This was inspired by a post from another tumblr user. I can’t find the post, but when I do, I shall link it.
The desert stretches out in front of them like a golden ocean. When Alicent pulls in a shallow breath, the air is dry, tickling her throat. Her temples are throbbing, a layer of sweat and grime under her light clothes, her body tense and stiff on the horse. Alicent shifts uncomfortably, hyper aware of how close she is to the woman behind her. Rhaenyra’s hand is resting casually on her spread thighs, fingers wrapped around the reins as their horse plods along. Beside them, Gwayne sits on his own horse. Alicent shoots an uncharitable thought his way, remembering his apologetic look when he had told her they only had enough resources for two horses instead of three.
The sun dips lower towards the horizon, casting the sand in a ruddy glow. Rhaenyra shifts, chest brushing up against Alicent’s sweaty back. She stiffens, eyes widening as she feels the softness of the other woman’s breasts. She is entirely too close for a person that Alicent is barely acquainted with. It’s indelicate.
Her mind casts back to their meeting, only a few days previously. The dust mots had been drifting lazily in the dim shaft of light cutting across the stone floor as Alicent slipped books back into their rightful places from her perch on the sliding ladder. Abruptly, the serene silence was interrupted, the doors slamming open. Alicent clutched the spindly ladder, heart leaping.
“Sister,” Gwayne’s cheerful, round face appeared below her, another person standing at his side. “I have some marvelous news.”
“Gwayne,” she snapped. “You gave me a fright. What have I told you about disturbing me at my work?”
“Apologies,” said the person beside him, tilting their head back to look Alicent in the eye.
His companion was a woman in simple archeologists’ garb: worn trousers, a felt hat, and scuffed boots. Her hair is pulled back, blue eyes bright in her slightly tanned face. All together, a somewhat odd person.
“Your brother led me to understand you were in need of a guide?” The woman continued, eyes absorbing Alicent’s appearance in a similar fashion. She felt her cheeks heating. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me.
“This is Rhaenyra Targaryen,” Gwayne emphasized the name, expression ecstatic. And indeed, the name was a familiar one. A highly respected family name in the field of archaeology.
Alicent started climbing down the ladder, surprised to find the other woman extending her hand when she was half way down. Tentatively, Alicent accepted the other woman’s hand, allowing herself to be helped off the ladder.
“He said you found a map,” Rhaenyra said, palm still warm against Alicent’s skin.
And now here they are, traveling across the desert together, her hapless brother snoring next to them on his horse, the sun below the horizon, the sky a beautiful blanket of stars. Surely this is not what her father pictured for the both of them. He would be so disappointed that it was Alicent who had continued to study instead of Gwayne. And yet you still persist.
“You alright?” Rhaenyra’s voice is soft, her breath touching the clammy skin at the back of Alicent’s neck.
“Perfectly,” she responds, voice stilted. It feels as if every conversation between them has been difficult and fraught. Alicent is hyper aware of how every word will land; what every expression on Rhaenyra’s face might mean. It’s exhausting. How aware she is when the other woman is in the room. When she is speaking. When her eyes are on her.
“You seem tense,” Rhaenyra continues.
Alicent can see her hands, reaching out to touch their horses' flanks. Her fingers are strong looking, skin rough and calloused. She knows from the few times they have touched. She shivers, the sweat of the day cold on her skin now in the desert night. She’s still warm under her breasts, between her spread legs.
“You’re cold,” Rhaenyra pulls back. Alicent can hear her shrugging off her jacket.
“Really, you don’t—” Alicent protests, face flushing with mortification. She knows what the other woman is about.
“I insist,” Rhaenyra drops her jack loosely over Alicent’s shoulders. It’s warm from her body, and it carries the mixture of her scent: horse, sweat, sensible soap. Very unfeminine. Father would not approve of her.
“Thank you,” she says stiffly.
“You can sleep too if you want.”
Alicent does not trust herself to sleep.
“I shall stay awake and take my rest during the day.”
Minutes stretch agonizingly slow. She’s hyper aware of the woman behind her. The silence of the desert, the shifting of the horse under their bodies.
“I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for accompanying us on this venture, Miss Targaryen.”
“Rhaehyra,” she corrects, again. “And no thanks are necessary. The map your brother found is something my family has been searching for years. Seeing this through is important.”
“I take it you do not subscribe to the curse?”
“I have a great respect for legend.”
As the conversation peters off, Alicent’s eyes begin to droop. Maybe hours later, she drifts awake, a line of warmth across her belly: Rhaenyra’s arm keeping her in place. In her sleep, she m leaned back on the other woman’s shoulder, mouth open. Mortified, Alicent jerks upright.
“Pardon me,” Alicent gasps.
“Don’t worry yourself,” Rhaenyra says calmly. The sky is gradually starting to go from purple to pink casting the desert in an ethereal glow.
