smallest one, a young woman who couldn’t have been more than twenty, ran up to her and immediately began undressing her, had bright blue hair, a slim frame, and large brown eyes that, for some reason, reminded Alicent of mice. 

“Oh, what are you–” Alicent began, but, remembering Gwayne’s instructions, bit her tongue. If she pretended that they were just… colourful birds at her feet, the experience became a lot less humiliating much quicker. 

“Hi, I’m Peter,” a man with unnaturally orange hair said in the usual, overly affected King’s Landing accent, voice getting higher at the end of every sentence, making it seem like he was posing a question. “This is Rufus” he hissed out the ‘s’ as he jabbed a thumb towards the man next to him who had startling neon-yellow eyes and magenta hair - not unlike Laena’s outfit on Reaping day - which stuck up in all directions. “And that,” Peter pointed to the woman who had now stripped Alicent out of everything but her underthings, “is Cersei.” 

“Hi,” Alicent said weakly. 

“Now, we’re going to have to wax you– you’re very hairy,” Cersei said from behind Alicent as she unhooked her shabby bra, not bothering with pleasantries. “But first we’ll wash you. Do something about how filthy you are, you poor thing.” Cersei said in a high, spritely voice, in a tone that Alicent assumed was intended to be sympathy. 

“Thank you, I suppose I am dreadfully filthy from Twelve,” she said with a false sadness in her voice. Sure, a layer of coal dust stuck to everything, but she would rather be covered in coal dust than have her skin dyed pink. They wouldn’t dye her skin, would they?

Her prep team predictably swooned at her humble sweetness. “Oh, you poor thing! We’ll make you the most darling thing in all of King’s Landing in no time!” Rufus exclaimed as he seized her hand in his, examining her freshly bitten nails, his smile tapering off somewhat. “Although, who knows how I’ll manage to salvage these…” She tried to muster guilt at the fact that her nails were picked to the quick and red with soreness, but then she remembered she would die soon, and in comparison to that, did the state of her nails really matter? Rufus seemed to think so. 

“Then we’ll work on your face after all the cleaning and waxing business,” Cersei continued as though she had not stopped speaking. “You know, stray hairs, and blemishes. Blah blah blah. Do everything we can to make you ready for Alyssa.” 

“Alyssa?” Alicent asked, confused. 

“She’s your stylist, dear,” Rufus said as he guided her naked form towards a steel table, patting it down, instructing her to lay on her back. “She’s who’s going to make you look fabulous for the Opening Ceremony.”  He ran a manicured hand through her hair absentmindedly. 

Right. Because the Games have already started.

It seemed like hours passed in the monochromatic room. The only sounds were the excited chatter between her prep team and the ripping noise that occurred whenever they uprooted even more of her body hair. Alicent grit her teeth, refusing to yelp, despite how uncomfortable, and, frankly painful the experience was, Gwayne’s words ringing in her ears. 

Her prep team couldn’t bet on the Games, not be a sponsor to any tribute. But surely they had friends they would talk to while they got drunk and gorged themselves on food that would never run out, laughing at the children they watched being slaughtered? They would talk to them, tell them about the girl from District Twelve, and Alicent was determined not to give them a negative story. 

Finally, once seemingly all her hair, save the mass on her head, had been removed– because yes, they had plucked at her eyebrows making her eyes well with tears to the point that she wasn’t even sure she had eyebrows anymore– they led her over to a bathtub filled with an odd orange looking substance. Alicent eyed it warily, but decided that her prep team wasn’t technically allowed to do her harm, so the stuff had to be alright. She proved correct, in fact, it soothed her burning legs, underarms, and, well, whole body. 

They gave her a brief shower, but they had washed her hair with it laying in a strange wide black bowl first. After the shower, they pressed a singular button and air flowed all around her, drying her off instantly. Childishly, she wanted to comment that it was like magic, but she restrained herself. 

Her prep team ushered her into a much more… humanised and lived-in looking room with two couches and a sleek table in the middle. There was even a window overlooking the rooftops of King’s Landing. A robe lay across the back of one of the couches and Alicent had already begun wrapping it around herself when she realised her stylist would likely want her to still be naked. She dropped it back in its original place at the same time the door opened. She turned around and instinctually covered her chest with her arms. 

“Hi, hi, you must be Alicent! I’m Alyssa, I’ll be your stylist during the Games- well, now during them, before them and hopefully afterwards, too!” A young woman, perhaps only a handful of years older than Alicent, spoke at rapid-fire speed, moving her hands exaggeratedly as she did so. She had long hair that brushed her waist that was, to Alicent’s relief, a natural, warm chestnut. Her eyes were hazel and were well-complimented by the green dress she wore. Simple, but still elegant, still indicative that she knew how to dress, dress well, and in fashion with King’s Landing, but not so dramatically that it made Alicent want to look away. The most dramatic part of her outfit was her large jewelled necklace, but all things considering, it was a welcome sight. 

“Hi,” Alicent feebly, not sure what else to do. That seemed to be all she was capable of saying around these people, unless she was licking their boots hoping to garner favour.

“Well, please have a seat! You can put the robe on! It seems silly that I would be clothed and you not! Are you hungry? You must be hungry, let me get us some food!” Tentatively, Alicent put on the silken robe, feeling much more at ease. Even this simple robe that had likely been produced at the drop of a hat was nicer than anything else she owned. She wondered if she could keep it, but then remembered that there was no point in giving a walking corpse any gifts. 

Alyssa sat on the couch which had its back to the massive floor to ceiling windows, so Alicent sat in the opposite one. Once she was seated, Alyssa pressed a button that had been hidden in the panel of her chair, and the table sprung forth an entire feast. 

She tried not to gape. 

Roast chicken, a whole chicken, dripping in melted butter. Mashed potatoes that looked golden in the sunlight, beans and carrots roasted and coated in some kind of sauce that smelt like garlic. Little puddings sat on the outskirts, layered with cake and cream, with a dusting of some brown powder on the top. 

Alicent had never seen this much immediate and immaculate food before her in her life. Sure, she had never gone hungry, but she hadn’t dined like this. Her chicken was perhaps a leg between her and her father evenly, dense tesserae grain bread as opposed to mashed potatoes, little chives and dandelion stems that she or Rhaenyra had unearthed somewhere in the Meadow - as close to the woods as Alicent would venture. Perhaps if the seasons were kind, they could spare an apple to split as a treat. Alicent couldn’t even imagine what was in the pudding, but she had only ever had cake once in her life, on New Years with Rhaenyra and Viserys, where they had splurged slightly. Even that cake would likely be nothing compared to whatever the King’s Landing cooks had produced. The only cream they had in District Twelve was from the milk of nanny goats. There were only a few families who grew carrots, their seeds were too expensive. Alicent had a small patch, but she would bet all of them that the amount of carrots tossed onto this plate would’ve been equal to every last seed she’d planted. 

Her jaw must have dropped, she must have looked shocked, because Alyssa gave a breathy laugh.

“Oh yes, the food is marvelous, isn't it?” Alicent gave a dull nod before pulling the little pudding towards her, desperate to try it. It was sweet, but also had the bitter taste of coffee, but the cream and copious amounts of sugar made up for it. “That’s called tiramisu. It’s a favourite of mine.” Alyssa explained. 

“It's very nice. We don’t have anything like this back in Twelve.” She didn’t say it for sympathy, she meant it. She couldn’t even guess what was within beyond cream, coffee, and sugar. 

“No, I can’t imagine you do.” Then, suddenly, driven by some kind of urgency, Alyssa leant forward. Alicent realised very quickly that, despite being dressed like a relatively normal person, Alyssa was somewhat eccentric. Perhaps her normal presentation masked a crazy woman. “Now, Alicent, my job right now is to dress you for the Opening Ceremony. Make sure they remember you.” 

Typically, for the Opening Ceremony, tributes wore outfits that reflected the main industry of their District. Being from District Twelve, the coal mining District, her options were limited in terms of looking even half decent. Most of the time, Twelve was the laughing stock of the Games from night one, simply because their stylists thought coal miners outfits or being coated in coal dust was the final word in fashion. It was a shock the tributes from Twelve managed to get a sponsor at all when they were dressed so poorly. 

“Now, my partner and I don’t think that coal is very attractive, so we’ve decided to go with a slightly different approach.” What else could they derive from coal, though? Alicent’s mind ran wild, trying to imagine what ghastly outfit they would place her in, in front of all of Westeros, ensuring she would look like a fool and ruin almost all her chances of gaining a sponsor. Everyone favoured the prettier tributes. 

“Now, I hope you aren’t afraid of fire!” 

The sentence made Alicent’s stomach drop. 

—

Rhaenyra did not want to like her stylist. Jessamyn looked to be around the age her mother would have been…, and had the look of someone self assured and very no nonsense. It would have been respectable, if she wasn’t essentially fattening Rhaenyra for slaughter. 

However, even Rhaenyra could not deny that the outfit she wore for the Opening Ceremony was marvelous. Or suicidal.

Jessamyn had only covered blemishes and highlighted Rhaenyra’s features, but other than that, little makeup tarnished her face. 

“You want to be recognizable.” She had said by way of explanation. She’d also rebraided Rhaenyra’s hair the way it had been on Reaping Day. Rhaenyra tried not to be impressed that her fingers could replicate what her own had done. It had taken her ages to master that particular style. 

But the outfit… no one would forget that, that was for sure. 

It was all black and covered her entirely. Toe to neck. It shimmered like armour and was detailed with little dragon scales. Jessamyn said they were meant to be coal lumps, but they looked like dragon scales to Rhaenyra. Not that she had ever seen a dragon beyond her fathers replications with muddy clay. 

According to Jessamyn, she and her partner, Alicent’s stylist, Alyssa, had constructed a method of lighting her and Alicent on fire without burning them. She had a cape fastened to her throat, which, right before they rode out for the Opening Ceremony, would be lit on fire and supposedly not kill, or at the very least, very badly burn them. 

Rhaenyra was skeptical. She had listened to Gwayne’s advice and let her prep team assault her, no matter how invasive and crude their practices seemed. But she was fairly certain that Gwayne hadn’t been anticipating them being set on fucking fire when he had told them to cooperate. 

It was a great relief to see Alicent step out in the same outfit, so that she was at least not going to be fearing for her life on her own. Before the Games started anyway. 

Alicent looked beautiful, though. Like Rhaenyra, she had little makeup on. Her eyelashes looked longer, making her eyes seem bigger. Her lips were slightly redder, as were her cheeks, but only just. Only different enough that someone who had been looking at Alicent their whole life, as Rhaenyra had, could notice. Her hair, which had always been long, seemed to shine in the bright lights. It curled on its own, but the King’s Landing people must have added some finishing touches, because there was no way Alicent’s hair completely fell in perfect ringlets. 

Rhaenyra was too busy staring to notice Alicent approaching her. 

“Scared we might die before we’re even in the Arena?” Alicent asked, voice shaking with fearful laughter. 

“Undoubtedly.” Rhaenyra sighed. 

“I’ll rip off your cape if you rip off mine?” Alicent said, and Rhaenyra nodded in agreement. Then she burst into fevered laughter. Alicent did too. Because they were both so delirious with fear. We might fucking burn to death because of our gods damned stylists. That would surely be a first. 

“Alright, are you both ready?” Jessamyn asked, walking over to them, Alyssa trotting like an excited puppy behind her. Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged worried glances but nodded slowly. 

“Good.” 

They climbed into their chariot, which was being steered by two inky black horses. 

“I’ll only light you right before you go on, okay?” 

“Okay,” Alicent breathed in reply. Rhaenyra was thinking about how much more difficult the Games would become with burn wounds to contend with.  

The tributes from District One rolled out on pearly white horses, and, of course, they looked magnificent. Their skin had some kind of shimmering powder applied to it that gave the illusion that the tributes were living diamonds. 

Why couldn’t Twelve get an industry that actually gave the tributes a fighting chance? 

Soon, District Eleven was moving forward in their floral outfits, and Rhaenyra knew they had seconds before potentially being burnt to death before all of Westeros. 

“Alright, ready?” Jessamyn asked. Rhaenyra wanted to say no, but instead she gave a nod of her head. Jessamyn tipped their capes with an actual brazier that seemed to contain very real fire. But when it made contact with their clothes, it didn’t burn or marr them. In fact, the licking flames were more… cool than hot at all. Her and Alicent exchanged relieved glances. 

They were rolling out when suddenly Rhaenyra heard a call from Jessamyn, but she couldn’t make it out.

“What’s she saying?” She asked Alicent out of the corner of her mouth, preparing to put on a show-stopping smile. 

“I think she wants us to hold hands.” Alicent replied. Uncertainly, the pair seized each other's hands blindly, panicked. Rhaenyra tossed her head over her shoulder to see a thumbs up from Jessamyn, and turned her head around only in the nick of time before she was riding out into the roaring stadium.

The crowd erupted when they saw them. Suddenly shouts of “look at Twelve! Look!” Burst forth, citizens craning their heads and pointing their fingers, trying to get a look of their flaming ensemble. Rhaenyra caught a glimpse of her and Alicent upon the massive screen, and herself, was impressed. The minimal makeup did wonders. They looked at themselves, they just happened to have flames pouring out of them. They looked so real. 

Alicent was waving and smiling at people they passed, catching roses tossed at her with one hand. She was a natural. Rhaenyra followed suit, and was surprised to gain roses herself, thrown at her with reckless abandon. Everytime her eyes flickered to the screen, she noticed it was almost always on her and Alicent. They were getting their fair share of screen time. 

When their horses pulled to a stop, Rhaenyra tried to catch her breath, delirious and relieved that she had not, in fact, become a roasted meal. 

Beside her, Alicent was still smiling. She looked radiant. Exemplified by the fact she was literally a living flame. But still, her auburn hair hung around her face, unlike Rhaenyra’s, which had been braided away. And her eyes were so much warmer in the firelight. 

“What?” Alicent asked, seemingly somewhat breathless from the exhilaration of not being burnt alive, and the adoration of the crowd. 

“You look beautiful.” Rhaenyra confessed, unashamed. 

“Oh,” even in the darkening skylight, Rhaenyra saw her cheeks flush. “You look nice, too.” This made Rhaenyra smile smugly. 

“Of course I do.” But the compliment made her stomach flutter. Alicent knocked their hips, bringing Rhaenyra’s attention to the fact that they were still holding hands firmly, fingers interlaced. 

She became aware of the stares of the other tributes. Some were in awe, shocked as Rhaenyra was that she had not been burnt to a crisp, and wonderstruck by the beauty of Jessamyn’s design, because, yes, Rhaenyra had to give her credit where it was due. This was the biggest leg-up possible. Other tributes glared at them, envious or insulted that she and Alicent had literally outshone them. 

As the sky darkened, even in the distance, she and Alicent remained visible, a steadily flickering firelight that burned brightly into the stadium, drawing eyes their way, daring people to look. 

“Welcome, welcome,” the voice of the High Septon rang out. “Tributes, we welcome you, and we thank you,” he paused, seemingly trying to examine every last one of them before continuing. “For your sacrifice.” 

He was a tall man who even from this distance, commanded attention. He had a long white beard that Rhaenyra was almost positive reached his waist, and nearly no hair on his head in comparison. He wore, unlike the rest of King’s Landing, a very simple white robe, symbolising his divinity or some bullshit like that. His eyes were hungry as he took in the tributes, and Rhaenyra felt chilled just at the prospect of making eye contact with him. 

—

“You were wonderful, truly!” Laena exclaimed once they returned to their suite, clapping her hands together so fast that they were a spring green blur. “Simply fantastic! I’ve spoken to so many people and they definitely seem keen on sponsoring you both!” 

“Really?” Alicent asked, her heart catching in her throat with hope. “People have said that?”

“Well, of course! You were captivating out there, all thanks to Alyssa and Jessamyn,” Laena commented, drawing Alicent’s attention to their presence in the room. The pair flushed under the attention and smiled in thanks. 

“She’s right. It’s all thanks to you two.” Alicent told them sincerely. 

“But the crowd control, that was all you. You’re a right charmer, Miss Hightower.” Alyssa said brightly. Alicent beamed, against herself. She couldn’t help it. She felt… girlish, giddy. For the first time since her name was called, she felt something other than impending doom. She had won herself at least one sponsor if Laena was to be believed! And Rhaenyra… Rhaenyra had called her beautiful. 

“Yes, yes, they did a grand job, but now it’s time for them to eat and call it a night.” Gwayne called from further in the room. Alicent peered past the stylists to see him. Drink in hand. Looking much cleaner himself.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” Rhaenyra exhaled, brushing past Alicent to take a seat and dig into the meal.

Even without the flaming ensemble, Rhaenyra was breathtaking. Sometimes it threatened to knock the breath out of Alicent. Sometimes it struck her like a punch. This was one of those times. 

Alicent Hightower wasn’t in love with Rhaenyra Targaryen. She had never allowed herself to be. She refused to love anyone she couldn’t keep, ever since her mother died. Since Gwayne’s name was called. Ever since then… she hadn’t let herself love anything. And if there was one thing she couldn’t keep, it was Rhaenyra Targaryen. Games or no. 

But she couldn’t stop herself from wanting her. She had been by her side, waiting to be noticed as Rhaenyra played with boy after boy and flirted her way through the District. Alicent, despite her so-called charm, had never caught anyones eye. She had been the girl on the sidelines, too busy being Rhaenyra’s wholeheartedly to notice anyone else. 

“You alright, Alicent?” Gwayne murmured over his glass. 

“Fine. I'm just tired.” It wasn’t a lie. 

“Well, you’ll both want a good night's sleep tonight, tomorrow is your first day of training. That’s when the real fun begins.” Gwayne said darkly. 

“Great.” Alicent mumbled. The thought terrified her. Tomorrow, she and the other tributes would come face to face, without the shields of fantastic outfits. 

She and Rhaenyra walked back to their rooms, which were across the hall from the other. Alicent stopped in front of her door and Rhaenyra joined her. 

“Ready for tomorrow?” Rhaenyra asked, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the wall. 

“Not in the slightest,” Alicent replied with a shaky laugh. 

“Hey,” Rhaenyra reached out and tucked a hair behind Alicent’s ear, the movement catching her so off guard that she froze. “I’ll be there for you. We’re in this together, apparently.” She said with a faint chuckle, resting her palm on Alicent’s cheek. 

Oh, that’s just so unfair. 

“Besides, you’re smarter than half the people in there.” Rhaenyra whispered, her thumb seemingly moving on its own accord, gently stroking her cheek, where Alicent was sure she could feel the flush creeping up into. 

“So are you,” she countered, a little bit breathless. “And you’re strong, too.” She sighed and let herself enjoy this moment, just appreciating it for what it was. A moment. But moments end, and when this one ended, she’d go back to her room and think about the girl who had been on fire.

Chapter Text

Training didn’t start until eleven, but that didn’t stop Rhaenyra from waking up with the sun, her body shivering with nerves. Slowly, she crept out of her room, knowing that Laena, being King’s Landing (though perhaps not born and bred), was likely still asleep, and Gwayne, likely still drunk. She didn’t know if Alicent was awake, but she didn’t dare check, not wanting to disturb her. 

But when she snuck into the main room, she found Alicent curled up on the couch, gazing out the window at the rooftops of King’s Landing, steaming mug in hand. She looked so at ease, with her hair resting softly on her shoulders, her face illuminated by the golden, slowly rising sun. It was like looking at a painting made by a man in love. 

“Morning,” Rhaenyra greeted tentatively, not wanting to disturb her peace. Alicent snapped out of her daze and turned to look at her, a still somewhat sleepy smile on her face. 

“Morning.” Alicent looked back wistfully to the slowly awakening world. “I could hardly sleep, I’m so nervous.” She admitted. 

“Me too,” Rhaenyra sat on the armchair opposite Alicent, sinking into its warmth. “I’m just wondering what they’ll be like. The others.” 

Alicent was still looking out on King’s Landing rather than Rhaenyra. “Some of them will be brutal. Terrifying. Some of them will probably be so weak  that killing them feels more like murder than survival. Some of them will be like us, too.” Alicent replied, her voice drifting out from some far-off place.

“Like us?” 

“Fighters without a fighting chance.” Alicent explained like it was the simplest thing in the world. And if those words didn’t break Rhaenyra’s heart. She hated the thought that Alicent had already given up. But she had sworn to Rhaenyra that she would try and live. Alicent wasn’t a liar, and she certainly wouldn’t let King’s Landing make her one. In another circumstance, her words would be poetry, but instead they felt like weapons. 

“We have a fighting chance, Alicent.” Rhaenyra said softly. Alicent still wasn’t looking at her, her eyes hungrily drinking up the sun. 

“You do. But we both knew you had a better shot than I did.” 

“Stop talking like that.” Rhaenyra sighed, her face beginning to burn with fury and shame. 

“I can’t go into that Arena with hope, Rhaenyra. I just can’t. It’s all so much worse when you have hope.” The words were nothing more than a broken whisper.

“Then I’ll have enough hope for the both of us.” Rhaenyra said determinedly. At this, Alicent finally turned to meet her eyes, a sad, soft smile on her lips. 

“Then you’re a fool. And we both know you’re better than that.” 

Rhaenyra was about to protest when a King’s Landing attendant came over to them, tray in hand, a steaming mug twin to Alicent’s upon it. They offered it to Rhaenyra. 

“Thank you,” Rhaenyra said gratefully, letting the warmth seep into her hands. “What is it?” 

“Hot chocolate.” Alicent answered as the attendant dipped their head and left. “They can’t speak.” Alicent explained when Rhaenyra looked at her, somewhat perplexed. 

“Why not?” 

“They’re traitors to the realm so they cut out their tongues and make them serve as attendants for the tributes every year. They’re called Avoxes.” The hot chocolate seemed to lose all heat in her hands at the words. 

“That’s disgusting.” She spat. 

“They betrayed the High Septon,” Alicent said with indifference. Rhaenyra shot her an incredulous look, but she noted the flicker of panic in her friend's eyes. She dared to raise an eyebrow. 

Slowly, Alicent mouthed someone could be listening. 

Of course, how could she be dim-witted enough to speak out when she wasn’t sure if they were alone? King’s Landing had technology capable of capturing conversations so small it would be ingrained in the very chair Rhaenyra sat in. 

“I know. But cutting out their tongues is just such a disgusting image. I mean, eugh!” She said with faux aloofness. Alicent, seemingly with ease, forced out a laugh. 

“Well, as long as we do our job and die, we won’t have to have ours removed.” Alicent joked light-heartedly, but really, it only made Rhaenyra feel worse. 

— 

When he managed to rouse himself from bed, Gwayne found that Rhaenyra and Alicent were already awake, talking quietly at the dining table, taking small bites of bread between sentences. Laena was awake, he could hear her heels clicking as she ran around. 

“Good, you’re both awake.” He said gruffly, heading over to the liquor cart, finding a healthy bottle of gin sitting unopened. He seized it with one hand, claimed a seat and a bread roll and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “So, training today,” he said, swallowing. 

“What should we expect? What should we do?” Rhaenyra asked, resting her hands on the table.

“Well, what are your best skills that could be used in the Arena?” 

“Well, I’m good with a dagger. And I’ve gotten good at snares over the years.” Rhaenyra admitted a bit sheepishly. Then she bit her lip and looked around nervously. “There isn’t much to do in the Mayor’s Mansion, so making snares is as good a pass time as any.” She said by way of explanation, as though she were worried someone was listening. 

Good. He thought. She’s learning.

“Alicent?”

“Plants, I guess. Identifying them? Other than that, not much.” She sighed and rested her head between her fingertips, elbows on the table. Such a poor display of table manners, he was surprised Laena wasn’t shrieking. He supposed even she understood the solemnity of today. Perhaps she did know that there were more important things than manners in life. Or death. 

“That’s not nothing,” Gwayne reminded her pointedly. “Any skill could be the difference between life and death in there.” At the mention of the Games, he took a swig, a practised routine by now. “But, for now, avoid those stations,” he instructed. 

“Why? Wouldn’t we want to perfect our best shots?” Rhaenyra asked. Gwayne shook his head. 

“No. You’ll just be showing your competitors your skillset, and that’s never a good idea.” 

“What do we do instead?”

“Try out other skills. Try learning to start fires, how to use different weapons. Alicent, you especially, I want you to try as many weapons as you can, get a feel for them. If you think anything feels good, stick with it. A poor handling of a weapon is better than nothing.” 

“So… what about the other tributes?” 

Gwayne paused thoughtfully before answering. “If people come up to you, talk to them, see if you could play at an alliance, otherwise I wouldn’t risk it.” He sipped from the bottle, then, as an afterthought, “oh, and stay together the entire time.” 

“What, why?” Alicent asked, slightly incredulous. 

“It’ll be much harder to sell the best-friends story if you don’t speak with each other.” That seemed to mollify them. 

“Right, so we avoid our strong points and work on our weaknesses, stay together, essentially avoid everyone else. Anything more we should know?” 

“Nope, that’s about it. Now, go get changed, Laena will want to usher you down there with at least ten minutes to spare.” The girls clamoured from the table back to their rooms, and Gwayne sunk back into his chair. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could do this. Rhaenyra Targaryen was one thing, but Alicent? How could he coach her to help win these Games? For all her complaining, she was right about one thing, she had a significant disadvantage both physically and skillfully. True, she might charm the realm enough before the Games start to earn her some good sponsors, but that might not be enough to keep her alive in the Arena. 

How could he ever mentor tributes again if he failed to save her? 

He knew he should get dressed. He had to meet with the other mentors while the tributes trained. But still, he dreaded it. 

A handful of minutes and several sips later, Rhaenyra and Alicent returned, Laena in tow. 

“I’m going to take these two down to the training centre! I’ll see you after your…” Laena paused, considering her wording. “Party with the other mentors.” She finished, voice as chipper as ever. Gwayne lifted his bottle in parting, then dragged himself back to his own room. 

He showered, thoroughly, as though he could wash away the stain that King’s Landing left on his skin. He dressed in whatever attire the King’s Landing attendants had left out for him, polished off another quarter of the gin, finished his bread roll, and made his descent. 

It wouldn’t be so bad. Some of the Victors were tolerable, he liked some of them, even. But some of them were the most insufferable pricks he could imagine. In fact, it was an insult to his imagination to compare the two. 

He was one of the last to arrive, as usual. He was late to almost everything these days. 

“Gwayne, you return!” Jason Lannister slung his arm around Gwayne’s shoulders, and his feeble breakfast threatened to make a reappearance at the touch. “We’ve just been talking about the tributes this year. Why don’t you join us?” He gestured to a crowded table where Borros Baratheon and his father Boremund sat, accompanied by Lyonel Tyrell, none other than Jason’s twin brother, Tyland, and, worst of all, Aegon and Aemond Targaryen. 

This is going to be a stellar day. 

Jason dragged him over and bits of the conversation began to drift over to him. 

“‘Course, I got two ruddy girls this year,” Borros scowled, to which Aegon laughed rowdily, earning him a piercing stare. “Shut it, you Targaryen prick. We get it, you got two boys. No need to rub it in.” Borros scowled once more, this time into his drink. 

“Well, I reckon Hugh’s slated to win this year, aye, Aemond?” Aegon nudged the other Targaryen who sat impassively at the scene. He gave a noncommittal shrug. 

“Steffon’s too much of a weakling, to be sure. And Hugh is strong.” Aemond said lazily, picking at the dirt beneath his nails. 

“Reckon that Harwin lad could give him a run for his money there,” Boremund countered, much less aggressive than his son was. Aemond shrugged again, but did not reply, seemingly finding the conversation beneath him. “But those Seven Victors are all a bit of a lost cause, so he’s a bit screwed there.” 

“Well, speaking of money, what are our little Victor’s-only bets for this year?” Lyonel Tyrell said, sliding his hands across the table eagerly. “Anyone you’d sponsor if you could, and–” he pointed at Aegon, “don’t say your own tributes.” 

“Well, if I can’t say Hugh, yeah, I reckon the Harwin bloke’s got a good shot. Strong enough, aye?” Aegon glanced around the circle, humour glinting in his indigo eyes. 

“Strength isn’t everything,” Tyland Lannister said, speaking up for the first time. “Take our girl, Alys. Dead clever. I think she could convince tributes to finish themselves off for her.” Jason rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, but you only speak so high of her because we agreed you would get this girl.” Tyland rolled his eyes in turn. 

“That Dennis is an utter fool.” Jason looked wounded, but stayed quiet. 

“Ah, but what about you, Hightower? Who’d you place your money on?” 

“No one,” he answered, looking around the room for where the drinks were coming from– ah, there. A table just a few meters to his left. If he could just escape… 

“Aw, c’mon. Surely there’s someone you’d sponsor.” Lyonel said.

“You know, I reckon your Targaryen girl could make a good go of it.” Boremund commented. “She was cool as ice at the Reaping. Kept her head on. And she looks strong.” This earnt some begrudging murmurs of agreement. 

“Yeah, but no one from Twelve ever wins,” Jason countered. “No offence, Gwayne.” He added belatedly. “You’re a bit of a rare case.” 

“None taken,” he replied sullenly. 

“But get her a couple of good sponsors and it’d make for a mean show. I’d like to see her go up against Harwin or Hugh.” Borros admitted. Gwayne was desperate to leave this conversation.

“What about your sister, though?” Lyonel asked, once again, prying. “Do you think she could do it?” 

“Yes,” Gwayne replied loyally. They all gave him skeptical looks. “She knows her skills. I reckon she could outlast a fair few of your baboons.” He rose from his seat. “Now, if you would excuse me, I need a drink.” 

He had scarcely secured one when he heard someone else call out to him. Fucking awesome.

“Hightower, get your ass over here!” Cregan Stark called from where he stood, firmly on the other end of the room compared to the… other lot. Gwaynes sighed with relief, at least he wouldn’t have to keep talking to the Lannister brothers. 

The circle was an odd sight, especially at first. Corlys and Rhaenys Velaryon, Cregan Stark, Alysanne Blackwood, Jeyne Arryn, Sabitha Vypren, and, the newest additions, the young Jacaerys and Lucerys Black, timid and shaky as ever.

“We were just talking over tributes.” Cregan explained as Gwayne joined them.

“Are you all mentors this year?” Everyone but the Black brothers nodded. 

“Jaime and Walton wanted to be mentors this year. They think we’d blunder too much.” Jacaerys said with a shaky breath. His brother was silent beside him, a not-quite there look in his eyes. 

“Fair enough.” Gwayne muttered, taking a swig of whatever drink he had in his hand. 

“You still on your own this year?” Aly asked. Gwayne nodded grimly. 

“Officially, yes. Viserys is too weak, and besides he’s gotta manage the District. And Daemon…” 

“Talking about me, are you?” Daemon Targaryen said from behind him, because of course he was here. “All bad things, I hope.” 

“Of course, Daemon.” Rhaenys said coolly. 

“Your son’s in this year, isn’t he?” Daemon asked maliciously. Rhaenys, to her credit, did not flinch. 

“You niece is too, I believe.” She replied, voice calm and steady. Beside her, her husband was fuming. Daemon held up his hands in surrender. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not getting involved. I just wanted to watch them all up close and personal this year, that’s all.” Great, of course he isn’t here to help. Why would he? It’s Daemon Targaryen. “Besides, more important duty calls.” Because he never failed to flaunt his seemingly more important connections in King’s Landing. Just another way to step on everyone else, Gwaynes supposed. 

“I suppose Helaena isn’t mentoring this year.” Jeyne said, changing the topic swiftly. “Is she even here?” 

“She never comes to these things.” Sabitha countered. Jeyne shrugged. 

“Still. You’d think she’d have shown up by now.” 

“I wouldn’t count on it. She’s smart enough to avoid this shitshow.” Aly replied drily, swirling her drink around in her glass. Or too lost in her own head that was already not quite right, Gwayne countered internally. 

“Where’s Dalton got to?” Gwayne asked, looking around. “In fact… there really aren’t that many of us here…” Yes, none of the Victors from District Two were present, which was odd, as they usually flaunted their large numbers. Five and Six were missing, notably because Dalton Greyjoy was always at a party, mentor or no. 

“Probably late, pregaming or something.” Aly chuckled into her cup as she drank. “You know how they get.” 

“Yeah,” Gwayne replied absent-mindedly. He hoped that training was less tortuous for Alicent and Rhaenyra as this was for him. 

He doubted it. 

—

Alicent and Rhaenyra followed Gwayne’s advice. They steered clear of knives for Rhaenyra and plants or poisons for Alicent, and dedicated most of the first day to skills such as knot tying and fire starting. 

Rhaenyra proved to be a bit of a master at fires, coaxing the flames out of the wood and flint with the careful maneuvers of her fingers. Alicent took much longer to become adequate at fire-starting. However, knots proved much easier. Rhaenyra was already confident after all her time practising snares, but Alicent felt like she caught up well enough. 

The camouflage station was the first one where Alient excelled and Rhaenyra floundered. Alicent had always liked to sketch on a bit of spare paper with one of her fathers run down, almost unusable pencils that he saved from the office from her. It was the only hobby that didn’t bring her pain. Plants were useful, yes, but they reminded her of her mother. Sometimes, when he had saved up enough, her father would purchase a precious coloured crayon on her birthday. She, as a result, only possessed a handful of colours back home, and many had to be produced through combination. There was no such issue here. 

There were colours of every kind, made from every kind of paint. Paint, actual paint, a sight so rare, especially in Twelve, that Alicent had to hold back her gasp of awe when she saw it. She made Rhaenyra sit through this station far longer than the others, treating it more as a reprieve than training. 

So they moved from station to station, keeping to themselves, hardly talking. The more things they attempted to master in a handful of hours, the more real it all felt. 

Alicent watched as the massive man from District One, Hugh, lifted the heaviest weights in the room, throwing them and clearing several meters with ease. His district partner pierced the heart of a dummy with a spear from all the way across the room. More than once. 

The District Two girl wielded a bow and arrow so smoothly, it looked more like she was performing rather than fighting, shooting target after target with such grace, it was an artform. Her partner used a massive sword like an extension of his arm, slashing and stabbing like a choreographed dance. 

Alicent could understand why Gwayne had asked them to keep their talents quiet. The only tributes bold enough to flaunt were the Royalties. But it gave everyone who was paying attention an advantage. Hugh from One could carry intense weights and was good with brute force, but his attacks lacked precision. In the heat of battle, he could only win if he could catch up to the person. On strength alone, he was a clear winner. But in a pursuit? In a combat of arms? He would flounder. Similarly, while his partner could shoot a spear, he could not bear the weight of a sword, and didn’t really bother with the other weapons, indicating that he excelled with one weapon and one only. The Gamemakers might not even include it in the Arena. The girl from District Two was a skilled archer, no doubt. But in the time it took her to reload, pivotal seconds were lost. And if she ran out of arrows… She didn’t have the strength for hand to hand combat. She was strong. But not strong enough. That was clear by the fact her weapon of choice favoured distance. Her partner worked well with a sword, but his footwork lacked coordination, and if he stood just a bit off-kilter, even little Roslin from Eight could probably knock him off his feet if he was off-guard. 

Alicent continued to notice the other tributes as they trained. The tributes from Three were very loud and rowdy, but they didn’t have the raw strength of Hugh or Harwin, and seemed middling talents compared to the Royalties. She could hardly blame them though, they were all feeble in comparison. 

Interestingly, the tributes from Four didn’t interact with One and Two, which she thought was odd. The Royalties almost always teamed up right away. But the boys from District Four seemed determined to avoid their Royal Pack. Perhaps that would change in the Games but… 

“Should we try out some weapons for you?” Rhaenyra asked, drawing her from her thoughts. They had thoroughly exhausted snares, knots, and nooses, and she could tell Rhaenyra was itching to practise with these new weapons. 

“Yeah, but just remember, stay away from the knives. Maybe try a sword instead.” Alicent murmured under her breath as she and Rhaenyra quietly made it towards the weapons section. 

It was by far the largest, with different types of maces, daggers, swords, arrows, and weapons Alicent couldn’t even name, practically on every surface. There was a sparring mat and awaiting attendants to practise with– they weren’t allowed to practise with each other for obvious reasons. It was overwhelming. Alicent hardly knew where to start. 

Rhaenyra seemed to sense this because she came up to whisper in her ear. “Why don’t you try the daggers?” Alicent suspected she wouldn’t be much use with a dagger. And it all seemed so up close and personal, but she tried it anyway, collecting an offering of the sharp steel, and walking over to a target range. Rhaenyra winked at her as she got a feel for her sword, then stalked off to an attendant to spar with. 

She took a deep, steadying breath, holding the dagger between her fingers. It was small, slim, and she could tell by how light it was, that it would likely sail very far and clear across the air. She was several meters away from the target, so she would have to throw it with a bit of force for it to reach its mark. 

She tried to take a good stance, whatever that was, the kind that Rhaenyra spoke of. With her feet evenly planted, supporting her so that she wouldn’t be knocked off them, finding her core. Or something. 

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered and tried to line up her shot. She let the dagger fly from her hand towards the target. She expected to hear it clatter to the floor, but instead, she heard a dull thunk . It had landed on the outer part of the target, outside of, you know, the human shape she was supposed to hit. But it was better than she had expected. 

She kept practising with the daggers for a while, and even hit the human form a couple of times before deciding to try something else, remembering Gwayne’s advice. Besides, they were Rhaenyra’s weapon of choice. It felt weird to have the same one. Committing to the twins act that Gwayne was suddenly so fond of a bit too much. 

She went with a sword, just to see if it was worth it, practising with a nearby attendant, but it required too much arm strength and force for her to have any accuracy with it, and she figured that rather than waste hours trying to learn how to use it, her time would be better spent elsewhere. 

She wasn’t half-bad with a spear, but only from a certain distance. The further she moved away from the target, the less accuracy her shots had. And she was nowhere near the level of skill as the boy from One. 

She decided something with a longer range might suit her better. She went with the sleek bow and arrows, thinking of the girl from Two. 

The string was taunt, which she hoped was a good thing. It took her a moment to figure out how to position the arrow, but when she was somewhat confident that it looked right, she resumed the position she’d figured out haphazardly during knife-throwing. 

The bow and arrows gave her a sense of control, she felt like her shot would be more determined. She pulled the string back and released the arrow with an exhale of her breath. Plus, she wouldn’t have to be face to face with any of her victims this way. 

It didn’t hit the heart where she had been aiming, but it did strike the dummy square in the stomach. She blinked in surprise. It was more immediate ability than she’d displayed with anything else, so it was considerable progress. 

“You must be a natural.” Said a voice from behind her. Alicent whipped around. It was the girl from District Two. 

“Not as good as you,” Alicent replied, lowering the bow. The girl laughed. 

“No, you’re not. But that would be difficult for anyone.” She said with a self-confident smile. 

“I’m Alicent.” She offered. 

“Sarella.” The other girl answered in turn. “You know, with a bit of practice, I reckon you could be a nasty piece of work with that thing,” she said, gesturing to the bow that had gone limp in Alicent’s hands. Alicent flushed. 

“Well, I’ve only got three days.” Sarella laughed again. 

“That’s true. But if you’d like, I can give you some pointers.” Alicent hesitated. What did Sarella get out of helping the girl from District Twelve? What about making Alicent a more competent killer would make her game better? 

“Are you sure?” Alicent said slowly. “What good does it do you?” Sarella smiled. 

“It’s called the Hunger Games. I might as well have fun. An opponent that fights back is much more entertaining, don’t you agree?” Sarella had a vindictive smile on her face, and Alicent saw a small, burgeoning opportunity. So she seized it with both hands and grinned back. 

“You read my mind.” 

Chapter Text

“So, how was your first day of training?” Gwayne asked when they got back. 

“Fine,” Rhaenyra and Alicent answered at the same time, both exhausted and starving. 

“Talk while we eat.” Gwayne said, sensing their need to replenish. 

They ate in silence for several minutes, and it wasn’t until the final course had been cleared away, and dessert was being brought out, that they spoke. 

“The tributes from One and Two are good. Really good.” Alicent said.

“And Four,” Rhaenyra added. 

“Yes, but the ones from Four don’t seem interested in One and Two.” Alicent countered. 

“How do you mean?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“Couldn’t you notice how they would just… slip away from them? They kept to themselves. Like we did.” Alicent said simply as she took a bite of her cake. Rhaenyra hadn’t noticed. She was too busy sussing out how strong her competition was. How smart. 

“Good, Alicent,” Gwayne murmured thoughtfully, not even touching his alcohol tonight. Rare sight indeed. “What else did you notice?” Alicent seemed to perk up at the words. 

“Hugh from One is strong, but he could be beaten in a chase. He doesn’t have the precision for fine combat. And all his choice attacks are heavy, and thus slow him down.” Rhaenyra hadn’t thought about that. Admittedly, she had just seen him throw the 200-kilo weight across the length of the floor and tried to suppress herself from shuddering. 

“Interesting…” Gwayne said, clearly lost in thought. “His mentor certainly thinks his strength is his greatest… well, strength.” 

“You spoke with him?” Rhaenyra asked. 

“Yes, the Victors who are going to be mentors usually meet up on the first day. Catch up. Some of them bet amongst themselves who’ll win.” He said the last sentence with bitter disgust. 

“What did the other mentors say?” Alicent pressed. 

“They think physically it comes down to Harwin and Hugh, and from what I know already, I have to agree.” He didn’t sound thrilled. “They reckon you could make a good go of it, Rhaenyra. They think you’ve got what it takes.” Gwayne said. Even though it shouldn’t, it made her heart swell with pride. 

“Of course they do,” Alicent said. Not sounding resentful, just tired. That dampened her joy. 

“What about Alicent?” 

“They think you’re a strong mental and social competitor.” Gwayne provided, but he was less confident when he said it, confirming Rhaenryas suspicions that many didn’t think Alicent would survive. 

“Makes sense.” Rhaenyra added instead of voicing her concern. Alicent shot her a look that said really? “What, it’s true. You’ve only told Gwayne about two of your observations, but I bet there’s more. I didn’t notice all that.” Alicent flushed. 

“But Tyland Lannister thinks his tribute, Alys, is good too. More cunning and smart than charming. So you’ll want to keep an eye out for her. And based on what I overheard, I wouldn’t go out of your way to make an ally out of her.” 

“No,” Alicent said, nodding. “I’d end up with a knife in my back.” Gwayne nodded, leaning back in his chair, looking impressed. “And she doesn’t seem like the kind to partner up.” 

“What else did you notice today?” 

“Other boy from One, Steffon, he’s good with a spear, but he didn’t touch the other weapons, and he wasn’t very graceful with a sword.” Gwayne nodded. 

“Yes, his mentor thinks he lacks the brutality for the Games.” Before they could ask who, Gwayne added, “but his mentor is Aemond Targaryen, so his opinions of brutality are slightly skewed.” Against themselves, they all smiled at this. Then Gwayne gave Alicent a look, encouraging her to continue. 

“Boy from Two is a good swordsman, but his footwork is shoddy. I reckon if I caught him off-guard, I could knock him from his feet.” How had she seen all of this? How had Rhaenyra not seen it? 

Rhaenyra thought that Alicent truly had been counting herself out too soon. She was much smarter than she gave herself credit for, and the Hunger Games were equal parts intelligence and strength. 

“Girl from Two is good with a bow. She, uh,” Alicent gave a private smile. “She helped me out. Gave me pointers with the bow. I’m not half bad now.” 

“Interesting… I wonder what she gets out of helping you…” Gwayne wondered aloud. 

“I mean, should you really be talking to her? She’ll probably try and shoot you the first chance she gets.” Rhaenyra said darkly. 

“It’s the Hunger Games, Rhaenyra. Everyone’s trying to kill each other the first chance they get.” 

“Do you think she could be an ally?” Gwayne asked. Rhaenyra’s jaw dropped at this. 

“Surely you’re not suggesting Alicent and I team up with a Royal? No one from Twelve has ever done it. No one’s ever been mad enough.” 

“Yes,” Alicent said, talking over Rhaenyra. “I think she could. She’d be a good one, especially early on. And I get the sense that the more people I help her kill, the more willing she’ll be to let me get a head start before she hunts me herself.” Gwayne interlaced his hands and rested them on his stomach, a ponderous expression on his face. Rhaenyra was in shock. 

“Well, it’s better than nothing. Getting in with the Royalties is a double edged sword. You’d have to be careful.” Alicent scoffed, as though that wasn’t obvious. 

“No way am I teaming up with a Royal.” Rhaenyra declared petulantly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“No one said you had to.” Alicent replied coolly. Rhaenyra stared at her. 

“We’re supposed to be a team in this.” 

“Yeah for how long? I don’t want to sit around wondering which of my allies will kill my first, thanks.” Alicent snapped back. 

“Okay,” Gwayne interjected, trying to stop them from verbally killing each other. “We can discuss allies later. Maybe tomorrow after you’ve gotten a better sense of the tributes, yeah?” He offered. 

Alicent nodded at once, and Rhaenyra, never one to be left alone, nodded sullenly afterwards. 

“Good. Now, Alicent, anything else?” Rhaenyra swallowed her pride and frustration in favour of hearing Alicent’s observations, because, fuck her, they were good. 

“The girls from Three… they were overly confident for people of their District, but they didn’t display any actual skill, so I’d guess it’s all bravado to either win allies or scare people off.” Now, that Rhaenyra had noticed. Not all the undertones, but their showy nature. It had stuck out to her for the same reason, because tributes from anywhere other than Royalties never drew attention to themselves during training she assumed. 

“Their mentors didn’t offer much, just commented that they were mad they got stuck with two girls.” Gwayne supplied. Rhaenyra and Alicent rolled their eyes at the same time. 

“Well, other than their avoidance of the others, did you notice anything else about Four?” Rhaenyra asked tentatively, extending an olive branch. And Alicent, never one to leave Rhaenyra hanging, took it with both hands. 

“They didn’t really use weapons… kept to the survival stations. From what I saw, they didn’t bother using the knots station, but that reveals nothing. They’re from Four, of course they’re handy with rope.” Gwayne nodded. 

“Did their mentors say anything?” Rhaenyra asked. Gwayne shook his head. 

“Rhaenys, Corlys and I are…” he paused, considering. “As close to friends as you can get in the circumstances, so we don’t really… talk about our tributes. More interesting affairs and all that,” he said with an air of indifference. Rhaenyra was about to request he ask Rhaenys and Corlys for information when he added, “besides, with their son and my sister in the mix this year, it’s a touchy topic.” That stopped her from asking questions. 

“I…” Alicent began. “Well, I didn’t notice much from Five. They didn’t stick together, though. Went off in their own directions. So did Six.” Gwayne nodded. 

“Their mentors weren’t at the gathering today, so I have nothing to add.” 

“What about Seven?” She asked both of them. Gwayne gestured that Alicent go first. 

“Stuck together, worked sort of like Rhaenyra and I did with survival skills and weapons, both good with swords and axes, who’s shocked,” Alicent said sarcastically, but with no verve. 

“They passed up the Black brothers as mentors this year in favour of Jaime and Walton, older Victors. They seem to think they have a real shot this year and they don’t want the kids screwing it up.” Gwayne’s voice was distant and bitter and Rhaenyra knew better than to ask him to elaborate. 

They all sat in silence, none of them compelled to keep eating. 

“Alright, I think that’s enough for tonight.” Gwayne said at last, voice resigned. “Alicent, tomorrow I want you to keep practising with the bow and see what comes of Sarella. And keep an eye on the other tributes too. Don’t overlook them because they aren’t from a wealthier District.” Gwayne rose from his seat and a dark look seemed to overtake his face. “Everyone is deadly when their life’s on the line. You’d be surprised how vicious people get in there.” He left without another word. 

Rhaenyra wanted to talk to Alicent, but she was already stalking off to bed. 

Rhaenyra put her head in her hands and exhaled through her nose. She had the peculiar feeling that the girl she had known all her life was becoming a stranger in this strange place. 

She’s breathing and living right next to me, but I’m already losing her. She’s already one of my ghosts. 

—

The next day of training progressed similarly to the first, except Alicent and Rhaenyra were much icier with each other. The discussion of allies had burnt Rhaenyra more than she let on as their conversation had continued last night. It didn’t help that Alicent was talking to the enemy already. 

Today, they stuck almost exclusively to the weapons station. But where Rhaenyra practised alone with her sword, which she was discovering she was also fond of, Alicent was approached by multiple other tributes, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Sarella – what a stupid name, Rhaenyra thought – almost immediately started talking and shooting with Alicent, and Rhaenyra even heard them laughing. For all Alicent’s negative attitude, she certainly seemed fine to enjoy herself now. Even Sarella’s District partner came up to them, and they seemed to be having a grand old time. 

Allies are good, Rhaenyra had to remind herself. Allies will keep her alive in there. But right now, she really really wanted the Games to start now so she could kill Sarella first. 

She was so busy annihilating the dummy before her, imagining it shared a likeness to the female tribute from District Two, that she didn’t notice she was being approached. 

“Jeez, you’re lethal with that thing,” a man's voice said from behind her. Instinctively, she whirled around, sword still in hand, poised to attack, before she realised that he wasn’t some wild animal from the woods. Just a person that would try and kill her in a few days time. 

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, letting the sword drop.

“Don’t be.” The boy chuckled. She recognised him as a District Four tribute. He had that look about him. “I’m Laenor.” He said, sticking his hand out in offering. Rhaenyra took it tentatively. “This is Addam,” he said, jerking his head to his stoic partner. “District Four.” I know. 

“Rhaenyra. Twelve.” 

“Oh, we know. You’re the girl who was on fire. Pretty hard to forget an entrance like that.” Laenor laughed good-naturedly. He had a familiar look about him… the silver hair marked him as a Targaryen or Velaryon. She knew he was Laena’s brother. The resemblance was striking. Of course, he didn’t even know his sister. Rhaenyra likely had more memories with Laena than Laenor did. Did he look like his mother? Her fathers cousin whom he had never met? Or did he favour his father? She had seen the Velaryon Victors over the years, but she had tried not to pay attention to faces during the Games. It had been easier that way. Besides, her father would never talk about their lost kin if he could help it. 

“We wanted to talk to you about the Games.” Addam said, speaking for the first time. His voice was deep, as stoney as he seemed. 

“What about them?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“A couple of allies wouldn’t hurt, would it?” Laenor said innocently, raising an eyebrow in return. Rhaenyra considered. He noticed her hesitation. “We’re happy to pair up with the Hightower girl too. She seems clever. Quick learner.” 

“She is.” Rhaenyra confirmed, feeling the need to defend Alicent. 

“So, whaddya say?” Rhaenyra glanced over to Alicent who was still firing arrows with more and more accuracy each time, but also still talking avidly with Sarella. 

“I’ll think about it?” She replied weakly. Laenor chuckled. 

“Figured you might say that. You let us know when you’ve thought about it.” He said and gave a mocking salute as he walked away. 

—

“So, what did the tributes from Four want?” Alicent asked during lunch. Rhaenyra blinked at her. 

“How did you know I was talking to them?” 

“I notice things.” Alicent said with a shrug. Also, I was barely ten steps away. It’s not like you were hiding it. 

“They want an alliance. With both of us.” Rhaenyra said slowly. Alicent hummed in consideration. 

“So do Sarella and Edric.” 

“Edric?”

“Boy from Two,” Alicent said before taking a massive bite of her sandwich. Gods, she was starving. 

“But you said Four was ignoring Two… How would that work? And wouldn’t Two wanna pair with One?” 

“Sarella said that they did want to ally with One, strength in numbers and all” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, but Alicent ignored it. “But Hugh’s a bit full of himself and Steffon’s too meek, like Gwayne said. Just does what Hugh tells him to do, really.” Alicent whispered, so that the other tables of tributes wouldn’t overhear. Rhaenyra gave no indication of her thoughts on the matter. She was good like that. 

“So if we did ally with Two and Four, hypothetically, does that make us the Royalty pack? You said Sarella” Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose in disdain as she spoke Sarella’s name. “Would like you to ‘hunt’ with her.” 

“I suppose technically, yes. But we could split from them whenever we wanted.” 

“Then they’d kill us in a heartbeat. We’d be outnumbered and they’d still outmatch us even if we weren’t.”

“What other options do we have?” Alicent asked impatiently. “Look, we’ll see what Gwayne thinks tonight, but I think having allies will do us more good than harm.”

“I disagree.” Rhaenyra countered, because she always had to be difficult. 

Alicent took the bait, rolling her eyes. “Why?”

Rhaenyra, who clearly had thought about this at length, started counting the reasons off on her fingers. “One, more people to get close too and then have to kill. Two, they could betray us at any time. Three, they’re Royals. Four, I just don’t like it.” Rhaenyra glared at her expectantly once she finished. 

“Well, one, more allies equals more sponsors which equals a better chance. Two, they could betray us but we could betray them too. Three, it’s not just your decision if we have allies. Four, would you rather be with the Royals or their targets. Because we’re on their radar now. They will target us if we prove foe not friend.” 

“We aren’t friends with them though!” Rhaenyra hissed through her teeth, clearly struggling to keep her voice down. “We’re all going to have to kill each other!” 

“Rhaenyra, how many times will I have to say it before it penetrates your thick skull?” Alicent sighed, rising from the table and moving to dispose of her tray. “If either of us want to win, we’ll have to kill more than just allies.” She walked away before Rhaenyra had the opportunity to retort. 

—

“Two offers for an alliance is good. Very good.” Gwayne said slowly. “I see your concerns, Rhaenyra–”

“Thank you!” Rhaenyra crossed her arms in a self-righteous manner. Of course Gwayne agreed with her, Alicent was being completely unrealistic. 

“That being said, Alicent is also right. Having allies as strong as Two and Four will do a lot for your game.” Rhaenyra slowly uncrossed her arms. She could feel Alicent smirking smugly.

“I think we take this offer and treat it with caution.” Alicent said, addressing Rhaenyra more than Gwayne. He didn’t help by humming in approval. 

“No. I think it should be just us. I won’t waver on it. It’s too risky. Especially with Royalty tributes. No matter how sincere they seem.” Rhaenyra stared Alicent down. They waged a silent battle with their eyes. “Please, Alicent.” She implored. Alicent observed her and then finally, slowly, nodded her head once, her eyes distant. 

“Fine. We won’t ally with anyone.” She agreed, voice flat. They looked to Gwayne who lifted his hands in a gesture of ‘it’s up to you’. 

“Fine. Good.” She left before they could say another word to her. 

Once she was alone in her room, she let her frustrations out on the plush pillows, punching into them with wild abandon. She had been willing to ally with Laenor, and Addam if she must, because, well, he reminded her of Laena, and for all her faults, Laena was trustworthy. And, okay, he was Velaryon. But Sarella? She seemed malicious, a threat, someone who wanted to hurt Alicent more than help her. Edric, gods knew about him, but he was from Two, so Rhaenyra had just decided it was safe not to trust him. She thanked every force on earth that Alicent had agreed. 

She was still furrowing into her anger when there was a gentle knock on the door. She grunted as a sign that they could come in. Surprise, surprise, it was Alicent. 

“Rhaenyra,” she said softly, and her anger dissolved, because how could she stay angry with her?

“I just don’t want you to die.” Rhaenyra confessed. Alicent took a seat beside her on the edge of the bed. A whole arms stretch apart, but still she felt further. 

“I don’t want you to die either. But one of us will. You know how it works.” Rhaenyra wanted to scream that it wasn’t fair. That it was evil. That it was barbaric and should never have been allowed, but she didn’t know who was listening, watching. She never knew which ears would hear her words. 

“I…” She rested her head in her hands but she couldn’t think of anything to say. 

“I know,” Alicent said in the soft, sweet voice she used when someone needed comfort. It was accurate, Rhaenyra felt like a wounded animal. 

“Let’s just focus on tomorrow. And tomorrow we can worry about tomorrow. Yeah?” 

“Okay.” Rhaenyra croaked. 

Slowly, Alicent reached her hand out, her fingertips gliding across the bedsheet, unsure, as though Rhaenyra would lash out. Rhaenyra let Alicent’s hand find hers, and she was comforted by the feeling of intertwining their fingers. It felt so familiar, and for a moment she was sitting in the Meadow, Alicent’s head on her shoulder, watching the sun paint the world golden. 

“What are you going to do for the demonstration tomorrow?” Alicent whispered, like she wanted her words to be only for Rhaenyra, despite there being nothing intimate about them.

“Knives. Maybe climb something. Sword. I don’t know.” She turned to look at Alicent, whose gaze was already locked upon her. “What about you?”

“Hope I’ve learnt how to shoot well enough. I’ll look like a fool going after Sarella but… it’s the best I’ve got.” 

“You’re not a fool. You’re the smartest person I know.” Seeing Alicent smile in the dark made it worth it. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t look foolish.” 

“Not to me.” Rhaenyra had a sensation of being breathless. She didn’t know why, she just felt that there was a precipice somewhere and she was standing upon it. “Never to me.” 

“Rhaenyra,” was all Alicent said. Rhaenyra shifted her body closer, trying to close the chasm of space between them. “What are you doing?” Alicent asked as Rhaenyra still came closer until they were practically nose to nose. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. Because what was the point in lying? Alicent would see through her. 

Alicent inhaled a sharp breath and when she let it free again, Rhaenyra could feel the warmth of it on her face. Something was going to happen, she could feel it, something was driving her forward, forward, forward. Something was–

Alicent stood up, her hands trembling somewhat. Whatever Rhaenyra had been so close to reaching was snatched away from her. The precipice wasn’t a precipice at all. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.” Alicent said quickly as she left the room. Rhaenyra heard the click of Alicent’s own door a moment later. She just sat there wondering what it meant, and why it felt like she’d lost something.

Chapter Text

The final day of training was dedicated to the individual demonstrations by each tribute. They were private, going through the tributes district by district, One first, Twelve last. If the Districts had a tribute of both sexes, the men went first, the girls second. But, if like Twelve did, there were two of the same, it was alphabetically organised. So Rhaenyra would be the last tribute to give her demonstration today.

The hours crawled by slowly as people shuffled in. Those who went in didn’t come back afterwards, so it was impossible to garner some kind of understanding as to how they went. 

Their demonstration today, as well as observations from the past days would culminate in a score out of twelve, where one was unbelievably bad and twelve was impossibly good. Rhaenyra was hoping for a solid eight. Maybe if she was extra showy, she could get a nine or ten. But that was overly optimistic. 

The mood in the waiting room was somber. No one spoke. Not even to their partners. Everyone was in their own headspace, running through what they would do, how they could make an impression. 

In some ways, Rhaenyra felt sorry for the tributes from One, having to go first and set the tone. But then again, she would rather go first as opposed to dead last. By the time she got in there, the Gamemakers would be bored and she would need to be extra impressive. She didn’t know if she had it in her. 

The numbers dwindled slowly. The tributes from eight went in and didn’t return… from nine… from ten… eleven… until suddenly “Alicent Hightower” was called. Rhaenyra gave her hand a reassuring squeeze as she walked away, praying that she would be okay. 

It seemed like she waited for hours in that room by herself. Without Alicent beside her, she picked at her nails with a viciousness, making her thumb bleed. She sucked on it to get it to stop. She was waiting, waiting, waiting…

A cool female voice rang out, but Rhaenyra was already standing. There was only one message to deliver, only one more lamb to slaughter. “Rhaenyra Targaryen.” 

The moment she walked in, she knew her fears had been correct. The Gamemakers were wholly uninterested, several of them drunk, one of them was sleeping. Perhaps three paid her the smallest attention. 

She seized the knife collection, oh the daggers, she was so thrilled to finally do something she knew she was good at. She got the feel for them, weighing them in her hands, then, she walked toward the target range. 

In the span of moments, she shot out four daggers, each of them landing within centimeters of each other, right over the target’s heart. For good, showy, flashy, Hunger Games worthy measure, she repeated the motion aimed at the head, stomach, and groin. 

In her opinion, it was rather good. She looked up at the Gamemakers. The three who had been looking before looked vaguely impressed, but everyone else was distracted by the roasted pig with a bright red juicy apple placed between its slack jaw. They praised it, clapped for it.

It was too much.

Not only had she basically been given a death sentence, but for the brief moment where they had to pay attention to her, they weren’t. And her demonstration had been impressive! She would have given herself a nine at the least. But instead, she was being upstaged by a dead animal that would likely, for the most part, go to waste. 

She didn’t seem to have control over her body as she seized a thin, long dagger from the table, walked over to the balcony, and for a moment, lined up her shot, before losing the knife straight into the apple in the stupid pig’s mouth, sending it flying and pinning it against the back wall. 

People screamed, someone slipped and fell, glasses shattered and dropped creating a symphony. Someone definitely slipped and fell. 

Still, her body was not hers, she dipped into a very mocking bow. “Thank you,” she spat, “for your consideration.” And then without being dismissed, then just walked out. Because Rhaenyra Targaryen is a bit of an idiot. 

—

“No,” Alicent whispered, hand over her mouth. “Tell me you’re joking, Rhaenyra.” 

“I’m not.” Rhaenyra crossed her arms petulantly and seemed determined not to falter. “They weren’t paying attention to me, so I made them.” 

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” Alicent replied, voice a hoarse whisper. “I can’t believe you threw a knife at them.” She said, beginning to pace the expanse of her room. “Oh, you stupid, stupid fool.” She whispered. 

“Not helping.” Rhaenyra replied gruffly, to which Alicent shot her a look that made her shut up. 

Rhaenyra had never been in her room before, but she had gotten back from her demonstration, dragged Alicent down the corridor and locked them in here together. Gwayne and Laena had knocked politely on the door, confused and inquiring, but eventually Rhaenyra had told them enough times to fuck off that they actually did. And then Rhaenyra told Alicent what she had done. 

“Rhaenyra, they’re going to torture you in there.” Every word laced in horror and fear. Alicent didn’t want to say it aloud, but being Rhaenyra’s closest ally, they would likely torture her too. 

Her demonstration hadn’t been that bad. She had shot some arrows, hit the targets enough times not to embarrass herself. It would’ve seemed like a silly girl's attempt compared to Sarella, but it was the best she had. Alicent just hoped she hadn’t embarrassed herself too much. She was hopeful she could earn a respectable seven.

But all her own worries about her score seemed trivial in comparison to Rhaenyra’s actual assault on the Gamemakers. 

“I didn’t hurt anyone.” Rhaenyra insisted. “They were just shocked.” Alicent shook her head, and was about to say more when another insistent knock sounded on the door. 

“Alicent, Rhaenyra,” it was Laena. “It’s dinner and the scores come out afterwards if…” her words trailed off. 

“We’ll be right out.” Alicent answered, to which she heard a relieved sigh. Then she turned to Rhaenyra. “You’re going to tell Gwayne what you did and we’re going to assess just how much you’ve shot yourself in the foot.” She said firmly, gripping Rhaenyra’s hand and dragging her to the table where Laena, Alyssa, Jessamyn, and Gwayne were all waiting in silence.

Eventually, Gwayne must have been drunk enough to dare, the silence was broken. “Alright you two, spill what happened in there.”

Alicent and Rhaenyra exchanged a look. 

“You first,” Rhaenyra said quickly. Alicent shot her a dark look. 

“It was fine. I shot some stuff and managed not to miss the target. It didn’t matter though, not after Sarella, and not with none of them paying attention,” she rolled a piece of broccoli around her plate with her fork. 

“Well, a good showing on the bow from two tributes will guarantee at least one in the Arena. They want a good show,” Gwayne pointed out. The silence took hold once more, and once more, the drinks were strong enough that Gwayne spoke again. “And you, Rhaenyra?”

Alicent stared at Rhaenyra. 

“I threw a knife at the Gamemakers.” 

The effect was immediate. Whatever measly chatter that had been occurring stopped. Knives and forks stilled, eyes swivelled to the Targaryen fool. Laena actually looked horrified, as though someone had told her that her entire family had died in a horrible accident. 

“That bad?” Rhaenyra joked feebly. 

“You…” Jessamyn seemed to be genuinely struggling to find her words. “You threw a dagger at them?” Rhaenyra nodded once. 

“I had done a fucking great demonstration thank you very much, but they weren’t paying attention. I got upstaged by a dead pig, so I threw a dagger into the apple in its mouth. Gave them a right fright.” 

“Well,” Laena began, drawing herself to her full height in her chair, recovering from her shock. “It serves them right for not paying attention to you. Just because you’re from a poorer district doesn’t mean you aren’t worthy of their time.” Then, she looked around anxiously. “I’m sorry, that’s just what I think.” And then she returned to her meal. 

“Thank you, Laena.” Rhaenyra said, voice soft. “It doesn’t matter now. They’ll give me a rotten score and make my life hell in there. Which was guaranteed anyway.” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and dug back into her beef. 

“And Alicent,” Alyssa said quietly, her usually eccentric and fast-paced demeanour falling. Rhaenyra looked up and cocked her head in confusion. “Alicent is your district partner and you two are clearly allies. If you’re suffering, she will be too.” Alyssa explained. Alicent couldn’t deny that it was somewhat satisfying to watch Rhaenyra’s face drop and take on an image of horror. 

“They can’t do that, can they? She didn’t throw anything at them.” 

“They can do whatever they want, Rhaenyra.” Alicent murmured, eyes locked on her peas. “It’s too late now. Let’s just get this over with. They’ll be announcing the scores too.” 

Whether they agreed or not, everyone else nodded and wandered over to the couch. Alicent sat next to Alyssa, determined not to be beside Rhaenyra when her score flashed, unable to face it. 

The Lord Confessor, Master of Whispers, Larys Harrenhal appeared on screen. He hosted the Games every year. The rumours were that he had been deformed at birth and hated by his family. But as he rose to power, his limp faded and his face remained youthful. Unnaturally so. He was horrifying, but not because his skin was green or his hair was orange. He actually looked quite normal, aside from the fact he looked far too young for someone who had held the job as long as he had. No, he possessed the demeanour of a man who knew too much about suffering. 

He began to read out the scores, the numbers flashing over the tribute in question’s face as he spoke. Hugh scored a ten, unsurprisingly. Steffon, less impressively in comparison, an eight. Sarella a ten, Edric a nine. Laenor and Addam a nine each. No surprises there. Harwin a nine. Alicent couldn’t help but let out a surprised giggle when little Roslin from Eight scored a seven. For someone of her size and so late in the run, she must have been truly impressive. 

“Alicent Hightower,” Larys said in his seedy showman voice. “An eight.” Alicent blinked and looked up at the screen, sure she had misheard. But there, bright as day, an eight flashed on the screen, her face there too. The room erupted in cheers. 

“It didn’t matter my ass! What a score!” Gwayne cried, his drink sloshing with his enthusiasm. 

“Well done Alicent! That’s really something!” Laena beamed. 

“I knew you could do it,” Alyssa whispered beside her. Alicent smiled. She had a good score. A great score in the scheme of things really. Better than a girl from Twelve could have hoped for, that’s for sure. 

“Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Larys said, dampening their excitement. He paused dramatically. “An eleven. ” 

“Eleven?” Rhaenyra whispered, dumbstruck.

“I guess they thought you had a fiery spirit.” Jessamyn said with a smile. “Speaking of, I think you’ll love your interview dress.” 

“More fire?” Rhaenyra asked with a grin.

“Something like that.” Jessamyn said slyly. 

“An eleven!” Laena exclaimed. “Rhaenyra, why I don’t know if anyone has ever gotten an eleven. Certainly not from District Twelve!” Laena jumped up and seemingly moved by her happiness, gave Rhaenyra an awkward hug. 

“Thanks Laena.” Rhaenyra grinned. 

“Well done.” Alicent said warmly, meaning it. “I guess it pays off to have the blood of the dragon,” Rhaenyra smiled at her. 

“Told you there was nothing to worry about.” 

“I don’t remember you saying that–”

“Oh, shut it, let’s just enjoy this moment.” Alicent obliged, because when had she ever denied Rhaenyra anything. 

—

Gwayne went to bed with a bottle of… something in his hand. It hardly mattered anymore. It hadn’t mattered in over thirteen years. As long as the days were foggy and the nights came swiftly, with enough in his system to chase the nightmares and memories away, it was all okay with him. 

He still slept with a knife under his pillow. 

Tomorrow was interview day and he was worried. Alicent would have no trouble evading the sneaky fuck that was Larys Harrenhal, she was cleverer than even he was. He didn’t worry for her. He worried about Rhaenyra Targaryen. Fiery, temperamental Rhaenyra Targaryen who spoke before she thought, who had made a flaming first impression and managed to score an eleven in training. Rhaenyra Targaryen who would fall into a trap Larys set before she even knew she was prey. She was clever, but not in the way Alicent was. And interviews were a solo performance, she could not cling to Alicent’s coattails this time. 

He drifted into sleep, darkness overtaking him, and thankfully, no dreams pursued him and the 61st Hunger Games remained buried a little longer. 

Chapter Text

The entirety of their last day before the Games was dedicated to preparing for their interviews that night. The interviews were the final chance for tributes to win over Westeros before the Games started, to score sponsors, give the audience an idea of their strategy, of what kind of player they would be. It was a last chance to be memorable. 

Each tribute got five minutes on stage with Larys Harrenhal, where he would try and make them seem desirable, talented, intelligent, or whatever other good trait he could place. He was nosy for information, but he did really try to make the tributes shine. Whilst also prying for their deepest secrets. That was why he was dubbed the Master of Whispers, after all.

Rhaenyra was eating breakfast, waiting for Alicent to show up, sitting in silence with Gwayne who only looked half awake. Today was their last chance to make sure they weren’t completely on their own in the Arena. They couldn’t fuck this up. Well, Rhaenyra couldn’t fuck this up. Alicent would likely be perfect as ever and charm King’s Landing so thoroughly that she’d want for nothing her entire Games. Rhaenyra had to make sure she didn’t ensure she was viciously hunted by Gamemaker-engineered death-traps and muttations. 

“Where’s Alicent?” She asked, when she couldn’t take the silence anymore. 

“Oh, she’s already working with Laena. She'll do four hours with her, then four hours with me. She wanted to start early. Nerves I guess. Good thing Laena’s always awake.” Gwayne said with a humourless laugh. 

“Why wouldn’t we just do it all together?” Rhaenyra inquired, dipping slowly from the truly marvelous hot chocolate, which she would miss terribly. If she won, she could afford it whenever she wanted though. That was honestly incentive enough. 

“Because Alicent has asked to be coached separately for the interviews.” Gwayne said with a shrug of indifference. 

Strangely, Rhaenyra had the feeling of betrayal hit her square in the chest. Stupid. Why would you feel betrayed? This thing happened. We can’t do everything together. But she felt the keen sting all the same. She and Alicent had always been a team, changing that hurt .

“Why?” She managed to choke out. Gwayne just shrugged once more, drinking whatever spirit he had chosen this morning. 

“Well, do you want to start now?” Gwayne asked her. Rhaenyra felt somewhat numb, hurt. She had grown to view Alicent as a crutch of support during the lead up to the Games. Dangerous, she knew. But she had done it against herself. Now her crutch had been snatched away and the extent of her wounds became apparent. 

“Yeah, let's start now.” She replied, voice hollow. 

—

Laena had her walking around in heels so large, they were genuinely the length of Alicent’s forearms. How does she run around in these things all day? Alicent privately wondered. But if Laena could wear these darned shoes daily without falling flat on her face, Alicent could manage for one evening. That’s what she told herself anyway. 

“You had good posture, that’s a relief,” Laena said when she finally let Alicent sit down, taking a break from learning how to walk . What a ridiculous sentence. “Some tributes sit all hunched over, it's gruesome. Takes ages to work out of the, and even then during the interview…” Laena tutted. “But never mind that, you sit like a lady. But make sure you rest your hands like this,” Laena demonstrated, crossing her hands over each other delicately and resting them on her knee. “It’s very ladylike, makes you appear much more proper.” 

Alicent mirrored what Laena did, trying to remember to keep her back straight. 

“Good, good!” Laena clapped. “Now smile.” Alicent did. “Oh, you do have a darling smile, dear.” Alicent smiled a bit wider at that.

“Thank you, Laena, that’s very kind of you to say.” Laena smiled back, as though this was the grandest compliment one could receive. Say what you would about Laena, however misguided she was, she did truly come from a place of sincere kindness. Sometimes it came across as condescending, but Alicent always tried to remind herself that Laena meant well. As much as she would enjoy watching Alicent die, Laena wasn’t rooting for her to fail, either. 

“Now, I think we’ll keep practising walking and smiling at the same time.” Laena ushered her to her feet. Alicent’s smile was a little less natural after those words. 

As she walked and smiled in winning fashion, if Laena’s comments were to be believed, she tried to formulate a strategy for how she would appear tonight. 

“Rhaenyra should be glad she has you as a district partner, you might be charming enough to make up for whatever insulting thing she says.” Laena said with a knowing laugh. Alicent laughed, glad to smile at someone's expense that was not her own. 

“Yeah, if only I could save her interview with mine.” If only there was a way for me to make sure they remember her. Make sure they love her. Then, the thought struck her. Somewhat devious, perhaps insane but… nothing like it had ever been done. Because it was genuinely fucking insane. But was it insane enough ?

Gwayne would know if it would work, she’d ask him. But part of her already thought that it would work. And she knew she could work it well. Some might say she’d been born for this role. 

—

“No, no, it’s clear you can’t be sexy . Let’s…” Gwayne paused, thinking deep as he analysed her. “Try humble.” 

“Humble?” Rhaenrya asked.

“Humble,” Gwayne repeated. “You simply can’t believe a girl from District Twelve has made this much of a splash. Doing your father proud, all that.” 

“What about all that shit about Alicent and I?” She grilled him. 

“Leave that to me,” he waved his hand lazily. Rhaenyra was grateful to note that other than over breakfast, Gwayne had not drunk all day, and was as sober as she’d ever seen him. Good. She needed him in the right headspace. 

It became quickly apparent that she was too snarky to be humble, too vulnerable to be vicious, too snappy to be charming, too clever for ditzy and not powerful enough for stoic or violent. Rhaenyra Targaryen was nothing at all, apparently. 

She tried to ignore the rowing cacophony in her heard that repeated you’re fucked, you’re fucked, you’re fucked. 

Gwayne sunk back into his chair in defeat. 

“You’re just going to have to be yourself. No matter how volatile. At least it’ll be authentic.” He sighed. Rhaenyra could tell that he was longing for a drink and that he was only holding out for her and Alicent, who really needed him today more than any other they had faced. 

“I’ll likely insult everyone.” 

“They might like that.” Gwayne said hopefully. “You could be deemed a funny piece of work. Even an insult can be entertaining.” Then his eyes drifted to the clock on the wall. “Time's up. You’re due with Laena, my sister is due with me.” Rhaenyra rose from her seat, the betrayal she felt this morning rising anew within her like bile. 

“See you tonight,” she grumbled. Gwayne raised his hand in mocking salute. 

—

Alicent’s idea was so ludicrous that he almost laughed. Almost. It had never been done before. Why would anyone think to do it? It was a fight to the death with one singular Victor. At this stage in the Game, people truly started to separate from one another. Against himself, however, he was impressed. 

He would buy it, just looking at them. He would buy it because he could tell it was true. Anyone could tell it was true. 

“We shouldn’t tell her. She’ll flip and then won’t…” Alicent paused. “React properly.” You don’t want to tell her, he realised. You won’t tell her because it’s true, isn’t it? His sister was a good actress, but not that good. But of course, even he was not cruel enough to say that. 

“I know what you mean.” He replied grimly. Gods, he was desperate for a drink. His head ached and his heart pounded viciously in his chest. 

It’s all too bright, too real. It’s so permanent. Too clear. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand feeling this much at once. 

Just a few more hours, just a few more. You can drink tonight, after the interviews. They need you now. You can’t fail them like you’ve failed all the others. They have a chance. 

Just a few more hours. 

They crept by like sand. 

When Laena summoned Alicent away to be dolled up by her prep team, Gwayne felt his stomach roiling with anxiety. 

“You’ll be fine,” he told her as she walked toward her Reaper. Alicent had the look of a deer with a knife to its throat, but she swallowed and nodded her head once. 

“So will you.” 

She was gone before he could ask what she meant. 

—

The creature in the mirror before her was not beautiful. She wasn’t even human. 

Rhaenyra was dressed in a fiery red dress, gemstones that gave the impression that she was sprouting dragon scales imprinted down her arms, hair braided like a warrior Targaryen ready for battle, from all those lifetimes ago. 

No, she wasn’t beautiful. She was the blood of the dragon. Under Jessamyn’s hands, she had become a living piece of the magic of Old Valyria. She wore the necklace her father had gifted her, clinging to it, as though it would save her from their prying eyes. 

“Do you like it?” Jessamyn asked. 

“It’s… magical.” Rhaenyra surmised. “I… Thank you, Jessamyn.” She turned to face her stylist. 

“You’ll dazzle them.” Jessamyn said with a smile. 

Rhaenyra didn’t want to cry, but for some reason, she had the feeling she would miss her stylist. The most normal person she had met in King’s Landing, who had made her beautiful in the eyes of King’s Landing, who from the very first time she met her, gave her a fighting chance. 

“I didn’t want to like you,” Rhaenyra confessed and Jessaamyn just laughed. “I wanted to hate you. Desperately. For what you do. For how you…” have had to fatten me for slaughter. She didn’t say the words, but she knew Jesamyn heard them. “But… Thank you.” She finished awkwardly. 

“You know,” Jessamyn said, stepping closer and moving to adjust Rhaenyra’s necklace. “I’m not allowed to bet on the Games,” Rhaenyra nodded. None of the stylists, prep teams, or Gamemakers could. They were too involved. Wasn’t fair to the odds. “But if I could bet, Rhaenyra, I’d bet on you.” Jessamyn looked her dead in the eyes while she said it. 

“Truly?” 

“Truly. Now go show all of them that they should too.” Rhaenyra smiled, and it wasn’t the fake one she had worn for Laena, it was a true, dazzling smile. 

The tributes were lined up, as they were in training, District One first, Twelve last. It meant Rhaenyra had a good time to assess everyone as they all waited. 

Some looked anxious, picking at their freshly manicured nails or fidgeting with their outfits. Others looked confident, proud, ready to show themselves off. Others were quiet, reserved. 

Rhaenyra waited behind the boy tribute from District Eleven as she waited for Alicent to appear. 

“Good, good we aren’t late, thank goodness!” She heard Laena murmur. Rhaenyra turned around to see Laena and Gwayne leading Alicent out. 

She looked… Gods, she looked beautiful. She was the most breathtaking creature Rhaenyra had ever seen, she wondered if she were real, or some sculpted goddess who had come to steal her heart. She must have tried, because Rhaenyra was pretty sure her heart stopped in her chest. 

Her dress was so elegant, she looked right off the streets of King’s Landing, but not in a loud ostentatious way, no, in a quiet, graceful manner. It was all green, with flames embroidered along the sleeves, licking up her arms. It was velvet and silk, hugging her body like a lover for how gently it fit her. 

She was a beacon from a Hightower from which her family had gotten their name so many years ago. A light in darkness. Green, the colour that the beacon had turned when they called their banners to war. The long sleeves, the high collar, the gold chains adorning her waist and throat… 

Alicent’s hair was braided too, in a tricky knot atop her head, strands of hair falling to frame her face just so… a golden band woven atop it, making her look like a queen. Rhaenyra would have happily knelt for her. 

“You look…” She said breathlessly as Alicent approached. “Wow.” She laughed, unable to find words. 

“Not too shabby yourself, Targaryen.” Alicent winked. Rhaenyra laughed again.

“Oh, it’s Targaryen now, is it?” She asked, affronted. Alicent gave a noncommittal shrug of her shoulders. 

“You both alright?” Gwayne said, approaching slowly. 

“I think so.” Rhaenyra said, not thinking so at all. Gwayne nodded. 

“Alicent?” Gwayne gave his sister a piercing, knowing look. 

“Yes.” Was all Alicent said. The word punched out of her in a heavy exhale. Huh, Rhaenyra thought. What does that mean? 

“Alright, just remember, no matter what, you can always get back in control of the interview. You want people to like you, root for you. Do whatever you think will help.” Gwayne was so sober it was shocking. Comforting and alarming all at once. Just another new experience that told her she was probably going to die soon. 

“Will you be there?” Alicent asked, voice small. “In the audience?” Gwayne nodded and took his sister's hand. 

“I’ll be there the whole time. You just find me if you don’t know what else to do. But that won’t happen. You know how to do this, Alicent.” His voice was firm, assured, and Rhaenyra saw the glimmer of the man that Alicent had never known, but heard all about. Her brother who had won the Games while she was so young, it was more like a dream. She saw the brother that Alicent had loved. She saw him there, without the walls of liquor or bravado, she saw him. And she hated the Games for taking him away. 

Suddenly, applause exploded and Rhaenyra’s head lifted to see Hugh take the stage. They went in reverse order in terms of members from Districts for interviews in comparison to their demonstrations. As Steffon had done his demonstration first, his interview was second. The impression of equity. 

Gwayne, Laena, Alyssa, and Jessamyn all gave them one last farewell before they slipped away into the crowd. 

Rhaenyra couldn’t speak. She was almost certain that if she did, she would be sick. Alicent seemed to be thinking the same, picking at her nails, a habit she had always had. Normally, Rhaenyra would tell her to cut it out, but she was halfway to picking her own to the quick, so it seemed unfair. 

The numbers of tributes ahead of them dwindled. Rhaenyra paid next to no mind to their outfits, the questions they were asked, their answers. Some caught her eye. Hugh from One was vicious all the way, Sarella from Two was sly as foxy, but a little bit sexy too. Harwin was a gentle giant, and Larys even gifted him the nickname ‘Breakbones’ for his sheer size. Little Roslin Frey was quiet, but still quick-witted with her responses. 

“They have to catch me to kill me, so don’t count me out!” She had told Larys, her voice so high, so innocent, so young. Larys lay a hand on his heart and promised her sincerely that he wouldn’t. 

Alys from Ten seemed to give Larys a run for his money with her quips and questions. Every comment Larys made, she responded with a cryptic murmur that left him with a puzzled expression. Her answers were open and evasive, and Rhaenyra understood why Alicent, seemingly a hundred years ago, on the train, had commented that an ally like that would end with a knife in the back. 

Suddenly her name was being called and her feet were moving on her own accord. 

The world was so bright up on this stage, the people looked so small. Faintly, she noted her team in the crowd, but she could hardly anchor herself on them, she was so distracted. Focus. 

She walked over to the interview hot-seat and sat down, determined not to look foolish. 

“Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, tell me, we’re all dying to know your Opening Ceremony outfit– how fantastic– how did you feel?” Larys asked her. 

Just be yourself. 

“After I got over the fear I was going to be burnt alive, it was pretty great,” she said with an easy smile that wasn’t her own. Several people laughed, none harder than Larys. She would say this for him, this and nothing else, he truly did his best to make each tribune shine during the interviews, making a terrible response memorable with his reaction. 

“Well, the flames were quite spectacular. I think I speak for us all when I say we would love to see them again.” Larys joked. Rhaenyra caught Jessamyn’s eye, and saw her hand move slowly in a twirling movement. 

“You’re in luck, Larys, I brought them tonight.” This had the desired effect, the crowd cheered and cried, begging her to show, Larys joined in, rambunctious. Rhaenyra stood on surprisingly steady feet, spread her arms out, and spun wildly in a circle. 

She burst into flames, shooting out of her skirts in a marvelous display of reds and oranges, burning brighter than any star. She was a living dragon, she was bright with flames, she was dazzling them.  

“Oh my! Don’t stop, don’t stop! What a wonderful dress!” Larys exclaimed, the crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’, and finally, when she couldn't take it anymore, she flounced into her seat, grinning from ear to ear. “Your stylist has certainly outdone herself!” Larys commented. 

Once the crowd settled again, Larys pressed once more. 

“Now, tell us about your training, I think we are all desperate to know. E-le-ven! ” He cried. “What a feat! How did you do it!” 

Rhaenyra looked out to the crowd and caught the eyes of the Gaemmakers on their higher balcony, above the scene, because, of course they were. 

“I’m not really supposed to say, am I?” She called out in a girlish voice that was not her own. 

“No, you are not!” Someone called back. She was pretty sure they had been the person that slipped and fell when she had thrown her dagger at the pig… the fun they had with each other. 

“I’m sorry, there you have it,” Rhaenyra said ruefully, turning back to Larys as the crowd erupted in disappointed murmurs. “A lady never tells, Larys, but let's just say, they liked my spirit.” She said with a knowing smile towards the audience. 

“Oh, you tease, ” Larys laughed, but she felt his eyes trying to pick her apart. 

“I’m sorry, my lips are sealed.” She grinned. 

“Now, tell me,” Larys said, pressing her once more with his eyes. “Your father is a Victor. Tell me, did he visit you before he left?” 

The mood soured to a somber tone instantly. She managed to nod once. 

“Yes.” 

“And what did he say to you?” 

“He gave me this,” she croaked, pointing to her necklace, taking its warm metal into her hands. “It’s the last part of our history left.” She explained. 

“The crown?” She nodded. “That is quite a piece of history there, indeed.” 

“Nothing compared to the crystal crown, of course,” she added hastily, and Larys laughed and hooted in agreement. 

“Now, what did you say to him?” He asked, pressing harder and harder with those insect-like eyes. Gods, he reminded her of the kind of bugs that made people scream when they caught one racing along their skin, feeling unclean. 

“He told me I needed to win, so I promised I would. For him.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m the only family he has left.” 

She could have heard a pin drop. 

“Yes, you lost your mother when you were quite young, didn’t you?” Larys’ words were a near whisper. No. She didn’t want to answer this. She didn’t want to talk about her mother. “She was a Victor as well, wasn’t she?”

Make them like you. She reminded herself. 

“Yes,” the words were barely audible, but she knew they heard every word. “Yes, she was a Victor.” The words were a broken whisper. “And I’m going to win for her, too.” The world was frozen

It was silent, and then, thankfully, the world resumed its pace when the buzzer rang out, signifying that her time was up. 

“Rhaenyra Targaryen, everybody! Girl on fire! ” Larys cried as she exited the stage. She claimed her seat off to the side with the other tributes just as Alicent reached the interview seat. 

Gwayne was right, she was so devastatingly charming, falling into an easy conversation with Larys, talking about the wonders of King’s Landing technology, giving humorous or self-deprecating answers that made the audience giggle. 

“Larys, you must tell me, do I smell like roses, the showers here are so fancy, I think I’ve been choosing a scent by accident!” Alicent joked. Larys gave her a good natured sniff. 

“Why, yes, you do have a purely floral scent about you. What about me?” 

“Oh, you smell far better than I do, that’s for certain,” Alicent said with a laugh. 

“Well, I have lived here much longer than you,” Larys said, his voice sounding like that of a young boy clued in on a joke no one else was aware of. Alicent nodded and laughed again. 

They spoke in easy, flowing conversation, Alicent seemed to come to life on the stage. But it all halted with Larys’ next question. 

“Now, tell me, Miss Hightower, a beautiful lady such as yourself, surely you have someone special back home?” Alicent flushed and gave an unconvincing shake of her head. 

“No,” she breathed. “There’s no one.” But her cheeks were heated, eyes downcast. Utterly unconvincing. Rhaenyra leant closer in her chair. Alicent didn’t have anyone special back home. Did she? Surely not. Rhaenyra would know. Wouldn’t she? 

“Oh, come on! We don’t buy that! Surely there’s someone you have your eye on…” Larys prompted. 

“Well,” Alicent said conspiratorially, “there is this one girl I’ve had a crush on forever.” The crowd gasped, craning forward to catch every word. 

“Details, details!” Larys begged. Alicent blushed again. 

“Well, everyone likes her, but she’s never really noticed me like that.” Alicent fiddled with her hands. Rhaenyra was leaning so far forward she was dangerously close to falling out of her seat. “I… I had hoped that I could tell her how I felt before… but…” and once more, Alicent flushed. 

“Well, I tell you what,” Larys said, dropping his voice to an accomplice’s whisper. “You go out there and you win this thing and she’ll have to go out with you!” 

The crowd roared cheers of encouragement, but Alicent shook her head. 

“No, I don’t think that would do me any good, Larys,” 

“And why’s that?” 

Alicent took a deep breath, captivating everyone in all of Westeros as they awaited her next word. 

“Because she came here with me.”

Chapter Text

“You mean to say that… this girl is Rhaenyra Targaryen?” Larys whispered. Alicent nodded her head. The crowd was outraged, devastating, crying on her behalf. The tragedy of it all, so unfortunate, so unpreventable. “Oh that is unfortunate.” he said sympathetically. Then he turned to the audience. “Wouldn’t you like to bring Rhaenyra up here and see how she feels!” 

Everyone erupted in the collective answer of yes . But Larys shook his head ruefully. 

“Unfortunately Rhaenyra Targaryen’s time has been spent.” The buzzer went off and Alicent stood slowly. “Best of luck to you, Alicent Hightower!” Larys managed to get out over the crowd's cries. 

The ride back to the penthouse was silent. Gwayne had ushered them out of there as soon as Alicent left the stage. Rhaenyra was stoic, silent, unmoving, standing across from her, refusing to look at her as they ascended to the twelfth floor. She was still simmering with embers, looking like a living flame. Alicent almost reached out to touch her, foolishly. 

When they walked through the doors, Rhaenyra snapped, pushing Alicent up against the nearest wall. For a delirious moment, Alicent thought Rhaenyra might kiss her.

She did no such thing. 

“What the fuck were you thinking? Are you stupid? Do you know how weak this makes me look, how weak this makes us look?” Rhaenyra snarled. Alicent stood impassive, frozen. Gwayne hauled Rhaenyra off her. 

“She did you a favour, Rhaenyra.” He said at last, exhaustion hugging every line of his face, every syllable he ground out. 

“Favour? What, and I suppose you knew about this?” Gwayne nodded once. “I looked weak , like some silly girl.” Rhaenyra hissed. “I looked like… like an idiot.” 

“No,” Gwayne countered. “You looked desirable. Alicent had just done more for you with her confession than you did in your entire interview.” He spat. “You were charming enough, Rhaenyra, but there was nothing special enough to save you from the bloodbath tomorrow. Alicent has just thrown you a fucking lifeline. Don’t be an idiot. Take it.” Alicent had never seen her brother so enraged, this riled up, this passionate. Not for a long time. Under different circumstances it would have made her happy to know he was still capable of it. “Think of the sponsors you’ll get, the star-crossed lovers from District Twelve!”

“We are not star-crossed lovers!” Rhaenyra retorted. “We’re…” Rhaenyra seemed at a loss for words at that moment, and for some reason it made Alicent feel devious. “We’re just friends.” She ended weakly. Gwayne sighed into his palm and walked over to the drinks cart. 

“Whether it's true or not, it will do you far more good than harm.” Jessamyn said carefully. “You’ve given them a story to root for. What’s more compelling than love?” The adults in the room exchanged a secretive glance that even Alicent couldn’t read. 

This seemed to calm Rhaenyra down, but Alicent was still silent, still in place from where Rhaenyra had shoved her. Rhaenyra had begun pacing the room, the hems of her dress making it seem like she was leaving a blazing trail in her wake. Perhaps she was. 

“I…” Rhaenyra fumbled for her words. “Did you think I could love her back? Looking at me? Did I react well?” Of course, this was, considering their circumstances, a reasonable question, but it made Alicent’s heart crack just a bit. Part of her had hoped that maybe, just maybe, she could have stirred something in Rhaenyra, that perhaps her supposed eloquence with words would do her some real good. But no, it was all about the cameras, all about perception. It was going to be about that for the rest of their lives. 

“Oh yes,” Alyssa assured her. “The way you blushed and hid your face from the camera. It was very convincing.” Rhaenyra was breathing hard, looking more like a fire-breathing dragon now then she was on stage with her flaming dress. “They way you watched her…” Alyssa trailed off. 

“Why, I believed it myself.” Laena added. Alicent still didn’t move. “You were so trained on Alicent in her interview, hanging off every word it seemed… you almost looked jealous when the subject of a crush came up.” Laena offered. Had Rhaenyra looked jealous? That made her heart start and take off on the foolish wings of hope. “Anyone looking at you could tell you felt something for her.” Rhaenyra nodded faintly at this and Alicent decided she would rather have something as opposed to nothing. 

“You’re both now perfectly tragic.” Gwayne said, taking a long drink from the bottle of whiskey, clearly deciding it was no longer of paramount importance that he remain sober. “C’mon, let's watch them over.” 

Alicent knew she had broken something between her and Rhaenyra by confessing she loved her in front of all of Westeros, but hopefully that broken bond would pay for one of their lives. 

—

By the time they sat down to rewatch all the interviews, Rhaenyra had calmed down significantly. She sat as far away from Alicent as possible, not daring to look at her. She couldn’t look at her, because then she would have to figure out what this all meant to her. How it made her feel. And she didn’t want to confront that beast. Not tonight. Not on their last night of guaranteed safety. 

But Gwayne was right. 

Rhaenya looked like a silly girl spinning in her dress, her only real moment when she spoke of her father and mother. But other than that, sparkly and utterly forgettable. 

Alicent, however, was winning as the girl in love. She charmed the audience from the moment she crossed the stage, she was charming, innocent, beautiful, and tragic all at once. And her confession of love made it all the more effective. She was magnetic, captivating, and utterly convincing. 

Rhaenyra was no longer a silly girl in a sparkly dress. No. She was made beautiful by Jessamyn’s hands, desirable by Alicent’s confession, and all together tragic by the circumstances. 

Beautiful, desirable, tragic. As a Targaryen, she supposed that was always to be her destiny. 

She still couldn’t bring herself to speak to Alicent, however. Thank her. 

“Any final advice, Gwayne?” She asked dully. 

“When that gong sounds, run as fast as you can away from the Cornucopia. It’s not worth it. Find water and steer clear of anyone else you’re not sure of.” He was several drinks in but his voice was as serious as a blade that might very well end up pressed into her throat tomorrow. 

Rhaenyra wanted to ask him more questions, to quiz him about everything he knew, finding that now, with the prospect of the Arena hanging so close over their heads like an executioner's axe, she was worried she hadn’t asked questions enough. Hadn’t considered the consequences of not doing so. But her words caught in her throat, slow and sticky like molasses, and she found her tongue a leaden weight in her mouth. 

They both went to bed without another word. There was nothing else left to say. 

She took far longer than necessary in the shower, cleaning off every last speck of makeup and glamour, leaving her dress discarded on the floor, thoughtless as to its worth. She scrubbed herself raw and even then she didn’t get out. She ran the water boiling, ran it freezing, ran it tolerable. She stood in there trying to gather her thoughts, but they slipped through her fingers as swiftly as the water raced down the drain. 

She climbed into bed in nothing but her previously discarded bra and underwear. She knew draws contained myriads of clothes all tailored to fit, wealth embedded in every stitch, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. 

Rhaenyra tried to sleep, but every moment was haunted by thoughts of what might await her the next day. Would there be daggers? A sword? Or nothing at all. One year all the tributes had were jagged rocks to bash each other's skulls in with. It had been horribly, truly sickening, to watch. Would there be trees? Rivers? Mountains? What terrain would she be thrust into? What would she have to face, beyond the children that were her competitors, so many of them already trained killers? Would she have to fight to survive against the Arena itself? The possibilities were quite literally endless. They had the power to do anything they found remotely entertaining. 

She and Alicent had still decided not to ally with anyone. It was safer that way. Rhaenyra had the hopeful suspicion that Addam and Laenor wouldn’t kill them on sight, but she couldn’t rely on that. 

She couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted trying to. Slowly she rose from her bed and pulled an overly large shirt from the nearest drawer, then bullied herself into knocking on Alicent’s door. 

Alicent opened it almost instantly.  On a different night, Rhaenyra might have teased her for it. 

“Hi,” Rhaenyra said sheepishly. 

“Hi,” Alicent returned. “Couldn’t sleep?” Rhaenyra nodded. Wordlessly, Alicent held open her door and Rhaenyra stepped in. Without looking at her, Alicent strode over to the balcony of her room, the little ledge overlooking the colourful rooftops of King’s Landing, all the residents partying. Tonight was a celebration. Like New Year's Eve, only grander. They would all be deliriously drunk by now, ostentatious outfits askew, food going to waste. Tomorrow they would remember none of this, only clap as the Games began. 

They sat in silence for a long while. 

“What do you think will happen? In there?” Rhaenyra asked, turning to look at Alicent, who’s eyes were still roaming the night sky. 

“I don’t know,” Alicent replied, her tone making it sound like a confession. “I just don’t want them to change me.” She whispered. 

“How would they change you?” 

“Turn me into something I’m not. If I… die in there, I want to die as myself.”

“So you won’t kill anyone?” Rhaenyra inquired. Alicent shook her head. 

“No, I’m sure I’ll kill just like everyone else when the time comes. I just… I wish there was a way for me to show them they don’t own me, that I’m more than… than just a piece in their Games.” Alicent, for the first time, looked over to Rhaenyra, searching her eyes for something. “Do you understand?” 

“No, not really.” Rhaenyra replied honestly, but she felt like she failed some kind of test she hadn’t known she was taking. Whatever Alicent had been looking for in her eyes, she didn’t find it. She turned away dismayed. “I don’t understand, how would they change you?” Alicent just shook her head again, eyes drifting back to the night sky. It was so hard to see the stars in King’s Landing. Back home, in Twelve, Rhaenyra never had any problems spotting them, connecting constellations. Now she could hardly find the cluster that pointed in an arrowhead she had always relied upon to lead her home. Like they had been smothered by the sky. One more thing covered in coal dust. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Rhaenyra didn’t say anything for a long while. She didn’t know what to say. Alicent, as always, was filled with eloquent prose that could move mountains, should she desire to use it. She spoke in riddles and never offered the answers. She was like a book Rhaenyra knew cover to cover, but one that had been written in a foreign language. She knew the bones of her, but sometimes it felt like she understood nothing else. 

“Why did you say it?” She whispered. At first she thought Alicent hadn’t heard her, because she just kept staring out into the abyss of sky impassively. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Alicent repeated. 

“It does. It does to me.” Rhaenyra insisted. Alicent turned to look at her again and seemed to see right through everything she was. “It does, Alicent.” Her gaze was so sharp it felt like a wound. She knew that Alicent saw more than her bones. She knew Alicent knew her far better than Rhaenyra knew Alicent. She had just never taken the time to feel guilty about it. 

“You had to know I loved you, Rhaenyra. You’re not stupid.” Alicent said at last, still looking right at her. Her gaze was so piercing, so captivating. A small part of Rhaenyra had known, had wondered. But she never acted on it. She knew she could have. That if she asked Alicent to, Alicent would say yes, because she could not deny Rhaenyra anything. But Alicent was something special . Something she couldn’t ruin with sex, something more intimate than sex. Something she would only ruin. Targaryen’s and their tragedies. 

“But why say it now? Just to give us a better chance?” Alicent gave a noncommittal shrug of one shoulder. “Alicent,” her voice was pleading, she sounded so pathetic. “Please, I have a right to know.” 

“Don’t do this, Rhaenyra.” She breathed. “Don’t be selfish.” Oh, but I have never been trusted to be selfless. 

“I could die tomorrow. I think I deserve to be a little selfish.” 

“We both know you won’t.” Alicent scoffed, rolling her eyes. Rhaenyra was silent at that.

“Then you be selfish.” She said slowly. Alicent looked back over to her. 

“What?” 

“You keep saying you’re going to die in there, so be selfish. Take something. Take it from me .” Perhaps she was saying it because either one of them could very well die tomorrow, because she was filled with dread and fear, or, maybe because a small part of her wanted to kiss Alicent. Maybe just once. Maybe a very small part of Rhaenyra Targaryen could have loved her, too. 

“You’re being mean,” Alicent whispered as Rhaenyra inched closer to her. 

“No,” Rhaenya countered, scouring Alicent’s face with her eyes. “I’m being selfish.” And then she just kissed her. 

— 

Alicent had dreamt of being kissed by Rhaenyra Targaryen so many different times in so many different ways, but never like this. Never on the night that could be their last. Never before the Hunger Games, after she had confessed her love for all of Westeros to hear. 

But her imagination was nothing like the real thing. 

Rhaenyra kissed her earnestly, as though kissing Alicent was everything and anything else was nothing. Like all she had been put on this earth to do was kiss, kiss, kiss her. She kissed Alicent like she loved her, and that was more dangerous than any poison. 

Alicent had never felt what it was like to be starving, but she felt starving now. She was so, so hungry and Rhaenyra was the only thing that would satisfy her, but the more she had, the more she needed. It was a paradox, and Alicent loved it. 

They were both shameless, Alicent couldn’t tell where she ended and Rhaenyra began, if she was moaning or Rhaenyra was, but she took it all, laid it all bare.

She would’ve been embarrassed if Rhaenyra was meeting her with the same ferocity, the same desperation. It was maddening. She wanted and was wanted. She would die wanting, die wanted. 

She couldn’t tell how long they stayed lip-locked, hands hungry for something else to touch touch touch, roaming and exploring like it would save them from something they couldn’t escape. Rhaenyra had kissed people before and it showed. In the way she held Alicent’s jaw, her hand sliding into Alicent’s hair, angling her for more, breaking her down, deepening her access. Oh, it was like she was trying to crawl inside Alicent, pressing so close, it was madness. 

Alicent hates that her body needs air, hates that she has to pull away and gulp down the frigid King’s Landing air instead of staying tangled in whatever insane embrace she had just been in. Apparently Rhaenyra felt the same, because instead of pulling back, she locked her mouth on Alicent’s jaw, making her gasp. Oh Gods, she really knows what she’s doing . Rhaenyra was devouring her, her lips leaving burn marks along Alicent’s neck as she feasted on it like she would never eat again. 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent flushed hearing how broken and breathy her voice sounded. Rhaenyra did not stop, making a faint hum. “Rhaenyra, what are you doing?” It was all too much and none of it was enough. 

“It’s our last night,” Rhaenyra said in a hoarse voice that Alicent hardly recognised. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“No, but–” 

“We don’t have time for ‘buts’, Alicent.” 

It was something about how she said her name, so heavy and heady that made Alicent lose all her senses. It was their last night. 

So Alicent allows Rhaenyra to mark her with her mouth and hands. She won’t sleep with Rhaenyra… but she won’t deny herself this. Just once, she will be selfish. Even for a handful of moments. Just for a forbidden kiss. She will regret this tomorrow, if she has time left for regrets, but her body will not. Her body will worship this moment where she is touched with desire, pressed with wanting. 

Chapter Text

When she wakes the next morning, she feels giddy for a moment, she can’t describe why, but she wakes with a smile on her lips.  And then it all hits her, and all she can feel is sick. Life loves its ironies, right? 

Rhaenyra didn’t know what had overtaken her last night, but the feeling was banished as walked out to the dining room where everyone sat somber. Alicent didn’t meet her eyes, but no one else did either. 

“The Games start at eleven,” Gwayne said, voice hollow. “But you have to leave in the next hour. To get there.” Rhaenyra felt herself nodding. She couldn’t imagine eating. She had hardly slept. Her body would regret it soon, but all she could manage now was water. In her peripheral vision she saw a loaded, untouched plate before Alicent and a half-empty cup of water. Whatever she had felt looking at Alicent last night was gone, all she could see now was tragedy. 

“We’re allowed to come with you and send you off.” Jessamyn said softly. “Help you get dressed for the outfits they give you for the Arena. Make sure everything is fine and then…” Her words drifted off. Rhaenyra wondered if it had ever been this difficult for them to send off a tribute before, or if somehow there was something special about her and Alicent. Whatever, she didn’t want to think about it. Thinking she was special would only make her more delusional, and if there ever was a time for Rhaenyra Targaryen to get her head out of the clouds, it was now. 

“Now, when you get in there, clear out, find water. The second that gong sounds, put as much distance between you and the other tributes as you can. Do you understand?” Gwayne’s voice was firm. Rhaenyra noticed the lack of alcohol and figured she and Alicent likely weren’t alone in their nausea. 

“How will we find each other?” Rhaenyra asked. She didn’t look at Alicent as she spoke, feeling a wave of shame in her gut. 

“Worry about that later. Even if you're separated for some of the Games, stay away from everyone else.” Alicent nodded dimly. Rhaenyra didn’t like the thought of them not being together, but who knows if their platforms would be near each other? If they could even see the other in the heat of the moment? They had to take their chances. They had to trust the awful odds. Fucking ace.

“Are you ready?” Alyssa asked. Rhaenyra and Alicent both mumbled yes. Neither able to eat. It could make all the difference in the Arena where food was sacred, but Rhaenyra felt positive that if she ate, it would come back up far too soon. And the last thing she needed was to vomit right now. Actually, it probably wasn’t the last thing, but it made the top five. 

Laena rushed forward and embraced them both as soon as they were on their feet. 

“I believe in you both. If there ever was a year that Twelve could win, it would be this one.” She said, her voice unimaginably bright, her eyes unimaginably sad. Even her outfit was more somber, dress dark as coal dust, almost like a token of the tributes from District Twelve… 

“Thank you, Laena,” Rhaenyra said sincerely. “You’ve been… you’ve been the best we could hope for.” Rhaenyra blinked her tears away, determined not to cry. 

“I hope you get a better District next year,” Alicent said with a smile. Laena gave her one back.

“I already got the best one.” Laena said earnestly, her affected King’s Landing accent subdued, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. The effect was aided by her comically large lashes which fluttered with every breath, giving the effect she was blinking away tears. Or maybe, just maybe , as actually was. 

For a moment, the three of them stood together, and then Laena drew away, drawing a smile on her face with practised ease. 

“I’ll walk you to the pod launch.” Laena said firmly. So together, Rhaenyra, Alicent, Gwayne, Laena, Jessamyn, and Alyssa loaded into the elevator, walked the sterile, expansive hallway, and approached the pod exit in silence. Laena said no final words of parting, just a beautiful, positive smile. Waving goodbye to them as if this was just for now, not forever. 

Gwayne led them out to the pods that would transport them to the waiting chambers. Who knew how far or short the flight would be? Who knew anything? 

Jessamyn climbed into a pod with Rhaenyra, Alyssa one with Alicent. Gwayne paused for a moment. 

“Go,” Rhaenyra said. “Be her brother.” He gave her a grateful smile. 

“See you soon, Targaryen.” He said grimly. 

“Count on it.” 

—

Alicent was going to be sick. Her stomach bubbled with nerves so painful she thought she would burst in two. Alyssa held her hand the entire flight, but time meant nothing. She didn’t know how long she had been in the air. She didn’t know anything but fear. 

A King’s Landing attendant, a woman in all white came up to Alicent. 

“Hold out your arm for me please, I need to place your tracker,” Alicent held out her arm dimly, and the needle punctured her, shooting the tracker into her arm. It didn’t hurt, but right now Alicent was fairly certain this woman could have broken all her bones and she wouldn’t have felt a thing. 

She went over her plan in her head, remembering Gwayne’s advice, remembering Rhaenyra. Following steps in your mind was a lot more difficult when thoughts of your impending death continued to sneak in, it turned out. 

Gwayne on her other side was silent as she had ever seen him, looking sicker than she felt. Of course, this would be like reliving it all for him, she thought. But she had no words of comfort, because they would all be lies. 

“We’re here,” Alyssa said gently, helping Alicent onto her unsteady feet. For such an eccentric, King’s Landing born-and-bred woman, she was unfailingly kind. 

The room was underground, obviously, beneath the Arena. But the bright man-made lights were so bright that she wouldn’t have known otherwise. 

She was the only tribute that would ever use this launch room. Some King’s Landing wealthy residents would come here for a holiday if her Games were entertaining enough, come and relive the Games, participate in re-enactments. Perhaps in a few years a hologram of her death would play out above her. In a few years, some King’s Landing residents would get to holographically wear the skin of her killer and take part in the murder themselves. 

The food was supposed to be excellent. 

It was a sterile room, the only thing out of place was a bag containing what she assumed were her clothes for the Arena. Alyssa pulled it off the rack and unzipped it. Wordlessly, Alicent took the clothes and put them on, tossing her old ones to the floor. She was long past the point of being embarrassed about the exposure of her skin around Alyssa, and she figured Gwayne was probably too deeply in the throes of his own memories to notice. 

“Gwayne, promise me something,” she whispered. She didn’t wait for him to agree. This was her last request. “When I die, go back to Twelve. I don’t care what the High Septon says. Father will need you.” Her throat was dangerously tight. “And remember that I love you.” 

Gwayne rose from his seat and enveloped her in a hug that she didn’t hesitate to return. She hadn’t hugged him since she was a little girl and he was a different man. She missed her brother so badly it hurt. 

“Wait, I want to give you this,” Gwayne tugged a ring off his finger. “This was my token during my Games,” he said, voice stuttering as he slid it onto her thumb. “I want you to have it. It’ll keep you safe.” Each word was dangerously quieter than the last. 

“Is this…?” But she couldn’t finish the sentence. He knew what she meant and nodded. 

“You should have it.” He murmured. “It got me home once, maybe it’ll get you home too.” She shook her head woefully, but accepted the token nonetheless. 

“Thank you.” She choked out, squeezing his hand. 

“I know what you’re going to do in there, Alicent.” He whispered. Of course he knew. They were blood, brother and sister, and no lifetimes apart could change that. And deep down, her and Gwayne were far more similar, even now, than either would admit. 

“I have to save her.” 

“I know. That doesn’t make it easier.” He looked her dead in the eyes. “I think you could’ve won this thing, Alicent.” 

“Don’t lie to me, even though it’s a nice sentiment.” She intended the words to sound humorous, but her voice caught in her throat and made her sound instead like a wounded animal. She supposed that in several ways, she was. 

“I’m being honest. You’re smart. Remember that while you're there.” 

“We’re almost out of time,” Alyssa whispered gently, breaking their moment. “Can I give you a hug, Alicent?” Alicent wanted to cry, so she just nodded. She couldn’t cry. She was about to be blasted on national television. Crybabies didn’t get allies or sponsors, crybabies got a sword in the stomach. 

“Thank you, Alyssa. Thank you for making me beautiful.” She was pretty sure she heard Alyssa cry. She didn’t ever wonder what it was like for the stylists. She had assumed they took the same vindictive pleasure in it as the rest of King’s Landing. She didn’t know what part of Alicent Alyssa was mourning right now, but she knew that some part of this plastic woman cared. Like Jessamyn cared, like even Laena cared. In some way. 

“It was an honour.” Alyssa said. Then she pulled back, her face as serious as Alicent had ever seen it. “Now, listen, your jacket is meant to reflect body heat, so I’d say the nights will be cold. Cruelly so.” Alicent could only nod. “Your shoes are meant to be good for running and climbing.” Alyssa’s hands were shaking. “I don’t know what’ll be in there, but it will be intended to make you suffer.” Alyssa whispered.

Alicent stared at her for a moment, confused that Alyssa of all people was giving her this warning. This is her entertainment. Alicent is part of it. Alyssa wasn’t taught to view the Games as suffering. 

A cool, otherwise, apart from the circumstances, pleasant female voice called, “one minute until launch, please enter the launch pad.” 

Alicent gave Alyssa and Gwayne one more hug each and then steeled herself, stepping up to the launch pad. 

Just before the glass encased around her, Gwayne called out a final message;

“Remember who you are.” Then the glass surrounded her and the countdown from thirty began. 

—

Her eyes took several moments to adjust to the light of the Arena, to take it in. 

It was like being in the Meadow. They were surrounded by beautiful blooming flowers, the sun a gentle pink above them. Off in the distance, trees strangled each other, twisting and vying to be seen. In another, further direction, a seemingly tropical jungle bursting with unnaturally colourful plants and birds, another, a near-desert looking grassfield. She saw a massive lake but… it wasn’t water… it was grey, like slate, like coal dust… it was something unnatural. Already her mind swirled with possibilities of fighting for water, remembering one year where there was no water at all except sponsors… 

The more she looked, the more unusual things began to stick out. Birds with violently colourful beaks, flowers impossibly large. Vines moving and twisting without wind. Every direction held a different habitat, all likely eager to cause harm. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the infamous voice of Jasper Wylde rang out across the Arena, snapping her focus back. “Welcome to the seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favour!” 

Rhaenyra’s eyes moved rapidly, taking in who was near her. To her left was the older girl from Five, to the right, the boy from Nine. She flitted her eyes around, trying to see her, trying, trying, tryin–

There, right before she was blocked by the large, glistening, golden Cornucopia, almost exactly opposite her, was Alicent. Rhaenyra stared at her and met her eyes. She nodded once and Alicent gave a slight dip of her head in return. 

Twenty seconds. 

Rhaenyra looked around. A few feet in front of her was a bright green backpack. She weighed the benefits and potential costs of seizing it, then looked around the Arena one more time, careful not to move off the platform. She didn’t fancy being blown up. One time a girl had dropped a small wooden token, a carved flower or something, while waiting on the platform. She’d been blown to bits. They’d literally had to scrape her off. 

To her right, behind the boy from Nine was a towering mass of trees. She knew immediately that was where Gwayne would want her to go. A forest was her best bet. She wouldn’t stand a chance in the desert area, in that jungle. She had to play to her strengths. The trees looked vicious, but that didn’t mean that the inviting flower bed before her wasn’t just as, if not more, deadly. 

Yet the Cornucopia was so tempting… so many weapons. So many more supplies that would help her survive… 

She caught Alicent’s eye again, and it must have been written on her face, even from this distance, what she was thinking, because Alicent gave her the slightest shake of her head, and Rhaenyra knew that if she charged straight into the bloodbath, Alicent would never forgive her, as she would never forgive Alicent.

Ten seconds.

She honed in on the pack near her feet. She wouldn’t leave with nothing . 

Nine. 

People took stances, preparing to run. Some faced the Cornucopia, some the unknown terrain around them. 

Eight. 

She didn’t risk looking up at Alicent again, she just hoped she’d be able to find her once the bloodbath was over. Surely Alicent would head in a similar direction? Alicent was always terrified of the woods, but right now, everything was terrifying. Better the devil you know, right? 

Seven. 

Picking up the backpack would require her to be swift, she’d have to bend down and the spring back up in order to make it back on her feet and head for the woods. 

Six. 

The girl from Five seemed a bit timid, but Gwayne had warned her that anyone could be a brutal killer, and underestimating her opponents would be her doom. 

Five. 

The tribute from Ten was staring directly at the Cornucopia. Good. She wouldn’t be able to take him without any weapons. 

Four. 

Run to the woods. Find water. Find Alicent. 

Three. 

Alicent. Alicent. Would she survive the bloodbath? Yes, Rhaenyra was certain she was smarter than that. 

Two. 

She took a deep breath. 

One. 

The gong sounded and she began running.

Chapter Text

Gwayne was with the other mentors as the Games started, call it tradition. Everyone looked somewhat ill as they watched their tributes prepare themselves for the moments to come. Even Aegon was silent. This moment was the time where all the mentors respected silence. Even the brutal, self-righteous ones. For these brief moments, everyone was a trembling child again, bravado or no, they were all awaiting the possibility of death, clinging to either violence or seclusion to survive. 

Later they would go and jump into the pit of monsters that were potential sponsors, but now they would all hope their tributes would survive the hour. They wouldn’t. They knew that. In fact, usually the kids from Twelve died first. 

They won’t. Rhaenyra and Alicent will make it. Alicent would make sure Rhaenyra would. The thought made his stomach roil, his heart clench, his whole body shake with fear. He hated being a Victor, he hated that he and all his brothers were too old to volunteer for their little sister. That all of them abandoned her in one way or another. He was the most guilty. 

He couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain he knew what she was going to do. 

Only one way to find out . 

The countdown was brutal. It had been brutal thirteen years ago, and their horror remained rich now. It was far longer than it needed to be. It was loud. It echoed. He could still feel the reverberation of sound in his heels, twisting up his legs, into his spine. Some of the tributes were trembling with the force of it. Or perhaps that was just fear. 

The gong sounded and the Games began. Everyone in the room, against themselves, flinched. Even cocky Aegon Targaryen. 

Gwayne held his breath.

It was like he was seventeen again. 

—

She ran towards the Cornucopia with reckless abandon. Right near the mouth were two bows and multiple loaded quivers. She knew who they were intended for. 

Alicent was fast. Faster than a lot of the girls in her grade. She could out-run even Rhaenyra. In a race of endurance? No. But this short distance was more than comfortable for her. She was built for this. She used that now. She arrived at the mouth of the Cornucopia and seized a bow and arrows, grabbing two backpacks wildly, then docking an arrow, loading it, coming face to face with Sarella who was smiling. Because of-fucking-course she was. 

“Moment of truth, Twelve. Allies?” Sarella had a loaded bow pointed at her too, they had seconds before the other tributes arrived and attacked.

“Allies. Duck.” Sarella didn’t need to be told twice and Alicent fired an arrow straight into the heart of the boy from Ten. She thought his name might have been Dennis. Didn’t matter, she reloaded. She didn’t know what made the arrow strike true, she didn’t care. Beginners luck was as good as anything to count on. 

“Aye, Hightower, where’s your lover?” Laenor teased as he found off one of the boys from Six with a trident, with practised ease, Addam fighting on the other side, working in synchronicity. 

“Not sure, Velaryon,” she yelled back, almost pissed off that she was playing allies during the fucking bloodbath. Another arrow made its mark, but not in the heart, in the leg of a girl from Three. 

“I got it,” Sarella said, and shot the girl clean through the eye.

“Thanks,” Alicent called over her shoulder. 

Harwin and Hugh were already attacking each other with their fists, the other tributes avoiding them. Several had already cleared out, more than Alicent expected. Either smart enough to know they wouldn’t survive in the bloodbath, or fast enough to slip away unnoticed. 

“So,” Laenor called, inching closer, waving his trident to fend off anyone that would approach them. “I take it we’re allies now?” 

“Smart one, aren’t you?” Alicent snapped back as she shot an arrow at the girl from Eleven as she scrambled to seize a backpack. It didn’t kill, but it would give her a nasty limp. The second arrow got her down. The third made her stop moving. 

Maybe it’s in my blood, she thought faintly. To be a killer. How am I good at it? Was Gwayne watching? Was he repulsed, or was he sensing a kinship, forged in the crucifix of the Games? 

She didn’t think about whether or not Rhaenyra was dead or not. She was sure Rhaenyra was smart enough to run off, not into the pack of wolves like she had. 

She and Sarella worked in tandem, if one missed a shot, the other made it for them. Meaning that Sarella worked a lot harder than Alicent did, in all honesty. Edric covered their weaker spots, his sword an extension of his arm and taller than he was, for once, his feet firm on the ground. Addam and Laenor covered the other side of the Cornucopia, both with tridents that she hadn’t seen them use in training. Clever. It seems she wasn’t the only one with an intelligent mentor.

She could see several people either dead or dying on the floor. Later the sky would tell them who. 

“Hugh’s a coward.” Sarella scoffed. “So is Steffon.” Alicent saw what she meant. They had a sword and spear respectively in hand, one backpack between them, and they retreated on hasty feet from Harwin and a man who had to be his District partner who were now gripping large weapons, daring the District One tributes to attack. Clearly they weren’t as stupid as they looked, because they retreated. Perhaps Harwin was a bigger threat than even Alicent had anticipated, if he was causing Hugh to retreat. 

“Watch out,” Sarella called. Alicent didn’t duck. She aimed. 

—

Rhaenyra ran through the forest without looking back. Her feet stumbled over tree-trunks and roots, but she jumped and leapt almost on instinct, running further and further from the bloodbath, putting as much distance between her and the rest of the tributes as she could. 

She would know when it was over when the cannons started. They didn’t fire them during the bloodbath, it was too hard to keep track. But she would know when she could slow when she heard the tell-tale explosive sound marking death. 

She alternated between sprinting and jogging, every snap of a branch making her veer in the opposite direction. 

Gwayne’s second instruction became more dire with every step but she didn’t dare slow. 

She had no idea where she was headed, if she would run straight into a Gamemaker-made trap, or a pit full of mutts, or right into another, deadlier tribute. She didn’t care, she had to keep moving. 

The landscape was almost unchanged once she made it into the forest, no sign of the other terrains she had spotted during the countdown, no, this was all familiar ground to her. Small wonders. 

Then she heard it. The cannon fire and she knew the fighting must be over. 

She stood frozen in shock as she counted them off on her fingers. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Then they stopped. Nine dead. All the first handful of hours. Who among them had fallen first? Little Roslin from Eight? Large Hugh from One? Someone else, whose face Rhaenyra had not even bothered to take note of?

She felt relieved to be alive, relieved to know nine competitors were out of her way, and guilty for being glad that nine people were dead. 

The cannon fire made her calm her racing heartbeat somewhat. Rhaenyra finally relaxed enough to stop running. She found a rock to sit on and allowed herself to breathe and take stock of what was in her backpack. 

Inside she found a sleeping bag, a bundle of thick rope, some wire, one small packet of matches, a container of dried beef, a sleeve of crackers, and a small pouch of dried fruit. And, gloriously, a reasonably sized canteen and a jar of iodine pills. 

The canteen, however, was bone dry. Because of course it was. 

Her stomach ached slightly with hunger or nerves, but she didn’t open her precious supply of food. She couldn’t risk it. She would survive the end of the day before she opened his precious store. She’d packed on enough fat during her brief time in King’s Landing to sustain her body for a while longer. It wasn’t like she’d starve. Not yet anyway. 

Next she had to find water and Alicent. In what order, she didn’t care. 

She wondered where Alicent was. She was sure she wasn’t one of the nine dead. She was smarter than that. Much smarter. She would have run and found a good spot to hide. She was always good at hide-and-seek, better at the defense than the offensive. That was Rhaenyra’s role. 

And, call it cliche, but Rhaenyra felt like she would know if Alicent died. The whole world would know, because something about it would shift when Alicent Hightower stopped breathing, of that, Rhaenyra was certain. 

She wouldn’t have to wait long to see who died though, soon the sky would darken and a projection from King’s Landing would play the anthem and show the faces of the dead. By the looks of the sky though, still a soft pink, that was several hours away. 

Rather than wait like a sitting duck, Rhaenyra kept moving, looking for any signs of water. However, the more attentive she was, the more strange things she noticed. The leaves seemed damp but nothing else. The trees seemed to be dripping sap but it was dark and black. She didn’t touch it. You were always smart enough never to eat anything unless you were absolutely sure, Alicent had said once. She wouldn’t let her down now. 

There were no signs of the flowers that had been so abundant near the Cornucopia now. In fact, the only floral life was bushes and trees. 

She sighted a couple of birds. They had to either be mutts or from some other District, because they looked nothing like the birds she’d spot in the woods back at Twelve. They kind of looked like pheasants, but not quite. Something off about their necks. 

Twelve . She wondered how her father was holding up, or if he was slipping under the pressure of his daughter's probable death and letting the District fall into despair. Grief had such sway over him. Was Criston watching? What did he think of Alicent’s love confession? Rhaenyra didn’t love Criston and she never would, but he had been special in many ways, and she had always had the suspicion that he liked her more than she liked him. 

Eventually, the sky began to darken to a burgundy shade and she knew she needed to find a place to sleep. She had the sleeping bag but what good was it to lay like an easy target on the ground? No, she had to be out of sight. 

There were few options, however. Although…

One year, a tribute from Seven had spent almost the entire Games hiding up in the trees, hidden from view, jumping down and attacking passing prey, staying safe from the heavier or less sure-footed tributes. 

If it had worked once…

Tentatively, she looked for a tree to climb. She settled for a slightly smaller than average oak. She climbed as high as she dared before she pulled out the sleeping bag, already feeling the temperature drop. She zipped up her jacket and pulled up her hood. Then, just to be safe, she pulled out the length of rope and tied herself to the tree trunk. She was not going to die because she fucking fell to her death from a perfectly safe tree. 

Perfectly safe as far as she knew. 

She had scarcely secured herself adequately when the anthem began. 

Rhaenyra held her breath as the faces of the dead appeared. 

The first face was the older girl from District Three, Rhaenyra thought her name might have been Tyana. She, shamefully, remembered nothing about the girl. Not her parade outfit, not her interview, not her training score. She wasn’t even confident in her name. What did that say about Rhaenyra? But the face of the girl from District Three appearing first meant that all four tributes from One and Two had survived. Next, the young girl from Five. Meaning Laenor and Addam had survived as well. Rhaenyra knew she shouldn’t be glad some of her steepest competition was still alive, but she couldn’t help being relieved that they didn’t die on the first day. She really would have been their ally. 

Then the other girl from Five. Just like that, one whole District eliminated. Their chances of wealth and resources for the coming year extinguished, their hope gone. The Games would not provide them anyone to root for, but instead a showcase of endless violence that reaped them no benefit. 

One of the boys from Six, one from Eight. The boy from Nine, the one she had watched prepare to launch himself into the bloodbath. That was six, meaning that Alicent could still be dead. 

The boy from Ten, then both of the tributes from Eleven. Then the anthem stopped and the sky was black again. 

So Alicent was still alive. Her heart soared with relief. Rhaenyra ticked off on her fingers who was left. Everyone from the Royalties, plus one of the girls from three. The other boy from Six. Both of the tributes from Seven, meaning Harwin ‘Breakbones’ still lived. Little Roslin from Eight. That surprised her, usually the youngest died first. The girl from Nine, Alys from Ten, and then her and Alicent. 

So all the tributes she had marked as threats were still going strong, some had probably banded together and were currently hunting people this very moment. Some of them might even be hunting her. The girl on fire, the blood of the dragon, who scored and eleven, who was half of the star crossed lovers from District Twelve.

The thoughts of the lover routine made her shudder. She finally had time to think about Alicent, about what happened on their last night, about how greedy Rhaenyra had been to taste her, to hold her. Being a Targaryen, she had thought herself an expert in heat, but it had been a whole new kind of warmth. For the first time, she understood why Alicent hadn’t wanted them to be together in the Games. She understood how much harder it would be now. 

She drifted off into sleep, dreaming of the girl who kissed like fire. 

Chapter Text

“I did not expect the girl from Twelve to join a Royalties alliance,” was a sentence Alysanne had heard about sixteen times in the past five minutes. And she had only been here five minutes. Yay, District Twelve had some balls, but seriously, she needed at least three more drinks before she could talk to someone about ‘ the’ strategy play of the Games. 

Cregan wasn’t with her today, making it even less tolerable. But he didn’t need to be here. Duncan died in the bloodbath, he had no tribute to convince people to sponsor, so why would he subject himself? Sure, some support would be nice, but she got it. She was the same whenever her tribute died and he always got more attached than he did. 

She searched the room for faces she knew and liked, but was swarmed by all the King’s Landing citizens who wanted to preen and pry into the lives of the tributes. 

However, the only mentor really earning any real attention or money was Gwayne Hightower, because his sister had just become an honorary Royal tribute in the Games on day one, after her whole spiel about her crush on her District partner, Rhaenyra. And the girl on fire was a whole other goldmine for him. Alysanne was happy for Gwayne in the sense that he didn’t have to flounder to find help for his tributes this year, felt awful for him in that this was more attention than any mentor ever got and he did it all on his own. 

“Aly,” she lifted her head, and blissfully, it was Sabitha striding towards her. “How’s Cregan holding up?” She asked sympathetically. 

“He’s disappointed, of course. But it’s the Hunger Games,” Alysanne replied bitterly, trying not to sound too invested, to reveal too much. Everything was such a delicate balance. Sabitha brushed a hand down her back in comfort, but it took all of Alysanne not to jump. “Not here,” she whispered, and Sabitha understood. Of course she did. She was a Victor too. 

She changed the subject instead. “Roslin’s doing well,” she swirled the drink around in her glass. 

“Yes, but she’s not got much in the way of sponsors yet.” Sabitha frowned. “But the longer she makes it I suppose…” Alysanne gave a sympathetic smile.

“She seems like a tough kid. I wouldn’t count her out just yet.” Sabitha smiled gratefully. 

“Well, I better go see if I can improve her odds. You want to campaign for Eddara?” Alysanna shook her head. 

“Not just yet.” Sabitha nodded and walked off. Good, it would be harder to come up with an excuse to leave, harder to lie to her of all people. 

Once she was sure Sabitha was gone, sure no lingering looks were being tossed her way, Alysanne slipped out of the room and wandered down the hall. When she reached the third door on the left she knocked four times in sharp, quick clips. 

“Come in,” someone inside called. She pushed her way through and found almost everyone else was sitting around the circular table already. 

“Were you seen?” Daemon Targaryen asked with a scowl. Alysanne rolled her eyes. 

“You’re such a tight-ass.” She replied, taking her seat next to Cregan. His eyes were haunted by the death of Duncan, but he was putting up a steely front. She squeezed his knee to acknowledge that she was there, with him. He gave what he must have thought was a reassuring smile, but it looked more like a facial spasm. 

“Well, is there any news?” Rhaenys asked, leaning forward, resting her hands on the table while her husband leant backwards in his seat. Always opposite sides of the same coin, those two. 

“Shouldn’t you be getting sponsors for your son?” Daemon teased maliciously. 

“Shouldn’t you be mentoring your own tributes?” Alysanne snapped at him. Daemon held his hands up in surrender. 

“My role is much more important.” He replied smugly. Because Daemon Targaryen, she was fairly certain, was only capable of being smug. Asshole. 

“Oh shut up,” Lysa quipped, rolling her eyes. Alysanne smiled at her from across the table. 

“So, is there any news?” Alysanne wouldn’t have spotted her if she hadn’t leant forward to speak. Brushing hair out of her face, Helaena Targaryen stared Daemon down. Daemon scowled. He seemed particularly irritated by Heleana. Perhaps he felt he couldn’t trust her because she was from One. Then again, she was Targaryen, just like he was. Maybe that was all the more reason for him not to trust her. Blood meant next to nothing in Westeros and these days, the Targaryen name even less. 

“Yes. they’re planning something… something big for the Quarter Quell next year.” 

“No shit, idiot.” Dalton drawled, lounging on his chair. “It’s a Quarter Quell. But what is it?” 

“I’m working on it.” Daemon ground out, he clearly short fuse and even slimmer lease on his patience slipping out of his control. 

“So why did you call this meeting?” Corlys Velaryon provoked. Alysanne could tell Daemon’s violent temper was barely in check. 

“There’s news from Thirteen.” He said grimly. “They have someone in the High Septons inner circle. That’s who’s been feeding us information.” 

The room was silent. 

“Why are we just finding this out now?” Alysanne asked, leaning forward in her seat. “How long have they been there?” 

“Years.” Daemon replied nonchalantly, as if this wasn’t realm-altering information. As though this didn’t potentially change everything. 

“And you’re just telling us now?” Rhaenys said, voice cold but face wrathful. “You didn’t think it would be something prudent to share?” 

“Believe it or not, but you aren’t exactly a top priority, Rhaenys.” Daemon retorted. 

Alysanne slumped back in her chair. Who could possibly be in the High Septon’s circle who was, if not from Thirteen, in league with them? She hadn’t been around long enough to have a clue. 

“I’ve told you now because she asked me to. That’s all I can say for now.” Daemon supplied after lots of irritated stares. The mention of her quelled some vocal resentment, but irritation still simmered beneath the surface. 

People glared at him expectantly. He sighed heartily. 

“Look, the bastards are getting restless.” Daemon said eventually. “They’re not going to hold back for much longer. They’re waiting for something, but once they have it, they’re going to try and cause a revolution.” It was the most considered Daemon had ever been while he spoke. 

“They’re fucking idiots then.” Alysanne cut in. Everyone in the room looked at her. “King’s Landing is stronger than ever right now. The system isn’t weak enough for them to get away with an uprising.” She said defensively. 

“Why are you here, Alysanne, if you’re just going to shut all our ideas down,” Qoren Martell said from his seat in the corner. 

“Not all of us come from Royalty, Martell. Some of us have a lot more to lose if things go south.” She replied coldly. 

“We all have things to lose,” Rhaenys interjected. Always the collected one, always the one to consider. “Everyone risks something sitting here right now, the question is if we are all still prepared to lose in the face of true change.” 

“She better have something good planned though,” Dalton said lazily in response. “Or we’re all fucked. And gods knows those shitheads won’t come to help us if they fuck up.” No. They proved that everyday while they watched the Hunger Games continue over seventy-four years. “They don’t have a very good track record when it comes to being helpful.” 

No one had a snarky response to that, so they sat together in ununified silence. 

“If there’s nothing else, we all need to get back out there. They’re always watching.” Rhaenys said eventually, once everyone had retreated into their own minds for too long. Everyone nodded in agreement, and slowly, District by District, they filed out. Less suspicious that way. 

Alysanne knew there was more than them, but she would never meet them all. That way, if she was kidnapped and tortured by King’s Landing, she could only provide a handful of names and leave the rest of the resistance free of incrimination. For that same reason, Daemon would likely never know, and certainly never name, Thirteens inside man. 

Alysanne returned to the flock of rich hens and started thinking of ways to keep Eddara in the Game. 

—

Rhaenyra resolved that she would find water first and Alicent second. Because she wouldn’t last too much longer without water. She had hoped for signs of rain, but when she opened her eyes the next morning, the sky was clear and still that soft pink shade, which seemed to only abandon her when it was nightfall. She was disappointed but not surprised by the lack of rain. Storms came later in the Games, when the numbers were smaller and they needed to actively drive the tributes together. For now, there were enough of them that the chances of them running into each other organically were still substantial. More left alive than dead. 

If only she had a weapon… She could hunt for food. Instead, she would have to make do with plants that she was confident with – if there were any – and hopefully find enough water to fill her stomach. Water, she was desperate for some. When she hunted in the woods there was always a stream to sustain her as she walked onwards. Now she had nothing but her own slowly drying saliva to moisten her tongue and prevent her throat from going raw with dehydration. 

She felt strangely alone in the Arena. She knew that she could, in reality, be moments away from an encounter with another tribute, but in this moment, walking through the strange forest path, it was like being back in the woods, finding food for the children depending on it. Of course, she would feel a lot more secure about possibly running into a tribute if she had something to attack with… 

She wondered if Alicent had any weapons. Surely not. She might not even have a backpack as Rhaenyra did, which Rhaenyra was slowly realising might yet be her key to survival in the Games for as long as she was weaponless. She didn’t see which direction Alicent had run, but she knew she wasn’t dead. And no cannons had been fired today– not yet. Alicent was smart enough to feed herself, Rhaenyra knew, but she was likely struggling to find water as well, or, perhaps luckily, already had some. But without a backpack or weapon she was essentially a fawn in front of a hunter. 

Something would happen though. It had been too long since the bloodbath, and unless someone was walking into a trap, there was nothing interesting happening. If there was one the Games could not be, it was boring. 

She tried not to think about any Gamemaker-engineered fights, and instead hunted for signs of water. She knew, at the very least, that there were birds in the Arena, and they had to be drinking somehow… surely not the grey stuff in the lake near the Cornucopia… that seemed deadly. A future trap, future killer. The Cornucopia was where most of the later fights took place, so Rhaenyra felt confident in assuming that the grey lake was intended to be involved in a final battle. So there had to be something else. Right? One year the tributes had to survive entirely on rainwater, those foolish enough to drink anything else were killed slowly by their own throat closing in and blood pouring out of their eyes. Her mother had won that year. 

The leaves, like yesterday, were mysteriously damp, good for disguising her tread, but otherwise entirely unhelpful. What could be making them damp? Was it a natural dampness or had it been engineered for some specific purpose? Some ‘natural’ features of the Arena were designed for specific reasons, to produce specific results, to guide tributes into specific traps. Were the damp leaves a trap or a red herring? Should she fear them or thank them? What did they mean? Why the fuck were the Games such a mindfuck? 

There was a light fog in the air that she hadn’t noticed yesterday, either. She didn’t want to know what that meant. It could be poisonous, killing her slowly with a hidden gas. Could be designed to make her hallucinate and make her weak to other approaching tributes. Or it could be intended to disfigure her path ahead, it could indicate a particular terrain ahead. It could literally mean anything. Just to be safe, she pulled her shirt over her nose to weaken any toxics she could be inhaling. 

She spotted some seemingly normal hares and turkey-looking birds which gave her hope. Both for future food and for the indication that there were water sources. But still, she knew she wouldn’t last too much longer without water. 

She did stumble across a honeysuckle bush. She was positive it was honeysuckle, and it had no strange signs of anything poisonous or man-made, and when she tentatively rubbed it against her wrist, she bore no reaction. 

If a false-honeysuckle kills me, I deserve to die, she eventually decided as she gathered them into her palm and began to slowly suck on one. She savoured it for as long as she could, allowing the minimal liquid to moisten her already drying tongue, chewing on the petals once they were essentially bone dry. She stored the rest in her jacket pockets, taking care to zip them up so that she wouldn’t lose this precious resource. 

After another hour of walking she allowed herself another one to try and lessen the fear and desperation at the lack of water in the Arena thus far. 

She hoped Alicent was fairing a bit better than she was, and wondered at what point in the Game she was supposed to stop hoping that. 

—

Alicent, Sarella, Edric, Addam, and Laenor had claimed the Cornucopia for themselves after the bloodbath, getting their pick of the weapons and resources. Alicent had maintained her claim on the bow and divided the remaining arrows evenly between her and Sarella, wondering when Sarella would use one on her. They had even managed to pick some off of their victims from the bloodbath before the hovercrafts had come to collect them. It felt savage and disgusting, but that was the Hunger Games. 

She was astounded that she hadn’t been sick yet. 

She also claimed a black backpack which contained rope, wire, two water canteens (both empty), and stuffed in there a small first aid kit and a selection of knives neatly arranged in a little pack, for Rhaenyra. If she happened to see her. 

Then, the five of them had divided up the food from all the scattered packs, agreeing that it was better to travel with their food with them to prevent raids of resources if, and, in all likelihood, when they left the Cornucopia camp they had made. She slid a long, thin knife in her belt and a serrated one on her other side, just in case she lost her bow and arrows. She truly looked the part of a Royalty tribute and she considered feeling guilty when she remembered that she was likely going to die. The Arena was no place for morality. 

“We need to find water,” Laenor declared once they were all awake. 

“I agree,” Alicent supplied. “We won’t last long without it and that stuff in the lake doesn’t look very friendly.” 

“I wonder what it is…” Edric said curiously. Slowly, they all poked their heads out of the Cornucopia to get a better look at the deep grey mass. 

“Looks like grape jam in this light, you know.” Sarella said wistfully, patting her belly.  Alicent turned to look at her confused. “The pink sun… kind of a purple hue if you squint…” Edric gave Sarella an affronted glance that suggested that the grey… thing looked nothing like grape jam whatsoever. 

“You’ve had jam?” She was aware of the eyes of the other tributes on her curiously and felt her cheeks flush. 

“Yeah, it’s great. Only get it on special occasions though.” Then Sarella tipped her head to the sky and shouted, “I better have a whole feast of grape jelly waiting for me when I get back Ma and Pa!” The rest of them laughed, momentarily forgetting where they were. Forgetting that Sarella’s homecoming depended on their deaths. 

“I wish we had some so you could try it, Alicent,” Edric said sympathetically. “It’s really nice on bread too.” 

“ Ohh , jam and bread,” Sarella said with a wistful sigh. “Who I wouldn’t kill for some bread and jam.” Alicent exchanged a look with Addam and chuckled. They had no sooner laughed about the matter, than a dull metallic thunk sounded outside the foot of the Cornucopia. Alicent trudged towards it, taking the gift into her hands. 

“It’s for you, Sarella,” she said, passing it to her ally. Ally . What a strange word. So all-defining. So temporary. 

“Maybe your sponsors are feeling generous.” Laenor muttered, amused. Sarella opened the large container and gasped. 

“You guys won’t believe this,” she grinned as she set the box on the ground. “Grape jam and bread!” she proceeded to pull out a whole loaf of bread and a sizeable jar of purpley stuff that must have been the grape jam. 

“Wow they are feeling generous,” Laenor said, amazed. “That’s enough food to last you a week if you played it right.” More than that, if you know how to be a bit hungry, Alicent thought, reflecting on her dinners with her father. Did he get a whole piece of meat to himself now? Or did it go untouched as he watched her fight for her life? Did her father even bother to watch the Games? Or was he too busy puppeteering the District in Viserys’ likely grief-stricken absence? 

“Too bad I’m sharing it then.”  Sarella replied nonplussed as she pulled the loaf of bread out of the box and lay it on the lid. It struck Alicent with amazement, to be so unconcerned about food as to share it without a second thought. To not worry if there would be enough for next time. What a life it must be to be able to give without worry. 

Sarella removed the precious jam, accompanied by a small butter knife. The sight of a butter knife in the Arena was so bizarre that Alicent laughed. Her allies looked at her. 

“Just that if you guys are gonna kill me in my sleep, don’t do it with that .” They all laughed with her, miming stabbing each other with the tiny blade, finding it much funnier than it actually was, as they knew eventually they may very well have to kill one another. 

“Here,” Sarella held out a piece of bread with a generous spread of jam to Alicent. “You get the first piece, seeing as you’ve never had it before.” 

“You better not have poisoned it,” Alicent said with a grin. Sarella laughed and then dipped her finger onto Alicent’s slice before sticking it in her mouth. 

“There, now we’ll both die if I did.” 

“Keep your hands off my grape jam thank you!” Alicent held the bread close to her chest and then took her first bite. 

“This is fine dining.” She declared, to which everyone else chuckled. 

“Easy woman to please, I take it.” Laenor joked. 

“When you’re from Twelve, it doesn’t take much.” She said in reply. That subdued the mood by a slight fraction, enough for her fellow tributes to sense it, but nothing a citizen of King’s Landing would have the depth or emotional intelligence to comprehend. 

“We’re like charity workers, taking in the poor, feeding them.” Sarella teased as she passed pieces of bread and jam around. “Honestly, that should be reason enough to sponsor us.”

“Here here!” Alicent cheered as she polished off her slice. She was still smiling when she saw someone shoot through the strangely tall field of flowers, straight towards them. 

—

She knew that if she didn’t find water soon, she might very well die. It perhaps wouldn’t be so bad yet if she had not exerted herself so much yesterday in her effort to distance herself from the other tributes. But never mind that now, she needed to find some or the small tell-tale signs of dehydration would progress from irritating hindrances to life-threatening debilitations. 

Rhaenyra sucked on a honeysuckle when she dared and walked with her ears primed for any nearby tributes. It felt quiet. Too quiet. The fog was getting thicker the more she walked, but instead of providing her with hope that there was water nearby, it only depressed her. Because she was so fucking thirsty. 

She walked with purpose but altogether aimlessly. Sometimes she could have sworn that the birds on the branches above her were watching her search, their song a mockery of her attempt. 

Still no cannon today. The audience must be getting bored. Rhaenyra wondered what that would mean for her. Nothing good. She was undoubtedly an interesting player, but there were few things more boring than watching a tribute dehydrate. 

Was it fog? Or was her eyesight just rapidly worsening with the increased sun and lack of hydration? The ache deep within her temples wasn’t an illusion though. Rhaenyra tried to seem less pathetic as she wandered, so that the few sponsors she had didn’t immediately regret their decision. But the girl on fire with an eleven training score was nowhere to be seen. 

She couldn’t see anything because the fog was so thick– or her eyesight so diminished. What difference did it make? 

Gwayne had to be watching her- her or Alicent, right? Surely he could give her water if she asked for it? Maybe he couldn’t tell the depth of her desperation.

“Water,” she said, as loud as she dared. “Please.” She waited, walking a few steps, scanning the sky for a gift from her sponsors- surely she had sponsors? But nothing. Gwayne was either too drunk to notice, or perhaps he truly didn’t think her thirst was dire enough. 

No . That couldn’t be it. For some reason, she couldn’t see Gwayne being so drunk as to be useless to them. And she was positive that they had to have enough sponsors to afford water. Gwayne had been the one to tell her of the significance of finding a water source… so why wouldn’t he send her water? 

As she trudged through the dark-rooted undergrowth, the only logical conclusion began to dawn on her. I must be close. She hoped she was right, and this wasn’t another sign of dehydration making her delirious. If this was what killed her, maybe she deserved it. 

She walked and walked and walked, the scenery remaining unchanged no matter which direction she chose. She turned slightly left, then later, a little right, trying to stop herself from going in a straight line, making a clear path in the sodden leaves. 

She was just about ready to start cussing out Gwayne Hightower on live television when she tripped over a log, which she hadn’t seen because the gods damned fog had been so fucking thick. She fell face first into a shallow puddle of mud. 

Great. Now I have mud all over my face while I prepare to cuss out Gwayne Hightower on live television. She thought drily. And this will do wonders for my fucked-up sex appeal. Great. 

Mud. it was cool on her face at least, a reprieve from the somewhat humid fog that permeated the air. And, with any luck, she could use some to discolour the neon green backpack she had on her, a practically glow-in-the-dark target. 

She was going over the benefits of mud when it finally struck her. Mud was wet dirt. Wet! That meant there had to be water and close by too! Oh, thank goodness she hadn’t started yelling desperate profanities, or she might have missed it!

Staggering to her knees, Rhaenyra crawled through the fogged-mud reprieve until the, once again, fell almost face first, into a beautiful, wonderful, absolutely not grey stream. 

Water, at last she had found it! It took all her restraint not to yelp with glee and relief. It was similar to the feeling she had when she was eight years old on New Years where her mother and father had decided to buy a cake to celebrate the occasion. It was such an exciting prospect that she had nearly wept with giddiness, she usually only got cake on her birthday. This was much better than cake, this was her very life now. 

Slowly, she pulled herself into a sitting position and began hunting through her bag for her canteen. Blissfully, she filled her canteen to the brim and had the bottle to her lips when she remembered that it probably wasn’t the best idea to drink unfiltered water. She didn’t know what this water contained, so to be safe, she chucked an iodine pill in there, mournfully closed the cap, set the canteen down, and began the long half-hour wait. 

To keep herself busy and prevent thinking about the water awaiting her, she stripped down to her underclothes and submerged herself in the surprisingly deep current. The water was cool and seemed to revitalise her senses. The ache in her head began to dull, the world seemed less foggy, and she found herself smiling with relief. She wasn’t going to die of dehydration! She was going to live a little longer, long enough to make at least half a shot of it!

She coated her pack with mud, hoping that once it dried, it would appear less obvious to the naked eye. It did little to disguise the unfortunate colour, but it subdued the shocking shade of neon somewhat. Her clothes were fairly clean, but she grabbed a small handful of moss from one of the nearby rocks and scrubbed the mud off her pant legs. 

Finally she was confident in assuming it had been roughly a half hour, she pulled herself out of her little haven pool and devoured her canteen slowly, but very, very surely. She drank and drank and drank until it was empty again. She refilled the bottle, put in a new iodine pill, reclosed it, and sat again, drying herself off in the air, waiting for more water. 

She had found water! The Games were far less depressing with a water supply. She wasn’t going to dehydrate and died a slow, painful death! Now she could refocus and dedicate her energy to finding Alicent.

Alicent! Where was her district partner? Did she have water? Food? Anything at all to help her survive? Or was she inches from death? Injured? The thoughts ran wild in Rhaenyra’s head, each scenario worse than the last. Without the distraction of her thirst, her need to find Alicent became painful. It ached more than a gaping wound. 

She shoved herself back into her clothes and began the process of re-braiding her hair. She was just beginning her unwilling departure from the water when a cannon boom rang out across the Arena. 

Someone had just died. 

Chapter Text

The girl had come towards them fast. A stone in her hand, which she had thrown with the strength of her whole body. It had missed Addam by centimeters. 

They had all been so foolishly off-guard. It was the Hunger Games, but none of them had dared to believe someone would come attack them in broad daylight, at the Cornucopia. They were Royals. Well, Alicent wasn’t, but the rest of them were. They had been feasting on Sarella’s gift from her sponsors, weapons laid aside carelessly. It cost them precious seconds. They should already be injured or dead, if their attacker had more finesse. It was pure luck that she didn’t. 

The girl had a small dagger in her hand. They had realised that when she got closer to their camp. Laenor had noticed her first. 

“It’s the girl from Three!” He cried, his trident already in hand, staggering to his feet. 

The rest of them followed suit. Alicent and Sarella at a minute second disadvantage by their arrows not being drawn. By the time they were all ready to attack, the girl was before them, a strange look in her eye, rabid, almost. It was only the second day but she had looked so malnourished that Alicent’s first instinct had been to help her. She had to kill that, too. 

Addam lunged at her, but the girl had jumped away with frightening speed, her tiny dagger lashing out, catching Sarella’s left shoulder. No matter, Sarella shot with her right. 

Eventually, they had encircled the girl and Edric had wounded her badly, cuts on her legs and arms, deep, to the bone. Alicent was shocked that the girl was still standing. It took Addam and Laenor both plunging their tridents into her chest and stomach respectively for her to falter. Slowly falling. Blood dripped from her lips slowly, the deranged look in her eyes melting away into fear, the small knife coated in Sarella’s blood still held firm in her hand. For a moment, they had all stood there, surrounding her, watching her die. She looked so much younger while death offered her an embrace. She couldn’t be older than sixteen, but her death felt as brutal as if she were only five. 

She was the first kill all of them had been brutally aware of. The bloodbath felt more like a fever dream, a moment of panic where it truly was kill or be killed, where stopping meant death. But the girl from District Three was a victim they had time to sit with. Who died painfully slow. They watched her collapse in slow motion, watched as the blood left her lips and watered the flowers at her feet like sand slipping through an hourglass. Silence haunted the air, punctured only by her ruptured breathing. One of them, either Laenor or Addam, maybe both, had hit a lung, then. Alicent felt strange watching this girl, assessing her injuries, as though she would heal her, as if she were a patient on the apothecary table. But of course, there would be no saving the girl from District Three, even if Alicent attempted. There would be no attempt either. 

When it became too much and eventually, Alicent took the knife from her belt and approached the girl as if she would attack her again, despite knowing that movement was far beyond this girl's capacity now. She had lost too much blood, her body twitches too frequently, her hands shook too violently. The girl had locked eyes with her and seemed to understand what Alicent was about to do. She gave a faint nod of her head, and Alicent dragged the blade across her throat. A bright red smile, a choked breath, and then stillness. She closed the girls eyes after that. 

The cannon sounded moments later, and moments after that, the hovercraft came, lifting her out of the field of flowers, raised with blood. 

“That’s everyone from Three now.” Edric had said faintly afterwards, while they gathered around the mouth of the Cornucopia, all holding their weapons close and ready to attack, none of them willing to make the same careless mistake twice. 

“Fourteen of us left now.” Alicent commented numbly. How many of the ten already dead was she personally responsible for? How many lives had she already ended? She remembered their faces but forced herself not to count. If she counted how many hearts she had stopped, she might not ever be able to kill again. That simply wasn’t an option. 

She would be credited with the death of this girl, as she would with people from the bloodbath. But this girl was a death she deliberately enacted. She could have stood by and watched as the life leeched out of her, but her stupid morality or kindness or fucking inability to watch any form of suffering overtook even the most basic of principles in the Games; stay away from all the other tributes. 

“Did you see how she looked?” Laenor asked into the silence. “Her eyes… she looked…” 

“Like an animal.” Alicent finished. The others nodded. No one had much else to say. They all stood around aimlessly pointing their weapons at non-existent, well, more accurately, invisible, foe. 

The hours of the day bled by, sky pink, flowers bright. It was only as the sky began to darken, turning a shade of maroon, that Alicent noticed that Sarella was still bleeding. 

"How deep did she cut you?” Alicent asked, examining the wound in the darkness while Laenor started a fire. It didn’t matter, everyone knew where they were. 

“Dunno,” Sarella grunted. She seemed to be in a lot of pain for such a minor cut. And considering the size of the dagger, the wild slashing of the cut, the lack of depth that would accompany such a movement… for it to still be bleeding so many hours later… It was unnatural. Either Sarella had a really shit recovery time, or something was up. 

“I wish we had some water to clean it with. Instead we’ll just have to wipe it for now,” Alicent told her grimly, searching her pack for the medical kit. 

“We’ll find water tomorrow,” Addam said firmly. “Find some fresh food, too.” Alicent nodded. 

“What about your little crush, Alicent?” Laenor asked. His voice was light, teasing, but there was deeper meaning lacing every word. There always was. Especially here. 

Alicent didn’t know how to reply, so she just kept working on Sarella, binding her arm with a bandage. 

“You’re a real medic, hey?” Sarella said quietly. 

“My mother was an apothecary.” Alicent explained as she carefully repackaged the medical supplies, placing them gingerly in her bag. 

“Bet she’s proud seeing you be so good at it.” Sarella said with a kind smile, trying to be nice. 

“She’s dead,” Alicent said, her voice flat. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s been dead for a while now. I hardly remember her.” Sarella gave her a concerned look, illuminated in the firelight. “You go to sleep, I’ll take the first watch.” Sarella stared at her a little while longer before nodding and retreating into the Cornucopia.

Addam was sitting by Laenor around the small fire, she approached them and whispered that she’d do the first watch. Addam gave her a grateful smile and trudged off to sleep. Laenor stayed put. 

“I wanna stay awake a little while.” He said. She nodded and sat beside him. 

“What are you thinking about?” She whispered.

“That girl. There was something… wrong with her. I saw her during training. Her name was Cassandra, I think. She was very timid. Sure, bold in training, but it’s pretty clear that was all bravado. Didn’t seem the type to just… attack someone.” He poked at the flames with a stick, letting the fire lick up the wood before he removed it from the fire’s reach. Repeating over and over. 

“The Games change people.” 

“It’s not that. Her eyes… it was like she wasn’t herself.” Then Laenor shook his head and looked at his feet. “What am I saying? I didn’t even know her.” Alicent bit her lip, unsure what to say. 

She was spared by the anthem playing. She knew it would only show one face. She couldn’t look. 

“What you did today, for her, it was kind.” Laenor whispered while the anthem played, blocking out their conversation from the rest of Westeros. 

“She didn’t deserve to suffer.” 

“No,” Laenor agreed. “She didn’t.” The anthem came to a close. “But it was still kind.” Alicent stayed awake and when Laenor went to bed, he offered to wake someone to take over for her, but she shook her head. She didn’t want to sleep. She knew the girl from District Three, Cassandra, would be in her dreams, and she couldn’t face her again. 

—

When the sun rose, Rhaenyra felt a sense of purpose. Today, she would find Alicent. She wasn’t going to leave her alone any longer. It had already been four or so days in the Arena, and the sense of dread and panic was beginning to set in. there was only so much of her own imagination she could handle, not knowing where Alicent was, in what condition. She wasn’t nearly as equipped to face the woods as Rhaenrya was, what if she was in danger from her very environment? 

She began a lopsided trek back towards the general area of the Cornucopia, sticking to the outskirts so that she still had a good chance of avoiding the other tributes. Wherever they were. 

By now, people had formed alliances and were either surviving or hunting together. Rhaenyra didn’t love the idea that she was wandering around the Arena, defenceless and without backup. But thoughts of Alicent and her safety propelled her forward. 

Now that she had found one water source, others were easy to spot. Perhaps they were all clustered in one area. That meant a fight was bound to happen near them towards the end. Nothing like a water source to make people kill. She found several edible roots and plants along the riverbeds and collected them like prized treasures, even daring to eat some because her stomach rumbled, and she couldn’t last long hunting for Alicent with an empty stomach. 

She walked until the sun was halfway across the pink sky, allowing herself a brief rest, taking cover in a small area of foliage, surrounded by branches and logs with a healthy patch of unripe berries atop the crest, that would serve as an adequate hiding place, should a tribute wander by, allowing her to remain unseen. It also gave her a small reprieve from the ever-warmer sun. Perhaps the Gamemakers were increasing its temperature each day, only to drop it drastically every night. It wouldn’t surprise her. It wouldn’t even be all that cruel by their standards. 

She drank a few small sips of her precious water, nibbled on a handful of roots, and wished desperately for some fresh meat. 

She had just repacked her bag carefully, triple checking for anything she may have left behind, when she heard the sound of footfalls. Immediately she tensed, checked her breathing, and tried to assess how well she was hidden, how much time she had to rectify her open, undefended position. 

They were not as loud as they would have been in a real forest, like the woods back in Twelve, due to the damp leaves and lack of thin, crackling branches, but her hunter's senses heard them. She stilled and slowly backed her way further into her little alcove. 

They drew closer. There were at least three sets of feet treading the ground, not at all trying to be stealthy. That or just incredibly stupid and heavy-footed. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out who they belonged to. They were not making an overly serious attempt at being silent either. That made Rhaenyra’s stomach roil with dread. The only people brave enough to dare were the Royalties. Three of them guaranteed some kind of alliance, and that was if there were only three. She just hoped her hiding spot was good enough to allow her to remain unseen. 

“Look, up there, a stream, thank the gods. ” One voice called. Female. Sarella, then. She was the only Royal girl. And Rhaenyra recognised her irritating voice. It grated on her ears like nails on a chalkboard. Ugh, she hated the girl. 

“ Finally, if we went any longer, I think we’d have died of dehydration.” A male voice that Rhaenyra had to guess belonged to Sarella’s District partner, Edric. She’d never heard him speak, but she couldn’t imagine Sarella would go against her partner. 

“Hurry up, you two, I don’t fancy waiting for water much longer,” Sarella called, her voice closer than the others. You two, so she had another person with her who had yet to speak. And she had been right. Three people.  Rhaenyra held her breath as she heard them draw closer. They had to be above her, if they were heading for the stream.

“Hey, maybe I can practise my shooting on some fish we see!” Another voice called, the third, unnamed tribute. 

Rhaenyra’s heart stopped dead. Because she knew who that voice belonged to. 

“Good idea. And after we’ve got some water, we can find some animals to shoot. I’d kill for a piece of fresh meat right about now.” Sarella moaned back. 

“What, grape jam not to your liking?” Alicent said, her voice laced with laughter. Grape jam? What the fuck is she on about? 

“Watch it Twelve, or I’ll stop sharing.” Sarella said pointedly. Sharing?

“Hey, if you’re mean to me, I won’t fix up that cut now that we have water and– oh look at all these plants! These will be so helpful!” Alicent squealed with girlish excitement, entirely unbefitting for the Hunger Games. 

“How do you know all this stuff about plants, anyway?” Edric asked, his voice further along than Alicent’s was. 

“Her mum was an apothecary,” Sarella replied at almost the same time Rhaenyra mentally responded. How did she know that? “How do you think she whipped me into shape so fast last night?” 

What had happened last night? Had they been attacked? Had they fought someone. Had they killed the girl from Three? No, Alicent was no killer, but here she was, surrounded by them. Foraging with them. Laughing with them. Trusting them, even. All this talk of not wanting to make allies, of agreeing not to trust anyone, and here Alicent was, buddying up with the most dangerous tributes in the Games. Was she stupid or just a better liar than Rhaenyra had thought? Alicent had wanted to ally with Two, but she had sworn she wouldn’t, she’d looked Rhaenyra in the eye and promised. What else had she lied about? The thought was too much to bear. 

“We can’t stay too long, Addam and Laenor will be positively bereft without water, being from Four and all,” she heard Edric say, but she hardly paid him any mind. Addam and Laenor, so there’s at least five of them… all Royal but her… why the fuck would she trust them? Why wouldn’t she trust me with her plan? What is her plan? 

Thoughts and questions ran wild in Rhaenyra’s head, she didn’t even pay attention to the conversation anymore. 

They were there for what felt like an impossible stretch of time, before one of them suggested they leave. Once Rhaenyra could not hear their voices anymore, she dared to move slowly out of her hiding place. She paused. Once her face was in view, she would be guaranteed a close up. She couldn’t look surprised that Alicent had made allies with the Royalties, how would that help their love story? But she felt betrayed. She and Alicent had agreed not to make allies with anyone but each other. And by the sound of it, Alicent had a bow and arrow, meaning she had at the very least, been to the Cornucopia. Had she been in the bloodbath? How many people had she already killed? Had she already killed? Or at the very least, how many deaths was she complicit in? 

Alicent had done the unthinkable for someone from Twelve, she had buddied up with the Royals. By the sounds of it though, Hugh and Steffon weren’t with them. That didn’t surprise Rhaenyra, none of them had liked District One. But Laenor and Addam seemed set on being her ally, that Alicent was just a nice bonus. And they seemed to not like Two as well as One. Had that all been an act? How much had been a lie?

She finally extracted herself from the foliage with a somewhat knowing smile on her face. Let them try and figure out how much she knew with that. 

Rhaenyra kept walking but truly aimlessly. Without the objective to find Alicent flashing in her mind like an alarm, she didn’t know what else to do. Hide out from everyone else and see how long she could survive? 

She supposed she could return to the Cornucopia where she suspected Alicent’s alliance had made their camp, but who’s to say that they wouldn’t kill her on sight? None of it made sense. Alicent, the hopeful, honest, vulnerable girl who cried when she killed a bug was now, at the very least, joined up with the biggest killers in the Game. How many had she killed? How many more would she kill? Had Rhaenyra ever known her at all? Because the fierce competitor who laughed in the Arena, who had lied about not partnering up with anyone else, who had, based on what the evidence seemed to suggest, run head-first into the bloodbath and come out alive, was not the girl that Rhaenyra had kissed on their final night. 

I just don’t want them to change me… turn me into something I’m not . Alicent had told her. Rhaenyra thought rather bitterly that it was too late. She was unrecognisable. 

—

Gwayne found it was harder to fall asleep every night and harder to awaken each morning. The only force dragging him out of oblivion was the fact that both Rhaenyra and Alicent were still alive and they had no one else to help them but him. 

So we faced the outside world. He spoke to sponsors, he accumulated wealth and gifts on their behalf, he tried his best to charm people, tried his best not to think about how he had never really made it this far before with other tributes. 

He tried his best not to think about his own Games, but he couldn’t help it. The less he drank, the more he remembered. And remembering was so excruciating. Every face was there in vivid detail, painted into his mind- no, etched. Permanent. Some people claim they hardly remember anyone else from their Arena, their Games. Gwayne wasn’t like that. He saw their faces everywhere. He heard their screams in silence. Felt their blood on his hands. 

So he drank instead. Alcohol allowed him to let go of his own mind, to lose control over his thoughts. It was the only time his mind didn’t wander to the faces of the dead, the graveyard in his memories. He had become so dependent upon having a drink in his hand, of stumbling through each day unaware and falling asleep in an oblivion which was blissful. 

He still drank, of course. He wouldn't make it through all the preening of the citizens of KIng’s Landing or watching children die and suffer for endless hours without it. But he drank less in an effort to help Alicent and Rhaenyra survive. 

He knew Alicent’s end goal was to make sure Rhaenyra made it out of the Arena alive. That she didn’t intend on coming home. He thought of her final request, that he return to Twelve and be there for their father. How could he ever explain that he never could? He was bound here, doomed never to escape. 

No, he didn’t like thinking about his Games, because then he had to think about the aftermath, and that was just as viciously cruel. 

So Gwayne thought about now. As more tributes died, the mentors dwindled away. Of course, not every Victor showed their faces when they weren’t mentoring a tribute, beyond King’s Landing ordered entertainment, that is. He had hardly seen Victors who weren’t also mentors in what felt like eons. He wished he had someone there, a Victor who didn’t have the stress of their own tributes to ask for help. But of course, he didn’t. And he couldn’t ask a Victor who had lost a tribute in the Games already. He was beginning to feel desperate, but he wasn’t about to become actively cruel. 

He wished Daemon wasn’t as untouchable as he was. Daemon had been his mentor, and he had helped him win the Games somehow, despite treating Gwayne with a cold indifference his whole life. Besides, Daemon all but lived in King’s Landing now, transporting back and forth so often, his house in Victor’s Village stood largely unoccupied. He knew these people better than even the oldest Victor here. 

“Considering our tributes are allies, it might be time we team up,” Aliandra Martell said quietly beside him over all the chatter and noise of sponsors and mentors and reactions to the Games. He had barely noticed her approach, nor did he really intend on paying her any mind. 

“Might be,” Gwayne replied noncommittally. 

Aliandra Martell was a dangerous woman to trust for several reasons. She was around a decade younger than him, winning her Games nine years after he won his. She had been brutal. Mentored by her father who had been determined to bring her home, raised in a Royalty District, efficient with a range of weapons. Her Games had been particularly hard to watch because she did not hesitate to hold back. She turned on her allies without a second thought the moment it had dwindled down to the final eight. 

Now, she raised an eyebrow at him in challenge. If he had learnt anything from her Games, it was that she never lost a battle she initiated. 

“Now now Twelve, I didn’t take you for someone who played hard to get.” She tutted, tapping her fingers along the table rhythmically. Gwayne rolled his eyes and relaxed back into the seat. 

“I’m one to be cautious, Two .” He retorted. What was with tributes from Two addressing people by their District number? Sarella did it to Alicent in the Arena, although that seemed begrudgingly affectionate. Aliandra had a hint of malice lacing her every word. 

“You know, you’re one of the first men I’ve ever had reject me.” He glanced at the Victor from Two, trying to search her eyes for answers, but she revealed nothing. “So much for a free city , huh?” She said with a laugh. There was something about the way she emphasised free city that snagged his attention. Call it intuition or a lifetime of watching the Games, or the mind of a Victor, but it was odd… 

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” he answered at last. “What would us teaming up involve?” The tension he had noticed in the air vanished and Aliandra resumed her typical air of self-importance and confidence. 

“Pooling together sponsor gifts, helping keep our tributes alive, that sort of thing.” She picked at her nails with a dainty, yet very sharp looking hair pin, not bothering to look at him. 

“I presume Sarella is your mentee?” He asked casually, dancing around her offer. 

“Correct.” She replied sharply. “I would ask who yours is, but it’s common knowledge you do this alone.” Gwayne laughed. 

“Daemon hasn’t been a mentor since I won my Games.” He said bitterly, not caring who was listening, this was common King’s Landing knowledge and at this point, a running joke. Daemon Targaryen, as flamboyant and willing to shirk his duties as ever. 

“Must be difficult, bearing the weight on your own.” She sighed, glancing up at him, watching his every move as he swallowed his drink, letting the burn soothe his aching soul. 

“I’ve managed worse.” He said flatly. 

“Hmm, yes I suppose you have. Your Games were quite awful weren’t they?” She said this in a flippant way, as though they weren’t discussing the most traumatic memories he had. “Of course, I was only, what, 9 when they happened? Still, I remember being simply horrified. ” She spoke so simply, and Gwayne knew she was trying to get under his skin. 

“Well, yours weren’t exactly childs play.” Aliandra blinked, and for a moment, he thought he had surprised her, but then she just laughed a high, melodic, utterly false laugh. 

“No, they weren’t. I won because I was better than my competitors. Plain and simple.” 

“And I didn’t?” He countered before he could stop the words. Aliandra looked him over, clearly considering. 

“No, I suppose you did .” He didn’t want this girl's respect, but he knew, somehow, that his brutal Games had granted it. 

He turned over her offer in his mind. Trusting her would be a monumental mistake, but he had never been the naive or trusting type. Even before the Games. I was just saying how an ally would be handy around here… Then again, when he thought about his choice of allies, Aliandra Martell had been pretty low on the list. 

“I’ll team up with you.” He said at last. “But that doesn’t mean you get to boss me around.” 

“Sure, Twelve, whatever you say.” Aliandra retorted, smiling as she rose from her seat and flitted away to bother someone else. 

Of course, it would be a temporary partnership, until Alicent or Sarella or Edric died, or they were forced to inevitably turn on each other, but Gwayne didn’t think about that. He tried not to think of anything at all. 

— 

Rhaenyra had resolved that instead of protecting Alicent, she would just… observe her for now. See what her strange and traitorous alliance held. 

She made her roundabout way back to the Cornucopia across the next day. There hadn’t been a death since the girl from Three, so unless people were really suffering or struggling, it was shaping up to be a boring view. That wouldn’t do. Rhaenyra just hoped they wouldn’t take out their frustration at the lack of violence on her. 

She had made good progress, she began to exit the dense forest landscape, stumbling across flower beds instead of damp leaves. Perhaps the leaves were a sign of a certain area of the Arena… rigged for something that had yet to reveal itself to her yet.

She decided to rest in a small cluster of bushes that merged the two terrains, breaking out the last of her roots and allowing herself a small amount of her water. She had just begun to pack up her belongings when she heard it– a small crack. 

It couldn’t have come from the ground, not with logs so large and leaves so damp, so it must have come from above. She glanced to the sky, searching the trees for the source of the disruption, hoping desperately that it was a bird or animal, not something that would turn her into prey.

She almost didn’t spot it, she wouldn’t have at all, if the sky had been darker, but there, several meters in the air, a boot, clearly coated in mud in an attempt to disguise it, but there all the same. Small, thin. Based on the fact its owner was in a tree, it was a safe assumption that it didn’t belong to anyone from the Royalty Districts. But where they ally or friend?

Rhaenyra had no weapons and this mysterious tribute clearly wasn’t trying to attack her, or she would already be dead. She remained still but her eyes honed in furiously on the boot. It was small, small enough to belong to little Daisy back in Twelve. Meaning… 

Fuck it. Alicent isn’t the only one who can make allies. 

“You’re quite the climber,” she called up to Roslin Frey. No reply. She had expected that. She wouldn’t have responded either. “You know, you don’t have to be a Royal to make an ally.” She remained still, rooted to the ground, hoping that there wasn’t some much more malicious tribute lurking in the shadows. 

Had she not been listening, she wouldn’t have heard it, or even known it was human. The gentle scurrying as a human so impossibly small descended from the tree. When Roslin Frey hit the ground, she made no sound at all. 

“Hi,” Rhaenyra said tentatively. “You’re Roslin, aren’t you? From Eight?” The girl had large grey eyes, made to seem even bigger due to her tiny, slim, underfed face and unhealthily small frame. She couldn’t tip the scale thirty kilos soaking wet. 

The girl, Roslin, gave a shaky nod. 

“You’re Rhaenyra.” She said, statement, not question. Her voice sounded so young, so fragile, so breakable and vulnerable. “Do you mean it? You’d be my ally?” 

Absolutely a bad idea. 

“Yes. You’re smart, you’ve made it this far, and you're as stealthy as anything in those trees.” Rhaenyra replied instead. She knew that if Gwayne was watching, he would be groaning as she allied herself with the wisp of a child before her, but now that she knew Roslin Frey was here, she couldn’t ignore her. 

“Only because I know how to climb from back home.” Roslin mumbled. 

“Are you hungry?” Rhaenyra asked, digging around in her bag. Roslin shook her head. 

“No, I have these.” She pulled a bunch of purple flowers out of her pocket. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “They don’t fill you up much, but we have them back home in summer. About the only flower we get in Eight, if we get any at all.” Right, because Textiles manufacturing wasn’t exactly a rich horticultural landscape where crops and flowers bloomed.  “They’re good enough.” 

“If they’re keeping you alive, they’re more than good.” Roslin smiled at this. 

“Where’s your District partner, Alicent?” Roslin asked, slowly approaching Rhaenyra, looking over her once before sitting a few steps away from her on the grassy ground.  

Rhaenyra debated lying, but what use was it? The audience would know, and it’s not like revealing she and Alicent weren’t together (which was already apparent) to little Roslin would do her any harm. “She’s with the tributes from Two and Four down by the Cornucopia.” 

“Why is she with them? I thought she would be with you? Because she’s in love with you.” Even at the mention of Alicent’s crush on her, Rhaenyra flushed against herself. She considered hiding it, but then decided against it. Better for the story. 

“I… She’s smart. I trust her.” She answered at last. It wasn’t much of an answer, and not entirely true– she didn’t know if she trusted Alicent anymore – but it was a safe response. 

“Are you trying to find her?” Roslin asked, proving very quickly to be an inquisitive child. Once more, Rhaenyra debated how much she should reveal. It wasn’t Roslin she was skeptical of, but herself, how her response would be perceived by King’s Landing. 

“I wanted to go and check on her… and see what her allies are like before I showed myself. I don’t know if I trust them as much as I trust her.” That was true. She didn’t trust Sarella or Edric one bit. Against herself she had, if not trust, respect and a sense of honour in Laenor and Addam. Roslin nodded thoughtfully. 

“Are you still going to? Now that we’re allies?” 

“That depends. Would you come with me?” 

Roslin seemed to consider this, fiddling with the end of her hair, which came down to her waist, that had been braided back very simply, unlike Rhaenyra’s. 

“Would it be dangerous?” 

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “But everywhere in here is dangerous.” The thought made her desperate to have a weapon to defend herself with, now especially that she had little Roslin to look out for. 

“What if they saw us? Would they hurt us or let us join them?” 

“I don’t know.” Rhaenyra repeated, feeling more useless by the minute. “I hope so. But we don’t have to go. It’s too dangerous for now. I don’t even have a weapon.” She said, dismayed. Roslin gave her a grin that Rhaenrya could only describe as devious, in a way entirely unbefitting her timid frame. 

“Well, I know somewhere you could get one.” Roslin stood up and brushed off her trousers. “I think we should go.” Rhaenyra smiled and stood up too, noticing how Roslin barely made it past her hip. Rhaenyra was tall, yes, but not so tall that she literally towered over a twelve-year-old. 

“Let's go cause some trouble then, shall we?” 

Roslin’s answering smile made Rhaenyra grin.

Chapter Text

“You spoke to him then?” Her father asked that night, the Games playing in the background as Sarella kept watch. 

“Yes, for the millionth time.” She rolled her eyes. “He has no clue, that, or he’s a better actor than I thought.” Not that she’d been very forth-coming or direct about it, but that was the point. If he’d known, he would have noticed. Would have signalled something subtle back. But to no avail. 

“He won the Games and seems to have escaped a lot of the…  frivolities of King’s Landing.” Her father suppressed a shudder. “Some of us were not so lucky.” 

“Fancy a trip to the gardens? I want a new bouquet.” She said casually, but her father understood the meaning embedded in her words, let’s go somewhere where they won’t be able to listen .

They made their way to the opulent gardens of the Tribute Centre, where they would remain until the Games ended. It was a long walk, especially when one was trying not to appear as though they were in a rush. And with her fathers dependance on his cane. 

“Sarella and Edric are making a good go of it,” she said by way of casual conversation as they made their descent. Her father nodded, musing in silent. 

“Yes, I would not be surprised if District Two gained another Victor this year. Especially given Sarella’s skill.” He said at last, the eyes of the Kingsguard following them as they passed. Aliandra shot them a flirty smile, evening winking at one of them. Of course, appearance was everything. And she had definitely seen one of these men in her chambers before. 

“You don’t think Edric can win?” She asked, offering her arm as support as they made their way down the enormous stairs that stood between them and the gardens. “He’s a strong competitor and in a strong alliance.” 

“He is strong yes, and the alliance is strong at that, but besides the Hightower girl who is proving more capable with every hour, he seems to be the weakest link. I will, of course, help him as best I can, but… I do not think he will survive once the alliance shatters.” She nodded thoughtfully, but in truth, her mind was a thousand miles away from the Games, Sarella, or Edric. What an excellent mentor that made her.  

It was only once they were entrenched in walls of leaves and floral arrangements that she dared continue their earlier conversation. 

“You know he doesn’t have to do it, father. Doesn’t mean there isn’t something.” She murmured, examining an azalea. 

“Doesn’t mean I’m not bitter about it.” He grumbled, pretending to sniff a rose. 

“It's better than my whole family being dead.” She countered flatly. “And besides, it’s not like I get nothing out of it.” She plucked a barely-bloomed carnation from the garden bed and began absent-mindedly picking at its petals.

“Secrets are hardly a noble trade.” He grumbled. Aliandra tried not to whirl on him with viciousness. The Kingsguard would notice and pay them more attention. Despite taking a sacred vow of chastity, more than one had ended up in her bed. As long as they could pay, it was fine. It wasn’t like she could say no. 

“I have secrets that could make your hair turn grey, father.” She said, in a joking voice that implied to anyone listening that they weren’t having a serious conversation. “Anyways, everyone knows something happened to him after he won…” 

Daemon had refused to tell them, it was top secret apparently. But there was a reason Gwayne Hightower couldn’t leave King’s Landing. No one talked about it, but there was something holding him back. He wasn’t being bought and sold like she and several other Victors were. She wasn’t positive, of course, but she was confident. He had a far-off look in his eyes, a haunted one, yes. But not the same one she saw in her own reflection each morning. 

“They didn’t kill his family, though. He’s got about half a dozen siblings and they’re all still alive. Dad’s fine too. And his mother was a tragedy, apparently.” Her father sounded bored, but Aliandra knew he possessed an urgent tone. 

“Who’s to say it wasn’t natural causes?” She countered, the carnation history on the ground, leaving a trail of pale petals. 

“Everyone.” He replied firmly. “But that’s all besides the point. Do you think he would join?” Aliandra paused to consider. 

“Hard to say. If his sister dies, I’d say yes, but if she won…” 

“That girl won’t win.” Her father interrupted. She turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow in questioning. “She’d kill herself before watching that Targaryen girl die.” He supplied. “Why else would she join our lot?” 

“Bloodlust?” She offered in jest. Her father smiled and rolled his eyes. 

“We can’t exactly propose him without risk.” 

“No,” she agreed. “But nothing worthwhile doesn’t come with a little risk.” They began their walk back to their suite and her father rested a hand on her shoulder. “And we’re his allies now, he has to trust us a little.”  

“He’s smart enough to know you shouldn’t trust anyone here.” He said simply before he overtook her pace, leaving her with a broken flower stem in her hands. 

—

Alicent could tell Sarella’s cut was still bothering her. Despite cleaning it thoroughly and checking the bandages frequently for signs of infection (which there were none), the girl from Two acted as though it was tormenting her. 

“It’s not even bleeding any more, it’s scabbing over,” Laenor protested when Sarella complained loudly again. “And shut up, you’ll scare off anything worth eating.” Sarella grumbled. Alicent took up her place beside her. 

Against likely both of their intellect, she and Sarella had become close in the Arena. In a group of five, they were the only girls, and their weapon of choice was the same, so it was natural that they would get along a bit better than everyone else. But more than that, Alicent would even venture to say that they had become friends. Of course, it was the kind of friendship that could only be temporary. 

“Maybe she had something on her blade?” Alicent suggested in an effort to console her. 

“She must have. It’s like… it’s like my shoulder’s is on fire. I wake up and it seems to have spread further.” Sarella said, absent-mindedly scratching her wound. 

“Don’t scratch,” Alicent reminded her gently for the umpteenth time. Sarella rolled her eyes.

“Whatever you say, Doc. Now, let’s go catch some dinner.” Sarella rushed ahead to catch up with Laenor and Edric, but Alicent remained a step behind. She was worried about Sarella. Her wound was giving her much more trouble than a cut of its size should. And her description of feeling inflamed only troubled her further. Could she have been poisoned with something? What could be causing her discomfort. 

“Thinking about Sarella?” Addam said beside her. He walked so stealthily she hadn’t even noticed him approaching. Then again, she had been lost in her thoughts. Both dangerous. 

“Yes,” she admitted. “It seems more and more likely that there was something on the blade… if only I had my mothers old books, I’m sure there would be some hint in there…” she wandered off, talking to herself more than him.

“Her books?” He inquired politely. She liked talking to Addam, he was a good listener, much calmer than everyone else in their alliance. Or at least more stoic. 

“She would write down all she knew about plants and poultices. Keeping record for whoever filled her shoes in the shop her family ran.” 

“What happened to the shop?” 

“Nothing, it’s still there. She just took the book with her once her parents died. Someone bought the shop from her, she didn’t want them having the books so she gave them to me instead. Figured I might as well have one skill.” Alicent said with a laugh. 

“Well, you’ve picked up shooting pretty fast.” Addam commented generously. 

“Not hard when you’ve got a pro like Sarella to teach you.” Alicent replied. Addam hummed in agreement and they walked the rest of the trek that Laenor was leading them on in comfortable silence, both alert for any disruptions. 

But Alicent’s mind also continued to ponder what could be causing Sarella’s reaction. Maybe it was a plant she hadn’t encountered before, something engineered by the Gamemakers to make them suffer. That was assuming it was a plant causing this. But what else could the girl from Three get her hands on to poison a blade? How did the girl from Three even know it was poisonous, if she knew at all. Her District’s industry didn’t particularly lend itself to being outside. Then again, neither did Alicent’s. But the kids from other Districts started much younger than those from Twelve. They weren’t allowed to enter the mines until they were eighteen. Most started as soon as they could grasp an order. Another disadvantage. 

She tried to think of dangerous Gamemaker made things she knew about. The first thing that came to mind was tracker jackers, but she ruled that out. How could the girl get her hands on the venom without killing herself in the process? She had looked deranged, perhaps under the influence of something herself, yes, but not the staggering, seeing hallucinations kind of deranged that tracker jackers caused. And Sarella’s symptoms didn’t match. She wasn’t seeing things, just uncomfortable with a slowly spreading inflammation that she only felt beneath her skin… other than the cut itself, you could see no signs of harm. That concerned Alicent more. It was much harder to assess the damage of something she couldn’t see

She didn’t know when she had become the group medic, but now any cuts and scrapes from the days walking or hunting were treated by her. Clearly they were still in the ‘I-somewhat-trust-you’ phase of their alliance, or they wouldn’t allow her hands and foreign leaves and plants near them. Soon, though, the more people died, that would change. 

“Shh,” Laenor whispered and they all immediately stilled. He slowly pointed further in the clearing, where flowers turned more into grass. The whole Arena seemed to be a strange combination of different floral environments. But she didn’t have time to think about that. 

Alicent saw it. A doe. Full grown by the looks of it. Standing in the clearing, basking in the warmth of the pinkish sun, flowers and greenery surrounding her. It was a wonder to behold. A moment of pure innocence and beauty in a place so filled with death and violence. She wanted it to live. She felt a kinship with this creature, thrust into a world that meant its death unknowingly. Did she have babies waiting for her to return with supper? A stag to protect them? What secrets did this animal hold? 

“Alicent,” Sarella murmured. “You should take this shot.” 

Alicent didn’t want to take it. She didn’t want to have the blood of something so pure on her hands. Somehow, it felt different than killing people in the bloodbath, even when killing Cassandra from Three. In her marrow, she had known she had to. It was kill or be killed, life or death, it was expected of her. But no one expected her to force her to kill this. She wouldn’t be harmed by the doe, yet she was its butcher. 

“I…” she glanced at Addam hopefully, but he just nodded grimly. “Okay.” She whispered. 

She pulled her arrow taunt, holding it in her hands. She didn’t dare advance a single step, the others cleared out of her range. She breathed in the sweet air and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she positioned her arrow in line with the doe, still unaware of its own impending death. 

As the arrow soared through the air, the doe met her eyes across the clearing, fear written in her every moment, in her whole body. 

Alicent shot her square in the eye and the doe collapsed, shrieking in pain for a brief moment before it was reduced to whimpers. 

“Someone should finish it off, stop it suffering,” she mumbled, looking down at the bow and arrow in her hands. 

“I’ll do it,” Addam offered, holding out his hand for the knife that she had used for Cassandra, in a moment just like this. She passed it to him wordlessly but gave him a squeeze of the hand in thanks. 

When he returned, the doe was slung over his shoulder. 

“Let’s just head back. This will be enough for a bit.” No one argued. Laenor offered to help him carry it but Addam shook his head, just wordlessly passing Laenor his trident. They walked back in silence. 

It was so strange to end a life and not hear the immediate repercussions with the boom of a cannon, to know that she wouldn’t see the doe’s face in the sky tonight as the anthem played. 

Addam skinned the doe wordlessly, separate from the others as Alicent offered to start the fire, claiming she needed the practice. Really, she just needed a moment. She didn’t know why she felt so guilty for killing the doe when the boy from Ten and the girl from Eleven hadn’t made her feel like this after the bloodbath. Even Cassandra in a way, who, in the end, she had killed more out of mercy than desperation for survival. Those deaths hadn’t felt as real as the death of something so innocent.

How did Rhaenyra do it every day? Bring down a majestic creature, with a dagger no less, and not question it? Not feel this… guilt and shame burn within her?

How was Rhaenyra? Still alive, Alicent knew. Was she looking for her? Did she have allies of her own? Was she safe, or was she hurt somewhere, waiting for the Stranger, god of death, to claim her? Alicent didn’t know. 

“It’ll take a while to cook, but there’s enough for all of us. We can save the rest for lunch tomorrow,” Addam said as he began roasting pieces of meat over the flames Alicent had miraculously started. She nodded. 

“That’s good.” 

“It’s okay to feel guilty, you know.” He said the words so quietly she almost hadn’t heard him. “About killing. It’s against our very nature as living things to kill, even when we know we must. It takes something from you when you do it.” 

“Takes more than something,” she replied, tucking her legs together and resting her chin on her knees. “Takes everything you are.” Addam didn’t reply, but she knew he heard her. 

Soon, Laenor and Edric came and sat around the fire, preparing to eat, but also more subdued. 

“Where’s Sarella?” Alicent asked. Laenor shrugged. 

“Still in there, probably irritated by her cut again,” Edric supplied. Alicent nodded and rose from her perch on the ground. 

“I’ll go see if she’s alright.” The others nodded wordlessly. It seemed the doe would haunt all their dreams tonight. 

When she entered the Cornucopia, she found Sarella reworking her bandages, frustrated on the floor. 

“Here, let me help,” Alicent offered, coming to her knees beside the girl she did not want to call her friend. Sarella smiled weakly. 

“You’re good at this. The healing stuff. Must be in your blood.” Sarella commented as Alicent unwound the bandage, ready to start fresh. Alicent chuckled at her words.

“No, that’s my mother. I just read about it.” 

“You didn’t watch her do it?” Sarella inquired as Alicent dampened a piece of cloth to wipe at the cut. Alicent shook her head, the motion only just visible in the distant firelight. 

“No, I mean I might have, but she died shortly after Gwayne won.” She explained, extending her arm to indicate Sarella come closer. She obliged. 

“What happened to her?” Sarella asked, then paused. “I mean, if you want to say. You don’t have to.”

“No, it’s okay,” Alicent began wiping away at the skin, wondering if it was just the light, or did it look a little darker than usual? “She was sick, I think. I don’t remember her much, and my father doesn’t like to talk about it. And none of my siblings live at home anymore, so…” No, the skin was definitely darker. Maybe it was bruising? That was a good sign, the body was reacting normally at least. Though a bit surprising, the cut hadn’t seemed that forceful, but all bodies were different. “But she got sick a little before Gwayne’s Games ended. He’d only been back in Twelve for a week when she died.” Her words got softer as she went on. 

“I’m sorry. That must have been very hard for you.” Sarella said sympathetically. Why is her skin darker? 

She was about to thank Sarella for her kindness when she had a sudden theory. She he did not like it. 

“Hey, can I test something?” She asked. Sarella nodded. “Okay, can you face away from your arm for a bit?” 

“Why?” 

“I’ll tell you in a sec,” Alicent said unhelpfully. She pulled out the slim dagger from her belt. “Just tell me when you feel something, okay?” Sarella nodded. Gently, so as to not make the wound worse, Alicent pressed the tip of the blade against Sarella’s arm. Not enough to draw blood, but enough force so that it indented the skin.

“Have you done it yet?” Sarella asked, confirming Alicent’s suspicions, making her heart sink. Alicent put the knife away and finished rebandaging the cut, knowing it was useless. 

“Okay, you can turn back around.” Sarella did, confusion written on her features. 

“What did you do? Don't want me to see you bandage me? It would be more helpful if you taught me,” Sarella joked, but when she received not even a feeble smile she stopped. “What’s wrong, Alicent?” 

“Have you felt a bit clumsier recently?” Alicent asked. 

“Just a bit, but that’s probably from the lack of food and all that.” Sarella answered. “Why, what does that–” 

“What about your vision? Any problems?” 

“It’s been a bit funny, since we haven’t had loads of water, and the weird pink sun is probably messing with it. It isn’t ever like this in Two. To be honest, it was a tiny bit off when we spotted the deer, that’s why I made you shoot it.” Sarella confessed meekly, but every word just made Alicent feel sick. “But what does that have to do with anything?” 

Alicent took a deep breath, forcing herself not to panic or to vomit. It all made far too much sense. The girl from Three who was in no way noted as a threat charging into their camp, her delirious eyes, her slow death, even with two tridents between her ribs… it had probably been there, which was why they didn’t see…But she had touched the little knife enough for it to hold traces… and the knife had not only touched Sarella, but cut her. And now, the flaming skin, turning darker, lack of sensation, her clumsiness, her vision… 

“Sarella, I think you have greyscale.”

Chapter Text

Gwayne Hightower had come to trust no one. You were better off trusting no one than trusting everyone. Especially in Westeros. He hadn’t known what it meant to trust someone since he was a child. Since his name was just another undrawn slip of paper in a bowl filled with thousands. 

So he found it strange to have an ally of sorts again. Sure, he had about as much trust for Aliandra and Qoren Martell as one had for a venomous snake, but it was… different. Even in the Arena he had avoided allies, reasoning that it would, in the longer run, make his life harder. He had been right. And ever since Daemon shirked his mentor duties onto Gwayne, leaving Gwayne the sole mentor for the pair of kids from District Twelve who almost never lived long enough to get a sponsor, he had been alone. He had friends, of sorts, amongst the other Victors, but none of them found it in themselves to trust each other, one foot always remained in the Arena. 

Aliandra clearly wanted him to trust her explicitly, because people from District Two are above everything else, apparently. 

She had invited him to watch the Games with her during the day after they had both decided that sponsors were useless at this point. She invited him to eat dinner with her, to have a drink with her, to talk with her in her suite’s living area. It was either that or drink himself into near oblivion while Laena popped in every once in a while, concern written on her features, attempting to console him about his sister's imminent violent death and his inability to save her.

“Stay at least until the anthem, Twelve. Then I’ll let you leave.” She was nine years his junior (he had done the math during the long, intolerable, tortuous hours of the night, it was almost like counting sheep), yet she spoke to him like she had the right of age or experience over him. She had neither, he had been a Victor during her Games for crying out loud, yet she seemed to treat him like he would bend to her will. She was probably used to that, being one of the wealthier people in Two, which was wealthier than everyone in Twelve already. The poorest person in Two was still probably miles better off than the wealthiest in Twelve. 

“You’re quite bossy, you know.” He quipped back. She rolled her eyes and sat on the couch, several arms length away from him, which he was grateful for. “No daddy dearest tonight?” He asked in jest. 

“He’s talking with…” Aliandra paused in consideration. “Someone.” She finished. Gwayne sensed that she did know who he was talking with but just didn’t want to divulge the information. Didn’t matter, he didn’t want to pry for it. He knew she wanted to work for any information she gave him, but she should know he was above– or perhaps, at this point, beneath – such labours. 

“Well, our darling tributes are talking now, see.” He lifted his half empty glass, gesturing to the screen. Aliandra’s eyes flicked up.     

“In different circumstances, I think they would’ve been good friends.” Aliandra observed. Gwayne hummed in agreement. He could see what she meant. His sister had formed a sort of camaraderie with the girl from District Two, closer with her than she was the rest of her alliance, the two often side-by-side. Even now, as Alicent helped treat Sarella’s wounds. He didn't know that she could do that. But he supposed he had missed almost everything. Before the Reaping which had chosen her as tribute, he hadn’t seen her since his own homecoming. However short-lived. She probably couldn’t even remember the version of him that had allowed himself to be her brother. He couldn’t remember him. No, she likely only knew the version of him tainted by violence. 

Gwayne was about to say something else when something about Alicent’s words caught his attention. He had lived with his mother long enough to know the methods Alicent was testing. He leaned forward. Aliandra seemed to notice his shift in tone, but made no comment, for once. He was drunk, obviously, but not an idiot. One's mother could impart some things, even from lives lived long ago. 

“What’s wrong with Sarella?” He said distantly, not looking at her. 

“What do you mean?” Even through the cameras, he could see the conclusion coming together in Alicent’s eyes as it came to him. “It’s just the cut from the girl from Three, it’s likely just bothering her because the remedies Alicent has at her disposal are weeds and dirt,” Aliandra snorted, but she spoke without malice and he could feel her eyes on him. 

“No. Maybe the people in Two have better medical treatments than we do in Twelve, but Alicent’s working with what she’s got. And what she’s got should be working. If it’s just a cut and nothing more.” He paused, thinking slowly, pouring over the facts that, admittedly, muddled together through his haze of intoxication. “She’s sick.” He said at last. 

“With what?” Aliandra asked, her snarky nature gone. 

“Listen carefully, Alicent’s about to tell us.” He replied, watching his sister eagerly. And tell them she did. 

“Sarella, I think you have greyscale.” 

“What does that mean? For Sarella?” Aliandra asked, confused as they both turned away from the screen. 

“You don’t… know what greyscale is?” He said, largely out of surprise. 

“No, I know what it is but… it’s hardly been active in years. I can’t think of anyone back home who’s ever had it…” Aliandra seemed to be spinning her own conclusions in her mind. “They do health checks on all the tributes when they get here, if one of them had greyscale, we’d know.” The tributes wouldn’t, though. 

“The girl from Three.” He said, almost at the exact same time Alicent did. Aliandra raised an eyebrow at him, but he gestured to the screen. “But surely they’d tell the mentors… word would’ve gotten out eventually…” 

“The girl from Three, Cassandra. She must have had it before she came here or… or contracted it in the Arena.” Alicent explained slowly on screen as Gwayne presented his own conclusions to his District Two counterpart. 

“But how would I get it from her? Isn’t it transmitted through touch? Shouldn’t you have it?” Sarella asked, eyes wide, her voice ringing out from the screen. 

“It can be transmitted through infected, unsanitary objects. Like dining utensils, containers, or…” 

“Little daggers.” Sarella finished grimly. Alicent nodded. “But that doesn’t explain why you don’t have it. You had to have touched her when you…” Sarella didn’t finish.

“No one in Twelve ever got greyscale. Something about the coal or the air or our blood, genetic makeup, we never contracted it. A handful of people, yes, but at worst they suffered the symptoms for a week or two before returning to normal.” Alicent’s voice was barely above a whisper, Gwayne felt a strange sense of intimacy, as though he were in the Arena with her. “Most of the people who got it were merchants kids… people not descended from more native residents and what not…” Alicent mused, her explanation more acute and clear than any Gwayne could offer. 

“But I have it. And the girl, Cassandra, had it?” In another circumstance, it would have been amusing how much Sarella’s tone mirrored her mentor’s, how their ignorances aligned. 

“She must have. That knife, this early on in the Games, likely had only been hers. Not only that, but it cut into your bloodstream. Faster spread. I’m surprised I didn’t notice it sooner…” 

But the rest of his sister's diagnosis was cut off by Aliandra. 

“How did greyscale get into the Arena? There’s no way the Cassandra girl had it without any of the Victors knowing.” Gwayne held his hands up in surrender. He was about to say he didn’t know when he paused. 

Surely not… that’s unusually cruel, even for them. 

“I can hear you thinking, Twelve, spit it out.” Aliandra said, standing before him, halting the pacing she had started. He was quiet for a moment, then he met her eyes. 

“The lake.” Was all he said. Aliandra’s usually perfect poker face flickered with confusion, and then, yes, understanding. “Something in the lake.” 

“How… how would they even make that?” Aliandra sank back to the edge of the couch. 

“They can make anything.” He replied grimly. “They make all your worst nightmares real in there. They can do whatever they want. There are no rules. They can starve you, torture you with engineered traps, mutts, they can make you listen as all your loved ones make screams that sound real…” His voice tapered off and he stopped talking. He knew Aliandra was looking at him. 

“I don’t remember that,” she whispered. “From your Games. You… your…” 

“Jabberjays.” He drank. “Very effective, especially considering they’re supposed to copy sounds they’ve already heard.” He drained his cup and slammed it hard enough on the wooden table that he was sure part of the glass cracked. “Very good tool for disobedient tributes. To whip them back into shape.” His voice was bitter, he was saying too much, he should stop talking–

“They put the faces of the dead tributes on dogs.” Aliandra said into the silence. He turned to her. She wasn’t looking at him, just ahead, past something he couldn’t see. “It was the final three…suddenly the boy from One burst through the trees and these massive dogs, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, came bounding out behind him. We all ran and climbed the Cornucopia, forgetting this was a fight to the death. They looked just like them. It was like they had their eyes.” 

“I remember.” He said, because what else could he say? He couldn’t apologise, he knew it was worthless. But he remembered those mutts – muttations, King’s Landing made weapons intended to strike fear – they were more horrifying than mutts from a lot of previous Games. They were personal. They weren’t just deadly, they were antagonistic. They were a torture device. 

“They killed the boy from One, and I killed my District partner before I could think about it. The second his cannon fired, they dispersed, but I still remember what they looked like.” She turned to him. “So yeah, I know a thing or two about effective mutts.” He nodded. Neither of them were paying attention to what their tributes were saying, which was poor form really. But, in the grand scheme of things, Gwayne had never really showcased proper form, now had he?

“I should go.” He rose from the couch. 

“Can it be cured?” She said as his hand twisted the doorknob. “Greyscale, can it be cured?” 

“Some healers have the power to stop it from progressing, but I would guess that they’ve ensured it isn’t curable there.” He replied darkly, still facing the door. “And no matter how clever she is, my sister wouldn’t know how to do that. Hell, I reckon my mother would’ve struggled.” He added with a sardonic laugh. 

“Will she suffer?” Gwayne debated lying, but something had shifted in their weird, fucked up, Victor-to-Victor conversation, that he felt that he at least owed it to Aliandra not to lie. He didn’t owe her anything, and thinking that way was dangerous. But honesty shouldn’t be something that was owed between the Districts. It had just turned into a bargaining chip somewhere down the line. 

“Yes. She’ll only get worse. She’ll be able to manage it for a few more days, but by the sounds of it, she’s deteriorating rapidly.” He paused. ‘’I’m sorry.” He offered. 

“It’s the Hunger Games, Twelve. You win or you die. Seems she’s dying.” Aliandra said flatly. 

— 

She felt like she had condemned Sarella to a death sentence with her words. They sat together, hands finding each other in the dark, a moment of togetherness, joining them together, uniting them against all odds. She felt pity, but she tried to quell it. She didn’t claim to know Sarella better than anyone else in the world, but she knew her well enough to know Sarella would hate her pity. 

How the fuck did the girl from Three managed to contract greyscale? How did no one know? She seemed fine in training. Why did Sarella of all people get cut by her infected blade? If it had been me, this wouldn’t be happening and everything would be fine. 

When the anthem played, Sarella was silent. It was their only chance to speak, words unheard and lost to the train of Westeros’ instrumental version of the anthem, but Alicent suspected that Sarella was more shocked than ready to speak secrets.  

Later, before Alicent went to sleep, Sarella to her watch, the girl from Two whispered in a brush of their shoulders in exchange of posts, “please, just… don’t tell the others. Not yet.” 

Alicent just took her hands into her own. “Of course not. That’s what friends are for.” She smiled, even though Sarella couldn’t see it. 

“One of us might have to kill the other.” It was the first time since they entered the Arena that any of them had acknowledged it. “Are you really sure that’s the kind of friend you want?” 

“In spite of it, you’re still my friend, and I’m still glad to know you.” She gave Sarella’s hand a squeeze. 

“You are… unfailingly kind, Twelve,” Sarella said as she pulled away, heading for the dying fire. “It’ll get you killed.” 

—

Rhaenyra and Roslin had walked for a while, even after the anthem finished, before deciding they needed sleep. 

“Any of these trees look good to you?” She asked the young girl. Roslin pointed to one less than thirty steps away. It was tall but the branches were thick. Solid enough to bear their weight, but not out of place amongst the other trees, not an arrow pointing their enemies, their hunters, to their location. “Perfect.” 

Rhaenyra climbed up first, Roslin trailing a few paces below, not in Rhaenyra’s way, but also not alone on the ground. Smart. No wonder she had lasted so long on her own, despite her size. Rhaenyra set up the sleeping bag system she had worked out on the first night, and when she was sure it was ready, she encouraged Roslin to finish the climb. They crawled into the sleeping bag together and Rhaenyra tied them in. Perhaps she was paranoid, or maybe she felt a sense of responsibility to care for this girl, fragile as a dove with broken wings, and shield her from death, but she added an extra knot, just to be sure. 

“No one’s died since the girl from Three. What do you think that means?” Roslin asked, her voice tinged with sleep as she huddled closer to Rhaenyra for warmth. A sign of explicit trust in a place where trust got you nothing but a grave. A sign of closeness that was only temporary. 

“It means something awful’s likely coming our way.” Rhaenyra answered honestly. 

“Maybe someone will die tomorrow?” Roslin offered, her voice not hopeful, but at the very least a little optimistic. The naivety of youth. Sure, someone could die, but Rhaenyra sincerely doubted that they would be that lucky. 

“Yeah,” Rhaenyra settled further into the bag. “Maybe.” She figured it was likely futile and really just altogether depressing to mention that that someone could be one of them. 

Roslin had clearly decided to trust Rhaenyra whole-heartedly, for she fell asleep with ease, while the hours of the evening torment her endlessly. Rhaenyra thought of Alicent, in a pack of wolves, her tender flesh likely to be sacrificed. She thought of home, the way coal dust covers everything, the way the cold leached into her bones during winter, the way it hardly ever felt like summer. She felt so homesick it hurt, deep in her gut, the pain akin to the time she had lost her footing from a high branch and landed flat on her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs. She missed her father, his rants about history and their kin, lost to the separation of King’s Landing. She missed going into the woods once the sun rose and feeling a sense of freedom over the open expanse that no one but she knew how to live in. She even missed Criston, his devotion, his loyalty, his humble nature and inability to take what he had not earnt. How she missed home. What she wouldn’t give to have a layer of coal dust on her skin once more, to hear the creaking and clanking of the elevator as the miners were lowered deeper with each day, to wriggle under the wired (and never electrically charged) fence that separates the woods from town. Rhaenyra would die happy if she died covered in coal, safely tucked away in District Twelve. 

She slept for a handful of hours, and when Roslin woke the next morning, she pretended that she had slept enough. 

“What should we do today? Should we find your girlfriend?” Roslin asked, voice innocent, eyes wide. Rhaenyra laughed. 

“She’s not–” but she stopped herself. Star crossed lovers who want sponsors don’t blatantly state they aren’t together, idiot. “Yeah, let’s find her. We have to be careful, though.” Roslin crawled out of the sleeping bag and dropped to the ground on small, weightless feet, Rhaenyra packed up and joined her. 

“What will we do if we run into anyone?” Roslin asked. Rhaenyra tried not to tense in fear. 

“We run and hide.” She said grimly. They didn’t talk much after that. How her hands itched for steel to hold. 

Soon, they were nearing the edge of the forest terrain, to their right, the beginning of lush tropical life, in front of them, the distant meadow of flowers. 

“Hey, wait here, I’ll check if anyone’s around.” Roslin said. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow in confusion, but nodded. She had to accept that Roslin was smart enough to not get herself killed in a moment of independence. 

Quickly Roslin scaled a nearby tree, so high Rhaenyra couldn't even see more than the bottoms of her shoes. She was up for several moments before she descended with as much grace and agility as she had gone up with.  

“Anything?” Roslin shook her head. 

“We should be okay to move a bit closer to the Cornucopia.” Roslin confirmed. 

“Hey, how did you learn to climb like that? I thought there wouldn’t be many trees in Eight.” 

“Oh, there isn’t.” Roslin replied as they began their descent towards the meadow. “But because I’m one  of the smaller workers and a lot of the time we have problems with the lights in the factory, so I climb up and see what’s happening.” The lights had to be pretty problematic, considering someone so young could scale tricky trees with a well-practiced ease. 

“When do you start working in your District's industry?” Rhaenyra inquired. Roslin was so young, how was she already a factory worker? 

“Oh, they teach us all about sewing and textiles in school, and lots of classes are about learning how to sew. The kids who are the best in the class get to have a job in the factory twice a week instead of school!” Roslin sounded so excited, as though her exploited labour was a gift. In a way, Rhaenrya supposed it was. Better than starving. “But everyone else starts when they’re twelve. Smaller fingers, better for fine stitching.” 

“Oh?” Rhaenyra said instead. “What do you get for your work?” 

“Well, we get a bit more food than the other kids so that we can work as late as the grown-ups. Plus some money. Not a lot, but it’s better than nothing.” Roslin’s voice was a bit quieter. Rhaenyra wondered if they were showing this. They weren’t supposed to know much about the other Districts beyond their industry and the names of their tributes each year. She didn’t even really know what being a worker in District Eight entailed, just as she imagined Roslin didn’t know what working in Three or Six involved.

“Yeah, it’s something.” 

“I started when I was ten, so I got a bit of a head start. Once they learnt I was okay at climbing, I was on call for any light mishaps. Fixed a lot of lightbulbs,” Roslin explained further. “What about you? Do you work in the mines?” Roslin asked. Rhaenyra chuckled. 

“No. We aren’t allowed to work there until we’re eighteen. It’s too dangerous in the mines.” Roslin nodded thoughtfully. “And my dad’s mayor, so I guess I wouldn’t have to work for money. If you can escape the mines, you should.” Rhaenyra said grimly. 

“So you’ve never been in them?” Rhaenyra shook her head. “Why are they so dangerous?” 

“Because before Westeros, whatever society lived here, they mined in Twelve too, so we have to dig extra deep. Sometimes, people go too far and they can’t get out fast enough. Sometimes, things explode down there.” There was no chance they were airing this conversation. They weren’t allowed to know anything about the other Districts beyond their industry and the kids that got reaped each year. This was a tad too rebellious, a tad too informative. It was too close to District unity, and that could not be allowed. 

“Do people get hurt?” 

“Yeah. people die there, too.” They walked in silence after that, until they reached the edge of the meadow’s clearing. 

“Hey, look! They have meat!” Roslin whispered in amazement, pointing at the food the alliance was eating in the open at the mouth of the Cornucopia. “Should we go up to them?” Roslin asked. 

That was the question Rhaenyra had been asking herself. Should they go and risk being deemed a threat? Or stay in the shadows like sitting ducks, waiting for a worse predator to find them? No, that wasn’t an option. She could either willingly present herself as friend, or be found out, deemed foe. 

“You climb that tree and wait for me. I’ll go over to them and see.” Rhaenyra decided. 

“What if they kill you?” Roslin asked, concern lacing every syllable. 

“You get as far away as you can, staying hidden.” Then, after debating it for a moment, Rhaenyra pulled her pack from her shoulders. “Here, take this.” 

“But you need it.” Roslin reasoned. 

“If they don’t kill me, I’ll get a new one. If I die, it won’t do me any good.” Rhaenyra countered. “I want you to have it, not them.” She said firmly, thrusting it into the girl's arms. “You’re the one that has to live in my place, alright?” Roslin nodded fiercely as she accepted the pack. Then, Roslin wrapped her arms around Rhaenyra’s middle fiercely. 

“Be safe.” She whispered. Rhaenyra hugged her back without hesitation. 

“I will be.” She promised unfairly. Then, she made her way into the clearing. 

— 

“Hey, look!” Edric cried, distracting them all from their lunch. “Someone’s coming!” 

Immediately they all seized their weapons, Sarella and Alicent loading their arrows, preparing to shoot, not to be played for unprepared fools twice when–

“Wati!” Alicent called, halting their prepared attack. “Wait, it’s Rhaenyra!” The others turned to her, then back at their intruder, squinting their eyes. 

“Lovergirl’s right. It is her.” Laenor affirmed, lowering his trident without hesitation. Addam followed suit. Edric and Sarella, however, exchanged a glance, weapons still poised to attack. 

“She isn’t armed, don’t shoot her,” Alicent pleaded, but didn’t lower her own weapons, just in case. Sarella looked at her, assessed her, and then lowered her bow by just a fraction. Edric rested his sword at his hip. It was a sign of trust in Alicent, and a clear signal that they did not trust Rhaenyra. “Thank you.” Alicent breathed. 

“If she does anything, and I mean anything, Alicent, I won’t hesitate.” Sarella promised darkly. Alicent knew that despite the trouble the greyscale was giving her, Sarella meant it. 

“I know.” She answered, then she broke into a sprint. 

“Alicent!” Rhaenyra exclaimed as Alicent threw herself into Rhaenyra’s arms.

“You’re safe, I can’t believe you’re safe.” Alicent whispered, determined not to cry. Not now. Sure it would help their angle, but her tears were not going to be used to their entertainment. 

“I can’t believe you’re with them .” Rhaenyra murmured back, voice hostile. She moved to break away, but Alicent held her firm.

“We’re star-crossed lovers, Rhaenyra, we have to see this. So keep it in.” She hissed, barely audibly. But Rhaenyra heard her. 

“I’m so glad you’re safe!” Rhaenyra said in reply, overly enthusiastic as she pulled back from their embrace. “I’ve been so worried.” Rhaenyra said, her voice sounding so genuine, Alicent had half the mind to believe her. 

“Come, we have some deer meat you can have,” Alicent said, welcoming her over, half pulling her, interlacing their fingers. 

“Oh, but–” 

“No, eat. I have some daggers for you, too.” Alicent supplied. This seemed to have the desired effect of distracting Rhaenyra. 

“You do?” She asked, her voice a broken wing of hope. Alicent flushed, only partly for the cameras. 

“Yeah, I saved them for you…” She kept her eyes downcast. When they arrived back at camp, everyone but Sarella made a decent attempt at pretending they hadn’t been looking. Sarella looked curious, almost angry. 

“Well, well, well. The lovers from Twelve, reunited at last.” Sarella said sarcastically. The rest of the group half-heartedly chuckled. Alicent reluctantly let go of Rhaenyra’s hand to rummage through her pack for the knives. 

“Here,” she handed them to Rhaenyra, who’s eyes lit up when she saw them. 

“Thank you.” Rhaenyra supplied. 

“Didn’t know you did daggers, Rhaenyra,” Laenor teased. Rhaenyra raised her eyebrow at him, her cocky, sarcastic self coming out to play. 

“Didn’t know you did tridents, Laenor.” Laenor laughed good-naturedly and surrendered. 

“Here, come, eat something.” Alicent offered, moving to sit down, but Rhaenyra remained standing.

“No, wait. I have to get Roslin–” Rhaenyra was cut off by Sarella snorting. 

“The wisp from Eight?” Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed and she turned on Sarella. “What good will she do for any of us? Only eat our food and make us weaker.” 

“She’s lasted longer than the boys from Ten and Nine and they certainly weren’t wispy.” Rhaenyra spat back. No one else said anything, silent, watching the tension unfold. Eventually, Alicent broke, moving between them.

“Well, why don’t we go find Roslin? Is she nearby?” Ever the peacemaker. Rhaenyra began to nod and turned away from the Cornucopia when the sound of an ear-splitting scream erupted. 

—

There was only one person in the whole Arena capable of making that noise. 

Rhaenyra knew this wasn’t some fucked up trick with jabberjays or a mutt desired to lure her to a greater misfortune. No, she was certain this was real. And that was worse. 

“Roslin!” She screamed, running back to their tree. “ Roslin, where are you?” She cried, running frantically, pulling out her daggers as she went. Oh , having weapons made all the difference. She wasn’t prey, she would not run from this enemy, not tell others to hide. She would attack. Defend. 

She didn’t look to see if Alicent’s allies were following, she just ran. She didn’t need them anyway. 

Roslin lay twitching on the floor, a spear in her stomach. Instantly, Rhaenyra whirled, eyes honing in on the boy from One. Steffon. Without thinking, she shot out three knives in a flurry. One in his throat, one in his stomach, one in his heart. It all happened so fast, she didn’t even register that she had loosed the steel until his mouth began to dribble with blood. He collapsed with a look of shock on his face. Just before he hit the forest floor, his body was pierced with two arrows. Rhaenyra spun around to see Alicent and Sarella panting, bows raised. 

Then she looked back at Roslin, her limbs tangled together, blood flowing out of her far too quickly, chest rapidly rising and falling, breath uneven and raspy. The cannon for the boy from One went off. Criston had been right, it seemed. In the moment, it really was no different than killing an animal. 

“Hey, hey, Roslin, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, getting to her knees, crouching beside the small, small girl. “You’re gonna be okay.” 

“You found her?” Roslin panted out, blood coating every word. Rhaenyra nodded, tears blurring her vision. “Good.” Roslin spluttered. “That’s good.” Roslin coughed, and even though her mother hadn’t been a healer, she knew what a death-rattle sounded like. She glanced back to Alicent, never one to hide things from her, and the look on her face confirmed it. 

“You’re gonna be just fine.” Rhaenyra repeated and Roslin smiled at her. “You’ll be fine.” She nodded frantically, taking Roslin’s tiny, near-immobile hand into her own, trying to press her strength into the small girl. Will her to live. “Stay with me.” She pleaded. 

“Will you tell me a story?” Roslin said weakly, blood dribbling down her chin. “You’re a good story-teller.” Am I? But nevermind that, it was this sweet, tiny, far-too-young dying girl’s last request. How could she refuse? “I like being told stories before bed, and I’m feeling a little sleepy.” Roslin muttered, her head lolling slightly in emphasis. 

“Okay,” Rhaenyra’s lower lip quivered, as it always did when she was in true danger of crying. But once she started crying, she wouldn’t be capable of speech, and Roslin deserved to die with her final wish fulfilled. “Once, a woman from a wealthy family was sent to a very strange place.” Rhaenyra began, the words tumbling from her lips with no control. “It was more beautiful than anything else she had ever seen in her life. But the people were strange.” Roslin’s dreary eyes were trained on her without true focus, but she hung onto every word, like it was a lifeline that could save her. “She only had one piece of home with her, three people from her town. But she missed home terribly.” Roslin’s eyes were trained on Rhaenyra’s face, Roslin’s face angelic and innocent in the light of the pink sky. “She had to win a competition to go home, and she had to do it by herself. Everyone else who lost…” Rhaenyra took a steadying breath, holding back the rivulet of tears threatening to break. “Everyone who lost had to stay in the strange place.” She decided. “Everyone wanted to win, to get the prize and go home, so it was a very hard competition.” 

The others, the alliance Alicent had formed, stood off to the side, not moving, not speaking, not breathing. She didn’t want them listening, this story wasn’t for them. But the entirety of Westeros was hearing it now, so who was she to deny her fellow tributes?

“So she did. She did a very good job, and she won.” Rhaenyra’s voice was nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “She got to go home.” Roslin’s eyes were drifting into a far off place, she was almost gone. Rhaenyra could tell. The same thing happened to animals when she wasn’t precise enough with her attacks. But Rhaenyra had to finish the story. “But she had to go back to the strange place, just for a little bit. The competition happens every year, you see.” Roslin gave the faintest nod of her head. “So every year she went for a little while. And she met a man. And she fell in love with this man. She loved him… very much.” Don’t cry. Not yet. “Eventually, she married this man, and she left home to go be with him. Everyone was mad at her for leaving her home, but she didn’t care. Because she loved the man so much, she couldn’t imagine not being with him.” Rhaenyra wasn’t sure she could keep going. “They said their love was stronger than anything else in the world.” 

“What,” Roslin gasped, summoning all her strength, it seemed. “What happened? Did they live happily ever after?” No. She died. She died and left her daughter and her husband alone in the world. “Yes,” Rhaenyra said instead. “They lived happily ever after.” She died. She died, she died, she died. 

“That was a good story,” Roslin rasped. “I like love stories…” Her hand went limp in Rhaenyra’s and her head lolled to the side. Rhaenyra closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch. 

The cannon fired and Rhaenyra knew she was gone, but she could not bring herself to leave. 

I can’t leave her like this. 

She was so gentle, so pure, she deserved more than to die a death filled with violence. She was more than her final moment, she contained beauty and hope and optimism, and she would not be laid to rest in the image of anything but. She was so much more than the end of her life. 

Rhaenyra peeled the back off of Roslin’s shoulders and used the last of their precious water to help clean the blood and dirt off of Roslin’s face. She looked clean, untouched by the Games. A slate as clean as pure snow. Then, slowly, she rose from her perch and wandered into the meadow. Mindlessly, she collected as many flowers as she could see. She fumbled for them, snapping some stems, taking some by the root entirely. The dirt mixed with the blood on her hands, her fingers coated and almost disfigured. 

She brought them back to Roslin, and slowly, began to cover her in the beautiful flowers. She covered her wound first, hiding it with hydrangeas, carnations, azaleas, roses, daisies, violets, flowers she could not name… anything. Flowers like she had never seen in Twelve, flowers Roslin would have never known in Eight. A mosaic of flowers for the girl who had known so little. She wove some into Roslin’s lovely long hair, pressed some into the ground beside her, gathered some into her lifeless hands. Let her hands hold something beautiful that they did not have to make. 

They wouldn’t show this. Her burial of Roslin. It was too much, too real. She would appear too human, Roslin would appear too gentle, too young, too fragile. She would appear as nothing more than a girl of twelve who was murdered. She would appear as nothing more than she was. Rhaenyra would not be the girl on fire, she would not be the girl who scored an eleven, not be a star-crossed lover. She would be a mourner, a girl who cries for the death of the girl she swore to protect, knowing she never could. 

But they would have to show them what she’d done when they collected Roslin’s body so they could place it in a lifeless box and ship it back to District Eight. A small box, something Rhaenyra could not fit into, would be so tiny. A cold box with nothing but a small metal plate reading Roslin Frey that would be buried in a family plot in the hard dirt of Eight. The people would know who had done it. The Districts would know, even if King’s Landing never would. Someone would understand what she had done for this girl and they would understand why. 

When she was done, she gently closed Roslin’s eyes and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“She was from District Eight,” she whispered against the girl's temple, pressing a gentle, tear-stained kiss. “The girl, from the story. Just like you. Maybe you can say hi for me.” She choked on her own sobs and she pulled away from little Roslin. “She’ll look after you.” 

Lifelessly, she picked her knives out of the boy from One, cut his pack from his shoulders and stuffed it into her and Roslin’s one, telling herself she would look at it later. 

The sky was beginning to shift from pink to red, signalling the end of the day. Rhaenyra walked back to the Cornucopia, not looking at any of Alicent’s allies. If they spoke to her, she didn’t know. 

She heard the birds pause their song, an announcement of the arrival of the hovercraft, coming to collect the bodies, but she didn’t look. She heard the birds resume their singing a moment later, and she knew Roslin was gone. 

When the anthem played that night, she didn’t bother to look. She just said a final goodbye to the young girl from District Eight. 

—

Later, while everyone slept and she kept watch, much to Sarella’s distrust, a small package dropped by her feet. A gift from a sponsor. It would have been cause for celebration if it was any other day. If she hadn’t watched a twelve year old girl die in her arms. Hadn’t marked herself as a killer. Hadn’t lost the smallest semblance of home she had known since she was ripped from Twelve. 

Inside was an unremarkable piece of bread. Not from Twelve, not the stuff from King’s Landing. But the District made bread. It was familiar, she had seen it made by her mothers hands dozens of times in their little kitchen, her own habits dying hard. She knew this bread was from District Eight. 

It wasn’t a gift from a citizen of King’s Landing. No. This was given to her by an entire District. How much had this tiny gift cost? Had they intended it for Roslin and given it to Rhaenyra instead to thank her? Or had they seen what she had done for Roslin and wanted to tell her, in some way, that they understood, that they recognised what she had done? Perhaps some of them had even known her mother, perhaps they recognised the story of the runaway Victor and saw its ramifications in the form of a silver-haired tribute. She imagined people from Eight gathering around, summoning funds they did not have for this small gift, this tiny tribute for the small girl they had given to the Games. 

“Thank you,” she croaked. She knew all of Westeros could hear her. “My thanks to the people of District Eight.” She didn’t eat it, just tucked it into her pocket. It was still warm.

Chapter Text

“Hugh has to be somewhere. I’m shocked he didn’t jump out to kill us when we killed Steffon.” Sarella said the next morning by way of waking everyone else up. Alicent could tell that her arm was bothering her. Sarella had made an effort not to touch anything that others might pick up, and avoided touching any one but Alicent. But today, she seemed uncomfortable, irritably itching at her shoulder. The others hadn’t noticed yet. Either that, or they didn’t think it necessary to comment. But that grace would only last so long. 

“Maybe he’s injured?” Laenor offered. The rest of them shrugged indifferently. 

“If he is, the only one that could’ve done it is Harwin. And we didn’t see their faces in the sky. I doubt either of them would leave a fight unfinished.” Addam said. Alicent nodded in agreement. 

“So then where was he?” 

“Maybe he and Steffon split up, or maybe he ended the alliance?” Edric offered. 

“Yeah,” Alicent glanced out at the clearing. “Maybe.” Or maybe they were hunting and Hugh just had the good fortune of being separated from his District partner. 

“We should go back to the water source, find more.” Addam suggested after the silence lapsed. “But some of us should stay here.” 

“I went last time, I’ll stay.” Sarella offered, clearly trying not to itch her arm. 

“I’ll stay with her. There should be at least two of us.” Alicent supplied immediately, Sarella gave her a grateful smile. She felt the weight of Rhaenyra’s gaze upon her but tried to ignore it. She seemed to loathe Sarella, but, then again, trust was a stupid concept in the Arena, so Alicent couldn’t entirely blame her, even if it would have made her life easier if the pair of them got on. 

“You wanna come with the big boys, girl on fire?” Edric said with a coy grin, directed at Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra shook her head. 

“I’ll stay here. With Alicent.” She said pointedly. The boys all laughed but surrendered without argument. 

“No nasty business while the grownups are gone.” Laenor warned as he slowly armed himself to the trek. Alicent rolled her eyes playfully and gently shoved his legs.

“Not around Sarella.” She said with a grin. Sarella made a puking noise. 

“Gods, please not around me.” Sarella whimpered exaggeratedly. Alicent put a sympathetic hand on her knee, patting it. 

“Aw, of course not.” She said, barely containing her laughter. What was really amusing was the thought of her and Rhaenyra doing anything . They hadn’t really touched since Rhaenyra arrived at camp. Nothing more than the necessary brushing of hands. Alicent hoped that Westeros viewed it as her grief for Roslin. But that wasn’t entertaining. 

“If we catch anything, we’ll have a real feast tonight.” Edric said, patting his belly. 

“With a sword, Two?” Alicent asked mockingly. Edric made a face of shock horror. 

“You never know, Twelve.” Then he saluted and began walking away. Laenor followed after. 

“Need anything from the riverbed, Alicent?” Addam asked. She cocked her head. “You came back with stuff last time.” He offered. She smiled her thanks. It was nice to be noticed. To have attention paid to her. Even in a place like this. 

“Oh, no it’s alright. Besides, it's too risky if you don’t know what you’re looking for.” He nodded and then turned away, jogging to catch up with the others. Once more, Rhaenyra was staring one of Alicent’s allies down as he ran away. Seriously? I thought she liked Addam. What is there to be so huffy about?

“Girls day, how exciting.” Sarella said, breaking Alicent’s tempest of befuddling thoughts. Alicent snorted. Rhaenyra remained stoic. 

“How’s your arm?” Sarella shrugged. 

“Is what it is.” But Sarella gave her a knowing look. They still hadn’t told the others about her condition, but it wouldn't take long for them to figure out that she kept one arm covered, and eventually that it was turning hard as stone. And if she died… that was the direction she was headed. The greyscale was only getting worse as the days crept by. 

“What’s wrong with her arm?” Rhaenyra asked gruffly, not looking at either of them, and certainly not addressing Sarella. What was her problem with Sarella? She had no issue with Laenor or Addam, well, until about a moment ago where she seemed to be trying to pin Addam down with her eyes. She knew Rhaenyra mistrusted Edric purely because he was from Two, but she seemed to look at Sarella with pure vitriol in her eyes. 

Alicent exchanged a quick look with her friend and Sarella shook her head. 

“She cut by the girl from Three, Cassandra, when she ambushed us.” 

“Suppose you got your revenge when you killed her for it, didn’t you, Two. ” Rhaenyra snapped, words laced with malice. 

“Actually no,” Sarella replied coolly. “Alicent was the one who killed her in the end.” Rhaenyra scoffed. 

“Yeah right. As if. No need to cover your own tracks.” Rhaenyra muttered, dragging one of her daggers through the dirt. 

“No, she’s telling the truth, Rhaenyra,” Alicent confirmed. Rhaenyra looked aghast and Alicent had the decency to look away in shame. “It was a group effort but in the end it was my hand that did it.” 

Rhaenyra didn’t say anything for a moment 

“So she’s Alicent now? What happened to Twelve? ” She snapped at Sarella. Sarella rolled her eyes and looked expectantly at Alicent, as if to say she’s your problem . 

“Rhaenyra, stop.” Alicent hissed. 

“Why should I? She’s–” 

“She’s our ally and she’s my friend .” Alicent said firmly. Rhaenyra looked at her as though she suggested Rhaenyra kiss Sarella or something. Then, she took a very deep breath. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment, please, Alicent,” She, without any subtly, stared at Sarella. “Alone?” Alicent sighed. 

“Yes, fine.” She seized Rhaenyra’s hand and began leading her out of the Cornucopia. She looked over her shoulder to mouth sorry to Sarella, but the girl just waved her hand.

They walked to the back edge of the Cornucopia before speaking. Alicent withdrew her hand from Rhaenyra’s, crossing her arms over her chest, looking expectantly. 

“Well?” 

“ Well?” Rhaenyra replied, incredulous. “You’re the one fraternizing with the enemy , Alicent. It’s not my fault that I can see that she’s trouble and you can’t.” At this, Rhaenyra crossed her own arms over her chest, ever defiant. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, Rhaenyra, she’s kept me alive .” Alicent snapped. 

“ I was supposed to be the one to keep you alive!” Rhaenyra roared in retort. “ Me . But you ran off with them. ” Rhaenyra sounded so genuinely hurt, which made it worse. 

“Are you stupid? Can’t you see I did that for you? To help keep you alive? Isn't it obvious that everything I’m doing in this Arena is for you?” 

“No!” Rhaenyra snapped, moving closer to hiss her words. “Because you lied to me, Alicent. We were supposed to be in this together.” Alicent had to sigh through her nose and remember that everyone was watching this. “We agreed, no allies.” 

“Look, I’m sorry that I lied. I just wanted to make sure you get to go home.” She whispered, arms still crossed, eyes on the ground, the flowers they had trampled. 

“Another lie! You promised me you would try. You promised you wouldn’t give up, Alicent. You promised. ” Rhaenyra said, her voice hoarse and full of pain. Alicent met her eyes, so astounding in the pink sun. Oh, Rhaenyra could fake being indifferent, but Alicent had always been able to read her eyes. Her emotions always had a way of breaking through her deceptions. When had she learnt to control those too?

“Yes. I lied. But I did it because I love you.” Alicent replied, hoping her words were quiet enough not to carry, knowing they weren’t. 

Rhaenyra sighed and moved away, sounding so frustrated. 

“You’re impossible, Alicent.” She said, then Rhaenyra laughed. “You’re fucking impossible .” 

Then, Rhaenyra turned back to her, and she conveyed with her eyes what she was about to do. Alicent knew, just from that look, that it wasn’t real. She knew whatever happened next in this Arena wasn’t for them, wasn’t for her. It was for the people watching. It made her want to go home, cry on her own, old, finely coated with coal dust bed. This isn’t going to be real, but it’s going to hurt, isn’t it? 

“You’re fucking impossible.” Rhaenyra whispered once more, taking Alicent’s face into her hands. Then when her lips were inches from Alicent’s, she breathed, “ I’m sorry.” Alicent just let herself be kissed.

It hurts already.  

—

Rhaenyra didn’t know how she felt about kissing Alicent on national television. It wasn’t like their kiss on their last night, driven by passion and fear and insanity. It wasn’t intimate in the way their first kiss had been, because it had been for show.

She hadn’t intended to kiss Alicent. She had wanted to talk to her about whatever the fuck was going on with her and Sarella, and yeah, remind Alicent that she was Rhaenyra’s, not some snobby girl from Two’s. Because how could Alicent let herself get close to this girl? She was a Royal and at the end of the day, she would probably kill Alicent without a second thought. It made Rhaenyra’s stomach roil with discomfort at seeing how comfortable and familiar Alicent was with everyone, but Sarella… something about Alicent and Sarella being close, having fought together, killed together, looked out for each other… it set something within Rhaenyra aflame. A dormant instinct she didn’t know could be triggered. That was her job, the role she fulfilled in Alicent’s life. She had always been Alicent’s protector, even though Alicent would never admit to needing one, and now Sarella had just swept in and taken Rhaenyra’s place. What was worse was that Alicent had let her. How quickly she claimed to be in love with Rhaenyra, yet so swiftly she replaced her with the first offer she got. 

You’re not being fair to Alicent, Rhaenyra chastised herself. She hasn’t replaced you just because she’s made another friend. That isn’t like her. Besides, it isn’t like Sarella is actually her friend. They’re just some temporary alliance unlike Sarella does something snakelike. 

Sarella just seemed untrustworthy. There was so much unsaid in her deep brown eyes, so much mischief in her smile. Rhaenyra didn’t like it one bit. Not to mention the fact that Alicent and Sarella had been the only girls in the alliance until she rocked up, sleeping beside each other, hunting together, talking to each other, bonding… Ugh . The thought of it made Rhaenyra furious all over again. Not to mention Sarella’s ‘injury’ – it couldn’t be that serious, honestly. But Alicent treating her? Checking on her? Running her hands on Sarella’s skin? Caressing her, tucking her hair behind her ears, looking deeply into her eyes to make sure she was okay? It was too much–

So, no. She hadn’t meant to kiss Alicent, but that dormant flame had begun to burn and bubble to the surface, and even though Rhaenyra knew Alicent was acting too, in a way, her saying she loved her… it just made her snap. She knew the only way to really sell it was to have a gentle-dramatic kiss. But still, she didn’t know how to feel about it. 

“Finished with your lover's spat?” Sarella said in a teasing voice when then returned. Alicent gave Sarella an easy smile and familiar laugh that made the beast in Rhaenyra roar once more, but she tried to contain herself. 

“Jealous, darling?” Alicent in the same jesting tone. Oh, I need to calm the fuck down, like, right now. “I could never forget you.” Sarella threw a small rock at Alicent while she laughed. 

“You know I am, dearest. You are my whole world… how could you choose another?” Sarella said dramatically, throwing herself at Alicent’s feet. Alicent laughed, probably too loud considering that, you know, they were in the middle of the fucking Hunger Games, but her laugh was just so beautiful, her smile so pure, that Rhaenyra didn’t have the heart to tell her to shut the fuck up. 

“It was a terribly difficult decision,” Alicent vowed, but a grin peeked through her fake-seriousness. Sarella hooted. Rhaenyra couldn’t bear to tell Alicent to shut it, Sarella however… she had no qualms in spoiling her fun. 

“Good. You know, technically in the Arena, I was here first.” Sarella said, addressing Rhaenyra, as if sensing that her thoughts were turning murderous. She was looking at Rhaenyra like she was a meal, and not in the flirty way Rhaenyra did to other people. No, Sarella looked fucking evil. I cannot wait to kill her, holy fuck. Because it was just a matter of time between her and Sarella, before one of them struck first. And personally, Rhaenyra thought she had a quicker shot with a dagger than Sarella did with an arrow. If the audience wanted a show, she and Sarella would give them one, that was for sure. 

“Oh, but you don’t know about Alicent’s secret passions, so who’s really winning?” Rhaenyra replied, voice even, beast at bay.

“Stop,” Alicent said dramatically, clutching her chest. “This isn’t you, guys… we can sort this out…” then Alicent burst into a fit of giggles, which Sarella caught, and against herself, Rhaenyra chuckled somewhat. 

“You’re too irresistible, Alicent,” Rhaenyra murmured, getting a little closer than necessary. Alicent blushed and swatted Rhaenyra’s hands away from where they had cheekily, and entirely against her knowledge, began to creep up Alicent’s sides. 

“Gods, I wish the other three would hurry up. I could do with more water.” Sarella grumbled. 

“I have some more,” Alicent offered. 

“You and your kindness, Twelve, what did I tell you?” Sarella said in a knowing way, like it was some inside joke Rhaenyra didn’t get. Clearly it was, because Alicent rolled her eyes. “I’ll live. That  is, if they don’t take all day.” 

“Let them have their fun.” Alicent chuckled. The scene was so normal, more normal than the rest of Rhaenyra’s experience in the Games that she almost forgot where they were. Oh, it would have been easy to forget if not for the cannon that shot through the peace. 

They all stood up instantly, arming themselves. 

“Who do we think it was?” Alicent asked. 

“Let’s just hope it wasn’t one of ours.” Sarella replied grimly. 

“We shouldn’t leave the Cornucopia. If the killer is nearby, we have the advantage of seeing the entire field from the position of our campfire spot.” Rhaenyra commanded more than suggested. To her shock even Sarella nodded in agreement. 

“Alicent, you face off to the jungle, I’ll look towards the desert, Twelve, you take the forest.” Sarella commanded as she set off a few steps in the direction of the desert terrain. She did not want to take orders from Sarella, but unfortunately her instructions were sound. Fucking idiot, why did she have to be smart?

They all stood off, about fifteen paces apart, facing in different directions, Alicent and Sarella with bows ready, Rhaenyra with a knife in each hand, looking eagerly and horrifyingly with terrible anticipation in the direction of the unknown. 

Their silence remained until– BOOM another cannon. It shook the ground, or maybe Rhaenyra was already shaking. Her eyes, though already looking as keenly as they could, sharpened further, it seemed, as she looked into the forest. Still nothing emerged. 

BOOM.

Three people. Rhaenyra tried not to think about the fact that Edric, Laenor, and Addam had been a three. Obviously she couldn’t care about them if she wanted to protect Alicent, if she herself wanted to win. On the plus side, if those three were dead, she and Alicent could easily finish off Sarella, two to one, especially considering she was injured. But would Alicent kill her friend? Yes, Rhaenyra answered. To save me, she’d kill anyone . 

They were all tense, waiting, waiting, waiting, wait–

“Someone’s coming,” Rhaenyra hissed, preparing to make her shot as figures stumbled into view out of the forest. 

“No, it’s them,” Alicent replied, walking over carefully, the arrow still poised to release. “They’re coming back.” 

“She’s right,” Sarella answered, stalking towards them slowly. 

Sure enough, Edric, Laenor, and Addam came into view, running through the floral underbush. 

“What happened?” Sarella asked as they approached camp. 

“We don’t know, we just heard the cannon and saw the hovercraft, it was too close for our liking.” Laenor said, breathless, hands braced on his knees. 

“The second one came when we were halfway back.” Addam added. 

“Did you see who?” Alicent asked. The three of them shook their heads. 

“I’d bet it was Hugh though. The person who killed ‘em.” Edric said, hands on his knees as he panted, clearly exerted from their race back to homebase. The other two nodded in agreement, their heavy-taken breaths filling the surrounding sound. 

“Well, fuck.” Rhaenyra muttered. “I guess we’ll see in the sky tonight.” 

“It’s final nine now, though.” Alicent said dimly, sitting at the mouth of the Cornucopia. “It’s getting close.” Everyone exchanged worried looks with each other. 

“When do we split off, then?” Sarella said bluntly, but Rhaenyra saw that she deliberately sat close to Alicent and offered her a hand of strength or comfort – Rhaenyra didn’t want to know. 

“They do interviews back home during the final eight.” Edric supplied, voice numb. 

“So in the final eight? One more death and we go our separate ways?” Laenor asks. No one contradicted. To suggest a lower number was to risk getting closer. To suggest they part now was too dangerous. 

“We should start taking what we want from the Cornucopia, then.” Alicent gestured behind them. “I don’t think we’ll all share the same base camp if we aren’t allies anymore.” She said this with an attempt at humour, but all she got was five grimaces.

“None of us should use it,” Addam said, his first offered words. “When we split. None of us get Cornucopia. It isn’t fair.” Laenor nodded in agreement. 

Rhaenyra wanted to point out that the Hunger Games weren’t fair, but she didn’t object to his suggestion. No one else did either. 

“So, it’s agreed.” Sarella broke the silence at last. “At final eight we’ll go off with our district partners and none of us get to come back here unless we’re prepared to fight.” 

They didn’t shake on it, but their weapons reflected and glistened in the light, and that seemed answer enough. 

—

Could it have been just a few hours ago, before those three cannons had fired, that she had found a sense of security in the Games? She had a sense of kinship, family, friendship, belonging, with her allies. She had just gotten Rhaenyra back and though she could never say it, Sarella was sort of becoming her best friend, because that wasn’t Rhaenyra anymore. Whatever Rhaenyra was. 

One more death, and the Games would be real. Truly real. Real to the point that if she saw her friends– allies– competitors faces it would be a question of who could draw their weapon faster, not how to split the haul from hunting that day. The thought made her sad. 

“Sky’s getting darker,” Laenor noted uselessly as they crowded around the fire. Every night was colder than the last, every day hotter. As the sky darkened, they all began to don their jackets, unroll their pant legs, and huddle around the small fire they allowed themselves. This might very well be the last fire she ever had. In the Games, likely in her whole life. How many nights would she spend freezing in future. She and Rhaenyra wouldn’t be able to risk these fires without the numbers they held now, the base they held. Childishly, she wanted to cry. But crybabies don’t get sponsors. They don’t make it to the end. 

As the anthem began, they all held their breaths as they looked towards the sky. The faces of the young boy from Six, Alicent thought his name might have been Elmo, flashed on the screen. That was everyone from Six then. He was followed by the boy from Seven, Harwin ‘Breakbones’’s partner. Gone. The last face was the girl from Nine. 

“I guess it would’ve been too much to hope one of them was Hugh,” Edric sighed, playing with the dirt with a short stick. No one laughed as they would have on nights prior. 

“Hugh definitely killed the boy from Seven. That means he and Harwin will be rearing for a fight. And soon.” Alicent said. 

“You think so?” Addam asked, looking up from his feet to meet her gaze. She nodded. 

“No one else would’ve been strong enough. Sure, it’s possible the three tributes killed each other, but I doubt it. Harwin didn’t kill his partner, doesn’t seem the type, not unless he had to.” She wasn’t sure where her theory was coming from, but as she spoke it into existence, the more likely it seemed. But what did she know of a man whose life she had not led? Whose voice she had hardly heard? 

“Hugh and Harwin might be fighting right now.” Rhaenyra commented. 

“Let’s hope they finish each other off.” Sarella said darkly. “I don’t fancy going up against either of them.” 

“Something tells me we won’t be that lucky.” Edric replied. Alicent had a feeling he was right. The odds weren’t in favour of it. But then again, the odds were becoming increasingly unreliable. 

Chapter Text

He woke up with a drink in his hand. 

He knew he had to go out there today. This was the closest to the end that a tribute from Twelve had made it in thirteen years. He had to face the music, and the music was deafening. 

“Gwayne, you have to get up! Lots of sponsors today!” Laena said insistently from outside his room, her voice peppy and cheerful in a way that she couldn’t possibly feel. “Interviews and opportunities!” She added as she rapted insistently on the wood with her knuckles. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” 

By the time he had finished his breakfast, Laena had already bustled off somewhere else to do some different duty that she had fulfill, whatever, it didn’t matter. She didn’t come with him anyway. They just spoke about their efforts in the evening, wondering what effect they could be having on Rhaenyra and Alicent’s chances. She handled her friends, he handled, well, everyone else. But Laena had a lot of friends, so really she was doing half the work. Especially since the tributes this year were so interesting . He tried not to retch. 

Gwayne was starting to think that, despite herself, Laena was rather attached to Rhaenyra and Alicent, that she didn’t crave their entertaining deaths as she had been taught to, that instead, she might actually mourn their passing, even if it was just a little. Perhaps the Reaper had a soul. 

He wasn’t sure how he felt about Aliandra’s new routine, however. She kept showing up outside his suite every morning, waiting to walk with him into the pit of vipers. Some might call it friendship, but Gwayne didn’t trust it. 

“How you holding up, Hightower?” She greeted this morning, eyeing the drink held firmly in his hand. 

“Just fine, Martell.” They had advanced from ‘Twelve’ and ‘Two’ to a last name basis. Lovely progress. By the time he was going grey, maybe they’d be up to nicknames. 

“Excellent to hear. We have lots of work to do today.” 

“Oh?” He asked, raising his bottle to his lips. 

“Well, since our tributes just agreed that after the next death they’re splitting up, we have to figure out what we’re doing.” 

“Would we not… also split up?” He said. Look, in theory he appreciated Aliandra’s company from driving completely mad (although, she also pissed him off thoroughly, but it was better than the bottom of the bottle every night. Usually), but he didn’t really understand why she was so insistent that they work together. It was clear that she wanted something, but Gwayne didn’t know what. Unfortunately for her, he didn’t really care enough to ask, and certainly not to figure it out for himself. 

It wasn’t sex, of that much he was sure. He wouldn’t indulge her even if it was. She knew how to ask for sex, it was her very popular reputation in King’s Landing. Everyone whispered about her lips and her prowess. She clearly had a wealth of options. And Gwayne hadn’t had sex in… well, in a long time. But he couldn’t really say he missed it. He didn’t miss anything other than the feeling of inebriation. 

Whatever makes her happy, he supposed. But then if it wasn’t sex, what else did this woman who had no reason to be interested in his ‘help’ (if you could even call it help), want? 

“You’re such a downer, Hightower. Don’t you see how important it is that we play their split well?” He paused to consider. He supposed it did matter. But not as much as how their tributes handled the split. To be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised if Rhaenyra killed Sarella the second the cannon that signaled that they were the final eight went off. He wouldn’t even be surprised if she enjoyed it a little. 

Westeros had loved their kiss the other day, it had brought some much needed excitement to the alliance that, despite being humorous and so powerful, was becoming a bit stale since they weren’t really killing anyone. He had received several sponsors after that one. 

Gwayne was skeptical to send any gifts at this stage, when they were both doing alright, with weapons, food, water, and allies. Perhaps when they were in the final eight… 

“Stop thinking so much, Highower.” Aliandra moaned. 

“You just told me to think more.” He contradicted. She rolled her eyes. 

“You’re not thinking about the right things though.” She replied testily. 

“By all means, enlighten me.” But she didn’t have the chance, because the elevator dinged and they were on the ground floor, other Victors and potential sponsors swarming. 

“Gwayne, over here!” Alysanne called. 

“Duty calls, Martell,” he turned and saluted, walking away. His dismissal was clear, but Aliandra grabbed his arm. 

“We’re not done, Hightower, I’m coming with.” Gwayne tried not to roll his eyes. 

“Hey, Aly,” he greeted, trying to ignore the girl from Two literally clinging to his arm. “How you holding up?” He was surprised she was here after Eddara’s brutal death at Hugh’s hands last night. Aly shrugged. 

“I figured I’d rather watch the rest with you than alone in my rooms.” Gwayen disagreed, he would have killed to be alone. “Besides, Cregan insists on coming, and I can’t abandon him.” 

“Every the loyal mentor buddy.” Gwayne said sarcastically. 

“What’s with the Royal accessory, though?” Alysanna asked as she sipped from her own drink. Gwyane sighed. 

“Alysanne, meet Aliandra. Aliandra, Alysanne,” he turned to Aly once more. “She insists that we work together because Sarella and Alicent are close.” Aly chuckled sympathetically as her eyes raked over the woman worth her weight in gold beside him. 

“Well, you’re not the first man  to ever be swindled by Aliandra Martell.” Alysanne grinned sympathetically. “Districts are free cities to her, she’s so beloved.” Again, the emphasis caught something in his mind, but he was too exhausted to learn what it meant. 

“You’re one to talk, miss Black Aly .” Aliandra said in a false girlish laugh. Alysanne made a face of disgust at the nickname. “You’re making out like a bandit.” 

“Mm, one to talk.” Alysanne said darkly, swirling the contents of her glass. “Just because you don’t leave paper trails of your payments, doesn’t mean we all don’t know you’re at work.” Alysanne’s voice was cold, Gwayne would even venture to categorise it as vindictive. He knew Aly was tough, but he had never known her to be cruel. 

“My popularity is hardly my fault,” Aliandra replied, not bothering to look at Alysanne as she spoke. “He knows value when he sees it. Perhaps he miscalculated with you,” Aliandra finished with a wicked smile. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” Gwayne said, breaking the sharp tension before Alysanne delivered the murder promised in her eyes, walking over to the sitting area already occupied by Rhaenys and Corlys. 

“Gwayne,” Corlys said cordially. Gwayne dipped his head in acknowledgment. 

“I see you’ve brought company,” Rhaenys said coolly, calmly, indifferently, indicating to Aliandra. 

“She brought herself.” Gwayne clarified. Everyone chuckled at this and Cregan joined them, regaining his usual warmth somewhat since his tribute had died. “Let the Games begin.” Gwayne said dully, hoisting his glass into the air, a mock salute, before he knocked the entirety of its contents back. 

—

“I think we should leave the alliance.” Rhaenyra murmured to Alicent as they explored the woods, careful to avoid the others, in the search of meat for dinner that night, Sarella a few paces behind. “Now.” 

“What?” Alicent hissed, bow raised, ready to shoot down something. She had become impressively good in such a short amount of time. Rhaenrya didn’t want to think about all the help Sarella had given her. She hated that girl with her stupid jokes and her easy friendship with Alicent, showing her how to hold the bow correctly– ugh , it was torture. 

“We should leave.” Rhaenyra repeated firmly. “If we wait until final eight, who knows what’ll happen?” She had been torturing herself with ideas of Alicent being gutted by Addam’s trident, decapitated by Edrics sword, her body pierced over and over again by Sarella’s arrows…

“If we leave early, they’ll find us.” Alicent replied, voice hushed. “Besides, we’re safer where we are.” 

“No,” Rhaenyra countered. “You’re more comfortable where we are. I see how you are with Sarella.” She said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her tone. 

“I-” Alicent sighed, agitated. “It’s not like that and you know it. If you remember correctly I was the one to profess my love on national television, thank you.” Alicent snapped, making Rhaenyra flush with shame. “I doubt anyone thinks we’re more than friends.” She said, a tad quieter. 

“I just think it’s time for us to start playing it smart.” Rhaenyra murmured. “That’s all. I just want to keep you alive.” The words had their intended effect, for Alicent sighed resigned. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” She lowered her bow and brushed her fingers over Rhaenyra’s cheek. “We’ll talk about it when we get back, okay?” Rhaenyra stared into Alicent’s eyes. They really were a remarkable shade of brown, so warm and inviting, when they caught the light, the flecks of hazel were clear as day, and in the pink sunlight, they simply invited Rhaenyra to kiss Alicent, really. So she did, just a quick, gentle kiss on Alicent’s lips, lighter than air. Alicent blushed. 

“Okay,” Rhaenyra whispered, relenting. 

“Oi!” Sarella called, hurrying to catch up with them. “Stop snogging and help me find dinner.” Alicent laughed and gently shoved her friend in the right shoulder. “Hey! Rude!” Sarella said, not quiet enough for Rhaenyra’s liking. 

“We need to be more quiet or we’ll never catch anything.” She hissed. Sarella made a face but complied. 

Eventually, the girls shot a few rabbits and Sarella brought down a pheasant. 

“Let’s fill up our canteens before we head back, the stream's just there.” Alicent suggested. Neither of them objected. They put the meat in Sarella’s bag as she had the plastic wrap they had found a few days ago, buried at the bottom of a pack, which they now used to hold their meat, and went on their way. 

They were leisurely at the stream, washing their hands and faces clean of blood and grime, refilling their canteens and sitting in the overly hot sun, drifting their hands in the stream. 

“Hey, I see some berries over there,” Sarella said, looking past Alicent. “I’ll get us some. We deserve a treat.” Sarella rose, pack still on the ground, but weapons in hand. 

“I’d join you, but the water is too nice,” Alicent sighed, content. Rhaenyra chuckled and Sarella flicked a splash of water on Alicent, who giggled. 

“Careful, Twelve, or I won’t share.” 

“Back to Twelve now? I’m hurt, Sarella.” Alicent called. Rhaenyra faintly watched as Sarella plucked handfuls of berries from the bush, tossing them in a clear, small plastic bag. But mostly she was watching Alicent. In the sun, her hair out, a smile tracing her lips, water reflecting on her face. 

“Hurry up, would you?” Alicent called, to which Sarella grumbled back, annoyed and incoherent through the bush she was digging through. For a moment, Rhaenyra thought she saw two pairs of hands instead of one, but she blinked and Sarella’s dark hands were the only ones visible. It was likely a trick of the light on the reflecting water, especially with the weird as fuck pink sun. 

At least Sarella returned, smiling wide, shaking a couple berries onto her palm, handing some to Rhaenyra and some to Alicent. Rhaenyra was about to eat one when Alicent cried out, “no, stop, stop, don’t eat those!” Shrieking as she tossed her berries into the ground. Sarella lowered her hand from her mouth, where she had clearly been about to toss the berries into her mouth with reckless abandon. 

“Why not?” 

“They’re poisonous, deadly. Nightlock. Even one would kill us–” Alicent, however, was cut off by the sound of a cannon firing. For a moment, all three of them were still with shock, hands limp on their weapons as they looked around for a threat. Suddenly, right near where Sarella had collected the berries, a hovercraft lowered down and collected the thin body of a girl. 

“The girl from Ten.” Rhaenyra murmured. “She had been hiding in the little alcove there… I should have remembered it… I knew I saw two hands…” she muttered, more to herself than the others. If Alicent was right about the berries being poisonous, and she likely was, Alys' death had been at her own hand. Alys was smart, in fact, so smart that she likely wouldn’t have eaten the berries without confirmation that someone else had deemed them edible. It seemed that Sarella’s ignorance was Alys' downfall. Rhaenyra even ventured to guess that if some kind of trap had been laid, Alys would have intentionally avoided them.

“I’m assuming that was the nightlock’s work?” Sarella asked warily. Alicent nodded. Sarella just tipped the berries back into the plastic bag and tucked them into her pocket. 

“Why are you keeping them?” Rhaenyra interrogated. 

“Hugh might like berries.” Sarella said indifferently, collecting her things. “C’mon, let’s head back.” Alicent nodded, rising to her feet. So did Rhaenyra when suddenly she realised– 

“Alicent,” she hissed, but she was too slow, Sarella already had an arrow pointed at Rhaenyra’s heart. Rhaenyra had a dagger in her hand, ready to lose, but she knew that she couldn’t throw it without guaranteeing an arrow fired at her in return. 

Alicent off to the side between them was frozen in horror. Somewhere in the distance, a cannon fired. 

“Sarella,” Alicent breathed. 

“Alicent, you need to run. Anywhere. I’ll find you.” Rhaenyra instructed. 

“Listen to lovergirl, Twelve,” Sarella replied, eyes trained on Rhaenyra. “It’s final eight. I’m not letting some scum from Twelve kill me.” Her gaze didn’t move but Rhaenyra knew she was addressing Alicent as she said, “no offence, Alicent,” half-heartedly 

Rhaenyra expected Alicent to run as she had instructed, or maybe even draw and fire an arrow, but instead, Alicent inched a step closer. Not to Rhaenyra, but to Sarella. For fucks sake why does she have a death wish? 

“Alicent, what are you doing–” 

“Shut up, Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, paying her no mind. Her attention was fixed on Sarella. 

“Alicent, leave.” Sarella didn’t take her eyes off Rhaenyra, but she heard the pleading in her voice. “I don’t want to be the one to kill you.” She saw how deeply Sarella’s next inhale of breath was. “It’s the least I can do, for all you’ve done for me. Give you a chance to run. I won’t kill you now, but I will if I find you again. Make sure that doesn’t happen and go.” 

“I know,” Alicent whispered gently. “But we both know you’re dying, Sarella.” At this, Rhaenyra froze, as did Sarella, tensing in her shoulders. “It’s getting worse. I know it is. Look at how stiff your arm is. You would’ve been able to spot Alys if your vision wasn’t so funny.” Alicent’s voice was calm, soothing, even. “You’re barely able to keep the bow straight most of the time.” 

“Alicent, please.” Sarella said, voice cracking. Rhaenyra didn’t move. Impassive as she watched the scene before her. Any attack on her part would both earn her an arrow to the heart and hurt Alicent in the process. 

“Sarella, please. There isn’t a cure. Not even in King’s Landing. You know there isn’t.” A cure for what? “ Please, don’t kill her. You’re my friend. And I’m yours. And you know even if you win, you won’t survive.” Alicent was crying, Rhaenyra thought dimly. 

“I can’t give in, Alicent. I can’t. I promised my District that I would make them proud. I’m a Royal for christ sake!” Sarella’s voice was almost delirious with emotion. She sounded like an overly dramatic teenage girl, and the thought filled Rhaenyra with shame, because really, that’s exactly what she was. 

“I know,” Alicent said softly, even brave– or stupid enough– to reach out and place a hand on Sarella’s shoulder in comfort. “But it’s going to kill you. just, “ Alicent’s voice broke. “Just don’t kill her too. Please. ” 

Sarella was silent for a long moment, and then, ever so slowly, she lowered her bow, an arrow no longer pointing at Rhaenyra's heart. As she did so, Alicent stood in front of Rhaenyra, blocking her shot at Sarella. 

Rhaenyra didn’t understand how she did it, but Alicent had just saved her life. 

—

Alicent locked eyes with her friend. Alicent’s own bow unstrung, no arrows ready to fire. Slowly, Sarella let her weapons drop to the ground, and Alicent rushed forward to embrace her. 

They had never hugged before. Never allowed it. Because they both knew this moment would come. Sarella returned her hug instantly. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. Sarella just nodded. As they broke apart, there were tears in Sarella’s eyes. 

“I want you to do it.” Sarella whispered. Alicent failed to blink back her tears. “If I’m going to die, I’m going to die as a tribute of the Hunger Games, not because of this. ” She gestured at her left shoulder. “Please, Alicent. I want you to do it.” How could she deny her this? Perhaps this was all their friendship would ever be. Violence. Made through viciousness, sealed in blood, broken with death. 

“Okay,” Alicent managed to choke out. “I’ll do it.” Wordlessly, Sarella picked up her bow from the ground and unslung her arrows from across her shoulder, handing them both to Alicent. 

“Do it with mine. Don’t stain yours.” Sarella said firmly, pressing them into Alicent’s hands. Alicent nodded. She deposited all but one of Sarella’s remaining arrows into her own quiver, then tossed the empty one behind her. 

Sarella walked a few paces away, then she turned to face Alicent one last time. She drew a cross over her heart with her fingers. 

Alicent took her stance, but her hands shook. 

“Take a deep breath,” Sarella commanded. Alicent did. “Steady, feet shoulder width apart.” Alicent complied. “Aim the arrow.” Alicent did. “Pull back the string,” Alicent did. “Take one more deep breath.” Sarella’s voice shook. 

“Thank you for being my friend,” Alicent said in broken words. Sarella nodded, tears glistening, but did not reply. 

“Then release it as you breathe out.” Sarella said as her final command. “Oh, and Twelve,” Alicent met Sarella’s eyes, the glimmer of the girl she met in the training room there. “Shoot straight.” 

Alicent let out her breath and shot straight. Sarella collapsed with a small smile on her face, mischievous until the last. Alicent dropped the bow and came up to Sarella’s side, gripping her hand. 

“Thank you,” Sarella forced out, blood dribbling. Then her eyes went glassy, her hand went limp, and the cannon fired. It was faster than the blink of an eye and slower than falling through time. 

Alicent pulled a small flower out of her pocket. It was an edible one, meant to give nourishment if she hungered too much during the day, but Sarella needed it more. She had read somewhere that it was a tradition in District Two to bury the dead with food to sustain them in the afterlife. In a place such as Twelve, waste like that was trivial. The dead would understand, the dead were food for worms, the living needed feeding, too. But for her friend, she would honour this. She pressed the flower into her left hand,  noticing that parts of her forearm were turning grey. 

She pulled the arrow from Sarella’s heart and stepped away, the killer still clutched in her hands. She retreated back to where Rhaenyra stood, impassive, as the hovercraft can and claimed her friend. 

“See you later, Two.” She murmured as the hovercraft left.

Chapter Text

Aliandra was tense beside him as Sarella died. 

“That took… a lot of honour from Alicent,” she said at last. They were in her rooms, watching the Games away from the sponsors. It had become their routine. Not anymore, Gwayne supposed. 

“Took a lot of honour from Sarella too,” he murmured in comfort. In a moment of intense sadness, he shuffled closer to the woman and lay his hand tentatively on her shoulder. Either she didn’t notice or didn’t mind, because she didn’t move. 

“They always tell you not to get attached to the tributes, but it’s hard not to.” Aliandra said ruefully. “I wanted her to win. I thought she could win.” Aliandra murmured. “She was good. Really good. I would have bet on her, if I could have.” 

“She might have. But not with her sickness. Not with those odds.” He said gently. Aliandra didn’t respond, so he kept talking, because he was feeling kind tonight, apparently. “I know what you mean. About getting attached to them. Every year I’ve sent kids that I know have no shot and every year, I can’t help but hope they’ll live.” Aliandra shifted her gaze from the floor to look at him. Tears did not glimmer in her eyes, but there was a great sadness. “That's why I drink. Partly why, anyway.” He confessed. “It’s harder to remember what it was like in there if I can hardly remember my own name. It’s harder to care about anyone else if my mind is so addled I can’t speak.” 

“I send in kids that I think can win, and that feels just as awful. Watching them make it so far, come so close, only to die.” Gwayne supposed that in a way, she had it a lot worse than him. She had time to truly get attached, to root for these kids, she knew them, and when they died, it must have been much more personal. She probably trained them back in District Two. Like him, she probably knew them, knew their families. The only difference was that the parents of the tributes looked to her with hope and trust, and looked at him with dismay and disgust. “They have better odds than most, and it never matters.” 

“Do you want me to leave you alone?” He asked. She shook her head.

“No. stay. They’re something I want to talk to you about.” 

—

Jessamyn was biting her nails down to the quick these days, a terrible habit, but it couldn’t be helped. The Games were tense, the people were tense, the Victors… everything was tense. It felt like at any moment something would fracture and it would all go to absolute shit, for lack of a better phrase. 

She was trying to come up with ideas for next year's tributes. It was a Quarter Quell after all, but her mind was blank. She hardly ever ran out of inspiration, so this was somewhat of an ill omen. Alyssa was off in her own office, silent and stoic in a way Jessamyn had never seen her. She was almost relieved when a knock sounded at her door. 

“Come in,” she tucked the terrible, half-formed designs into her draw, locking it tight. 

“Jessa,” Jeyne called and Jessamyn’s face split into a smile of its own accord. “Darling, I hope you don’t mind our intrusion–” 

“ Our?” Jessamyn said, skeptical, as Dalton Greyjoy came into view, because of course. She rolled her eyes fondly. 

“Forgive us, Jessa,” Dalton said, voice… serious. “We just needed to talk to you. It’s rather urgent.” he looked around anxiously and then said in what would have been a humorous conspiratorial whisper were it not for his expression, “fashion emergency.” 

“Well, I am an expert at those. Come on in, close the door, please.” She beckoned them in, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. The pair ushered in. Jeyne came to her side and pressed a kiss to her cheek instantly. 

“Hi, my dear. I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit.” Jeyne murmured in her ear. Jessamyn nodded, leading them into her sitting room, guiding them to the couches. 

“What’s wrong, Dalton?” Dalton exchanged a look with Jeyne. Odd. “Jeyne?” The pair seemed to brace themselves, taking deep breaths. 

“Look, we’ve thought about it and we’ve figured that you’re trustworthy, that it’s safe to tell you,” Jeyne began. She didn’t reply, just nodded her head, confused. There was a beat of tense, anxiety-riddled silence before either of them spoke again. 

“Jessa, what do you know about the Free Cities ?” Dalton asked. 

It took all her will not to say everything bursting on the tips of her lips. Sure, she trusted Jeyne, and to an extent, Dalton. But that didn’t mean much. Trust could be bought, just like secrets. 

That being said, if they were being sincere, she couldn’t reject them. 

“Never mention those words ever again. Do you understand?” She breathed, her lips barely moving as she spoke, her posture remaining unchanged. 

“Does that mean you know what we’re saying–” Dalton began, hope sparking behind his eyes as he leaned forward eagerly. 

“Do you understand?” She repeated more firmly. The High Septon had ears everywhere. “You cannot mention this to me or anyone else. Ever.” She clenched her hands so tightly together, she felt the tips of her fingers go numb. 

“Jessa–”

“You’re smarter than this,” she breathed, before rising to her feet and planting a smile on her face. “And no, Dalton,” she added with false, overly jubilant exaggeration, “I will not be the stylist for your tributes next year. I think I’ve really got the right idea when it comes to my designs for Twelve.” She smiled at them, pained. Dalton and Jeyne rose unsteadily, exchanging worried looks. 

“You wound me, as always, Jessa,” Dalton sighed, always quick on the catch.  “I only long for your designs.” 

“Some might say they’re revolutionary,” she said carefully. “But I’m afraid for now they remain a revolution on one front only.” Dalton studied her for a moment, before letting out another melodramatic sigh. He and Jeyne left her office in worrying silence, and Jessamyn wondered how much worse her life could get. 

—

Daemon Targaryen was not a fan of his job. Actually, that was an understatement. He fucking hated his job. He loathed every second he spent doing it, and every moment he wasn’t partaking was just as bad, because he knew that soon he would have to return to his duties. What is he thinking? He’s been doing his job every waking moment of his life since it was tossed onto him. There is no reprieve but sleep, and sleep brings only nightmares. 

He wouldn’t say he was dependent on the sleep syrup, he hardly had time to take it, so much sneaking around at night, so many letters, appearances, smiles, lovers to please. Most of his life took place in the dark. But the sleep syrup helped. When he finally had the time to collapse into bed, he would swallow the entirety of one of the delicate vials and fall into a blissful, total, dreamless sleep. He can hardly sleep without it now. Sleeping without it guarantees nightmares. 

Daemon fucking hates his job. 

“I’ve been waiting to get your attention for ages now, you know?” Some woman, whoever the fuck she was, purred in his ear, her body spent, laying against the mattress, forehead damp. 

“Is that so?” He said in the coy voice he saved for times like these. “I hope I’ve proved satisfactory, then.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck, trying not to gag on the scent of her perfume mixed with sweat and sex. She giggled, girlishly so. Which was fucking horrifying considering she was at least twice his age. 

“Oh yes, I hope one day I can enjoy the pleasure of your company again.” She said, poorly disguising her giggles. 

“You’ll have to prove good on your payments, I suppose.” Daemon replied coolly. The woman blushed and petted his chest. 

“Trust me, I have just the thing.” She answered. The crawled out of bed, clearly trying to make a show of it as she did so, and floundered around for an ornate, bejeweled robe. She shrugged it on and headed towards her drinks cart. “Can I offer you a drink?” She asked as she poured herself a large helping of scotch. He shook his head. “Suit yourself.” She shrugged and then tossed back several brightly coloured pills. 

“What secrets do you have for me, darling?” He purred, smiling at her. The woman blushed. “I do hope they’re worth my time, despite how much your company pleases me.” The woman was so pink in the face, she might as well have dyed it magenta. 

“Well,” she said, swallowing a healthy mouthful, “there is one interesting one I’ve been saving up for a while now, hic, no one knows about it, hic, not even my husband, hic!” She said the last words with that ghoulish, girlish giggle that made his skin crawl. But he smiled again. 

“Go on,” he pressed.

“Well, you see, hic, the High Septon, hic, he has a bit of a penchant for, hic, poisons, hic!” She said through her giggles. Daemon sat up a little straighter. He had heard swirlings of this already, of course. Fuck enough of the right people for a secret and even the top of the chain’s darkest truths start to tumble from loose lips. People dying at dinners, the alchemist in the Black Cells… everything served a purpose. Who died of poison tonight, though?

“Oh, darling, do tell me more.” 

“You must promise to keep this between us!” She said hastily. He nodded solemnly. 

“I wouldn’t dream of telling a single soul.” He stared into her unnaturally yellow eyes. She smiled and blushed again, like she was some schoolgirl. 

“Do you remember, hic, one of the Septon’s advisors, hic, Barristan Selmy, hic?” Daemon nodded. “Well, hic, he and so many of the High Septons enemies, hic, met their bitter end, hic, shortly after, hic, dinner with the High Septon, hic.” She drank deeply. “But all the symptoms look normal, hic, causes of death, hic. A burst belly, a flu, a disease.” 

“Curious.” He muttered, still staring at her. 

“But, of course, hic, no one suspects him because, hic, he drinks the poisons too, hic.” Daemon arched his eyebrow. “But he has antidotes on hand. But sometimes, hic, they aren’t always perfect, hic, and that’s why, hic, he reeks of blood, because he has so many sores in his mouth!” She finished with a dramatic flourish as she set her glass on the table. He thought maybe she would tell him more, but like all the rest, she proved unhelpful when it truly mattered. 

She crawled back to the bed and collapsed next to him, sighing exasperatedly. 

“Was that a good secret, my love?” She looked up at him, looking the part of an innocent pup. 

“Yes, it was.” He assures her. She sighed with content and snuggled closer to him. 

“Will you stay with me for a little while after I fall asleep?” She asked drowsily, her breathing slowing. 

“Of course,” he promised. 

The second she was out, he left. 

—

In the sky that night, Edric and Sarella’s faces gleamed. 

“So Laenor and Addam killed Edric when Alys died,” Rhaenyra murmured. They were nestled between a collection of rocks and bushes, shrouding them from view, not far from the stream that had seen two deaths today. They wouldn’t both fit in a tree, so they resolved to hunt for somewhere else to stay the next day. Or more, Rhaenyra had resolved and Alicent had numbly agreed. 

“Must have,” Alicent mumbled, voice distant. 

“Alicent,” Rhaenyra ventured, because she had been dying to ask. “How did you convince Sarella not to kill me?” Alicent sighed and rolled over to face her, they were nose to nose. 

“She had greyscale. She got it from the girl from Three. Who knows where she got it.” Alicent explained carefully. 

“The cut on her shoulder…” Alicent just nodded. 

“It was spreading. Fast. She wasn’t going to last much longer in any right state anyway.” Alicent said, but Rhaenyra could hear that she was about to cry. 

“What you did was very kind, Alicent.” 

“Yeah, it’ll kill me in the end.” Alicent murmured. Rhaenyra dared not agree, as much as she did. 

“Six of us left.” Rhaenyra whispered, somewhat astounded. It didn’t feel like triumph. Could it be that just a handful of days ago there were twenty-four of them? How quickly that number had shrunk. At the start of the week her biggest fear had been finding Alicent after the bloodbath, and now… 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, looking at her with those devastating eyes. “Who do you think will win?” It wasn’t a question about who she wanted to win, it was a hard question. If Rhaenyra had to bet now, who would she bet on? 

Hardly anyone in Twelve placed bets. There were those too far gone into their cups of too wasted away with grief that visited the booker boys, but most of the District spat on the practice, too flush with fear to wonder who would kill their children this year. But most of them considered the odds regardless. Heard the reports from King’s Landing on their favourites to win, saw the tributes, their scores and felt their hearts sink further. Rhaenyra had never been an oddsmaker, but she knew a longshot when she saw it. 

“Harwin and Hugh will be fighting, one of them might take down Addam or Laenor, which is good, because I don’t think they could kill each other. Really, it’ll come down to whoever’s left and Hugh. It was always going to come down to him.” The boy from District One, he was always the one to kill, wasn’t he? Allies and weaklings were a distraction, easy pickings, until it came down to whoever had lasted long enough to meet their death with him. 

Alicent didn’t say anything. 

Rhaenyra was ready to drift into sleep when suddenly the Arena buzzed, the anthem bursting. A feast. She thought. But she didn’t think she would go, but Jasper Wylde was here to announce one. Maybe the others would pick each other off there and make her job less hard. 

“After an examination of the rules, it has been deemed that two Victors may be crowned if they both originate from the same District. Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favour!” The announcement died out and Rhaenyra lay there, shell-shocked. For a moment she didn’t understand what the announcement meant. Two Victors? That had never happened in Hunger Games history. The whole point was that it was a brutal battle until one, sole Victor emerged. Why would they change the rules? 

“That means…” Alicent began.

“We can both win. We can both go home.” Rhaenyra answered. 

“We can both go home.” Alicent whispered, her voice full of beautiful, beautiful hope. It was so wonderful that Rhaenyra kissed her. If Alicent was surprised, she didn’t show it, she did as she always did when Rhaenyra kissed her in here, kissed her back with passion– no, with love . She was so good at her performance that Rhaenyra sometimes allowed herself to question just how much she really had meant all those words she’d said in her interview. “We can both go home.” Alicent said as they broke apart with a smile so big that Rhaenyra just had to kiss her again. 

“We’re both going home. She promised.” Alicent smiled even wider.

Chapter Text

With the news that they could both win, she and Rhaenyra moved with a vigor neither of them thought they had left as they hunted for somewhere to make home. Well, home was a loose term. Somewhere to lay shrouded from the eyes of their enemies, but most certainly not from the eyes of Westeros. 

“I wonder if they’ll have a feast this year.” Rhaenyra wondered aloud. As they moved through the bushes, hunting for a cave or a large tree. Anything to construct a makeshift camp from. 

“If they are, they’ll do it soon. They usually do them at the six-person mark.” Alicent nodded, chewing on the remnants of her rabbit from breakfast. “Wonder what they’ll offer.” 

“I dunno. I feel like there isn’t anything we need desperately yet.” Alicent could practically hear Gwayne urging in her ear what to say next. 

“Well, I’ve already got the thing I needed desperately.” She said, smiling softly. Rhaenyra gave her a quizzical look. 

“And what’s that?” Say it, Alicent. Just say it. 

“You.” Her blush was not entirely fake. She wondered how real Rhaenyra’s was. Rhaenyra didn’t respond, but she smiled for a long while after. 

I mean sure she had all but told Rhaenyra twice that she was hopelessly in love with her, but Rhaenyra might truly believe it was all for the cameras. And it wasn’t exactly like Rhaenyra had ever said anything about the matter when they weren’t being filmed. 

They walked in amicable silence, occasionally brushing hands for the cameras, blushing dutifully, pressing delicate, chaste kisses to the others cheeks, knowing every moment, every movement was being recorded. 

Eventually, the forest terrain that they had become so familiar with, began to shift into a slightly more tropical outset. Just as they were about to sever their connection from the most comfortable area of the Games, Rhaenyra lay a hand on her arm, halting her. 

“What about there?” She pointed out a mass of rocks and bushes. Further up the ‘path’ a gentle stream was noticeable, glistening in the sun. “Looks like it could be a little cave of sorts.” 

“There’s no harm in checking it out, I suppose.” 

It turns out to be a small cave, well-shrouded by rocks and bushes that it is almost certainly unnoticeable to an animal predator, and a difficult thing to spot for a human hunter. It was more than large enough for the two of them to sit in there, but other than sleeping, Alicent doubted the cave would be suitable for many other activities. 

“What do you say?” Rhaenyra asked, gesturing around them. They can’t stand in the cave, so they both couch on their heels. “New home?” Alicent almost laughs at how absurd Rhaenyra is. 

“Sure. New home.” It was next to nothing, but it was something they could call theirs. 

They didn’t really set up in the cave, they were too anxious to separate from their belongings and risk losing them, so really, they sat in silence, nibbling on the last bits of meat from their hunt with Sarella… 

“They’re going to do something soon.” Alicent murmured while she watched Rhaenyra suck on bone. “No one’s died today. Final six.” Her voice was bleak. 

“Let’s hope that whatever it is, it can’t find us in here, then.” Rhaenyra replied grimly. 

Since the new rule had been announced, Alicent had the slightest glimmer of hope in her chest. She and Rhaenyra and Laenor and Addam were the only tributes who still benefited from the rule change, meaning the two arguably strongest competitors left, Hugh and Harwin, were on their own. At this stage in the Games, new rule or not, no one made allies. 

The sky was still a warm shade of blush pink, the coral sun still high in the sky. 

“We should hunt.” Alicent said at last. Rhaenyra cocked her head. “The sun’s still out and we won’t last much longer on this,” she gestured to the remains of food between them. “Besides, the more we get now, the easier it’ll be to wait out whatever stunt they have saved for later.” 

“Fair enough.” Rhaenyra agreed, checking through her daggers. “Let’s hunt.” Alicent slung her bow over her shoulder and crawled after Rhaenyra out of the cave.

—

So far Alicent had shot four or so fish, Rhaenyra had caught two small rabbits in a twitch-up snare, and together they had harvested several roots and berries. For just two people, it would potentially be enough food to last them the rest of the Games if they really had to. 

“Let’s head back,” she called to Alicent from over her shoulder. “Sky’s getting a little more salmon than pink. Sunset.  It’ll be night soon.” 

“Sounds good.” She heard Alicent reply. Rhaenyra knew she was only a few steps behind, so she didn’t bother waiting for Alicent in place, instead, she began the small trek back to their cave. 

Big mistake. 

She had hardly made it five steps before a scream pierced the air. 

Rhaenyra whipped around, dagger poised to hurtle through the air at their assailant. Was it Hugh? Harwin? Or, even worse somehow, Laenor and Addam? 

It was none of them. No, instead, Alicent’s left leg was firmly between the jaws of a wild beast. Without thinking, Rhaenyra aimed a knife at its neck. The beast roared, releasing Alicent’s leg, turning to advance on Rhaenyra. 

No, no it wasn’t an animal. Aside from the razor sharp teeth and unnaturally unlatched jaw, the feral, wild look in its eyes, Alicent’s attacker was none other that Otto Hightower.  

--

She couldn’t breathe. She knew she couldn’t scream again or some much more terrifying monster, another pack of mutts or another tribute, would burst through the trees and finish her off, but fuck. Every inhale was agony, she couldn’t so much as move without it feeling like her blood was aflame. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was fucked. She was going to die. 

She should have shot it once she spotted it, saw the advance. But the violent creature wore her fathers face, and for a moment, she forgot where she was and what she saw, her guard slipped so instantly seeing that unfamiliar gleam in her fathers eye that he only possessed when he was proud. For a moment, she forgot that she was in the Games at all. She was just a little girl. 

Rhaenyra’s grunts drew her out of her stupor as she struggled with the figure of Alicent’s father, her daggers stabbing the ribs, the neck, the eyes, only serving to slow him down. Rhaenyra would run out of weapons soon and then she would face no chance and all hope of District Twelve winning would die with her. 

Alicent suspected, either on intuition or from a lifetime of watching the Games, that the only way to kill this sick beast would be a shot through the heart of some kind. Worse than killing a fellow tribute. Shooting to kill your own family. This mutt was not intended to cause physical harm, a helpful side-effect, but not the long term goal. No, Alicent suspected that its main purpose lay in destroying the sanity of the tributes it attacked. 

She had to act now. Rhaenyra would only be able to fend off a King’s Landing made beast for so long. A lifetime of hunting was nothing compared to a monster. 

Her fingers shook as she regained her grip on her bow, her entire body screamed in pain, so much so she bit down on her lip to the point that she was certain she had punctured it, to keep from crying out, as she reached for an arrow. She took her aim, it was almost impossible to keep her arm straight while she was shaking with pain. She knew she had one, maybe two shots in her before her body gave out and she passed out from the unbearable agony. 

Arrow one hit her father square in the back, causing him to turn again, refocusing his attention on her. She reloaded and hoped with all her strength and might that she would make this shot. If she didn’t she’d be dead and Rhaenyra would follow. 

The second arrow left her fingertips just seconds before her father towered over her, right in the centre of his chest. 

Her father froze, the malice melting off his face to an expression of puzzlement as he sank to his knees before her. He didn’t speak. Alicent supposed these things couldn’t speak, but it didn’t prevent it from making guttural gurgling noises as it began to choke on its own blood. Her father spluttered, blood black as a raven blooming across his chest, falling from his lips as he struggled to make noise. The only sound that came out was an inhuman google, a groan, a strangled cry that made her want to cover her ears, cry. It was the worst sound she’d ever heard. 

She watched the light leave the thing’s eyes and in seconds it’s head hit the floor right before her feet. She could kick it away, but she couldn’t move. She almost expected to hear the boom of the cannon, when she remembered that whatever beat in that thing's chest, it wasn’t a heart, and it didn’t belong to her father. 

The last memory she had before she blacked out was Rhaenyra scrambling towards her, panic vivid in her eyes. 

—

Gwayne watched, his heart a dead weight in his chest, as Rhaenyra dragged, yes dragged, Alicent’s immobile body all the way back to their cave. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but by the time they returned, the sky was a deep, bloody, vicious red. Darker than it had ever been. Or maybe he was projecting. 

Rhaenyra was dripping in sweat, her own face contorted in pain, but she didn’t stop once on her trek. She didn’t stop moving until Alicent was safely tucked away in their cave. This was the most vulnerable position she had been in since she entered the Arena, and with only six people left to play, the chances of it being her downfall were significantly higher. No one would run away in fear or offer split-second mercy. This time it was kill or be killed. 

Once they were both in the cave system, Rhaenyra tried furiously to shake Alicent awake, her voice breaking in panic, her eyes streaming with tears, blood covering her hands, her face. Some black, some red. 

Gwayne had thought the jabberjays in his Games had been brutal, inhumane and cruel. Thought that the mutts wearing tribute eyes in the Aliandra’s Games had been horrific. But watching Alicent sustain what was surely a mortal wound from something that looked just like their father… watching her have to kill it. Watching it die before her… this might just take the cake. 

Alicent was passed out in a pool of her own blood, pouring horribly fast from her leg. Gwayne couldn’t see the extent of the wound, but he knew it was bad. His mother had been an apothecary, and he knew a wound with that much blood was never a good sign. Once the pool reached a certain size, people chose coffins and positions in the family plot. That there was a very high chance it might kill his sister. Alicent’s face was pale. Gwayne knew there was only so much blood a patient could lose before the healer lost them. And Rhaenyra did not have a healer's hands. 

He would send them something, but even they did not have enough sponsors to fix this. The medicine Alicent needed would’ve been expensive from day one. What would have bought them a feast on day one would buy them a cracker now. This medicine was a price no sponsors could pay. 

Rhaenyra was crying profusely, begging Alicent to wake up, to stay with her, as Alicent lay so horribly still. Covered in so much blood, face to pale, it really looked like she was dead. There hadn’t been a cannon yet, but one would come if Rhaenyra didn’t act soon. 

He couldn’t just watch. He felt numb as he sent bandages, several clean cloths, pain killers, the best they could afford, and antiseptic. It was an expensive order, but Rhaenyra was paralyzed with fear, and his only shot at making her realise she had to help lay in sending a gift. Mentors couldn’t attach messages to their gifts, otherwise he would’ve told Rhaenyra to wake the fuck up. 

They wouldn’t be able to afford many more sponsor gifts now, that had pretty much drained the lot. He’d have to do a lot of work to get them more gifts if something else happened. Gods, let nothing else happen, he thought abysmally. 

“Twelve,” Aliandra called from somewhere. He had forgotten she was with him, he forgot they were watching together at all. He thought dimly they were in her suite, but it didn’t matter. “Twelve,” she called again. He didn’t respond, eyes trained on the screen, waiting for the gift to land outside the cave. “Hightower.” Clank, it arrived at the mouth of the cave. Rhaenyra’s head whipped around in fear, dagger in hand, clearly panicking that it was an enemy she would have to face off against. When she registered the canister attached to a small parachute, he saw her face relax, and then relight with hope. She thinks I’ve sent something that will heal Alicent completely. Even she has to know I can’t do that. “ Gwayne.” Aliandra said firmly, resting her hand on his shoulder.

He jumped out of his seat, almost out of his bones. It had been a long time since someone had been close enough to touch him without him realising. He didn’t have so much as a weapon to defend himself with. 

“ What?” He roared at her. “What do you want, Aliandra, to gloat, to point and laugh? Go ahead!” He screamed. Aliandra almost looked… hurt. But he didn’t feel guilty. The Victor from Two bared her shoulders. “You’re right, the slum from Twelve always loses? Happy?” 

“No. I want to help.” She said calmly. 

“Why would you help? She isn’t even your tribute. Your tributes are dead.” He spat the last words and he knew they hurt her this time he was sure. But Aliandra didn’t back down, say what you want about District Two, but they had balls. All of them. 

“No. She's not. But she was an ally to my tribute. More than that, she was a friend.” She replied evenly. 

“Well,” Gwayne said, sinking back into his seat, already feeling the guilt was away all the words he had been planning to retort with, Aliandra still standing, now looking over him. Shame joined his good friend guilt and started to pound through him now. “How can you help?” he asked weakly. What a sight. The drunk from District Twelve at the mercy of the assistance of the harlot from District Two. 

“When she wakes up, I’ll send them food. Buckets of it, if I can. The sponsor’s money is doing nothing for Sarella and Edric now.” She said gently, sitting down beside him, but an arms length away. 

“Can you even do that?” She shrugged, like it couldn’t possibly matter. 

“It’s good entertainment. They won’t stop me.” 

—

When Gwayne’s gift from the sponsors arrived, Rhaenyra foolishly hoped it was medicine that would stop Alicent’s pain, heal her entirely. She should have known that would be impossible. 

Alicent was fevered before her, in pain so horrific, Rhaenrya didn't know what to say to ease it, to take away from its severity. There would be no healing this. Not in the Arena. This would take King’s Landing level medicine, and top-notch stuff at that. The kind of gift from a sponsor that would have been premium in price from the moment the gong rang. 

The kind of treatment Alicent needed was immediate. And she would only get it if she and Rhaenyra managed to outlast another four perfectly healthy tributes. 

Rhaenyra pulled off Alicent’s shoes gently, setting them aside. Then she braced herself and tugged off Alicent’s pants so she could get a better look at the wound. Alicent moaned in her unconscious stupor at that, but all Rhaenyra could think was  good, she can still feel pain, she’s still alive. She was pretty sure nerve damage was what removed the pain sensation of horrific wounds such as this, so at least not all hope was lost. 

When the pants were off, Rhaenyra felt her face blanch in horror, and was growing increasingly more worried that she going to actually be fucking sick. 

Otto Hightower, or his mutt form has mauled Alicent’s leg practically beyond recognition. He bit into her calf so hard that Rhaenyra could see bone. Lots of it. She can tell the beast shook his head and Alicent’s leg with it, because half of her flesh surrounding the wound is displaced, rippled almost. Like a stone dropped into still water, the damage is remarkable and from a singular source, yet it has spread so thoroughly so quickly. Rhaenyra could see such a clean sight of Alicent’s leg bone, oh fuck. She couldn't do this. Alicent’s the healer, not her. Fuck fuck fuck. 

“Fuck,” she choked out. 

I need to do something. I need to move. I need to save her or she’ll die. She can’t die. She can’t die. 

Rhaenyra pulles out Gwayne’s gifts and set them before her. She knew she’ll have to clean her own hands first, so she set her mind to that simple task. She set her pack on the ground and pulled out her canteen. She poured water on each hand, watching as the drying blood dripped from her hands into the dusty earth. She nearly emptied the canteen before she tipped the remnants onto her parched tongue. Then she gently coated her hand in antiseptic, rubbing them together until her nose stung from the smell. 

Then she turned back to Alicent who is still unconscious. Oh fuck . 

She pulled Alicent’s pack off her shoulders, the movement a struggle, trying not to aggravate her wounds. Once it was off, Rhaenyra doused the wound with three quarters of Alicent’s water, remembering that if Alicent woke up- when she woke up-, she’ll need water to swallow the pain killers. Alicent groaned loudly in pain. The antiseptic might kill her. Yeah, right now Rhaenyra is worried that if the wound doesn’t finish Alicent off, her shoddy attempts at healing just might. 

With the dried blood cleared away, the wound looks so much worse. Like. infinitely worse. It makes nausea roil in Rhaenyra’s stomach and the intrusive thought once more enters her brain that she might not be brave enough to do this. She can kill an animal without blinking, but healing someone? She can’t do this. She wasn’t born for creation, she was born for violence, Victor blood in her veins, a lost Targaryen monarchy on her brow. She was never supposed to save, she was meant for slaughter. 

You have to do this. You can’t lose her. 

She pressed the antiseptic into a cloth until it’s damp and the strong fluid smell refilled the air. She wiped as gently as she can on the area around Alicent’s wound. Even this made Alicent whimper in her sleep. Rhaenrya truly begins to feel terror seep in, the thought that the pain will be so bad that Alicent will wake up. She can’t tell if that’s good or not. 

Once the outer parts of the wound are clean, she braced herself for the worst of it. Dutiful cleaning and preparation had all be an attempt to draw out the inevitable. 

She poured the antiseptic slowly. Partly to preserve it and ensure there’s enough for later. If there was a later. No, there will be a later. And partly because every drop of the stuff made Alicent wail in pain, her body convulsing. 

Once she’s washed away the wound and Alicent is twitching with so much agony that Rhaenyra can hardly bear to look at her, she carefully closed the antiseptic with shaking hands, reaching for the bandages. 

I’m going to have to elevate her leg to wrap it properly. But moving it might genuinely kill her.

So will not wrapping it.  

It was either watch her bleed to death or send her over the edge with pain in an attempt to prevent the first outcome. What a wealth of options she had before her. 

Rhaenyra reached for Alicent’s pack and slowly, so slowly, lifted Alicent by her foot. Alicent moaned in pain. Fuck, it was almost impossible to continue. I have to keep going. I have to, I have to. What would Alicent do if it were me? How would she handle this? But Alicent was the level-headed one, the one with healing touches and a steady hand. If Rhaenyra had been born to kill, Alicent had been born to revive. 

It seemed like it took her hours to gingerly lift Alicent’s leg enough to prop it up on the pack. 

Rhaenyra was oh so careful not to touch her flesh as she wrapped the bandage around the wound. It’s massive, from just above Alicent’s ankle to just below her knee. Fuck fuck fuck. 

The worst part was when she has to tie the bandage in place. Clearly the pain was too much, because Alicent’s eyes open wide, panicked, filled with pain, and she nearly bit off her own lip to prevent herself from screaming. Rhaenyra wanted to cry. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she whispered, reaching for Alicent’s cheek. Fuck, she’s so hot. What do you do when someone has a fever? Should I take her out of her jacket to cool her down? Or do I make her sweat it out? What should I do?

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent whimpered once more, her body shaking in pain, her forehead doused in sweat. Despite the chill of the air making the tip of Rhaenyra’s nose cold, Alicent looked as though she was standing in front of a roaring fire for how hot she was. 

“Here, swallow these,” Rhaenyra said while Alicent’s awake, offering her two painkillers and the remaining quarter of their feeble water supply. 

“I…” Alicent’s voice fucking trembled. “I can’t. I’ll be sick.” 

“You have to, Alicent. It’ll help with the pain.” 

It took her ten minutes to get each pill down. 

Rhaenyra rummaged through the medical kit from Alicent’s bag and found a small container that holds around twenty fever pills. She gave Alicent two of those, as well. 

Again, it took her twenty minutes. 

Alicent was so clearly in an astounding amount of pain. It’s almost too much to bear. It’s worse than watching an animal die and knowing she was the cause. It’s worse than killing a fellow tribute. It’s more pain than Rhaenyra’s ever felt, and she hasn’t got a scratch on her. 

“I’m so tired, Rhaenyra,” Alicent groaned, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t want to fight anymore.” Each syllable seems to command tremendous effort from Alicent as she sagged against the floor. 

“You have to keep fighting, Alicent. Please. Please. ” Rhaenyra begged, unashamed of her own tears. She’s a mess on national television, but nothing is more important than Alicent and her pain at this moment. Nothing else could be. 

“I can’t… it hurts.” Alicent groans in agony, and she begs for death to some force Rhaenyra can’t see. 

“You can’t die. I won’t let you. You can’t.” Rhaenyra says forcefully. “ You can’t. ” 

“I’m not strong enough, Rhaenyra. You were always the strong one.” Alicent murmured, trying to breathe deeply. “I was never going to win this thing.” 

“That’s not–” 

“It was always going to be you, Rhaenyra. That’s why I partnered with the Royals, why I charged into the bloodbath, why I learnt how to kill, why I killed my only friend in this place… I did it so you would win. And you still can.” There was a rattle in Alicent’s breathing as she inhaled shakily. Rhaenyra doesn’t know what a death rattle sounds like, but she hopes that isn’t it. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” Rhaenyra said desperately. “I’m not done with you.” Alicent weakly smiled at her. 

“Why not? You’ve had me for years.” That hurts more than any injury. 

Regardless of Alicent’s pain, Rhaenyra knows what she says right now could make or break their sponsors. If she played her cards right, she could spare Alicent. 

“Because we’re meant to go home and live one house down from each other in Victor’s Village. We’re meant to see each other every day. We’re meant to keep falling in love, on our own terms.” Alicent smiled at that. Strained through her agony, but genuine. “Eventually, we’d move in together, and we’d be shy but we’d be so in love. And one day I’d ask you to marry me,” 

“I wouldn’t ask you?” Alicent interjected, her voice quivering. Rhaenyra shook her head. 

“No. I’d ask. It would be so romantic you’d cry. You’d say yes, a thousand times. Our wedding would be so beautiful. It wouldn’t matter where it happened. You’d be in the most beautiful dress that’d make me cry as soon as I saw you, I’d be in something fabulous made by Jessamyn. You would have such beautiful vows.” Rhaenyra felt delirious with desperation, and a strong fiery ember of hope and something else she couldn’t name deep within her chest. “We’d have kids one day. I don’t know how. But they’d be like you somehow.” 

“How so?”

“They’d be kind and beautiful and loving and smart and wonderful.” Rhaenyra promised. 

“And then what?” Alicent asked, her eyes boring into Rhaenyra’s.

“Then nothing matters but you and me. Nothing.” Rhaenyra whispered, so gently she hoped that no one else in the world could hear. 

“That’s a good dream, Rhaenyra.” Alicent mumbled. 

“It’s not a dream. It’s a promise.” Rhaenyra barely finishes the words before Alicent’s eyes flutter shut and the pain overtakes her once more. 

Chapter Text

She didn’t sleep a wink all night. She watched Alicent, unable to move or breathe, making sure her chest rises and falls continuously. Her ears peeled for a cannon, her eyes watching Alicent’s lips inhale, her eyes flutter. 

Please don’t die. She thought hopelessly. 

She held Alicent’s hand all night, trying to give her strength. Please don’t die. 

Could it be that just days ago they were apart in the Games? That they were faced with the possibility of having to kill the other? Now it felt that any chance of winning at all rested on Alicent recovering. Rhaenyra knew she would never be able to face Twelve if she let this girl die. 

When morning comes, Rhaenyra is still immobile, not daring to move until Alicent woke. It was a good thing they hunted yesterday, enough to last them. Rhaenyra couldn’t leave Alicent for anything now. 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent croaked, snapping her out of her stupor. 

“How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you need more medicine? What should I do?” She blurted, panicking more with every word. 

“I need… I need water.” Alicent mumbled. Rhaenyra rummaged through her pack in desperation until she reached the canteens that used to belong to Roslin and Sarella, grateful she didn’t think to use them last night, grateful she forgot about their existence. Wordlessly she passed them both to Alicent and watched as Alicent drains an entire one in minutes. 

“Wait, don’t drink the other one yet,” Rhaenyra leant forward and rested her palm on Alicent’s forehead. Still burning hot. “Take another two fever pills,” she pulled them out of the back. Down to sixteen now , she thought, and handed them to Alicent. Alicent doesn’t protest, just swallowed them obediently and finished the second container of water afterwards  

“We’ll need to get more water.” Alicent said, voice weak. 

“We can worry about that later.” Rhaenyra replied dismissively, but Alicent shakes her head. 

“No. We’ll need to clean my leg at least once a day, and we can’t do that without water.” 

“We have antiseptic. Gwayne sent it last night. That’s how you’re all bandaged up.” Rhaenyra explained, but Alicent doesn’t relent. 

“We still need water, Rhaenyra.” She said pointedly, staring at her. Rhaenyra realised what Alicent is asking of her. 

“No,” Rhaenyra said at once. “I’m not leaving you in here, like this.” 

“Well you sure as shit can’t take me with you.” Alicent replied. If not for the high-pitched tone of her voice and the tremble in her lower lip indicating just how much pain she was in, it would’ve been funny. “And you need to clean up any trail we left yesterday. You had to have dragged me back. A trail of blood-soaked leaves will lead Hugh right to us.” 

Rhaenyra locked eyes on Alicent and saw how firmly she would not back down. She knew she was right. A bloody trail and no water would kill them. 

“Fine.” Rhaenyra said at last. “But I’m leaving everything but my daggers here with you.” Rhaenyra said. Alicent moved to protest. “No. You need food, the sleeping bag and medicine. If I’m going, you’re keeping everything. Got it?” Alicent glared at her darkly but nodded. “And keep your bow loaded at all times . If I don’t return with you aiming an arrow at my heart just to be sure, I won’t be happy.” 

“Fine.” Alicent said, moving for her weapons that sat beside her. She strung an arrow onto her bow and gingerly laid her quiver on her lap. But Rhaenyra noted how much exertion the simple movement took her, and she worried Alicent would die before the day was over. 

“Let’s see if we can get your trousers back on before I leave.” Rhaenyra suggested, her voice gentle. Alicent nodded apprehensively. “Tell me when you need me to stop, okay?” Alicent nodded again. 

Rhaenyra picked up the pants from where she discarded them last night and made sure they’re the right way around. The last thing they need is for Alicent to have to put them on a second time. 

“I’ll do your right leg first and pull them up as much as I can, yeah?” Alicent only nodded, seemingly the only movement she was capable of. 

Rhaenyra managed to get the pant leg just to her knee before it refuses to be pulled higher without its counterpart. 

“Wait,” Alicent said before Rhaenyra began on her second leg. She shrugged out of her jacket, balled some of it up and stuffed it in her mouth. Then nodded again to signal Rhaenyra to keep going. 

“Good idea.” Rhaenyra slid it onto Alicent’s foot, careful to make sure her leg remained elevated, figuring that’s probably good for her injury. She really isn’t sure. Some help she is. The pants cover her ankle and teases the bandages. Slowly, she guided it up, trying to be feather light. Alicent tensed in pain and Rhaenyra halted, but she nodded for Rhaenyra to keep going. Rhaenyra noticed that her grip on the bow makes her knuckles white. Rhaenyra made it a quarter of the way over the wound before Alicent groaned loudly. “Should I stop?” Rhaenyra asked, but Alicent shook her head furiously. 

Rhaenyra kept going, Alicent trembling with pain the whole time but never once letting Rhaenyra stop. Finally, Rhaenyra managed to get her pants to cover Alicent’s lower thighs. This next part will be hard. 

“You’re going to have to lift up a bit so I can pull them over all the way. And tugging them all the way across so quickly will likely hurt too.” Alicent looked into Rhaenyra’s eyes, tears welling in her eyes then she nodded once. She set aside her bow and quiver and planted her hands in fists on the first on either side of her. “I’ll count you in.” Rhaenyra said gently. Alicent nodded for the hundredth time. 

Rhaenyra took a deep breath and readjusted her grip on the pants. 

“Okay,” she began. “One… two… three!” Alicent pushed herself off the ground and roared into the fabric of her jacket. Rhaenyra yanked the pants up the expanse of her thighs until they finally rest over Alicent’s lower back and abdomen. Alicent, as predicted, roared in pain at this too, breathing heavily. Alicent is clearly trying to manage her breaths, going slow, even, and deep, but her eyes are squeezed shut, tears leak down her cheeks, and even with her body firmly back on the ground, her fists are clenched tight, white-knuckled. 

Rhaenyra moved away, resting on the heels of her feet. 

“Are you okay?” She asked after a moment. Alicent doesn’t respond at first. But eventually she nodded and slowly released the jacket from her mouth. 

“Fuck,” she panted, no humour in it. 

“Fuck is right.” Rhaenyra muttered. Then she cleaned out her pack of everything save any weapons before loading in the four canteens. She crawled to the mouth of the cave, then, on a whim before she leaves, turns back around. 

“What are you–” Alicent began, but Rhaenyra kisses her. Alicent’s lips are painfully hot, but Rhaenyra keeps their lips together for a good few moments before pulling away. “What was that for?” Alicent asked, blush that has nothing to do with fever creeping across her cheeks. 

“For staying alive.” Rhaenyra whispered. Then she actually moves to leave. “Oh, and wear your jacket. See if you can get your fever to break.” She commanded, and she heard Alicent scoff and knew that she rolls her eyes. But she caught the sound of rustling fabric and smiled to herself. 

—

Aliandra Martell is not the kind of woman to give up. She know this about herself most resolutely. She is no quitter, no coward. 

It seems, however, that she has met her match when faced with the challenge of Gwayne Hightower. 

Despite being her elder, he is more stubborn than a child. He drinks away all his issues and acts as though it won’t kill him (it is). She can see in his eyes how haunted he is, all the ghosts that he has left unresolved that follow his movements. She feels a bit like a babysitter. She’s used to it. She used to watch over her younger brothers all the time before. 

Before. 

What a word. It felt like her life was split into before and after. There was Aliandra Martell before her name was plucked from that glass bowl and before she was tossed into that Arena and before she had to kill fellow tributes. There was Aliandra Martell after she won the Games, after she went on her Victory Tour, after, after, after. Before, before, before. Her life was a series of mirror images. The girl she used to be, and the woman Westeros groomed her to be. 

“Snap out of it,” she muttered to herself as she charged towards Gwayne Hightower’s door. 

“Miss Martell!” The peppy escort, Laena greeted her, hair an unnatural and painful hue of electric blue today. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” Aliandra rolled her eyes and pushed past the small woman. Well, she wasn’t small. She was rather tall, but Aliandra was taller, so what did it matter? 

“I’m here to see the man himself.” She said by way of explanation. 

“Oh… Gwayne is…” Laena bit her lip in a gesture that was almost human in emotion. “Indisposed.” Drunk. 

“That’s too bad for him.” Aliandra walked further into the suite, leaving Laena dumbstruck at the door. “This one his?” She jabbed her thumb at the first door in the corridor. Laena nodded dimly, seemingly trying to politely phrase words of protest. “Great, thanks.” Aliandra added, voice saccharine-sweet. 

She didn’t bother knocking, just burst into the room. 

It was impossibly dark and stunk of vomit and alcohol, making her eyes water and head spin. She floundered in darkness for a light-switch. 

“Ugh,” the immobile figure of Gwayne Hightower pressed face-first into his bed groans. “Go away Laena,” he mumbled, his words incoherent with the combination of hangover, sleep, and the matter of his face being imprinted on the sheets. 

“Guess again, Twelve,” Aliandra cooed in reply. He groaned louder this time. 

“To what do I owe the misfortune?” Gwayne said as he pushed himself into a sitting position, empty bottle still in his hands. 

“Your sister needs you.” She replied, and Gwayne let out a cold laugh as he rose to his feet, heading to his bathroom. 

“What do you care?” He said, pulling off his trousers, clearly not caring he had company as he slid open the bathroom door. 

“Do I need a reason?” She countered. He looked over his shoulder and, as he slid the door shut behind him, gave her a piercing look. 

“Everyone has a reason.” Then the door clicked shut and moments later she heard the shower running. 

He’s a fucking nightmare, she thought, as she waiting in the sitting room of the suite, where a (for the first time perhaps in her life) timid Laena Velaryon bounced around. 

—

“What do you mean you have a contact? Why don’t I know about them?” She hissed, slapping her hands down on the table. Erryk just shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. 

“Look, we’re not allowed to say who, but she decided that it’s time you knew.” He explained calmly, posture perfect. 

“Why tell me this now?” Jessamyn replied, crossing her arms defiantly. 

Erryk rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing the myriad of scars and burns he bore, as if making a point with the history of his pain.

“Look, Jessa, other people in King’s Landing are aware of this, some of them will probably try and reveal themselves to you. But you must not reveal yourself.” He said sharply.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She replied bitterly. Are Dalton and Jeyne involved? Is that why? I can’t save them if they’re already risking their lives. She had spoken to them in the garden, well, more explicitly told them never to mention what they were mentioning ever again. They had no idea the risks they had taken even telling her. Who knew if she had been trustworthy. 

“You’re both smarter than this. Never speak of it again.” She commanded. 

“Jessa–” Dalton began, but she held up a hand to silence him. 

“Ever.” She looked at Jeyne, pleading with her eyes. Please, my love, don’t be stupid, she hoped they said. Jeyne nodded once. 

“Never again.” She murmured, then she took Dalton by the forearm and dragged him away. 

“It doesn’t matter. You’re on a need-to-know basis, and we’re telling you what you need to know.” Erryk sighed into his hands. “Listen, we all have to sacrifice things.” He said pointedly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked warily, crossing her arms more firmly. Erryk gave her an exasperated look. 

“Your fondness for Jeyne Arryn is less secretive with every passing day, Jessa.” He replied evenly. “It’s dangerous.” 

“Is she involved? In the Free Cities?” She couldn’t help herself by asking. She highly suspected, especially after her confrontation with Jeyne and Dalton, but even they could be spies for the High Septon, however unlikely as Victors. 

“You know I can’t tell you that.” She nodded, sinking back further into her seat. “However…” Erryk began. She bolted upright again. “There is one member that she’s requested we inform you about.” 

“Who?” She asked, uncrossing her arms and leaning them across the table eagerly. 

“Daemon Targaryen.” Erryk said. Jessamyn’s jaw dropped. 

“You’re joking. ” She whispered. Erryk shook his head. 

“He’s been a part of this for years. He leads the council of other Victors.” 

“There’s a council?” She asked, eager for more information. Erryk winced, clearly giving away too much. “How many Victors are in on it?” 

“Look, all I’ll say is that there’s a plan for the Quarter Quell. Even I don’t know the details yet, so don’t ask,” he added, holding his hands up in surrender. “But Daemon and this insider are a big part of it.” 

“Do you know who the insider is?” She asked. He shook his head. “Does Daemon?” Again, Erryk shook his head. 

“It’s too risky for any of us to know, but especially you and him.” Jessamyn supposed that was true, but she never imagined being grouped into an example with Daemon Targaryen. “He’s been informed about you as well and will contact you soon. That’s all I have to relay to you.” Erryk rose from his seat and headed for the door. “You need to get back. Long ride. Supplies are by the door.” Jessamyn nodded numbly. 

“When will I see you again?” She asked, bending down to pick up the crate of clothes and materials that she ‘went on these personal supply runs because she liked to check the quality herself’ for. She could make do with these… yes. 

“Hopefully before the Quarter Quell starts.” Erryk answered. “Good luck, Jessa.” He paused, she heard his hand halt its twisting on the doorknob. “See what my brother’s up to, if you can.” He asked quietly. 

“Of course,” she whispered, then slipped out of the tiny room and headed back to the King’s Landing train. As District Eight disappeared behind her, she began biting her nails again, hard enough to bleed. 

—

When Rhaenyra returned, she was exhausted. Alicent was sitting alert, covered in sweat, and, as promised, when Rhaenyra greeted her, an arrow was poised to fly through her heart. 

“Glad to see you’re capable of listening.” She teased as she crawled through, careful to rearrange the plants and vines that covered the entrance. “And look,” she held up several cooked hares and one small pheasant in her hand. “Even got to cook something.” She grinned. 

“Were you careful? With your fire I mean? And in general?” Alicent asked, raising an eyebrow, concern in her voice. Rhaenyra nodded and rolled her eyes. 

“Of course.” She pulled the plastic sleeve out of her pack and lay it on the ground, putting her new feast atop it. “Now, you need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” Alicent complained, crossing her arms. Rhaenyra glares at her. 

“You’re eating.” She said firmly, holding out the pheasant to Alicent. “Eat the whole thing.” She rummaged around in her pack and pulled out a canteen. “Drink this too.” Alicent scoffed, rolled her eyes, but she obliged. 

“My fever’s broken,” she said between small bites. “So that’s good at least.” Her tone, however, was entirely unenthused. “One less thing that might kill me, joy .”

“It is good,” Rhaenyra snapped as she started on one of the rabbits. “Better than still having one.” Alicent sighed in submission as she wriggled out of her jacket. 

“You reckon it’s been long enough for me to have another painkiller?” Alicent asked, trying to sound indifferent. Rhaenyra paused. She realised she would probably have to clean Alicent’s leg again. Alicent seemed to understand this as well, based on Rhaenyra’s long pause. “Might as well get it over with.” Alicent sighed, defeated. 

“Wait here, I’m gonna go wash my hands in the stream to save water.” Rhaenyra wrapped up the rest of her hare, shoving it into her pack. 

“Is that–” Alicent began, but Rhaenyra was already out the mouth of the cave.

She savoured the coolness of the water on her skin, even splashing some on her face. Only until her hands ran completely clean did she dare to leave the little haven where Alicent wasn’t dying, in pain before her. She glanced around, dagger (also freshly washed) in hand, poised to attack any stalkers. 

She managed to return to their little cave safely, and when she arrived, Alicent had finished her pheasant, the bones laying beside her. 

“Ready?” Rhaenyra said grimly as she settled down beside Alicent. Alicent nodded. Rhaenyra took the water from Alicent’s side, pulled out the painkillers, the bandages, cloths and antiseptic, setting them out before her in a very orderly, professional manner, then realising she didn’t really know what she was doing. She looked to Alicent hopelessly. 

“You’re hopeless.” Alicent smirked, as though reading her mind. “Give me the painkillers first. “ She commanded, Rhaenrya obliged. Once Alicent had forced two of them down, washing them away with water, turned back to Rhaenyra. “Give me a cloth and put a little antiseptic on it.” She ordered. 

“Why?” Rhaenyra asked, as she complied. In her peripheral, Alicent carefully poured some of the water onto her greasy hands. 

“I need to clean my hands if I’m going to be any help to either of us.” Alicent explained, thoroughly wiping down her hands, leaving the cloth stained and dirty in her lap. “Clean this tomorrow, maybe?” She suggested. Rhaenyra nodded. 

“What do we do now?” Rhaenyra asked. Alicent took a deep breath. 

“Push up my trouser leg carefully, up to the knee, then roll it in place.” Alicent instructed. 

“Why not roll it the whole way?” Rhaenyra asked, hoping that if she quizzed Alicent enough, it would take her mind off the pain. And also because she didn’t know. 

“Because,” Alicent hissed as Rhaenyra began slowly pushing the fabric up the length of her shin. “Rolling it along the wound will hurt more.” She said between sharp breaths. Once the trouser leg was secured at her knee, Rhaenyra could focus on Alicent’s bandages. 

They were dark with blood, but it did seem like, for the most part, none of the blood was particularly fresh. She was pretty sure that was always a good sign. 

“Take off the bandages. Slowly. Please.” Alicent asked, her voice already shaking. Rhaenyra obliged, carefully unravelling the bandage, the blood becoming more stark and apparent with each layer she peeled back. She got to the last wrap and braced herself. She couldn’t throw up. She mustn’t. 

She pulled back the last of the bandages and set them aside. She tried very hard not to gag when she saw Alicent’s leg. She tried not to audibly gasp.

Somehow, it looked worse. What had earlier been covered by a mass of blood, was laid bare. Her flesh was not just gouged at, but ravaged. Rhaenyra could see every incision of teeth, so unnaturally large and sharp. She could see so much more of Alicent’s bone than she had thought was exposed. Already, the outer parts of the wound looked red and inflamed, and her leg still lightly dripped with blood. Not a current, but a steady stream that was sure to kill her. Oh fuck, she could practically see her entire shin bone, barely concealed by Alicent’s torn skin and flesh. 

Do not throw up, do not throw up, do not throw up. She commanded herself, taking deep breaths. 

“Well.” Alicent said, looking at her leg, eyes impassive, face expressionless. “Thanks for not puking on me.” Alicent joked weakly. Rhaenyra tried to smile, but she felt a wave of nausea. 

“What,” Rhaenyra struggled to get the words out. “What do I do?” 

“Tie my hair back.” Alicent said simply. Rhaenyra did not question it as she pulled Alicent’s hair into a quick but effective braid down her back, trying to keep her hands from shaking at the prospect of the task ahead. In the darkness of nightfall and the desperate attempt to control the pendulum between life and death, it was less terrifying. Now, in the daylight, with Alicent conscious, it seemed much worse. “Pass the antiseptic and cloths.” She asked next. Rhaenyra handed them to her wordlessly. “Stuff my jacket in my mouth.” Alicent finished as she coated the tip of the rag in antiseptic. Once more Rhaenyra obliged. 

Alicent, slowly, with a shaky hand, guided the cloth to her wound. Rhaenyra watched in horrible silence, unable to move, as Alicent slowly dragged the cloth on the outer parts of the wound. She heard Alicent shudder, and from their close proximity, felt her shake. Alicent kept going slowly until she had finally, torturously, wiped the outer part of the injury clean. 

Rhaenyra took the bloody cloth from her hands wordlessly. Alicent tried to smile, it seemed, but it just looked like a pained grimace. 

Alicent took the bottle of antiseptic into her hand and twisted off the cap. She slowly poured some of the cleansing liquid into the bottle cap. Why hadn’t Rhaenyra thought of that? I was highly distracted by the fact I thought she was going to fucking die, Rhaenyra reasoned. Leave it to Alicent to be in immobilizing pain and still know how to use her brain. 

Alicent tipped the lid over her wound in one fluid, quick motion, and promptly screamed into her jacket, clearly biting down hard on it. Rhaenyra waited with baited breath. 

“Let me do it,” she said, helplessly. “Please.” She held out her hands. Alicent met her eyes, tears threatening to spill, and handed her the cap and antiseptic. 

Rhaenyra refilled the lid, and held it out over the wound. She poured, trying to cover as much area as she could, but the entire area near Alicents ankle was yet to be doused. 

“One more, okay?” Alicent nodded jerkily, eyes squeezed shut. Rhaenyra held to her word and as swiftly as she could emptied the lid onto Alicent’s lower calf. She was careful to reseal the bottle and tuck it away in her backpack, the cloth too until it was just the bandages left for her to use. 

“Just the bandages left, alright. You’re doing so well, sweetling.” She murmured as she positioned herself to wrap up Alicent’s leg. “Almost there, okay?” Alicent nodded vigorously. 

Rhaenyra tried to make quick work of it, but everytime the fabric came into contact with Alicent’s skin, she groaned with pain. Rhaenyra made it halfway up her calf before Alicent’s groans because full-body shudders and shakes. 

“Almost there, Alicent. Almost there, you can do this.” Rhaenyra whispered, continuing to wrap up her leg. 

As soon as the bandages were done, Rhaenyra loosened the pant leg and dragged it down Alicent’s leg as swiftly as she could. Alicent moaned in pain, breathing heavily, sweat coating her forehead in a shimmery sheen. 

“You did great,” Rhaenyra said when she was done, leaving over and pressing a kiss to Alicent’s damp, but far less warm brow. She pulled the jacket from Alicent’s mouth and set it down beside her. “Alright?” She asked. Alicent gave a shaky laugh. 

“I have never been in so much pain in my fucking life. ” Alicent returned, breathing uneven. 

“How about we settle in for the night, hm?” Rhaenyra suggested, unrolling the sleeping bag. Alicent nodded and shrugged into her jacket of her own volition, a clear sign that her fever really had passed if she was able to feel the cold once more. 

“Can we talk first? I’m not…” Alicent grunted as she positioned herself into a more sleep-friendly arrangement. “I’m not very tired yet.” Alicent confessed. “I can take the first watch, but can you just… stay awake a little longer?” With those baby doe eyes, how could Rhaenyra deny her anything? It was a bit pathetic on Rhaenyra’s part, in all honesty. She was exhausted from hunting and hiding Alicent’s bloody trail, from being in the Games themselves, from the performance that felt so intimate and domestic between her and Alicent that she didn’t know what was real or not… 

“Yeah. We can talk.” Despite the grimace she had just seen Alicent’s face possess, she smiled at Rhaenyra broadly, thankfully. “What should we talk about?” Rhaenyra asked, propping her head on her hand as she elevated her arm on her elbow. Alicent blushed and shrugged. 

“I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you.” Alicent confessed, sounding like a bashful schoolgirl. She knew Alicent loved her, or she did once, they had always had their moments under the shade of the weirwood trees… But this felt too real to be natural, authentic. She was too good at it. 

“Why don’t you tell me about your token?” Rhaenyra asked, gesturing to the ring Alicent now wore on her thumb since the Games began. She realised she’d never seen it before, but there hadn’t really been an appropriate time to ask. Alicent looked away, dismay crossing her face, and for a moment, Rhaenyra worried she’d horribly fucked up. “You don’t have to if you don’t…” she began, but trailed off as Alicent shook her head. 

“It… Gwayne gave it to me. In the launch room.” She explained slowly. Rhaenyra watched her eagerly, begging with her eyes for her to continue. “I… it was our mothers.” Alicent explained. “The fox and flowers on it? It was the symbol of her House from…” before, Rhaenyra completed in her head. “Every eldest Florent girl has been given it by their mother, the eldest Florent girl before her. For generations. It’s special. You can’t pawn it, no matter how poor. And some of our line have been poor. Some of my ancestors died with the ring on their finger, neighbours laughing at their obvious money-maker, the golden band set with lapis lazuli. But no one ever sold it. I guess pride runs in the family.” 

“How did Gwayne get it?” Rhaenyra asked. “He’s certainly no girl.” Alicent tried to smile for the sake of Rhaenyra’s terrible joke, but failed. 

“Before his Games, our mother was still alive. She only really got sick towards the end, according to my father,” Alicent began slowly. Rhaenyra knew this part, of course, but Alicent was nothing if not a storyteller, and they had thousands of avid listeners. “But when we went to… say goodbye to Gwayne before he got on the train, she gave him the ring. I don’t really remember much of his Games, but I remember her in that room, pressing it into his hands, telling him he had to win. He had to win and bring it back to her so she could give it to me.” Alicent’s voice got softer with every syllable. “But she died before she got the chance. You only get it once you’re of age. A real woman.” Alicent said with a false laugh. 

“But you have it now,” Rhaenyra reasoned. “You’re very sly, getting it before you’re eighteen.” Alicent gave her a real smile at that, but it was filled with sadness. Rhaenyra couldn’t help the thought that Alicent might not survive the remaining year until she was eighteen. 

“So, Gwayne gave it to me before the Games started. To remind me who I was, I think. And because if it was going to die with someone, I think he wanted it to die with me.” Alicent blinked furiously. “I hope they bury me with it. If I die.” She said, voice quiet. “To remind my corpse that I’m more than just a girl who died in the Arena, more than a girl from District Twelve. That to my mother, I was everything.” 

I just… I wish there was a way for me to show them they don’t own me, that I’m more than… than just a piece in their Games. That was what Alicent had said to her on their last night, however many moons ago that had been. For the first time, Rhaenyra had an inkling of understanding what she meant. 

“They will bury you with it,” Rhaenyra promised, taking Alicent’s hand in her own. “When you’re old and grey and have lived a long, full life.” She said, interlacing their fingers. Alicent gave her that woeful smile in return. 

“I wonder if my brothers are watching.” Alicent said suddenly. 

“Mhmm?” Rhaenyra mumbled noncommittal, more focused on taking in Alicent. 

“My other brothers. My older brothers. They’re all in the Kingsguard now, in different Districts I suppose. But I wonder if they’re watching me.” Alicent pondered aimlessly. 

“I’m sure they are.” Rhaenyra said. 

“Why’s that?” Alicent said with a soft laugh. 

“Because no one can take their eyes off of you.” Rhaenyra answered honestly, her eyelids heavy with sleep. Alicent just chuckled.

“Go to sleep, Rhaenyra,” she murmured, running a hand through Rhaenyra’s hair. Rhaenyra did just that, faintly aware they were still holding hands, dreading when she would have to let go.

Chapter Text

Alicent Hightower was a perfectly rational person. She was calculated when she needed to be, she was smart, she knew how the world, especially how Westeros worked. However, all of her logic short-circuited when in the presence of Rhaenyra Targaryen, it would seem. Especially this intimate, domestic Rhaenyra who doted on her, slept beside her, hunted and cooked for her. It was endearing enough to make her giddy despite the circumstances. To distract her sometimes from the constant pain in her leg. 

“Pheasant of hare for dinner tonight, my lady?” Rhaenyra said in a pompous, King’s Landing accent. Alicent smiled and rolled her eyes. 

“I truly don’t care.” Rhaenyra snorted at this. 

“Fine. Hare it is. We’ve got a few.” She watched as Rhaenyra divided their spoils. Rhaenyra looked like she was about to speak again when the anthem rang out into the Arena. It was too early to be showing dead tributes.  

“Tributes, we are cordially inviting you to a feast,” Jasper Wylde’s voice rang out across the Arena. She and Rhaenyra have already begun waving away his offer, both at the same conclusion that they had enough food not to risk their lives. “Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately.” 

Alicent watched as the thought dawns on Rhaenyra’s face, as she dragged her eyes from their food to Alicent’s leg, then to Alicent’s face. 

“Each of you will find that something in a backpack marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance.” Jasper Wylde’s voice died out, words ringing out across the Arena in an echo of possibility. 

“No.” Alicent said at once, before Rhaenyra can speak. “Absolutely not.” She crossed her arms. “You’re not risking your life for me.” 

“Who said I was?” Rhaenyra said with faux indifference. Knowing she’s lying, Alicent indulged her. 

“So you’re not going?” 

“Of course not,” Rhaenyra scoffed as she passed Alicent her meat. “Give me some credit, I’m not stupid enough to run straight into a free-for-all against Hugh, Harwin, Laenor, and Addam. That was you on the first day, if I recall correctly.” Rhaenyra said smugly. 

“We both know that was different. There’s a lot more at stake this time. A much bigger target on your back.” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and opens her mouth to argue, but Alicent cuts her off. “You’ve always been a horrible liar, Rhaenyra. And I’m not letting you go.” 

“I’m going and you’re not stopping me.” Rhaenyra snapped petulantly. 

“And if I come crawling after you screaming?” Alicent countered. “What then.” She crosses her own arms, trying not to look too proud of herself. She knows she has Rhaenyra trapped because Rhaenrya knows she’s stubborn enough, and maybe, just maybe strong enough to do it. 

“So what, I’m meant to sit here and watch you die?” 

“I won’t die,” Alicent gave the empty promise easily. She has always been a better liar than Rhaenyra. “I promise. If you promise not to go.” 

Rhaenyra looks furious, and Alicent knows she has won. 

“Fine. But no complaining about drinking water or whatever else I say! Got it?” Rhaenyra snapped at her. Alicent nods, like she would be able to refuse this anyways. “I want some fresh air.” Rhaenyra scowled, and walked out of their cave, well crawling is more accurate, before Alicent could reply. 

Fine. Let her be mad. I’m not letting her die for me when I’m already dead. Alicent thought stubbornly, her arms still firmly crossed. 

Around twenty minutes later, Rhaenyra returned, something cradled in her hands. 

“What’s that?” Alicent asked, trying to be as sweet as she could to make up for their fight. 

“I found some berries near the stream. They’re not poisonous. I’m positive.” Rhaenyra assured her. “Wait, let me mash them up with some water. It’ll be more like a proper dessert.” Rhaenyra reasoned. Unwilling to deny her this, despite how unappetising it sounds, Alicent nodded,remembering her feeble promise, passing her a water canteen that’s near-empty. Rhaenyra rummaged around until she finds a small metal canister. 

“Where’d you get that?” Alicent inquired, having never seen it before. 

“It’s what the bottle of painkillers was in. King’s Landing and their packaging.” Alicent looked around nervously after Rhaenyra said this, worried it’s too bold. But hopefully Rhaenyra’s tone was humorous enough. Or at least capable of being viewed as funny. 

“Here,” Rhaenyra passed Alicent the canister. Alicent took it. They don’t have any cutlery so she has to use her hands, which are still a little bit greasy, but that won’t hurt her. She’s surprised that the berries aren’t that bad in their watery mixture, Rhaenyra managed to make it more like jam than mush which is impressive considering Rhaenyra can’t cook. The stuff is sweet, really sweet. It’s the sweetest thing Alicent’s had since entering the Arena. 

“Here, you have the rest,” Alicent said, shoving the canister back to Rhaenyra, but Rhaenyra shook her head. 

“I had more meat than you, and besides, you promised you’d do what I said.” Alicent rolled her eyes but continues to eat the stuff. It’s almost too sweet, she worries it might give her a headache later. It tasted familiar too, the old flavour on the tip of her tongue. 

“These are really sweet. But they taste familiar too, where did you say you found them?” Alicent asked, trying to make conversation easy again. She has about an eighth of the canister remaining. 

“Just along the stream. They’re sugar berries, I think. My father ordered them special one year when I was little. You probably had some then.” Rhaenyra explained. The explanation is plausible, but it doesn’t quite make sense. Rhaenyra isn’t the best of liars on the best of days, and something about the detail feels a little too well-reasoned to be right… 

“Yeah… I mean they’re really sweet. Sweet as syrup…” She mumbled as she swallowed the last bit of the berry mush. Then it hits her. 

She hadn’t eaten sugar berries. Sugar berries probably don’t even exist. No, those were blackberries, blackberries and something sweet as syrup alright. Everyone in Twelve had sleep syrup at least once. No wonder it was familiar. She used to be a frequenter of the stuff after her mother died, unable to have peaceful dreams without it. 

She feels sharp betrayal like she’s never known as she looks at Rhaenyra. 

“No.” She whispered, but she already feels her control sleeping, her body sagging, eyes fluttering. 

She will never forgive Rhaenyra for this. 

“Who can’t lie, Alicent?” Is the last thing she hears before the medically induced sleep overtakes her. 

—

Rhaenyra had never been more panicked as she sat in the cave, waiting for the early signs that dawn was approaching. It will take her thirty minutes to get to the Cornucopia, but if she leaves too soon, she’ll be a sitting duck. 

Once the moon begins to tease its disappearance in the burgundy sky, Rhaenyra moved to leave. She pressed a kiss on Alicent’s unmoving lips, completely held in the dreamless oblivion of sleep syrup. It felt wrong, like kissing something immobile, like a token or letter, before you part with it. 

She felt guilty, of course she did. But she knew she had to do it. She knew that the bag resting on the table at the Cornucopia with the number ‘Twelve’ printed on it would have life-saving medicine within. Rhaenyra is no medic, but even a fool can see that this injury is killing Alicent. Slowly, too. Blood poisoning, if the lines running up her leg were any indication. 

She trekked through the damp undergrowth, daggers poised, ears and eyes alert, using her hunters feet and senses to make as little sound as possible and pick up as much noise around her as she could. She was fairly certain she had somewhat of a buffer from the other tributes, otherwise someone would have found her and Alicent by now, but as she gets closer to the Cornucopia, her worries rise like a current. With the numbers dwelling and one big shiny prize in the centre of the Arena luring them all in like a trap… it was only a matter of time before she found trouble. Or trouble found her. 

When she reached the edge, she crouched onto her heels, looking out onto the flower field. Predictably, no tributes loiter in the field. She looked to the wings, eyes sweeping the terrain, but to no avail. Whoever waits, waits hidden. It seems everyone was waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The first person to make an appearance would be able to get away, the second– doomed. Everyone was waiting for their chance. But if they all ran out at the same time… it would be warfare. 

Just as the sun began to peek out of the sky, a hovercraft appeared, its arrival signaled by the pause in singing from nearby birds, sensing the disturbance. Rhaenyra watches as it carefully sets a long metal table on the ground, trampling the flowers. 

The pack labelled ‘One’ is the largest of the lot, followed closely by the one marked ‘Seven’. In comparison, the one labelled ‘Four’ seems small, but still, it is leagues larger than the tiny pack, small enough to fit in Rhaenyra’s mouth, should she wish, and probably close it all the way, marked with ‘Twelve’. 

She knew she had precious moments. The first tribute to secure their pack could likely avoid a lot of the violence, so she had to act now, in fact, her feet were ready to pounce when a figure burst forth. They’re running so fast that at first Rhaenyra can’t tell who it is, but then she sees a figure trailing them, but not attacking, and knows it must be Addam and Laenor. The only other pair left in the Games. Allies beyond District partners now was practically suicide. No one left in the Arena was willing to commit suicide. 

She knew her best bet was now, they were the least likely to kill her, and she wouldn’t trust anyone else not to scoop up her package. 

Rhaenyra ran out as Laenor and Addam stumbled blindly towards the trees. Laenor met her eye, and just for a moment, he gave her a small nod, then it’s over and he’s gone. 

The pack is around her wrist and she’s already racing back to the trees when a dagger swipes at her forehead, cutting clean through her eyebrow. It clouds her vision and makes her stumble, but she keeps staggering on in the direction of the trees. The blood raced down her face faster than any current she’d ever seen before, and already, some of it was making its way into her mouth. She clamped her teeth shut as she tried to blink out some of the red haze. 

“Not so fast, girl on fire.” A horrible, malicious voice grated before behind her as a knife is pressed into her shoulder. She screamed in pain. The figure behind grips her neck hard and whirls her around, bringing her face to face with Hugh Hammer. Fucking awesome. 

She spat on him. He roared and pushed her to the ground, his massive, muscled body encasing hers, trapping her. It was almost the same effect, same result, as kicking an angry bear back in Twelve. Only this bear had more than teeth and claws, this bear had a steel sword and about half a dozen knives. Rhaenyra is strong for her size, but she is nothing compared to Hugh. The only person who got even close to measuring up was Harwin, and not even the volunteer from Seven would be foolish enough to come to her rescue. 

“I’ll bet my bottom dollar that that little package is for lovergirl.” Hugh grins, showing all his teeth. It’s awful to look at. Rhaenyra struggles, knowing it’s futile. But she refused to die without fighting. She owes that to her father watching, she owes that to Alicent who she deceived to come here. “Where is lovergirl and her arrows now, hmm? Lovers spat?” Hugh spits on the last word and Rhaenyra snarls at him. Once he kills her, all hope of District Twelve having a Victor, of Alicent surviving, dies with her. So she won’t let him have another ounce of satisfaction. 

“She’s coming now. She’s looking out for Harwin, since he’s the bigger threat,” Rhaenyra says, lying. “Alicent!” She cried, as though she really will come to her rescue. “Alicent help! Alice–” her words are cut off by Hugh’s large, meaty hand clamping over her mouth. He still has her pins as his head whips around, trying to spot Alicent. He believed her for just a second. 

“Nice try. I bet she’s already dying.” Hugh said with an evil, evil grin. Rhaenyra bit his hand. It’s just enough that he winced and relented slightly. She doesn’t have the time or strength to escape, but for a brief moment, she has the mobility to cause harm. She stabbed her knife into his side, as high as she can reach. He roars in pain. “You bitch” he hissed. She twisted it as hard as she can. “You’re going to pay for that!” He pummelled his fist into her jaw and, holy fuck, the whole world exploded in colour it hurt so much. She can physically feel the lump rising on her face, she knows already it is blossoming red. 

Rhaenyra twisted the knife as much as she can before Hugh restricted her movements again, pinning her down. He has a hungry, awful look in his eye, and for a horrible moment, Rhaenyra worries that death isn’t the only thing she needs to fear from this man. That he might have other ways of making her suffer beyond his longsword. Nothing is illegal in the Arena. There are no rules, other than to not step off the platform early, and that there must be a Victor. There are unspoken ones… but not even unofficial rules will stand between King’s Landing getting a good show. 

“Any final words before I dice you up?” Hugh held up a vicious dagger. Rhaenyra’s eyes latch onto it and he grins wider. His canines seem impossibly large. “Oh yes, I thought I’d use your weapon to kill you. More fun that way.” He hissed. “You seemed to like daggers just fine when you threw one at my District partner.” He growled  

“Why didn’t you come and save him then, hmm? Scared of a little girl?” Hugh laughed humorlessly. 

“Steffon was weak. I sent him to kill that pathetic child from Eight because I can’t stand squealers, and I know that little bitch would’ve squealed.” Rhaenyra sees red at his words, as his mention of Roslin. She wants to kill this man. Personally. Violently. Over and over again. He seems to see it in her eyes. “Oh, was she your ally? Shame she’s dead, then. Isn’t it?” 

Rhaenyra just spat at him again, this time her saliva red with the blood pooling in her mouth. The gash on her forehead is leaking blood down her cheeks, probably giving the appearance that she's crying blood. 

“You won’t scream like a child, will you, girl on fire? No, you’ll be a good girl.” He said the last words caressing her face with a tenderness only found in violence. Rhaenyra, against her will, shudders. She recoils. Her whole body screams. 

Rape isn’t technically allowed in the Arena, one of those unofficial rules, but they’re never ones to interupt a kill, to deny a good show. Is he really that evil? Does he really hate her that much? 

Would they do something to stop him if he tried? They tased a tribute one year to prevent him from cannibalising his victims after it became apparent that he would try and eat them after the first few kills. But that had happened after the killing was over. Would they just let him do what he wanted so long as he killed her afterwards? 

“Let’s start with that foul mouth of yours, shall we?” Hugh said, pressing a new knife into the curve of Rhaenrya’s bottom lip, slicing it open. More blood gashes, it stung, and her other injuries hurt worse, but she refused to scream. For Roslin, her father, Alicent, her mother, herself she will not scream. No matter what he does to her. But fuck, it’s difficult. 

He prepares for another incision when his weight is hefted clear off her. Hugh roars in shock and Rhaenyra scrambles backwards on her trembling hands, inching away. Laenor Velaryon has Hugh pinned by his throat against the Cornucopia. 

“Go, Rhaenyra. For your father and my mother. Just once. One of us Targaryen broods should win this year. ” Laenor said, not moving an inch. Rhaenyra nodding furiously, even though he can’t see. She knows Addam must be nearby but she doesn’t look for him. Out of the corner of her eye she watches Harwin bolt into the desert wasteland with two packs in hand, clearly labelled ‘Seven’ and the other, ‘One’. guaranteeing a fight. If Hugh survived Laenor and possibly Addam. “Just this once Twelve, now go.” Laenor hissed, and she didn’t need to be warned again. 

As Rhaenyra raced back to the cave on shaky feet, she felt like being sick, because despite what just happened, the odds are not in Laenor’s favour. He was going to die, and he did it to save her. Here. in the Arena. He spared her life. And it’s going to cost him. Someone will appear in the sky tonight. She just hoped it wasn’t him. 

When she stumbled into the cave, she ripped the pack open, finds a vein on Alicent’s forearm. She shoved the needle in, pressed down on the plunger,  and fell into painful oblivion, her finger still positioned over the plunger. 

—

When Alicent woke up, she noticed two things. One, that her leg hurts significantly less, and aside from the pain of the wound, she felt otherwise unharmed. 

The second is more concerning. Rhaenyra, passed out, blood rushing out of her from places Alicent can’t place. 

The sky is dark and she can’t tell how much time has passed since Rhaenyra traitorously drugged her. 

“Wake up!” She shoved Rhaenyra, and thankfully, Rhaenyra groaned and her eyes fluttered. She’s still alive, she’s still alive. “Rhaenyra, please, wake up.” Alicent begs. 

Slowly but surely, Rhaenyra’s eyes crack open. 

“Fuck,” Rhaenyra groaned again . “I need water.” She rasped. Alicent passes a canteen to her wordlessly. Rhaenyra seemingly drained the whole thing. 

“What happened?” Alicent asked, holding her breath. “What happened to you?” She specified  

“Well, I went to the feast.” Rhaenyra replied with her usual cockiness, though much more subdued. “Ran into Hugh from One.” Rhaenyra continued, sitting up and immediately wincing. “Got my forehead, lip, shoulder.” She explained as she wiped at her mouth, fresh blood blooming on her lip in wake. 

“Fuck.” Alicent stated, immediately moving to find the medical supplies. She scrambled, pulling them out in rapid succession. 

“Your leg is better.” Rhaenyra noted, gesturing to Alicent’s leg which she had actually, in her hurry, moved so that she was resting on her knees. Now that attention was on it, it hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to the pain she had felt yesterday. 

“It still wasn’t worth it.” Alicent protested as she wiped Rhaenyra’s lip with a clean cloth. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes but then winced again, grabbing her forehead. “Here, let me.” 

So, gently, Alicent cleaned Rhaenyra’s face. The cut across her eyebrow isn’t too deep and after she wiped at it with a wet cloth, she digs out a bandaid from the little medical kit she got from the Cornucopia, plasters it on, and decides it’s good enough. 

The cut on Rhaenrya’s lip is deeper, and Rhaenyra flinched slightly when Alicent touched it, but eventually, she gets a bandaid which she sliced in half on Rhaenyra’s lip, which holds the bleeding at bay for now. 

“I look stupid with a fucking bandaid on my lip.” Rhaenyra complained. 

“Tough luck.” Alicent snapped and Rhaenyra shut up. Then, Alicent gestured for Rhaenyra to turn around so she can see the shoulder wound. She helps Rhaenyra out of her jacket, then her shirt. They both agree that it would be better to keep their clothing intact unless absolutely necessary to rip it. 

The wound is… deep. It’s still bleeding a lot. 

“Right. I’m going to douse it in antiseptic, which will hurt like a bitch, so maybe stuff something in your mouth,” Alicent advised as she pours some of the precious liquid into the bottle cap. “Ready?” Rhaenyra nodded jerkily. Alicent poured the antiseptic. Rhaenyra flinched but remains quiet. Alicent rinsed it twice more before she’s satisfied. 

Then, bandages. 

“You’re lucky it was your left shoulder, otherwise defending yourself would be a bit of an issue.” Alicent commentsd. She senses rather than sees Rhaenyra roll her eyes. Carefully, Alicent bandages her up, being as gentle as she can, trying to not be super gay and weird about the fact that Rhaenyra is in nothing but a bra (for her top half) and also trying to resolve the small issue that, other than being alarming, Rhaenyra being covered in blood is also kind of hot. 

Shut the fuck up she is seriously injured right now and you are not being a good and professional caretaker. Get a grip on yourself, Hightower. For fucks sake. She almost died for you. You’re meant to be pissed off, not turned on!

Teenage hormones really did outweigh fear of death sometimes, huh? 

“I can hear you thinking.” Rhaenyra said, apparently the jacket out of her mouth and her bandaging long finished. “What’s up?” Rhaenrya began to shrug back into her clothes and privately, Alicent mourns the loss of skin. 

Get. A. Fucking. Grip! 

“I’m still mad at you for going.” She replied at last, ignoring questions of her thoughts, resting back on her but and tenderly stretching out her left leg. Rhaenyra scoffed.  

“If I hadn’t that injury would’ve killed you. Now it’s almost tolerable for you.” Rhaenyra countered  

“You could have fucking died!” Alicent screeched, then clamped a hand over her mouth, remembering that other people, killers, exist in this Arena, that they could have heard her. Rhaenyra softened at her panic. 

“I don’t regret it and you can’t make me. What was I supposed to do? Sit here and watch you die?”  Yes, Alicent thinks petulantly. At least you’d be safe that way . 

Rhaenyra looksd like she wants to say more when the anthem comes on. They set their pettiness aside and fumble for the other hand, holding tight. 

Alicent’s heart dropped to her stomach at seeing Addam’s face flash in the sky. It gets worse when Laenor follows. Then the anthem ended and it was silent.  

“They died protecting me.” Rhaenyra whispered, still gripping Alicent’s hand. 

“What?” Alicent asked. Rhaenyra can’t meet her eyes, but Alicent knows there are tears in them. 

“Hugh he had me pinned. He was going to kill me. Painfully, slowly. Maybe do something worse, too…” Rhaenyra shuddered and Alicent’s stomach coiled with dread at the implication. “But then Laenor heaved him off me. He told me to run. That he’d spare me just this once. For our parents.” Alicent can’t think of what to say. “Addam must have joined him. But… they saved me.” Rhaenyra said in a broken whisper. “It should have been me.” 

“Thank the gods it’s not,” Alicent said without thinking. Rhaenyra looked at her, confused. “I need you, Rhaenyra.” She said helplessly. Rhaenyra looks at her, and something flickers in her eyes, something Alicent saw before she kissed her near the Cornucopia. This is for them. And Rhaenyra gave her a heartbreakingly tender and soft kiss. It lasts seconds, more of a ghost, but it hurts. 

“On the bright side, Hugh will be wounded. Even he couldn’t fend off two Royals alone and get away unscathed.” Rhaenyra sais after the silence grows too heavy. Alicent pulled away, just a little.  

“What about Harwin?” Alicent asked as she pretended to busy herself over her jacket, folding it tightly even though she actually just wanted to put it on. 

“He took off with his pack and Hugh’s,” Rhaenyra supplied, the first trace of a grin on her lips. “But Hugh likely has the pack from Four as well now.” Rhaenyra added sullenly. 

“But Harwin has what he needs most.” Alicent countered. “And Hugh’s already injured. Maybe they’ll catch each other and Harwin will kill him.” 

“And then we kill Harwin?” Rhaenyra asked, voice sounding somewhat incredulous. 

“Two against one is pretty good odds.” Alicent countered with a shrug, submitting to looking odd and the cold, putting on her jacket. 

Rhaenyra pulled out the sleeping bag and laid it down between them, then snuggled inside. She gestured that Alicent joins her. Slowly, so that she doesn’t hurt her leg too much, Alicent wriggled in. It's much warmer and more comfortable inside, not to mention the proximity of Rhaenyra, who’s hand ghosts near Alicent’s hip bone. 

“The odds aren’t very reliable of late.” Rhaenyra muttered before she drifts off to sleep.

Chapter Text

“Only four of us left.” Rhaenyra said as she huddled closer to Alicent. The rain outside had begun while they were sleeping and it was relentless, showing no signs of letting up. 

“Hugh and Harwin will be fighting.” Alicent replied, looking past Rhaenyra to watch as the rain berated the ground with a vengeance. Who knew when this storm would relent, but when it did, Alicent suspected it would be time for the final showdown. 

“Well, seeing as though we can’t hunt, gather, or even walk, why don’t we talk?” Rhaenyra suggested, looking up at her. “Help pass the time.” Alicent nodded her assent. 

“Okay, what should we talk about? We already know basically everything about each other.” Rhaenyra smiled and rolled her eyes, then settled back down, resting her head on Alicent’s lap. Knowing what Rhaenyra was like, Alicent began running her fingers through her silver hair before Rhaenyra could ask. 

“Well,” Rhaenyra began sheepishly, and Alicent was almost certain a blush was creeping up her cheeks as she spoke, “how about you tell me when you first started liking me?” Rhaenyra didn’t look at her as she said this, suddenly seeming to find the zipper on her jacket very interesting. Alicent tipped her head back and chuckled slightly. Of course Rhaenyra would want to know about something like that, something about her.

The rain, despite it’s aggressive and relentless pouring, was almost calming. Them sitting like this, close together on a cold, rainy, soggy day, where Rhaenyra couldn’t go traipsing around in the woods and Alicent wasn’t capable of making the rounds to any of the sick kids in their shutter-box houses, it was familiar. For a moment, it was almost like they were back in District Twelve, wasting time. 

“When we were fourteen.” Alicent answered eventually. “We were sitting in the garden at your house, under the weirwood tree, reading a book about some war that happened long before Westeros was established, the one your father cherished.” Alicent prompted. 

“Ah, yes, Aegon's Conquest, a Complete History of the First Targaryen King’s Wars.” Rhaenyra supplied, chuckling. “Gods, my father loves that book. Him and his histories.” Alicent smiled at this. Viserys’ fondness for the histories was something he didn’t share with his daughter, but rather with Alicent, and often the pair of them would discuss them in depth if the mayor had time, while waiting for Rhaenyra to get ready or return home, or complete some task. Alicent did a lot of waiting for Rhaenyra. 

“Yes, that’s the one. You remember the most specific and random details, I swear.” Alicent said, smiling fondly. “We were reading it in the afternoon, I was trying to quiz you on the wars related to the old land of Dorne, I think it was, and you were refusing to actually pay attention.” Rhaenyra snorted. 

“Yeah, sounds about right.” 

“You were wearing yellow, I was wearing blue,” Alicent continued slowly. “Talking about how all you wanted to do was travel the whole world with me, eating nothing but cake.” How she had cherished that dress, it was a mournful day when it stopped fitting her growing body. 

“I still think I had the right idea.” Rhaenyra replied primly, crossing her arms. Alicent swatted her gently. “Cake is wonderful.” 

“I just remember looking at you and… I just knew.” Alicent finished weakly, avoiding Rhaenyra’s direction with her gaze. “I saw your hair in the spring, shining as bright as the sun… and I knew I was a goner.” She felt a flush creep into her cheeks and hoped it wasn’t visible to anyone watching. Foolish hope to have. 

“You have a… remarkable memory.” Rhaenyra murmured, also not looking at Alicent. “So ever since then you’d just been nursing this crush on me? There’s not been anyone else?” Rhaenyra asked at last, meeting Alicent’s eye to wiggle her eyebrows suggestively. Alicent flushed harder and looked away. 

“There was one boy when I was sixteen,” she confessed. “Just last year, really.” Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed in– in what? Jealousy? Surprise? It had to be surprise, right? “Colin, the sweet shop owner's son.” She hadn’t told anyone about Colin before, and now she was telling all of Westeros on national television. Whoops, sorry Colin. 

“And… how long were you with Colin?” Rhaenyra promoted, clearly trying to sound flippant. 

“We… I guess like…” Alicent paused to think. Colin was buried so far into her past, she hardly remembered the finer details. A year ago, and yet she could hardly remember him now. How funny, the details of someone you never loved seemed to fade. “Three months? I just didn’t love him. Not like that. He wanted more and I was unwilling to give.” 

Colin had been as sweet as the lollies his parents sold in their multi-coloured shop of confections and sugars, which Alicent could only afford on a real bright day. In the short duration of their relationship – too strong a word– he would always bring her little treats, a candied pineapple, a fluffy marshmallow, a chocolate covered strawberry – berries typically provided by Rhaenyra in the summertime. 

“Did he break up with you or did you break up with him?” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Yes.” Rhaenyra answered firmly. It was somehow weirdly possessive and it made something flip in Alicent’s stomach, excitement perhaps. 

“Broke up is a dramatic way of putting it, we were hardly really together. But I broke up with him.” Alicent said at last, eyes now fully trained on Rhaenyra. 

“Did you ever sleep together?” Rhaenyra asked next. Alicent hid her face in her hands. 

“Rhaenyra!” She hissed, embarrassed. 

“Well, did you?” Rhaenyra pressed. Alicent slowly uncovered her face so she could scowl at Rhaenyra. Her frown was only met with an inquisitive expression. She rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, I did.” She admitted, voice a scarce whisper, feeling bashful, still feeling embarrassed, and feeling really bad for Colin. 

“Oh,” was Rhaenyra’s incredibly articulate response. “And how was that?” 

“I am not discussing my old sex life with you on national television in the middle of the Hunger Games, Rhaenyra!” She snapped, but unable to restrain her grin. 

“So… good? Bad?” 

“It was fine,” she relented. “Hurt a little. But it only happened a handful of times. And that was more than a year ago, like I said. Hardly matters anymore.” She answered, fiddling with the zipper on her jacket. 

“And you broke up with him?” Alicent nodded. “Why?” 

“I felt guilty for not being what he wanted, and for…” she blushed but she all but felt Gwayne whispering into her ear, urging her onwards. “Wanting someone else.” 

“Good.” Rhaenyra smirked at her and nodded. “You’ve always been mine.” Oh that is so unfair, she can’t just say things like that. Alicent swallowed uncomfortably. 

“What are you going to do when we get home?” Alicent asked to change the subject, her body growing unreasonably hot, knowing the cause was no fever. Rhaenyra paused to consider. 

“I want to just enjoy living. I won’t have to worry about all the starving kids because we’ll have our winnings and the resources to go with them.” Alicent was now sure they were censoring their conversation, it leaned too much into the ‘King’s Landing is evil and all the Districts are suffering’ territory for it to be blasted on national television. What a quick cut that would have been. But still, Rhaenyra’s answer made her smile. “I’d spend every day with you, like I always do. Just maybe occupying our time with different activities.” Rhaenyra blushed right up to the roots of her hair as she spoke. 

“Oh, like what?” Alicent asked coily. Rhaenyra squirmed beneath her. 

“Just… things.” Rhaenyra replied weakly, her voice quiet. She was getting good at this, Alicent could hardly tell the difference between what words were meant for her and which were intended for Westeros. She was starting to wonder if there was still a difference. The thought made her unbearably sad. 

The sound of thunderclaps was the only noise between them. Alicent was just about to start complaining about how hungry she was when she heard a soft clank at the entrance of the cave. 

“ Rhaenyra,” she murmured, but Rhaenrya had heard it too and was already armed, poised to attack. They both waited with baited breath and when no one burst forth, Rhaenyra tentatively stuck her head out. 

“Oh shit,” she heard Rhaenyra say. 

“What?” Alicent asked, still whispering. Rhaenyra shuffled back to her side, a large metal container with a parachute attached in her hands. 

“Clearly our sponsors feel sorry for you for having a crush on me for so long.” Rhaenyra teased with a smile. Alicent playfully shoved her. 

“Means all this is for me then,” Alicent replied, tugging the gift into her lap. Rhaenyra relinquished it without a fight. When Alicent took off the lid, she audibly gasped. 

“What?” Rhaenyra preened her head forward to look inside and gasped in turn. “Wow, they really feel sorry for you.” Rhaenyra teased. Alicent hit her again, because she was so loving and gentle like that. 

They had been sent enough food to outlast the storm raging on outside, or at least Alicent hoped. Stew with duck and plums and white rice. Creamy sauce, roasted vegetables, rolls of white bread with a large slab of butter, and, to top it all off, a chocolate cake the size of her head. It was marvelous, more food than she’d ever had to herself in her whole life, besides the days before the Games began in King’s Landing. 

She went to reach for a roll, prepared to smother it with butter when Rhaenyra reached out a hand to stop her. 

“We have to eat slowly and a small amount. Remember how sick we felt on the train? Our bodies aren’t used to so much rich food in one go.” Sullenly, Alicent nodded and withdrew her hand. 

“How about we have a reasonable portion of the ‘dinner’ and if we’re still hungry in… an hour? We have a slice of cake?” Alicent suggested, already salivating at the thought. Rhaenyra nodded. 

Their sponsors, or perhaps Gwayne, it was hard to know where the line between sponsor and mentor was drawn with Arena gifts, had thought of everything. Two bowls and plates waited to be piled up with food, and Alicent and Rhaenyra were each granted a knife, fork, and spoon each. It was almost like eating in King’s Landing again.

They served themselves healthy but, considering the circumstances, reasonable portions. Only one scoop of rice, only three dunks of stew, only two forkfuls of roasted vegetables, only one pour of sauce, only one bread roll (though they added as much butter as they desired). 

“Thank you to our sponsors, and thank you Gwayne,” Alicent said with a breathless voice as she stared at the feast laid out before her. 

“I’ll eat to that.” Rhaenyra agreed. She winked at Alicent before she began to attack her meal. 

They were careful not to literally inhale their food. Thanks to Alicent’s previous Royal alliance and Rhaenyra’s ability to hunt, they had been far from starving in the Games. Sure, they had gone hungrier than they had back in Twelve for the most part, but malnutrition wasn’t a top concern. Not for them, anyways. This was more food in one place than most people in Twelve would ever see. Despite Rhaenyra’s hunting efforts, even the daughter of the mayor had limits to her generosity. Even the daughter of the mayor felt her stomach rumble. 

Despite their best efforts to eat slowly, their serving was gone, plates licked clean within about ten minutes. Afterwards they sat in silence. 

“We should pack it back up so we aren’t tempted.” Alicent suggested. Rhaenyra nodded. They loaded the food in all its separate containers back into the massive one it had arrived in, trying to be swift, but getting caught multiple times staring longingly at the food as it passed through their hands. Then, they set their bowls and cutlery to the side, out of view. 

“At least we don’t have to worry about starving in the storm.” Rhaenyra said, grinning as she settled back down at Alicent’s side. Alicent rolled her eyes fondly. Gods, the rain was so loud, she could hardly hear a thing. 

They talked aimlessly for a while, then sat in silence, neither of them tired. Eventually, they couldn’t stand the temptation anymore and they ate a generous slice of cake, eating it slowly, savouring each forkful as much as possible. Their fingers were caked in icing afterwards which they promptly licked clean, giggling like girls. Following the cake, they each took hearty swigs of water, and eventually resigned themselves to the fact that they would be finishing this canteen too. That took them down to two canteens full of water left. 

“Worse comes to worst, we can stick them out in the rain for a bit.” Rhaenyra said appeasingly. Alicent nodded. She wondered how long this storm would last, and what terrible things would come when it ended. 

—

“You need to stop,” Aliandra said, swatting Gwayne’s knee. “If you keep bouncing, I might just kill you myself.” Gwayne waved her off indifferently. He had more important things to think about. They liked to joke about killing each other, but they both knew only Aliandra had the strength to follow through with it. Whatever strength he had once laid claim to lay at the bottom of an empty bottle. 

“This battle between Harwin and Hugh can’t last much longer, can it?” He wondered aloud. Aliandra sighed and hit his leg once more before answering. 

“Honestly? I don’t know. They’re fairly evenly matched. And this is Harwins domain.” Hugh had pursued the tribute from Seven after his brutal slaughter of Laenor and Addam from Four, slightly injured and without the thing he needed most, but not enough to have a serious disadvantage. 

“But?” He prompted, eyes still glued to the screen. It flitted back and forth between particularly riveting comments that aided the star-crossed lovers routine from Alicent and Rhaenyra, and all-out violence between Harwin and Hugh. It had been going on for hours. 

“But the storm…” she began carefully. “Who knows how long it will last. Harwin has what Hugh needs the most, but it clearly isn’t life-saving medication.” Yes, it was clear that whatever lay in the pack marked ‘One’ was not filled with medicinal remedies. It was a weapon. Maybe armour of some kind. But it was clear by now that it wasn’t something Hugh needed to prevent an imminent death or heal a serious affliction. 

“It won’t end until one of them… wins.” he didn’t want to say dies but that was the truth of it. This wasn’t the kind of fight that sported two people walking away. “Once it’s over, that’s when the real countdown begins.” He said sullenly. 

“Be that as it may, one thing’s for sure,” Aliandra said, slumping into the couch cushions. He finally met her piercing gaze, raising an eyebrow in question. “Whoever wins will be seriously injured. And they’ll do anything to make sure they get King’s Landing level treatment.” 

Whoever wins will go up against Rhaenyra and Alicent. It was hard to say which opponent would be worse. For now, it was hard to say who the winner would be. 

“It can’t last much longer. They’re both exhausted. It isn’t even a physical fight anymore. It’s one of stamina. Endurance.” Gwayne commented at last, filling the room with a sound other than one of violence. 

“Hugh will win.” Aliandra said sullenly. “When it comes down to it. He wants it more. He’ll last longer.” 

“They both want it.” Gwayne retorted slowly. 

“Yeah,” Aliandra agreed half-heartedly. “But only one of them has been taught to want it more than life itself.” She said it in an offhand way, but Gwayne knew, somehow over the course of the Games, had come to know her a bit better, and he knew that the words reflected her own experiences. Her own Games. When had he and Aliandra Martell of all people learnt how to read each other? “This isn’t about his death for him, this is his life.” 

“Harwin’s been taught nothing but survival,” he countered, turning away, at last, from the screen, to fully face her. “Being from a poorer District. That's all he knows.” Aliandra met his eyes, and he knew that she saw through his words too, that they were reflective of him. “He knows what it’s like to struggle. He won’t give up.” 

Aliandra looked like she was about to speak again, but her eyes flicked towards the screen, widening in horror. 

“I guess we’re about to see who’s right.” Because Harwin and Hugh were face to face, sword to sword, and one of them was about to kill. 

—

“It’s been enough time, I reckon we eat a little more, just a tad. We have enough, right?” Rhaenyra said absent-mindedly, her head still in Alicent’s lap, her eyes still closed, blissful and unaware. Who knew what time it was, who knew what dangers lurked outside? She was safe in Alicent’s arms for now. 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent said, surely beginning a reprimand. 

“Okay fine, I can hold out until morning.” She said, falsely sulking, still not opening her eyes or moving away. 

“No, Rhaenyra,” Alicent said more urgently, shaking her somewhat, jostling her upright. 

“What?” Rhaenyra snapped, irritated because she had been so comfortable, but alert because it was the Arena. 

“Harwin’s dead.” Alicent murmured, pointing outside the cave, to where Rhaenyra just caught a glimpse of his fading picture in the sky. Over the rain and thunder, she supposed they hadn’t been able to hear the cannon or the anthem. 

“Oh,” Rhaenyra sank back down onto her haunches, processing the information. What it meant. 

“It’s just us and Hugh.” Alicent commented, no emotion in her voice. Rhaenyra turned around to look upon her face. 

“He’ll be injured. No way Harwin went down without a fight. Plus, Harwin had the pack that had whatever Hugh needed most with him.” Rhaenyra offered in an attempt to be hopeful. 

“Hugh has it now. And it clearly wasn’t anything like our pack. It wasn’t necessary to save his life, or it’d be his face in the sky.” Alicent replied sullenly, eyes filled with child-like innocence and worry, almost. Rhaenyra just nodded dully. 

“Well. He’ll be hunting us now.” She said, dropping the pretence of optimism. 

“The storm will stop and we’ll have no choice but to go find him.” Alicent replied, determination ringing out across the cave they had just begun to attach the word home to. 

“We’ll head to the Cornucopia when it ends, then. They’ll want us there anyway. Use the grey lake for the big finale.” Rhaenyra said dramatically but without any real verve. Alicent nodded in reply. 

They were silent for a while after that, when Alicent spoke once more. 

“I wonder what’s happening back home.” She said distantly, her eyes with a far-off look within their depths. “No one from Twelve has made it this far in a long time.” Rhaenyra hummed, unable to formulate an articulate response. 

“Must be nice,” she said at last, “to have someone to root for. Let alone two.” Twelve never had any reason besides the law to watch the Games by this point. The final three had only ever included them thrice. Those times were long ago. “Bet Twelve was itching for the final eight interviews.” She added, with a half-hearted chuckle. 

“Do you ever…” Alicent began, but stopped. Rhaenyra just looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “Do you ever wonder how they did it?” She asked at last. “Your parents, your uncle?” Rhaenyra gave a noncommittal shrug that she didn’t mean. 

“Yeah, but I’d never ask.” Rhaenyra admitted at last. That much was true. She had spent the better part of her youth wondering how her parents had won their Games. Even longer wondering how they ever managed to recover from it. 

“I don’t even really remember Gwayne’s Games. I was too young.” Alicent said into the darkness. Rhaenyra just nodded. “And it’s not like he’s been around to ask.” She added with a dry laugh. Part of Rhaenyra wanted to defend Gwayne in front of Westeros, the rest just felt sorry for her friend. Or whatever the fuck Alicent is to me, she thought bitterly. 

“It’s not really hard to guess how Daemon won,” Rhaenyra supplied to shift the conversation. “He’s always been the violent type.” Alicent cracked a weak smile. “But my father? My mother? Gods only know how they did it.” Rhaenyra said with a humourless chuckle. 

“Your father’s a diplomat. My guess would be that he made the right alliances at the right times and only attacked when necessary. He doesn’t strike me as the aggressive type,” unlike his brother. Rhaenyra nodded. 

“I suppose that makes sense. I’ve just never been able to imagine him as a killer. But I suppose it’s in my blood.” 

“You and me both,” Alicent supplied sympathetically. 

“My mother would have charmed the whole of King’s Landing,” Rhaenyra stated, wistful, missing her mother. “And that… that would have helped.” She finished awkwardly. 

“As much as I hate to admit it, I think Gwayne would have just been smarter than his competitors.” Rhaenyra gave a real smile at this. “He may be an ass, but he’s not an idiot.” 

King’s Landing must be loving this, now that the violence and bloodshed was temporarily halted, having fun at Gwayne’s expense. 

They had nothing more to say, so Rhaenyra siddled closer to Alicent, half for warmth, half for comfort. 

“C’mon, let’s sleep. By tomorrow we’ll know.” Know if we have to fight or stay hidden, she thought. 

—

Aliandra woke up stiff and sore on the couch. She and Gwayne had fallen asleep watching the Games, riveting bedtime story that it was. Her body had caved in on itself, an old protection method she supposed, making herself as small as possible to hide herself as a target. As a result, however, her back ached and her legs had that early-onset tingly cramp. 

“Miss Martell,” a voice called gently from behind her. She whipped her head around, eyes still blurry with sleep. Stupid. No odds in her favour that way. “Miss Martell, Benedict was asking for you.” The attendant was a thin woman with mousy brown hair dressed in all white. She was younger than Aliandra was, likely barely older than Alicent and Rhaenyra were. 

“Benedict?” She asked, rubbing her eyes. What the fuck does he want at this hour? “What does he need?” The woman– girl would be a better description– refused to meet Aliandra’s eyes, no matter how persistently she stared. 

“He uh, just asked that you come to his office as soon as you can, please.” Her eyes were glued to the floor. When did she become someone people were afraid to make eye contact with? She was a cold-blooded killer, sure, but she wasn’t cruel. 

“Okay,” Aliandra stood up, stretching slowly. Her body cried in protest at the motion. She glanced over at Gwayne. He was still but she could tell he was awake. Call it Victor-Royalty instinct, but she knew when her prey were faking consciousness. “What time is it?” She asked the attendant. 

“It’s quarter past eight, miss.” The attendant replied, voice still minute. Aliandra nodded and the attendant must have taken this as a dismissal, whether she intended it as such or not, because she hobbled away without any further discussion. Once the room was vacant, save her and Gwayne she turned to him. 

“I know you’re awake, Hightower.” She said as she stalked over to the door to her room. 

“What gave me away?” He asked drily, the couch shifting with the motion of him standing up. His footsteps echoed behind her. She twisted the door handle and pushed. 

“Call it my killer intuition.” She replied sarcastically. 

“Ha ha.” He said humorlessly. Aliandra rolled her eyes. 

“You should head back to your little penthouse, Hightower, I’m sure Laena Velaryon is simply bereft without you there.” She crossed into her room, yet his footsteps still trailed behind. “Unless you’ve decided you want to see me naked?” She teased. His steps stopped then. 

“That’s not–” but she laughed and turned around, hand on the door. 

“Don’t worry, Hightower, I know. Now run along. I have plans this morning according to supreme leader Benedict of the styling department.” Gwayne nodded and gave a rueful smile. 

“Don’t die on me, Martell, it’ll make life less interesting.” He gave her a mock salute and turned on his heel and left. Aliandra chuckled as he went and then shut her bedroom door behind him. Who would have thought Gwayne Hightower would ever innocently be leaving her bedroom after spending the night in her quarters? Who ever thought anyone would fit that description? 

She got dressed quickly and raced to Benedict’s office, somehow also managing to drag her feet the whole time. 

“Good, you’re here,” Benedict said, not looking at her as she sat down in the chair opposite of him. “I have… orders.” Her heart sank with the words and any brief sense of fulfilment or peace or whatnot she had felt this morning teasing her friend was gone as the real world sank in. “Play time’s over.” He said grimly, looking up to her eyes at last. 

“Who?” She asked, resigned, sinking back into the plush chair, its comfort feeling highly oxymoronic to her situation. 

“A man, early thirties, no kids, no wife, extremely wealthy. The usual.” Aliandra nodded faintly. “He’s… paid for dinner and…” Benedict opted not to finish his sentence. Aliandra stared at him expectantly. “Made a request in regards to your wardrobe.” 

“And what do I have the delight of wearing to meet this man?” He sighed and guided her into the dressing room. 

“Gold.” He held out a clothing bag, grim expression, and turned to leave her. 

“Wait, what time am I supposed to meet him?” She asked, eyes flitting between him and the bag. 

“6pm sharp.” He said gently. “His name is Walter.” Aliandra held the clothing bag tighter. Benedict held open the door for her to leave. As she passed him, he lay one hand on her shoulder, pausing her. “If he asked about Gwayne Hightower, you hate him, got it?” She met his eyes, confused. 

“Why? What does Gwayne Hightower of all people have to do with this?” Benedict gave her an imploring look and the realization hit her, dead in the stomach. It felt alarmingly similar to being punched in the gut. Her eyes fluttered shut. The joys of being her. “Nothing’s happening, you know that, right?” Benedict was impassive, his face had always been good at revealing nothing. “Nothing ever will.” She reiterated. 

“It doesn’t matter. It’s the appearance that matters. I thought you knew that, Aliandra.” Benedict sighed heavily, rubbing his temple. “Look, I’ve been your stylist since your Games, and I like to think we know each other. You know I’m not an insane fucking asshole, and I know you’re not the sex symbol the High Septon paints you as. And I also know you’re a lot smarter than anyone gives you credit for. Don’t lose what little footing you have over Gwayne-fucking-Hightower of all people.” 

“I’m not,” she replied evenly. “You of all people should know that.” She bit back at him, shaking loose from his easy grip. “But someone needs to keep an eye on him.” Benedict gave her a half-alarmed, half-confused look, but she was gone from his office before he could question her further. 

She burned with such shame that night, such hatred, hating the feeling of the next-to-nothing golden dress on her skin, hating the feeling of his hands more. She burned with pure fucking hatred, and she tried to convince this man it was passion. 

The only thing that got her through the night was imagining piercing a spear through the High Septon’s heart. It was a familiar a fantasy as the scar on the crook of her elbow, and it was what kept her tethered to sanity most nights. 

Chapter Text

The rain had stopped while they slept. When Alicent woke up, there was a tight coil in her stomach. 

She didn’t move until she was sure Rhaenyra was awake. 

“The rain’s stopped.” Rhaenyra said by way of greeting. Alicent looked over to her. Rhaenyra was facing the mouth of the cave, eyes distant. 

“What do we wanna do?” Alicent asked, tentatively leaning forward and placing a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. Rhaenyra finally turned to look at her, determination in her eyes. 

“The only thing we can do,” she replied grimly, “we go hunting.” 

It took them far longer than necessary to pack away their things, taking their time. They pretended it was for diligence’s sake, so they ensured they would leave nothing behind, but really it was so they would prevent the inevitable for as long as possible, so they could live in their little haven, safe from violence, for the little stretch of time they had left. 

They moved in silence, communicating with their hands and eyes rather than their voices, maintaining the careful quiet. Rhaenyra crawled out of the cave first and offered her arms as leverage so Alicent could heave her own body out. Once they were in the open air, they could not run from their fear any longer. 

“Can you walk on your own?” Rhaenyra asked as she passed Alicent her pack and bow. 

“I’m going to have to.” She replied. Once she was sure on her feet she advanced one tentative step. It sent a course of hot, fiery pain through her leg, but it was tolerable, nothing compared to what the pain had been before the medicine had arrived. Rhaenyra looked at her with worry. Alicent took another step. Her limp was noticeable but not debilitating. She just nodded to Rhaenyra. “I can walk.” 

They walked largely in silence, Rhaenyra in her hunters mode that Alicent so rarely saw, hovering over Alicent to make sure she was okay. 

“The leaves are dry.” Was the first thing Rhaenyra said after they had begun their tortuous trek towards the Cornucopia. Alicent gave her a quizzical look. 

“What?” 

“The leaves. They’ve been damp the entire Games. And there was just a massive fucking storm and now…” Rhaenyra picked up a handful of the brown, wilted leaves and crushed them between her fingers. “Dry. Bone dry. No explanation.” 

Alicent had hardly paid attention to the condition of the leaves beneath her feet, too busy killing her fellow tributes, learning how to shoot, caring for Sarella, almost dying… she had been entirely too busy, distracted to notice something so mundane. Of course Rhaenyra had noticed though. She couldn’t notice Alicent had been in love with her for three years, but the dampness of leaves was a perfectly reasonable detail for her brain to snag on. 

“What could that mean?” Alicent asked. Rhaenyra shrugged and brushed the flakes of leaves off on her pants. 

“No fucking clue, but it seems like it’s just another sign that this is it.” Alicent chuckled but it wasn’t fucking funny at all. “C’mon, Cornucopia’s this way,” Rhaenyra kept walking but still careful not to let Alicent fall too far out of her peripheral vision. 

They walked for hours, only resting at Rhaenyra’s insistence, and Alicent knew it was for her benefit. They hardly spoke, only eating and drinking. Eventually, Rhaenyra found a large stick that Alicent could use as a cane of sorts to help support her while she walked.

They took their time, however, in no rush to find their opponent and battle for their lives. 

“Do you smell smoke?” She asked Rhaenyra, lifting her nose into the air and sniffing like a hound. Rhaenyra paused. 

“Maybe Hugh’s started a fire.” She replied in explanation as they prepared to set off. 

“Yeah, maybe.” She continued to hobble on her weak leg. However, a root of a tree in the undergrowth tripped her up and she tumbled to the ground. 

“Alicent!” Rhaenyra rushed to her side, immediately trying to assess the extent of the damage. 

“I’m fine, Rhaenyra,” Alicent waved off, pushing herself back onto her feet. But as she regained her footing, her eyes fell to the landscape behind them. 

Not just vermillion from the dusty rose sky, no, it seemed that those dry leaves were serving their purpose now. 

The forest behind them was alive with flames. 

— 

“Run!” She screamed at Alicent, who was staring, dazed at the dancing flames. “Run!” Yanking her by the arm, Rhaenyra started sprinting, but she only made it a few paces before Alicent fell again, her leg slowing her down. 

“I can’t run fast enough. You go ahead of me, I’ll be fine,” Alicent insisted as she rose shakily to her feet, too unsteady to run, Rhaenyra could already tell. 

“No. We’re in this together.” Rhaenyra said firmly, hoisting Alicent’s arm over her shoulder and half carrying her. “We need to keep moving. The smoke will get to us soon, and then we’ll be easy pickings for Hugh.” She grunted as they trudged on, not running, but no longer at the leisurely pace they had become accustomed to. 

“You’re an easy picking now, lugging me across the Arena,” Alicent countered weakly as she winced, dragging her leg. “I am a barely a walking liability.” 

“You’re not a liability, Alicent.” Rhaenyra replied firmly as they kept limpung across the ground. However, she could tell the raging forest fire was watching up to them, the abundance of crisp leaves easily kindling that shot out like wildfire and caught with a single spark. 

Like shooting fish in a barrel, that was what Daemon loved to call an easy kill. We are the fish, this flammable ground is the barrel. And they are loading their guns. 

As the thought materialised in her mind, a fireball shot out from the treeline behind them. Rhaenyra heard the whistling of it through the wind and felt the approaching heat, and only had the good sense to toss Alicent to the ground and then press her face flat into the earth to avoid the flames. 

“Cover your nose!” she ordered, hiking her own shirt over the lower half of her face. Before them, the fireball, despite missing its intended target, had caused much bigger problems. It had squarely struck a tree about fifty steps ahead of then, causing it to plummet to the ground, setting the surrounding ablaze. 

If they didn’t move soon, there would be fire from all directions. 

“We have to keep going, Alicent,” She struggled to her feet, pulling Alicent, who had started to cough from the rising levels of smoke in the air, with her. “The Cornucopia can’t be far, we’ve been walking all day,” she reasoned under her breath, more to herself than to Alicent. They had to be close. 

“It’s got to be a rigged area,” Alicent gasped out. “The fire. If we escape its range, we should be okay.” Rhaenyra nodded and continued the laborious effort of half dragging Alicent across the forest. She agreed. After a lifetime of watching the Hunger Games, she could tell this was no tribute fire gone awry, this was a Gamemaker engineered death trap, designed to make the finale more interesting. She also knew that if they moved fast enough, they could escape the fire zone. They snaked around the fiery edges before them, making the trek even more difficult. 

Again, the hiss, the heat, she and Alicent threw themselves to the first floor, but it seemed the Gamemakers had been prepared this time, because the fireball grazed the entirety of the side of Rhaenyra’s right calf, sending blistering, agonising, horrific pain coursing through her entire body. 

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent cried, as Rhaenyra moaned in discomfort. “Are you okay?” 

“Just keep moving.” Rhaenyra replied, resorting to crawling across the floor, the dry leaves flaking off under her frantic hands and sending dry flakes into her eyes, making them water even worse than the smoke. 

Hiss, heat, hit. A rivulet of flames descended not on her body, but on the path before them, blocking their path, making them pivot once more. The sky was darkening, and soon the only illumination in the Arena would be the flames that might just kill them. 

The girl on fire burns again, she thought bitterly. 

“To the left,” she rasped clamouring to steer herself away from the erupting fire that was snaking across the floor with alarming speed. 

“Look,” Alicent coughed, raising a shaking finger as they continued to heave their bodies over the undergrowth. “Cornucopia.” 

She was right, several feet away, at least another ten minutes of crawling, the golden horn sat gleaming in the steadily rising moonlight. 

“Maybe once we make it past the treeline, we’ll be out of range,” Alicent suggested, breaking her walking stick in two and using the sticks to help drag her body. Rhaenyra nodded and kept – what felt like climbing – across the forest. She grappled onto any roots she could find to help haul her weight and propel herself closer. Alicent was likely correct, sooner or later, they would be out of firing range and the only threat would be the two-hundred kilo human man with violence written across his entire body. Yay! 

Hiss, hiss, hiss, heat, heat, heat, the fire grew. Once more, they pivoted, the task getting more strenuous as their arm muscles began to ache from exertion and both of their leg injuries made the process even more torturous. The smoke was beginning to cloud her lungs, her whole body seeming to atrophy under the haze. Left, right, around and around. 

What a sight this must be, she thought bitterly. The girl on fire crawling away from the very image she is supposed to covet. 

At long last, they tumbled through the treeline, literally rolling their bodies onto the now thoroughly trampled flower fields that surrounded the Cornucopia. Panting on their backs, Rhaenyra raised her head and watched how in a matter of seconds, every flame went out, as though the Gamemakers were simply blowing out candles. 

“Get back to the treeline, we’re too exposed.” Rhaenyra ordered, struggling to rise to her feet, pulling her shirt down and greedily inhaling the fresh air. 

“There’s still smoke,” Alicent commented, clutching a splintering branch for support, pointing back out to the golden horn. Rhaenyra whipped her head around and saw she was right. Spilling out of the golden horn was thick, curling tendrils of grey smoke. 

Only… 

“It’s not smoke,” Rhaenyra murmured. 

“What?”

“Look at it… it’s too light… there was no fire over there… not, that’s mist.” 

“That can’t be good.” Alicent replied warily. 

“What is it?” Rhaenyra wondered aloud, the answer dawning on her the same time as it did to Alicent. 

“It’s the finale.” 

— 

Against herself, Rhaenyra was fascinated by the mist. She knew better than to approach it and to head towards it, it could cause pain, hallucinations, even death, if it was that fucked, but Alicent was right, no matter what it did, it was the finale. 

“I wonder where Hugh is,” Alicent’s voice seemed so far away, despite how close she was. “He has to be close by.” Alicent’s body let out a hacking cough at the tail end of her sentence, her body likely trying to purge the toxins they had just inhaled. Rhaenyra was astounded she wasn’t coughing for her life either. Rhaenyra hummed in agreement at whatever Alicent had just said, peering onwards, trying to get a glimpse of anything useful. In all shameful honesty, she wasn’t paying much attention to what Alicent was saying. 

“Should we wait to see if he’s coming or head out ourselves?” 

“I don’t think it’ll do either of us any good if I hobble out there. And I’m not too keen on seeing you run towards your death. Who knows where Hugh is, or what state he’s in, okay? It’s dangerous. They’ll force us out into the field when it’s time.” Alicent’s hand was insistent on her shoulder, trying to call her back. “Rhaenyra, stop,” Rhaenyra shook her hand off. 

“Look, they’re drawing us in now. We should just go .” Rhaenyra didn’t even notice she was stepping past the safety of the treeline, or that her hand was outstretched, coming closer to the mist. She couldn’t even notice the agony alive in her leg or the burning in her lungs anymore, they evaporated like smoke the further she dared to advance. What did it want? And why was it calling her?

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent hissed from the edge of the woods, feet firmly planted. 

“Look, you can’t stop me, I’m going in–” Rhaenyra was so irritated , why couldn’t Alicent understand? It was now or never. She had to go in. 

“Rhaenyra,” Alicent cried more insistently, “look, it’s Hugh!” 

Well. That got her attention. 

—

Hugh was stumbling across the plain, coming out of the Cornucopia, shrouded in mist, seemingly lost in a daze as he stumbled without his usual confidence into view. This, coupled with Rhaenyra’s weird trance, confirmed for Alicent that the mist was some kind of air-borne hallucinogen. 

Her mother had hardly talked about such things, but hallucinogenic plants were common enough in the woods, easy enough to sell, and very little trouble to acquire, so Alicent understood the basics. It seemed like the kind of thing King’s Landing would pull, and mistrusting the mist was better than walking into it blindly like Rhaenyra had. 

But how and why was it affecting Rhaenyra and not her? She was barely two steps behind, surely Rhaenyra was only just within its reach and her just outside? She had inhaled the clean air just as greedily. She had nothing protecting her mouth or nose from inhaling it, no special immune system from Twelve that would defend her from this weird mist the way her blood had protected her from greyscale. Nothing Rhaenyra wouldn’t also have anyway. So why wasn’t she blindly walking towards the obvious fucking death trap that Hugh and Rhaenyra had both fallen victim to? 

The medicine. She thought.  For my leg. It must still be in my system. It’s fighting it off. 

It was the only logical explanation, the only thing coursing through her that didn’t also protect Rhaenyra, that obviously wasn’t shielding Hugh. Whatever drug the Gamemakers had gifted her during the feast was clearly stronger than they anticipated if it was still in effect now. 

This is bad. If she was the only one left in this fucked up trio who wasn’t tripping out of her mind, it meant she was the only one capable of fighting or defending. Issue was, walking was hard enough, let alone a full-blown battle between her and Hugh. Not to mention, her body was still trying to expel the toxins of the smoke. 

He is weak, she thought. Surely there’s no harm in shooting an arrow at him. He’ll know it was me, but maybe he’s high enough and I’m hidden enough for him not to spot me. She had already loaded her bow and was taking aim when Rhaenyra’s silver hair, glinting in the fading sunlight, caught her eye. Could she really gamble that Hugh was dazed enough not to notice Rhaenyra? Not to attack her? Then again, if she got a good enough shot, maybe she wouldn’t have to worry. 

“Rhaenyra, can you come here for a second? There’s something I think you’ll want to see,” she called evenly. But Rhaenyra gave no indication of even hearing her, let alone heeding her. “Rhaenyra?” 

“I’m coming,” Rhaenyra whispered, but instead of looking back to Alicent, she stepped closer to the mist. “I’m coming mum.” 

At those words, Alicent’s heart sank. She knew now that the toxins of the mist had their claws too deeply intertwined in Rhaenyra’s mind, that there would be no pulling her out of it until her supply to the gas was cut off, but only the Gamemakers could make that call. On the bright side, if Rhaenyra was this far gone so far from the Cornucopia, Hugh would be worse. 

She weighed the odds and decided they were more in her favour than his and shot the arrow straight to his heart. 

And watched as it bounced harmlessly off. 

Fuck. 

After this much time in the Games, she knew it wasn’t just because she was a shoddy shot. She had watched the arrow fly. It had hit him, it just hadn’t hurt him… Something blocked my shot from hitting him. She dared on half-step closer, eyes keen on Hugh’s silhouette in the quickly darkening sky, covered in misty tendrils. 

There, on his chest…no… everywhere, his legs, his stomach… his head, his chin, everywhere but between his eyes, that was all that was uncovered. He was glimmering in gold from neck to toe. Body armour. She thought of the massive pack that bore his District number, how it was the biggest of the lot…

The thing he needed most. Protection from weapons in the Arena… something to defend him from others attacks so that his violence reigned supreme in battle. The final piece of insurance against death, against his inferior opponents. He was protected. She couldn’t shoot him anywhere but dead between his brow, she wasn’t that good of a shot. And she could only attempt so many times before even his toxic-addled brain noticed and he was drawn out of whatever hallucination he was facing. 

She’d have to get closer. 

I’m so fucked. 

—

Her mother was radiant in the twilight, her brown hair warm and flowing in the gentle breeze. The mist brought out the grey in her eyes. 

“Grey like the mountains we have in Eight, back in my old home.” Her mother had always explained. 

“How are you here, mum?” She whispered, inching closer, but her mother inched away, retreating away from her, a gentle smile on her face. 

“Sweetheart,” her mother called, extending a hand that Rhaenyra eagerly reached for but her mother retreated, always out of her grasp. She was as tangible as the mist around them, as temporary as the heat of the sun as it set. “Come, I’ve missed you.” 

“I’ve missed you too, mum,” Rhaenyra breathed, her voice barely more than a whimper, a childish whine. “Have you come to save me?” Her mother smiled wider at her and shook her head ruefully. 

“No, Nyra, I can’t save you from this.” Her mother replied solemnly. The moon was rising behind her and she looked like a bird flying through the night, so delicate, fragile, ready to leave at any moment. “You have to fight for this,” her mother tilted, indicating behind Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra turned. Behind her was Alicent, bow poised to fire an arrow at a distant enemy. Was there an enemy? Was Alicent in danger? Where was she? Who is the real enemy? 

“Mum, why are you here?” She stepped closer, trying to reach her again, but her mother just kept retreating. Why was she retreating? Why wouldn’t her mother come to her, take care of her? Her mother wasn’t saving her? 

But what did her mother need to save her from? Who was Alicent fighting? 

“Rhaenyra, wake up.” Her mother urged, still stepping away, away. 

“From what? Mum, what's going on?” Rhaenyra really didn’t want to cry, not in front of all these people, all the cameras. What people? What cameras? Where am I? 

Her mother retreated and Rhaenyra followed her– BANG!

“What the fuck?” She whispered, rubbing her forehead where she could already feel a lump forming, maybe a little blood, too. What had she hit? Where had her mother gone? Why had she seen her at all? What trick were her eyes playing, what illusion was her mind crafting? 

In the arriving moonlight she saw the golden gleam of the Cornucopia. The Cornucopia. The Games. Alicent. Hugh. My leg, my lungs, the fire. 

Where’s my mum? 

As she tried to get her bearings, logic pieced itself together in her mind. She was still in the Hunger Games, her mother was still dead, and whatever she had just seen, it hadn’t been real. 

Fucking hell, of course they put some kind of fucked up drug in the mist. Was Alicent drugged too? Was Hugh? She whipped around and spotted Alicent still in the treeline. She cupped her hands to her mouth, prepared to yell out when the realised, yeah, fuck, Hugh’s still here. Where was he? 

Alicent met her eyes and flicked her gaze to Rhaenyra’s left. There, several feet away, was Hugh. in gold, glistening armour. Because of course he was. Rhaenyra drew her knife from her belt and gripped it hard, trying to tether herself to reality and prevent herself from slipping back into the nightmare-daydream-hallucination that had her mothers face so vividly in front of her, still out of her reach. 

Alicent reached up to her own face and clearly ran her fingers over her brows. Rhaenyra looked back to Hugh, yes, from this angle she could just make out how the helmet of his armour stopped across his brow, uncovered. His only vulnerable spot. Her eyes scanned the floor around him and saw an arrow there. She knew by now that Alicent was a better shot than that. She must not have seen the armour at first. How were they going to kill him? How could either of them get close enough to try? Even in his haze of hallucination it was too risky to openly approach them. He could snap out of it at any minute, just like she had. 

She had to decide now if she made her way back to Alicent or if she tried to attack Hugh. If she went to Alicent, they could form a real plan, but she risked losing her only time to get Hugh during his fucked-up state. If she stayed here though, whilst she was closer to Hugh, she was at greater risk, she was out in the open and… 

Suddenly, the mist stopped unfurling and settled into the crash and flowers at their feet, cannister or whatever the fuck the Gamemakers had thrown in there empty or switched off. She had to choose and she had to choose now. 

“The girl on fire’s come to play I see.” Hugh hissed across the field. 

Well. At least the choice had been made for her.

Chapter Text

Alicent was pretty sure she wasn’t breathing.

Actually, she was positive she wasn’t breathing. 

Hugh didn’t seem to have noticed her yet, which gave her one advantage against his hundred. He was bigger than Rhaenyra, stronger. But Rhaenyra was faster. But he had fewer weak points… requiring more precision in attacks targeted at him… his armour had to be slowing him down though, right? 

She had twelve arrows left in her quiver, but there was no way she could make twelve shots unnoticed. He had only not noticed the first due to his hallucinogenic haze and now his focus on Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra who he was now backing against the jagged wall of the Cornucopia. And if he noticed the one in the trampled field? He would know she was near. 

Rhaenyra could fend him off long enough for Alicent to formulate a plan. At least, that was what Alicent was banking on. 

Think, she could practically hear her brother urging her through the screen. Use your brain, if you have one. 

What could she use? She had to make the next fire count, and she had to pull it off soon. She had no poisons on her person, stupid of her to spend the whole Games not working on any, just relying on her weapon with which she was a middling talent. Surely there had been a whole pharmacy of pain waiting in one of the terrains surrounding her, but she had been too caught up playing allies and learning how to kill to bother to look for them. 

The time for berating herself would come later. Now, she had to think.

There could be something in the Cornucopia, but she had no chance of making it there unspotted, especially not on her still recovering leg. Her sprinting ability that had aided her in the bloodbath had deserted her, and her more sure-footed, better-trained allies were not here to make up for her shortcomings. 

Think. 

She was still concealed in the treeline, and with Hugh’s attention trained on Rhaenyra, there was a lower possibility of him scouting for her. There, that was another advantage they had over him. They were a team, he was on his own. 

Think. 

She needed something she could guarantee would weaken him enough to either debilitate him or make him easy to kill. Sure, a shot between the brow could do it, but could she manage that? 

The backs of his legs. The joints of his arms. The back of his neck. Surely there had to be chinks in armour? Places that they metal couldn’t cover without rendering the wearer immobile. This was King’s Landing, but such technology would surely not be wasted on a tribute. 

Look. See. 

She honed in on Hugh’s legs, the backs of them bared to her as he pressed closer to Rhaenyra. She was running out of time, and hope, when– there. Where the protection on the back of his shins and the backs of his thighs faltered. A sliver of a gap, barely noticeable, not large enough for anything larger than a thumb to fit through. 

That was her chance. To hit him from behind. But a shot in the leg? While it would weaken him, would it be enough? He would falter, it would hurt, but once he ripped the arrow out, would he still be strong enough? Would the distraction last long enough for Rhaenyra to make a precise shot with her dagger between his eyes? She couldn’t be certain, so she had to think just a little longer. 

Her eyes wandered the expanse before her, looking for anything she could use. There was no use hunting for poisons now, not in the dark, not with so little time. She scoured the field, hoping some stray weapon from the Cornucopia would reveal itself. 

She was beginning to panic when the moonlight illuminated the grey lake. The biggest unknown since the Games began. Why had the Gamemakers put it there? What purpose did it serve? Think? Why would it be there? It hasn’t been a factor the whole Games, but it’s right here, at the Cornucopia. At the start, at the end. It has to be here for a reason. 

If her theory about the girl from Three was right… Sarella was right… maybe they hadn’t contracted it from outside the Arena… maybe, just maybe, the girl from Three was a clue. A fucked up clue, but a clue. Everything in the Arena, from the shade of the sky to the dampness of the leaves as a clue. And if a massive fucking grey mass of water wasn’t intentional, then she wasn’t in love with Rhaenyra Targaryen. This would be a surefire way to test it. If she was right, even a shit shot that reached its mark would affect Hugh drastically. And if she was right… a bullseye would cripple him. 

She heard Hugh’s voice get louder and she knew it was now or never. She would have to run through the treeline, the long way, but safer. If he heard her, he might not be willing to give up his prize that was the girl on fire, he could chalk it up to mutts or wildlife. If he couldn’t see her, it was unlikely he would pursue her. Not with Rhaenyra before him. It was a big gamble to make, but everything was a gamble in the Games. That was why the citizens of King’s Landing had such fun betting on tributes, why the odds were so heavily debated. What was the fun in things being easy? 

She retreated until she was confident (as one could be in situations such as these) that she was invisible to the distant, unfocused human eye. She bolted through the trees as fast as her leg would allow. Every step was agony and she bit into her tongue to prevent from crying out. She was certain that if she opened her mouth, a heaving cough would leave her lips and instantly reveal her. Fuck the fucking Gamemakers for setting the forest on fire, and fuck them for sending that fucked up mutt that looked like her dad to cripple her leg. Honestly? Fuck the Gamemakers, period. 

The King’s Landing medicine had done wonders, but it had not healed her. She would never be able to sprint again without pain. If she survived. She would have a permanent limp which would only become more pronounced with exertion and time. Already she could tell that if she didn’t find a way to keep the muscles working properly, her leg would likely begin to atrophy before she was thirty. But right now, all she had was a fucking liability known as her left leg. 

She was breathless and tears were clouding her vision when she reached the edge of the lake, still concealed by trees. She whipped her eyes, swallowed a mouthful of blood from her punctured lip, and allowed herself three deep breaths before she advanced, trying her best to make sure she didn’t cough with them, trying to swallow the painful tickle in her throat. 

She crept out of the trees, significantly slower than her usual walk due to the hell she had just put her leg through, towards the grey mass. She had no way of testing if it truly contained some greyscale inducing toxins, but it was better than nothing. If the tribute from Three and Sarella from Two had both not been immune to its effects, it was the safest of all the gambles she was making today that Hugh wasn’t either. It was some kind of miracle that it didn't affect people from Twelve, and she just had to hope that that miracle didn’t extend to any other Districts. 

She was shaky as she pulled an arrow free. She was trembling as she dipped its tip into the grey liquid. It offered a small tense resistance to the penetration, which she hoped was a good sign in terms of her hypothesis. 

She lined up her shot but she knew before she had even fully drawn herself into focus that she was too far away. She would have to go back to her original position. That was her best bet, the best angle, as close as she could get without alerting Hugh, without risking her own life. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Could her leg survive another sprint? Would the toxins of the lake hold long enough? 

Think, think, think. 

She dipped three more of her precious arrows into the concrete coloured not-liquid not-solid and made her retreat, speed walking as fast as she could manage. 

She stumbled several times on the trip back, branches that she had been able to hope over the first time caught her at every turn, flat expanses made her feet slip. She hoped she wasn’t making too much noise, but at this point, she just had to get back. 

She could hear groans and roars, and she hoped her trained ears were correct when they told her they were of struggle, not of pain. 

It seemed like a millennia before she was back at her starting point, or as close as she could get in her pain and panic addled state. 

Rhaenyra was still getting pressed against the Cornucopia, Hugh had a sword in hand, but strangely was not plunging it into Rhaenyra’s stomach. She had a knife to his throat and her other hand pinned above her head. She heard Hugh’s gravelly voice and realised he was taunting her. Playing with his food. 

Alicent, against herself, smiled. Hugh’s own ignorance and pride had bought her enough time to potentially end his life and save Rhaenyra’s. 

She lined her shot up again, the arrowhead still intact, but it looked ready to crumble. Or perhaps that was just the Gamemaker-engineered greyscale taking effect on the object. Regardless, whatever was in that lake had done something to the steel arrowhead, and that was as good a sign as any. 

Breathe. She breathed. Steady. She held steady. Okay, now fire. She imagined it was Sarella as the voice in her head, beside her ear, giving her instructions like they were just in the training room, practicing for what was to come. Fire the fucking arrow, Alicent. 

Alicent let it go with the exhale of her breath. 

Time stood still as she watched it fly through the air. If she didn’t make this, she was dead and Rhaenyra likely was too. If she didn’t make this, she wouldn’t even have strength left in her leg to run. If she didn’t make this shot, she would just end up another tribute from District Twelve who died in the Games, the girl who had once confessed her love on stage, who had joined the Royals, only to die a brutal, humiliating death. 

The arrow lodged itself into place. 

Bulls-fucking-eye. 

— 

One moment, Hugh had her back pressed into the uneven wall of the Cornucopia, his sword ready to make good on his violent threats and promises once he was done degrading her very existence, and Rhaenyra was praying to Gods she didn’t believe in, that Alicent would somehow live. The next, he was screaming in pain at her feet. 

He toppled backwards and veered to his left, gripping the back of his thigh, reaching for something. Perhaps due to his inexplicable pain or the weight of his armour, he collapsed the the ground in a strange contorted dance of what Rhaenyra presumed was pain. She had two seconds. One to look at him perplexed, and one to look up and see Alicent, bow still poised in position. 

The arrow in Hugh’s leg came into vision, the pieces slowly came together. Yes, a chink in the armour, so to speak. Alicent had been so clever to spot it. Clearly she had struck some awfully painful spot in his body, she would know how too, with all her medical knowledge that she was too humble to reconcile she had. This was a lifeline, a chance for them both to live, and Rhaenyra was not about to waste it. She ripped the helmet off Hugh’s head. He hardly seemed to notice, he was still growling in pain, twitching almost. 

What had Alicent done to him? 

Questions would come later. If she played this right, she could ask Alicent herself. 

She had a dagger in her right hand and did not hesitate to plunge it into Hugh’s throat. The puncture was deep, she felt the depth of its mark. It was strangely intimate, ending a life, especially like this. 

She ripped the blade free and allowed him to bleed freely. The puncture wound would finish him off. But could she risk that? 

He began to make horrid gurgling sounds as he began to choke on his own blood. She had heard the sound from animals, but it was much worse coming from a human being. 

Deciding not to risk it, she dragged the blade firmly across his neck. His hand spasmed, reaching out to grasp her. He managed to get a hold of the end of her braid and gave a weakened, clearly by his condition, yet still very firm tug. She winced and instinctively pulled away, his throat only half opened. 

She crawled backwards, massaging her temple. When she took her hand away, several bits of her hair had left with it. 

Hugh was still doing his tormented twitching dance on the ground. Even for a shot as good as Alicent’s clearly had been, it was strange how much pain and debilitation it was causing him. Questions later, she reminded herself. 

She crawled around him, trying to make a beeline to Alicent, but Hugh, despite how much pain he was in, was still conscious, still alive somehow, and still much stronger than her. His sword arm soared through the air while his left hand gripped the crook of her elbow, locking her in place. She tried to struggle free and rest control back over her own arm as his sword fell. Carving out a decent chunk of her shoulder. 

The pain was worse than anything else she had ever experienced before. Worse than the time she broke her ankle in the woods and had to walk home as though it was unharmed. Worse than the time she had jammed two of her fingers between a door as a child and narrowly escaped a break. Worse than any time she had accidentally cut herself while being careless with her fathers catspaw dagger. She could physically feel the piece of meat that had been parted with her bones, the wind brushing over the new expanse. 

Fuck, shit, fuck, holy fuck. 

Still, she tried to crawl away. Clearly his wounds were catching up to him, because Hugh’s grip lessened enough for her to wrench her arm free from his grasp. Despite probably being life-saving, the action felt like a mistake as it actively felt like she had just ripped her whole arm open. She could feel the flow of her blood increase with the movement and she audibly screamed, screamed until her lungs were burning just as much as her shoulder was. 

Was this how Alicent’s leg had felt? If it was, she was a fucktonne braver than Rhaenyra was, because this pain felt life-ending. Realistically, she knew it would only kill her if it got infected, so she just had to live long enough for that not to happen. For King’s Landing to heal her. 

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent’s voice dragged her back into reality, pinched with panic. Rhaenyra watched, dazed, as Alicent ran, impeded by a significant limp, towards her. “Are you okay?” Rhaenyra eventually nodded, trying to force her breaths to even out. It was not working. 

“Is he…?” Rhaenyra asked. Alicent shook her head. “Finish him off.” 

Alicent’s eyes drifted over to where Hugh was, Rhaenyra would follow her with her own gaze, but she was fairly certain that even turning her head would only make the pain worse.

Despite the rest of her body, in response to her arm, felt like it was shutting down, her hunters ears were still perked. She saw with her ears, rather than eyes, Alicent pull an arrow free from her quiver. She heard the bowstring go taunt. She heard the deep inhale of Alicent’s breath, caught the slight tremble within it. She heard, rather than saw, the bow release, whistling through the wind. And she heard as it connected with what she presumed was Hugh’s forehead. The crack of bone, the squelch of flesh, the dribble of blood. Her ears saw it all for her eyes and Rhaenyra tried not to throw up, the pain in her arm making the sensation of nausea all the worse. 

She did not need her eyes to know he was dead, though. Did not need to check if his heart had stopped, look and count his breaths. No. The cannon seemed to shake the whole Arena as it burst, announcing that Hugh Hammer, the tribute from District One, was dead. 

Once the booms stopped echoping in her ears, she was pretty sure she passed out. 

—

Aliandra sat beside him, both of them on the edge of their seats. Somehow, this had become tradition; him on her couch, her at his side, watching the Games in silence, assessing as mentors, perhaps even as a team, in some twisted way.

“They won,” she breathed. “They actually won.” 

“They actually won.” He echoed distantly. They actually won. 

“Congratulations Gwayne,” Aliandra said, eyes, as his were, still glued to the screen. “I think the three of you have just made Hunger Games history.” 

They both sat in silence as a mix of relief, shock, and adrenaline coursed through him. They were alive, they had won. Rhaenyra Targaryen, the most reckless, brash, volatile tribute District Twelve had ever seen, the girl on fire, and Alicent Hightower, the girl in love, the smartest person perhaps in the entire Arena, his sister, had won. They had done it. 

“Why aren’t they taking them out?” Aliandra murmured. 

“What?” Gwayne asked, stupidly, but as the word left his mouth, he understood what she meant. Hugh’s corpse lay to the side, unretrieved. But more worrisome was the fact that he had been dead for minutes and there had been no announcement of victory. Alicent and Rhaenyra lay deserted in the Arena, Rhaenyra unconscious, Alicent looking like she was ready to collapse. Why hadn’t they come for them yet? He tried to remember his own victory, how quickly or slowly he had been withdrawn from the battlefield, but nothing resurfaced. 

“Why haven’t they made the announcement?” The silence resumed. 

It seemed he and Aliandra came to the conclusion at the same time, because for all her faults and all the credit he was unwilling to award her, she was smarter than he was. It was the only possibility that made sense, twisted enough to be true, and more than that, entertaining for all the people watching. 

“Because they haven’t won yet.” He said at last. The moment the words left his lips, he knew they were true. “They aren’t going to make the announcement.” He said slowly. “They haven’t won. There can only be one.” 

“Fuck,” Aliandra whistled through her teeth. “They’re going to have the best finale ever.” 

“There’s nothing I can do, is there?” he asked hopelessly. Aliandra met his gaze and just shook her head, resigned. Then she paused, glanced around the room, as if looking for something. When she met his eye again, there was something like determination in her eyes. “What?” He said quizzically. 

She took a deep breath before she spoke, and then, looking him dead in the eyes, posed her question. 

“Gwayne, what do you know about the Free Cities?”

Chapter Text

Alicent felt her heart stop as Rhaenyra collapsed to the ground following Hugh’s cannon. It seemed to shake the whole Arena, a force knocking the air from her lungs and the ground from beneath her feet. 

“Rhaenyra,” she whimpered, falling to her knees beside her, rather than walking toward her. She was pretty sure her leg wouldn’t be able to bear the weight of another step. It could hardly bear the weight of her own body. 

It was clear that she had either passed out due to panic, or, more obviously, the gaping wound on her shoulder. Even though the trumpets would ring out to announce their victory any moment, and at any second the hovercrafts would come to collect them and take them straight to the medical center to make them good as new, Alicent didn’t want to take any risks. She couldn’t lose Rhaenyra now. Not after all they had survived in this hell-dome. 

She took advantage of Rhaenyra’s unconscious state to take off her jacket and undershirt to better assess the damage. Not for the first time in her life, or the Arena, Alicent was glad she was not prone to vomiting. 

It was awful. An entire slab of the meat and muscle on her shoulder had been taken out by Hugh’s sword, leaving a canyon of shorts that extended from halfway along her upper arm until the middle of her collarbone. She could see part of Rhaenyra’s shoulder bone, see the muscles that had been snapped by the blade, even through the mass of blood. 

She knew whatever measley supplies her backpack contained would not be enough. Just as they hadn't been able to heal Alicent’s leg, they would not be able to heal Rhaenyra’s shoulder. Her right arm. She throws with her right. She might never– 

To shut herself up, Alicent busied herself by making a tourniquet with Rhaenyra’s shirt and one of her non-infected arrows. The process of tightening it into place roared Rhaenyra back into consciousness. 

“Fuck!” Rhaenyra screamed as she came to. Alicent’s first instinct was to silence her, but then she remembered they were the only people left in the whole Arena. The last human heartbeats. 

“Are you okay?” Alicent asked, idiotically. Rhaenyra groaned as she used her left hand to push herself upright. The movement made her groan louder. Alicent offered out her hands to help but Rhaenyra waved her off. 

“I need to sit up on my own.” Alicent rested back, ass flat on the ground, her leg gingerly laid out to the side. “As for how I am, feeling pretty shit.” Rhaenyra gave a weak laugh, so Alicent offered her a weak smile. 

“Well, they’ll be here for us at any moment, so you just have to stay alive a little while longer.” She meant for the words to be sarcastic and filled with humour, instead her voice broke and she sounded just as fucking terrified as she actually was. Her lungs burned, her leg ached, her whole body was shaking like a leaf, and there was next to nothing preventing her from bursting into tears from sheer pain, exhaustion, or another feeling she couldn’t name. 

At her words, Rhaenyra frowned, slowly, clearly trying not to disturb her wound too much, craned her head around her, looking to Hugh’s corpse and then to the sky. 

“Why haven’t they come yet? Usually they take the Victor out as soon as they win.” Alicent shrugged her shoulders. 

“Maybe they want us to get away from Hugh’s body so they can take that first?” She suggested feebly. 

“Well, fuck, I don’t know how I’m going to move at this rate.” Rhaenyra replied, her laugh quickly transforming into a wince. Alicent nodded in agreement. 

“My leg is too fucked now to try and walk away myself, let alone help you.” The two of them met the other's eye and stared in solidarity and confusion for a moment. 

“They’ll do something eventually.” Rhaenyra said at last. She sounded so determined that Alicent was inclined to believe her. Maybe they just wanted more footage for the post-Games interview montage? If that were the case, she hoped they’d hurry up with it. King’s Landing level medicine would be greatly appreciated right about now. And so would getting the fuck out of the Arena. 

Their answer came at last when the trumpets rang out. They both sighed in relief and smiled. They were greeted by Jasper Wylde’s voice, which Alicent could safely say, she had never been more pleased to hear in her life. 

“Tributes, after a re-examination of the rules, we have found that the previous revision of the rules must be… revoked. There may only be one Victor. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour!” There was a brief moment of static after his voice stopped and then the Arena was silent. 

They both sat, unable to move as they considered what Jasper had just told them. As they processed what it meant. A reexamination of the rules… 

They both looked purely dumbstruck, as though they couldn’t believe this would happen. But of course it could happen. Nothing like good television, right? 

Of course they wouldn’t allow for both of them to win. It was ludicrous. Why have two Victors when you could have two ‘star-crossed lovers’ battle it out, full of emotion, passion, and violence? Why let them win at all? Of course they couldn’t have the one thing they wanted. They were from District Twelve. They were worth next to nothing. 

“It should be you,” Alicent said at last. Rhaenyra’s head snapped up as she looked at Alicent with a mix of confusion, shock, and horror.

“No,” Rhaenyra said instantly in response. “No, I’m not… I'm not going to kill you.”  

“I’m not killing you either. And I made it clear from the start that I was trying to save you. It was my dying wish. Don’t let it be in vain.” Alicent pleaded. The pain in her leg was really starting to catch up to her. Maybe dying really wouldn’t be so bad. 

“No! It isn’t your dying wish because you aren’t dying.” Rhaenyra’s voice shook with anger, no attempt to suppress her rage.

“We can’t go back and forth on this, Rhaenyra. Either one of us can die on our terms, or something will come. You know that.” Alicent tried to reason, forgetting that Rhaenyra had always been unreasonable. 

“Then I’m the one that’s dying, because it sure as shit won’t be you .” Rhaenyra hissed, petulantly crossing her arms, as she was habit to do, and immediately regretting it, moaning in pain. “See? I’m halfway there anyway.”
 

“And my leg? I’d be crippled for the rest of my life. It isn’t worth it. King’s Landing can right you in a second.” Rhaenyra snorted and rolled her eyes, but not fondly. She was angry. 

“Fat chance you’re convincing me of this, Alicent. So stop trying.” 

“There’s nothing we can do. We have to choose. Someone has to die and it’s going to be me.” She grappled for a method of suicide. “I can poison some of my food so that it’s almost painless, and you’d be guilt free.” Alicent sighed. “Rhaenyra they have to have their Victor.” 

For a while, Rhaenyra was quiet, and Alicent thought that maybe, just maybe she had been able to convince her. 

“No,” Rhaenyra said, but it was not with the vicious anger from earlier, nor with bubbling emotions of grief or defeat. No. She said it slowly, as though dawning on something. Her brilliant mind once again at work. “No they don’t.” 

Slowly, Rhaenyra reached into the pocket of her pants. It was awkward as she tried to move without moving her right arm, and the thing she was reaching for was in her right pocket. Alicent would have offered to help, but she didn’t even know what Rhaenyra’s fingers were searching for. 

Finally, and, coincidentally, with the dawn of the sun, Rhaenyra pulled a small pouch free. She loosened the drawstrings and carefully maneuvered the pouch from one hand to the other, before tipping its contents into her left hand. Once empty, she tossed the pouch helplessly on the grass. 

In her palm were about a dozen berries. For a moment, Alicent thought they were blackberries and that Rhaenyra was proposing a final meal, but upon closer inspection, she realised what they were. 

Nightlock. 

“Where did you get them?” 

“They were in Sarella’s pocket. I took them off her after…” Alicent remembered what Sarella had said when she herself had pocketed the berries. 

“Hugh might like berries.”

But that was what Rhaenyra was suggesting, evidenced by Hugh’s cooling body near them. No, she was suggesting that they… 

“Are you sure about this?” Alicent breathed. 

“What other choice do we have? I’m not killing you, you’re not killing me. Either they take both of us, or they get nothing.” Rhaenyra whispered as she offered her palm towards Alicent. Alicent met her eyes. The eyes of the girl she had loved so long she could hardly tell where one of them ended and the other began. 

“Okay,” Alicent forked over half of the berries into her own hand. 

“Together?” Rhaenyra asked, her eyes soft. Alicent nodded. 

“Together.” She agreed.

“We’ll do it on three.” Rhaenyra said, lifting her hand toward her mouth slowly. 

“Wait,” Alicent interrupted. 

“What?” Rhaenyra asked, but Alicent just leaned in and kissed her, holding back nothing. It was almost like their last night before the Arena, but so much was different. Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate to kiss Alicent back. Whether it was for the cameras or not, Alicent would die thinking it was just for her, because Rhaenyra wanted this as much as she did. She would die with the taste of Rhaenyra lingering on her lips. 

“Just one last time,” Alicent said by way of explanation when they broke apart. Rhaenyra smiled, and Alicent held it close to her heart deep within her. Yes, she would die thinking it was for her. She would die being happy, even in this small way. 

“On three?” Rhaenyra asked again, and Alicent nodded once more, ready. 

“On three.” She lifted the berries towards her, but was hardly looking at them. She was watching Rhaenyra. She would die doing what she had spent so much of her life on; looking at the woman she loved. Only this time, Rhaenyra was finally looking back. 

“One,” Rhaenyra whispered. 

“Two,” Alicent supplied, the berries so close she could hardly see them below her nose.

“Three,” Rhaenyra breathed, and in tandem, they opened their mouths and tilted back their hands. 

—

“Stop! Stop!” Jasper Wylde’s panicked voice rang out in the Arena. “Ladies and gentlemen… may I present the Victors of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games… Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower from District Twelve.” 

Rhaenyra dropped the berries and wiped at her lips and tongue, trying to get rid of any trace of them.

Rhaenyra looked to Alicent. 

“Did you swallow any?” She asked. Alicent, thankfully, shook her head. 

“You?”

“No,” Rhaenyra shook her head vicariously, ignoring the pain it sparked in her shoulder. 

“We won.” Alicent said, voice hollow, eyes trained on Rhaenyra. 

“We won.” Rhaenyra replied firmly. Victory didn’t feel too great. 

They won. They had won. They were going home. Back to her father and her friends and they were going together, both of them had lived. They were going home. Home. 

The hovercraft came for them, dropping down to collect her and Alicent at the same time, mainly because they were practically fused together, gently, as though they were precious cargo they hadn’t weeks craving blood from. 

She hardly remembered the flight back to King’s Landing, only Alicent beside her, hand in hand, holding so tight that both their knuckles were white with tension. 

When they finally arrived, they were pulled apart, and the separation hurt more than the pressure on her arm.

“No, no you can’t separate us!” She screamed as they dragged her backwards by her underarms, sending insurmountable waves of pain through her. “No, we have to stay together!” She cried, but no one was listening. Her last memory before they knocked her out was Alicent’s terrified expression. 

—

She woke up in a sterile white room. Like everything in King’s Landing, it was spotless and high-tech. She heard beeping and distant murmurs. Rhaenyra slowly felt all her senses awaken. Her body was in a thin cloth that she supposed some attendant had put her in. Her head ached and her tongue was dry and heavy in her mouth. She turned her head either side of her, yes, on her left, there was a small tray with a bowl of still-steaming broth and a large cup of water. 

She drank it in one gulp. 

She had expected the first meal she ate following her Games to be extravagant, but she hardly made it through half of the broth before the nausea became too much and she had to stop. It was only once she had set the bowl down again that she noticed she had used her right hand, out of instinct to do so. 

Tentatively, she stretched it out before her, then raised it up and down several times to test it. No, she was not imagining it. Either she was on the best fucking painkillers ever or the gaping wound in her shoulder was gone. To confirm her suspicions, she slid the gown off her shoulder, and sure enough, her body bore no signs of the infliction at all. 

In fact, she had no scars. None from the break across her life, none from hunting, not even calluses on her hands and feet. She was bare, unmarked. 

For some reason it felt like she had been violated rather than healed. Each scar had been proof of her life, each one bore a story, a memory. And they had just been wiped away like they were meaningless. 

The more she woke up, she began to realise that yes, there was still pain in her shoulder, but it was more of a dull ache, as though the wound was several months, perhaps even years old and was only bearing mild side effects. 

It hadn’t been months or years, had it? No. it couldn’t have been. They needed her for interviews and to be a mentor and to be a Victor. They couldn’t do that with her unconscious, not even if Alicent was awake. 

Alicent! Where was she? Was she okay? Was her leg improved as Rhaenyra’s shoulder was? Or was she still asleep? 

Thoughts of Alicent made her panic, and clearly triggered some kind of alarm, because a woman dressed in all white brazenly entered Rhaenyra’s hospital room without knocking. 

“Miss Targaryen, you’re awake.” The woman said neutrally. Rhaenyra managed a nod. “That’s good. We can begin the process for your post-Games interview soon then, I suspect.” The woman bustled around, checking clipboards and signs around the room. “How is your shoulder?” 

“It’s uh,” Rhaenyra had to cough and clear her throat several times before her voice was suitable for use. “Better. Still a dull pain but… it’s manageable.” The woman nodded tersely and jotted some lines on a clipboard. 

“Good. We will keep you here until tomorrow morning, make sure everything is fine…” the woman seemed to be talking to herself more than Rhaenyra. She moved to leave the room but Rhaenyra called out. 

“Where’s Alicent? My District partner? Is she okay? What about our mentor? Gwayne? How long have I been asleep?” The questions came out in rapid succession. The woman sighed and lowered her clipboard so that it rested across her abdomen between her two hands. 

Rhaenyra had to appreciate how rabid she likely looked right now. Malnourished, panicked, hollow. A girl with wild eyes and shaky breaths frantically peppering this doctor with questions. 

“Your partner is in her own room, also recovering. Her leg was our main priority, but she will be fine, Miss Targaryen. Your mentor has been to visit both of you, but I am sure you will see him tomorrow. And it has been two days since your Games ended.” The woman relayed the information calmly, as though she was used to unstable tributes spouting intense questions at her. “Anything else?” she asked. Rhaenyra shook her head, swallowing the lump that had begun to build in her throat. 

“No. Thank you,” the woman gave a curt nod and exited the room. Rhaenyra sank back into the bedding. Alicent was alright, Gwayne had come to see them, she had her interview tomorrow, and it had been two days since the Games. She allowed the information to swirl through her head, allowed herself to process what it meant, until she was exhausted from the process and fell back into a blissfully deep and empty sleep. 

— 

Gwayne paced the halls anxiously as he waited for more news to come. He had never dealt with this feeling before, worrying about tributes after the Games, preparing them for their post-Games interview, helping them manage their Victory Tour. This was something he had never had thrust upon him before, and he had hardly been able to manage his own experiences in the same scenario. 

He knew they were both stable, and he had to continuously remind himself of this fact, remember that they weren’t going to die in those awful, sterile, lifeless rooms. They were alive, he repeated the thought like a mantra, like it would keep their heartbeats steady. They had lived. 

“Gwayne,” Laena’s usually chipper voice, now much more subdued, drew him out of the brewing storm of panic. “Gwayne, they’re coming now.” 

“What?” He blinked, hard, several times. “Now?” 

“Well, they’re going to their stylists to be prepared for their interview tonight. If you want to see them, Jessamyn and Alyssa have told me you are free to do so. But they suggest keeping Alicent and Rhaenyra apart, and keep their reunion for the cameras.” Laena spoke with a gentleness and deliberateness that he hardly ever heard from her, the small, miniscule reminder that her blood belonged to the Districts, not King’s Landing. That some things could never be stripped away from a person. 

“Alright,” he said at last, moving towards the door of the suite. Then he turned his head over his shoulder, inspecting Laena with a cold eye. She wore gold today, in celebration he supposed, but for her, it was a rather simple outfit. She bore no ostentatious jewellery, and she wasn’t wearing a wig. Instead, her silver hair was twisted elegantly atop her head in a dramatic style, golden gems or streaks braided through. She looked startlingly human. For some reason, it meant something.  “Do you want to come with me?” 

Laena blinked at the question. 

“I… Would they want me there?” She stammered, all her bravado gone. Gwayne shrugged. 

“Maybe, maybe not. But I think it would mean a lot to both of them either way.” Laena blinked furiously, her golden lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. 

“I would love to come. To make sure they’re alright, help them prepare for… what’s to come.” She said it with no excitement, with no joy, not victorious glee that he assumed most escorts would attach to visiting a newly crowned Victor, or, in this case, Victors. 

For the first time, Gwayne awarded Laena something he had withheld from her for years: credit. She possessed an affected accent, a dramatic flair, an eyesore of a wardrobe, but beneath it all, she had a good heart. 

When they arrived at the remake rooms, the doors to both were firmly closed, but Gwyane could hear noises from within. The doors still bore the post-notes with the names ‘Alicent Hightower’ and ‘Rhaenyra Targaryen’ upon them.

“Who should we see first?” Gwayne asked Laena, hoping she would make the decision for him. 

“Why don’t we check on your sister? I’m sure Rhaenyra would understand.” She answered tersely, so he rapped his knuckles quickly against the door bearing his sister's name. Muffled footsteps and then a pause. 

“It’s Gwayne. And Laena. Can we come in?” He called nervously. More chatter. Then the door opened and he was ushered inside by a woman with bright blue hair. 

At the far end of the room, Alicent stood beside Alyssa, talking quietly. His sister wore a pale blue dress that barely brushed the floor. Her hair was pulled away from her face, but the rest of it was left down. As for her face itself, she had very little obvious makeup on it. She looked… girlish. Innocent. Considering the parting impression she had given King’s Landing in the Arena, it was almost as impressive as it was horrifying that Alyssa had managed to make her appear so…pure. 

“Alicent,” he said tentatively, taking a feeble step forward. His sister's eyes snapped away from Alyssa to look him over. 

“Gwayne,” she breathed, seemingly in disbelief, as though he was the one that neither of them expected to be standing here. 

He didn’t really know what to do with his body. They didn’t really hug, and he wasn’t sure how much comfort a hug would offer right now. 

“Laena,” Alicent said politely, shifting her gaze. 

“Alicent, I’m so glad to see you again,” Laena said with a warm smile. He watched as Alicent manipulated her own features into returning it. 

“The feeling is mutual.” Laena’s smile widened at this.

“May I give you a hug?” Laena asked, daring half a step. Alicent nodded. 

“Yeah, of course Laena.” She answered. Laena smiled again and then slowly approached Alicent, as though showing she wasn’t a threat, before lightly wrapping her arms around his sister. Alicent returned Laena’s hug seemingly with ease. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Of course we came, we wanted to see you before your interview tonight,” Laena said as she pulled away. Gwayne felt like an outsider as he stood awkwardly on the outskirts of the sphere of Alicent’s attention, not sure how or if he should interject himself. 

“That was very kind of you. Have you…” he watched his sister's fingers twitch, and he knew it was taking impressive self control for her to not begin gnawing at her thumbnail. “Have you seen Rhaenyra?” She asked fearfully. Laena just shook her head. Alicent looked back up to him. He shook his head too, mimicking Laena’s movements. 

“No, we uh, thought we’d check on you first.” He supplied. Alicent nodded. 

“I’m not going to be allowed to see her before the interview, am I?” She sounded resigned, it was less of a question, and more a statement to confirm suspicion. Once more, he shook his head ruefully. 

“No, we thought it would be better to… televise it.” He felt stupid saying it, like the King’s Landing mouthpiece he was. He suddenly didn’t want his sister's perceptive eyes upon him. He had the selfish, childish impulse to run and hide in his room. 

“Will you tell her I said… hi? When you see her?” Gwayne nodded and Laene murmured something along the lines of ‘of course’. This seemed to satisfy Alicent. 

Gwayne knew there was too much unsaid, and two much he needed to warn her about before she walked on that stage. She was smart, unfailingly so. She was clever with her words and she understood the deeper implications of questions asked and answers given. So she had to know they were in some kind of trouble, but he could not confirm or suggest anything outright. Not in front of the flock of King’s Landing attendants and her prep team. Not even in front of Laena. 

“Could I have a moment alone with my sister, please?” He didn’t address anyone in particular, but already people within the room began nodding and filing into the other attached room to their left, one by one. 

“Of course, Mr Hightower,” Alyssa said. “We will finish getting you ready after your conversation. I’m sure you’re eager to see your brother,” she said kindly to Alicent, resting a slender hand on her shoulder as she brushed past. 

“I might go see how Rhaenyra is, while you two talk,” Laena offered helpfully before he had to awkwardly ask her to leave. He nodded his thanks. Once multiple doors clicked shut, there was silence between the siblings for a moment. 

“How is your new leg holding up?” He asked awkwardly. Alicent sighed. 

“It’s… weird. It’s like… I know logically there’s a limb attached to my body, and I can feel when it makes contact with the ground, but… it’s like my leg stops after my thighs.” She chuckled to herself. “That probably made no sense.” 

“No, it does. Though I’m sure I’ll never truly be able to understand it.” She was standing no different than usual, her posture was the same, but he was sure her walk would be different until she adjusted. She’d had to lose most of her left leg after the Games. The doctors had said that whilst the medication she had received in the Games had prevented blood poisoning and worsened infections, the damage to her muscles and bone was still so severe, especially after the exacerbated use so soon after the accident. Gwayne had wanted to point out that the only reason she had the injury, the only reason she had to run on her ruined leg, was all because of them, but he refrained. 

The best of the best in King’s Landing prosthetics and doctors had worked on her new leg, making it the right size, weight, and length for her body. They had promised him that with time, Alicent would be able to function as though she never lost her leg for the most part. Running would be the hardest, and it would take years before she would be able to run without aggravating the old wound, but someday it would be possible. 

“How much shit are we in?” Alicent whispered before he could say anything more. The air punched out of his lungs in a dramatic sigh. He carded his fingers through his hair, trying to meet her eye. 

“It isn’t good, Alicent.” 

“I know,” he watched as she began biting her nails. He had half the mind to tell her to stop, but they had bigger problems than the state of her cuticles. “Even they can tell something’s wrong,” she jerked her head towards the door where her prep team had exited, eyes downcast and she furiously tore apart her nail. 

“I think Laena can as well,” she just nodded. 

“Well, what do we do?” She asked him, eyes lifting from where they had been fixated on the floor. 

“You love Rhaenyra, don’t you?” There was no point dancing around it. Years of separation couldn’t take away his ability to recognise the look in his little sister's eyes when she cherished something more than her own life. Alicent sighed and nodded. “Good. Then everything you did was in the name of love.” 

“I can do that.” She said at last. “But… Rhaenyra?” Gwayne sighed again. Weren’t they a dramatic lot? 

“She’s the real issue. She’s hotheaded, reckless, erratic…”

“And she held out the berries.” Alicent murmured. 

“And she held out the berries,” he repeated grimly. 

“You better go talk to her then. She was good enough at the act in the Games, but… she’s never been a good liar.  And this is going to have to be her best performance.” Alicent told him, resigned. Gwayne nodded and turned to leave the room. Hand on the doorknob, he looked back to his sister. 

“Look, I won’t claim I know what she feels, or the depth of your relationship but… that girl loves you, Alicent. Maybe not the way you love her. But she loves you. You’d be a fool not to see it.” His sister didn’t respond, so he left wordlessly and braced himself for the bigger challenge ahead. 

—

Jessamyn was just finishing the finishing touches of her interview look when Gwayne shuffled in. Laena was standing beside Rhaenyra in consolidating silence, and sparked the most appreciation that Rhaenyra had perhaps ever felt for the woman. 

Jessamyn had put her in a yellow dress, floor length, almost the colour of candlelight. The fire theme must go on. But it was Rhaenyra’s makeup and hair that sold the image Jessamyn was going for. Her hair was unbound, ever so slightly curled, falling in gentle waves. Her face had hardly any noticeable enhancements, but her lashes were longer, her eyes seemed bigger, her cheeks rosy. Yes, Jessamyn had managed to craft the feral girl from District Twelve, who had struggled and fought and killed in the Arena into a gentle, youthful beauty. Someone who knew nothing of violence was reflected back at her through the mirror. The girl before her had never bloodied her hands, never wielded a weapon. She was untouched, innocent, pure. It was perfectly manipulative, and it worried her. It was like she was fourteen, beneath the weirwood tree, reading one of her fathers history books. As though she were still the girl Alicent had cherished. 

“How are you, Rhaenyra?” Gwayne’s voice filtered through. He looked haggard as she turned to face him, somehow more haunted than before her time in the Games. Exhausted. Fearful, she could see it in his eyes. She had seen the same look in the eyes of prey. In the eyes of her fellow tributes. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever looked better,” she answered with a phony smile. Gwayne offered his own forced grin in return. 

“No, Jessamyn has done a marvelous job. As has Alyssa on Alicent.” 

“You’re a charmer, Gwayne Hightower,” Jessamyn remarked, amused as she fussed over Rhaenyra’s skirts. 

“I try,” he replied coily.

The mention of Alicent made Rhaenyra tense with anticipation and concern, but relieved that she was alive, likely only a wall between them. She had once read a story of two lovers separated by a wall, only communicating through a small crack. She had once thought them foolish. Now she understood their desperation. What she wouldn’t give to speak to Alicent for just a moment, just to look upon her, even through a cracked lens. 

“So Alicent’s… alright?” Rhaenyra asked, fiddling with her hands. Gwayne nodded. 

“She says hello.” Rhaenyra smiled weakly at this. Gwayne turned to Jessamyn. “Interviews are soon, when do you think she’ll be ready?” 

“Give me about… ten more minutes?” Jessamyn replied, still trying to set Rhaenyra’s skirt just right. Gwayne nodded. 

“Rhaenyra, how are you feeling about your interview?” Laena inquired politely while Jessamyn and the rest of Rhaenyra’s prep team worked in silent, uninterrupted-focus synchronicity. 

Totally and utterly fucked. 

“Nervous,” she replied instead. 

“It’s perfectly natural to be nervous, but just remember, they all love you.” Laena said gently, tentatively patting Rhaenyra’s arm. Rhaenyra gave Laena a small smile. Clearly she didn’t understand how fucked Rhaenyra was. 

“You and Alicent will be doing the interview together, obviously,” Gwayne added. “And while all of Westeros is in love with how in love you two are, try and keep the kissing to a minimum. She is still my little sister,” Gwayne said with a casual tone, even slipping in some humour. That was the first indication that she was beyond fucked. Laena chuckled. 

“I’ll try to remember that.” Rhaenyra responded at last. She met Gwayne’s eye through the mirror and saw all the worry written in his expression. It became painstakingly clear that she could not fuck up this interview. It was essential she not fuck up this interview. Her interview before the Games was child's play compared to this. If she fucked up, she was pretty sure she and Alicent both would be killed. 

The minutes ticked by until at last Jessamyn declared Rhaenyra was ready. 

“Perfect, let’s get you to the interview before Larys kills us all for being late.” Gwayne joked. Laena rolled her eyes at the jest toward King’s Landing punctuality. 

“Are you coming, Jessamyn?” Rhaenyra asked as Gwayne and Laena began to lead her out of the remake room. Jessamyn nodded. 

“Yes, you’ll see me in the audience. Alyssa, too. I just need to organise something first.” Rhaenyra nodded and slowly exited the room, trying not to tremble from head to toe. 

They were flanked with security as they travelled back to the indoor arena where the interview would be held. How had it only been almost two weeks since she had seen it last? How was she already back here? 

When they were in the wings, Alicent nowhere to be seen, either on the other side, or already on the stage, the security placed themselves into predetermined positions, leaving her alone with Gwayne and Laena. 

Laena pressed a light kiss to each of her cheeks in parting. 

“I’ll be sitting with Alyssa and Jessamyn, alright?” Rhaenyra just nodded, finding her throat was too tight to allow her the ability of speech. Laena flitted away. Once she was out of view, she turned back to Gwayne. 

“Hug for luck?” He suggested, holding out his arms. She knew this was not an embrace in which he would bestow luck upon her. He wasn’t the hugging type. 

She hugged him tight and he pressed his mouth against her hair, murmuring quickly and quietly into her ear. 

“You’re in trouble, Rhaenyra. They aren’t happy about the stunt you pulled with the berries.” Rhaenyra held up her hand to cover her mouth and forced out a giggle, as though Gwayne had said something hilarious. 

“So what do I do?” 

“You were driven by love. You couldn’t imagine life without Alicent, couldn’t bear the thought of a world where she did not exist. You are madly in love with her. You committed an act of crazy, stupid, unimaginable love.” He replied. 

Rhaenyra’s stomach dropped. Of course she loved Alicent, but did she love her in the way Gwayne was implying? In the way all of King’s Landing believed? In the way she had to convincingly portray? She wasn’t good with her words like Alicent was, she couldn’t manipulate the audience to see things that weren’t there. How would she be able to pull this off? 

“Now get out there!” Gwayne pulled away, a bright, fake smile on his face as he nudged her towards the stage. “I’ll be in the wings the whole time,” he added softly. 

She took a deep breath, though it did nothing to slow her racing heartbeat, not steady her trembling figure. 

She walked out onto the stage and was greeted with an eruption of applause. 

The most dangerous part of the Hunger Games was about to begin.

Chapter Text

The stage was set out in a similar fashion to that of their pre-game interviews, however, instead of the typical, boring chair they had been offered that night, Victors would be seated in a golden throne. Clearly they had never seen the need to fashion a chair large enough for two before, so they had made do with a loveseat coloured with golden cushions and little claws that spread across the floors, like old-fashioned, ornate bathtubs. The loveseat was hardly big enough for two as it was, so she and Rhaenyra were practically sitting atop each other. 

The dazzling spotlights made her wince and stirred an ache within her temples that she longed to banish by massaging with her fingers. Her stomach fluttered uncomfortably, and whilst trying to take deep breaths, the lengthy inhales seemed only to serve to make her more anxious. As though her body knew as well as her mind did that she was terrified, and that it could not be fooled into submission and steadiness through barely acceptable box-breathing techniques. 

She had to consciously resist the urge to tear apart her cuticles and nails with her teeth, the itch to draw her fingers to her lips and draw blood was almost painful. She settled instead for chewing on the inside of her cheek, but stopped the second the budding wound began to fill her mouth with the metallic taste of blood, swallowing her forceful saliva until the taste dissipated somewhat. 

“So, Alicent, Rhaenyra, tell us, how do you feel?” Larys was still in his signature midnight-blue suit, his skin just as jubilant and youthful, horrifying, made worse by the touches of sky blue painting his lips, hair, and eyes, giving him the appearance of a man half-frozen. How anyone in King’s Landing found this peak of fashion, she had no idea, she could hardly resist the urge to chatter her teeth on his hypothermic-appearing behalf. But his words and horrifying appearance served to drag her out of her near-catatonic state and focus on the task at hand. She had always been good at following instructions, and tonight was nothing more than a complex card game. Or so she was trying to convince herself. 

Alicent exchanged what she hoped was a loving, ecstatic glance with Rhaenyra, which was instead charged with worry. She knew that she was the one who knew how to manipulate words, or at least that was what Rhaenyra and Gwayne loved to tell her, but she was rather fearful that opening her lips would cause vomit to burst forth, splattering Rhaenyra’s lovely dress. 

“Relieved is the best word to describe it,” Rhaenyra answered at last as she took Alicent’s hand in her own very obviously, flexing every finger to make sure the cameras caught it. There was no point in being subtle. The more brazen, the better, in truth. 

“Relieved, yes I can imagine you would be. Anything to add, Alicent?” Larys turned his beady gaze on her. He was like an insect trying to burrow under her skin, like mutts from a few years ago that had stripped a tribute clean down to their bones once they had swarmed together on the body. They had been midnight blue, too. 

“I think that about sums it up, Larys. I’m just so relieved, so happy we’re both alive, here, together.” She said with a saccharine sweet smile. Larys positively beamed, it was hideous. Rhaenyra gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Every minute they looked at each other, time felt slow as pouring molasses, and sticky as tree sap. Not for romance, but in a way that was akin to it being potentially their last moments of life, of certainty. She had just come out of a death-arena, for crying out loud, and here she was, somehow even more afraid she would die. Time only sped up once more with the rancorous cheers of their adoring audience, who would have just as easily clapped for their deaths. 

“Now tell me, Alicent, how is that new leg treating you? We put our best men on it, so glowing reviews would be appreciated, I’m sure!” Larys chuckled, the audience with him. 

“New leg?” Rhaenyra blurted, her hands fumbling to pull up Alicent’s dress, revealing the metallic lower half of her limb, it reflected under the dazzling lights. 

“Yes, yes, the doctors had to replace it to prevent any future problems. But don’t worry, Miss Targaryen, I assure you, she was in safe hands.” Larys explained jovially. “We wouldn’t dream of putting Miss Hightower in harm's way.” Oh, she could have snorted at the words. 

“This is my fault. Because I couldn’t treat it properly.” Rhaenyra said, sullen, letting Alicent’s dress fall back to disguise the prosthetic. “If it had been me who had been injured and not you, this never would have happened.” Rhaenyra’s voice was a self-deprecating moan that was the verbal representation of the girl kicking herself. 

“It’s not, Rhaenyra,” Alicent said reassuringly. “You did everything you could. I’d be dead without you.” She reclaimed Rhaenyra’s hand. 

“Miss Hightower is quite right, that medicine saved her life.” Rhaenyra still looked miserable and not at all comforted by Larys’s words. Alicent squeezed her hand a little tighter, trying to assure her that she really was okay. Better to lose a leg than your head. 

Eventually Rhaenyra nodded and replastered the smile onto her face, setting the rest of the room at ease once more. Gods forbid their precious Victors are ever upset. 

“Well, we’ll have time for more questions after we watch the recap! We wouldn’t want any confused audience members now would we?” Larys said in a loud, obnoxious voice, turning to face the sea of painful colours and mutated implants that were the citizens of King’s Landing. She and Rhaenyra nervously laughed along. 

They began with the Reapings, super cutting through the Districts until they landed on Twelve. It was rather difficult to watch many trembling children take their place on stage when she knew all of them would die, many at her hand. Somehow, it was just as awful to watch the confident ones take their places as well. Hugh or Laenor, Edric and Sarella… ones who had maintained genuine faith that they could win. The cameras were allowing for the whole footage of their Reaping to be played out. Time was wasted on every minute expression. A Larys spoke over the lush, romantic music to comment on the desperation in Alicent’s eyes no less than three times. How tragic she was, how smitten. 

Even with the focus being on them as the Victors, it was clear that even during the opening ceremony that they received far more than their fair share of screentime. The tribute parades allowed glimpses of more impressive tribute costumes, particularly those who were allies of Alicent and Rhaenrya’s, but other than that, their fiery outfits were on full display. Then again, they were noticeable even when not in focus, they burned so bright. 

The interviews, as the Reapings had done, allowed for little quips from the other tributes, and hearing their voices felt like an affront to her senses. Hugh making a comment about his brute strength, flexing his muscles to the crowd, Sarella with a mischievous laugh as she promised she was no easier competitor, Addam stoic and calm, answering in brief sentences to any questions thrown his way. Even little Roslin made an appearance, her voice ringing out as clear as the sunlight under which she died that she had a little brother back home, waving at the cameras as though it were him. Harwin from Seven with his gentle power, the shaking of his head and somewhat forced smile as Larys dubbed him ‘Breakbones’. She almost felt guilty for how hard she was gripping Rhaenyra’s hand, but Rhaenyra held just as firm. 

At last, they arrived at Rhaenyra's interview, letting it play out in full. It was nostalgic watching her speak of her parents and spin around in her beautiful dress, unencumbered by the days she would come to face. How ironic it felt to be nostalgic for something only a few weeks prior. 

It was clear the editor of the recap had chosen to tell a love story this year, because Alicent’s interview had a subtle, romantic, dramatic score behind it, and the needle dropped right as she confessed her love for Rhaenyra. “Because she came here with me.” The cameras cut to the shocked citizens of King’s Landing in the audience, then landed on Rhaenyra’s face, face flushed, expression shocked, embarrassment written on her every feature. She had to hand it to whoever had put this little horror film together, they were doing Rhaenyra and Alicent a lot of favours with the loving undertones they tossed into nearly every moment.

The worst was not over though. In fact, the first half-hour had been child's play compared to what was coming. They rose into the Arena from the perspective of another tribute, and even seeing the Cornucopia, the field of flowers, made her stomach clench and nausea roil through her. She would not vomit on national television. 

She had not expected the recap to be as brutal as it was. It was violent, bloody, and presented as peak entertainment. Perhaps most of all it was awful because almost everyone on screen was dead. More so, she could distinctly point out which of them had died at her hand. 

They played the entirety of the bloodbath, the cameras, of course now with all their knowledge, focused almost entirely on Alicent. 

A wave of shame washed through her as she realised Rhaenyra was about to witness how many people she had easily killed, how many acts of violence she had so mercilessly enacted. 

Watching the confirmation of an alliance between her and Sarella was almost enough to make her cry. She held the tears at bay, but could not prevent them from glistening in her eyes. Similarly with Edric, Addam and Laenor, their easy strength and Laenor’s quiet jokes right before resuming battle. They were a brutal, efficient team, and it did not help to quell the nausea in her stomach when the camera’s lingered on the faces of her victims as life left their eyes. 

They cut to Rhaenyra who was trekking through the woods alone, nothing but a backpack on her shoulders as she tried to put as much distance between herself and the other tributes. They did not linger on Rhaenyra for long. No, they cut straight back to Alicent, the real entertainment, capturing the moment where she fired three arrows into the female tribute from District Eleven, killing her. Ruthless. Royal born and bred, if no one had known any better. Some comment from Larys that it was clear she had the blood of Victors in her veins, too. 

Montages of her alliance, her friendship with Sarella especially were highlighted, oohs and ahhs from the audiences as they knew their friendship could not last. Her stomach coiled with a burning sensation of shame as she forced herself to keep watching, her breaths coming with less ease and her palms growing sweaty. 

Then a scene Alicent had not known existed. She could tell it was going to be important because the music stopped to allow the conversations to play it. It followed her, Sarella, and Edric heading towards the stream, seemingly uneventful. But then it cut to Rhaenyra, frantically hiding. 

She heard herself giggle on screen and slowly pieced together what is playing out before her. Rhaenyra in an undergrove as she, Edric, and Sarella collected water, joking and hunting for fish. She remembered this day, but she didn’t know Rhaenyra did too.

She knew even then. 

When Rhaenyra emerged from her undergrowth, she had a knowing smile on her face. Smart. But utterly confusing. Playing the game at all times. Perhaps being the blood of Victors really did count for something. In her marrow, maybe Rhaenyra was meant for this. 

Then, again, the alliance was on screen once more. Alicent treating Sarella’s cut, Alicent telling Sarella she had greyscale. Hearing herself speak the words felt like giving out a death sentence once more. Then again, that was exactly what she’d done the first time around. Most of the montage focused on her, but the shots of her allies in the periphery were enough for it to feel akin to breaking her ribs. 

Finally, after an hour of the recap, the story shifted to focus on Rhaenyra. Her teaming up with little Roslin from Eight, the two of them agreeing to find Alicent. Their arrival to the Cornucopia. Rhaenyra comes to greet Alicent. Steffon plunges his spear into Roslin’s stomach and then three daggers and two arrows pierced his flesh. Rhaenyra tells a story to Roslin as she drifts into death. The Arena was silent, the audience too as Rhaenyra spoke, no music washing over her words. 

Alicent notes bitterly, however, that they do not show Rhaenyra’s burial of Roslin in flowers. That is too real. 

Rhaenyra and Alicent united, Rhaenyra and Sarella’s obvious dislike for each other. Larys makes some kind of comment about Rhaenyra potentially being jealous of Sarella’s friendship with Alicent, which is absurd, because even Rhaenyra wasn’t stupid enough to put her jealousy before survival. 

Then Sarella, Alicent, and Rhaenyra at the little river. Alys dying, Alicent piecing together that it was nightlock that killed her. Sarella and Rhaenyra turning on each other. Alicent killing Sarella. She lets her eyes glaze over for this part, tries to shut off her ears, paying no attention to what Larys comments or which words Rhaenyra murmurs in her ear. She cannot live it again. Part of her swelled with shame for her cowardice in this moment, and in an attempt to drown out the dialogue of her friends' last moments, she sent a plea for Sarella’s forgiveness.

The announcement of two tributes from the same District being able to win together is played with swelling, hopeful music, and immediately ruined when the mutt wearing her fathers face gnawed into her leg. 

The montage of Rhaenyra nursing her back to health was the most tolerable part of the evening. It was just the two of them in the cave. Rhaenyra cried over Alicent’s pain, she kisses her forehead while she slept, forcing her to eat. When Rhaenyra drugged Alicent to go to the feast everyone in the audience erupted into tears. Even her throat constricted a little at the sight of it. 

This footage was also the first time Alicent ever saw what happened at the feast. It’s… awful. Hugh pinning Rhaenyra to the ground, looking so… There's no word for it but evil. Laenor and Addam coming back to fend him off and let Rhaenyra escape. Hugh killing them. Harwin and Hugh… 

Once more, they return to the cave; she and Rhaenyra live in a simple domesticity that is destroyed by the announcement of Harwin’s death in the burgundy sky. 

Their trip to the Cornucopia. The forest fire threatening to engulf them. Rhaenyra’s hallucination is not visible to the citizens of King’s Landing, nor is Hughs, small moments of privacy and mercy. But everyone can tell who she saw. How instantaneous the effect is. The look of desperation and defeat on Alicent’s face as she realised what’s happening. 

The final showdown, Alicent racing towards the lake and back again while Hugh talked and talked at Rhaenyra, taunting her before death. Alicent’s shot, Rhaenyra’s deft movements with her dagger, Hugh’s battle against the toxins, slicing Rhaenyra’s shoulder open, and Alicent’s death blow with the arrow to his skull. 

Then it’s just the two of them in the slowly rising sun as they realise they will not both be allowed to go home. 

The editor seems to get some kind of sycophantic thrill out of drawing out their agony. There are long, painful shots of the two of them, staring at each other, shocked, bloody, tired, hurt. 

Seemingly in slow motion, in perfect clarity, in mythical timing, Rhaenyra holds out the berries, and they almost swallow. 

The trumpets blare, just as jarring as they were the first time around, and they are named Victors of the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games. So fast, so swift, so brutal. 

So permanent. 

She was sure that the film would end there, like it usually does, with the announcement of victory, but instead, the horrifying tape rolls on. 

The footage instead ends on a shot of Rhaenyra screaming as they drag her away from Alicent. In terms of romance, this is the best part of Rhaenyra’s performance all night. It also makes Alicent’s stomach flutter in what should be a truly disturbing manner, rather than an excited one. 

Rhaenyra’s piercing cry, begging and thrashing echoes across the hall, continuing even as the screen goes black. “No, we have to stay together!”

Once the video ends, the lights bloom back to life, and Larys immediately begins his questioning once more. 

“So,” Larys says once the audience is silent once more. “A lot to unpack.” He whistled through his teeth and gave what Alicent assumed was intended to be a charming grin. The audience hooted with laughter. 

“You know us, Larys, we’re an entertaining story,” Alicent joked, plastering a pageant smile on her face. The audience giggled at her humour and Larys almost fell out of his seat with the over-the-top nature of his reaction. 

“You’re quite right, Miss Hightower. So why don’t we try and tell some of that story?” He turned to the audience. “What do you say? Do you want to hear more about the greatest love story of our time?” The audience screamed like rabid animals in response, clawing at the seat in front of them, shaking their heads like tousling a lion's mane. It was almost frightening, or it would have been, if she hadn’t just watched a supercut of murder. 

“Well, we ought to give the people what they want!” Alicent jeered. From the wings, she could see Gwayne tense as ever, but he shot her a swift thumbs-up. 

“Well, why don’t we start right when you made the choice to join the Royals, Alicent. I think I speak on behalf of all of us when I say it was a shocking turn of events? What inspired you to make such a bold move?” Larys leant forward as though they were two co-conspirators exchanging secrets. Alicent laughed into her palm as though she were no more than a foolish schoolgirl. Beside her, she could tell Rhaenyra was exerting an impressive amount of willpower to keep the taunt smile on her lips, never once relinquishing Alicent’s hand. “I can say for certain, it’s been a while since something like that happened!” 

“Well, Larys, obviously when I went into the Games it was custom that only one person could win,” she shifted her gaze onto Rhaenyra, summoning all the love she could muster into her eyes (it wasn’t very hard). “And I wanted it to be her.” The audience cooed and she was positive she heard several people loudly begin to sob. Oh, they love each other so much, and their lives are so tough . If only we could have prevented their misery. But at least they’re together now, right? 

“How very touching,” Larys said, laying a hand on his heart. “And Rhaenyra, I think we would all love to know how you felt when you spotted Alicent with the Royals. Surprised? Or did you know her plan all along?” 

Alicent crossed her fingers beneath the folds of her dress, praying that Rhaenyra played this right. Rhaenyra loosed a breathy laugh before she answered. 

“Honestly? I had no idea what Alicent was planning. We went into the Games saying we would only ally with each other, which clearly didn’t go to plan,” she paused and allowed the audience to cry with delirious laughter. “On one hand, I was relieved she was alive, and on the other, I was simply–” Rhaenyra stopped, and Alicent worried they were fucked. But instead, Rhaenyra leant forward to Larys, dropping her voice to a false whisper. “Can you keep a secret?” She asked him. 

Larys smiled and turned to the audience. “I don’t know, folks. Can we?” The audience solemnly swore they could. “Seems likely,” he said grinning at Rhaenyra. Alicent saw the muscles in Rhaenyra’s cheeks spasm as she grinned back. 

“Well, I was simply so jealous. I was furious that she was so close with Sarella… it was maddening.” Rhaenyra laughed in a self-deprecating kind of way. “I hated Sarella from the first moment I saw her talking to Alicent in training.” 

“Oh yes, I think we could all sense your rivalry with Sarella once you joined the Royal alliance. How did that make you feel, Alicent. The woman you loved and a girl you had become such fast friends with at odds?” No. I don’t want to talk about Sarella. Not with any of you. But instead she chuckled. Sarella didn’t die for Alicent to spit it back in her face and get herself killed. 

“It was difficult, Larys, let me tell you. Sarella and I had become incredibly close in the Arena–” 

“Oh please shut up, you’re making me jealous just talking about her,” Rhaenrya moaned, pressing her forehead into Alicent’s shoulder. The audience roared once more, Larys with them, giving Alicent the chance to spare a glance at Rhaenyra, thanking her with her eyes. 

“Alright, alright, no more talk of Sarella then, we wouldn’t want trouble in paradise!” Gods, these people found anything humorous. 

“Thank you, Larys. It was getting far too difficult.” Rhaenyra said playfully. 

“Well, speaking of your love, what did the two of you think when you heard about the rule change?” The words had an immediate effect, the audience were silenced as though they had all become Avoxes. Rhaenyra and Alicent exchanged a glance, unsure as to who should speak first. 

“I was just so… happy, Larys,” Alicent said at last. “For the first time since coming into the Arena, I had hope… That we could stay together, that we wouldn’t have to…” she let her sentence trail off. Larys gave a sympathetic nod. 

“And you, Rhaenyra?” Against her will, Alicent found herself training her eyes on Rhaenyra’s face, waiting for her to respond as eagerly as the vultures in the crowd. 

“Well, I just had this sense of hope that… that maybe I could keep her.” Several people swooned and even Larys wiped away a fake tear. 

“That is beautiful, your love is so inspiring.” 

“Oh, it isn’t inspiring, Larys,” Rhaenyra countered as she turned her attention to Alicent. “It’s real.” 

Alicent wasn’t sure where Rhaenyra had pulled her silver tongue from, where these seemingly authentic comments of her undying love for Alicent had arisen. Maybe Gwayne had really knocked more sense into Rhaenyra than Alicent had thought possible. Or maybe…

No, she chastised herself. You could have hopeful delirium in the Arena in what you thought were your last moments, but not for the rest of your life. She couldn’t live like that. Not anymore, at least. 

“Isn’t that just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard?” Larys asked the audience. “But now… I think the moment we are all most eager to discuss…” the audience settled down once more. “The berries.” 

A different kind of silence swept through the room. A hush that felt like a precipice. Perhaps because it was, for her and Rhaenyra. The wrong answer was a death sentence. 

“Rhaenyra, I think we would all love to know what was going through your head at that moment.” Larys said solemnly. 

This was it. Everything else they had said tonight meant nothing if Rhaenyra didn’t play this right. They could either build their own coffins or craft their own salvation. Alicent had to sit on her other hand to keep from biting her nails on stage. 

—

“Well, Larys,” she began, taking a deep breath. What the fuck should she say? If she didn’t say the right thing, she and Alicent, as well as both their families, probably their friends too, were dead. “We had just heard that only one of us could win, and in that moment I…” Her father- dead. Gwayne- dead. Even slimy Otto Hightower- dead. Their pale faces flashed into her vision as she planned out her next words.