Can We Go Outside Now? House of the Dragon Fanfiction (F/F, Explicit) PDF

can we go outside now Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/60921364. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/F Fandom: House of the Dragon (TV) Relationship: A...

can we go outside now Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/60921364. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Category: F/F Fandom: House of the Dragon (TV) Relationship: Alicent Hightower/Rhaenyra Targaryen Additional Tags: Angst, Bunker, Forced Proximity, nobody else - Freeform, it gives silo meets cloverfield lane meets my own personal freak, maybe inspired slightly by fallout 4 or NV? whatever, Emotional Manipulation, rhaenyra 'strong', Explicit Sexual Content, Mentioned past sexual assault, Mentioned suicide, Graphic Description of Corpses, Death Language: English Stats: Published: 2024-11-28 Completed: 2025-01-06 Words: 101,996 Chapters: 10/10  can we go outside now by crewlin Summary Everything about Alicent is rage inducing. The way she’s so awkward she can barely make eye contact, the way her hands shake when they're together in the same room, the way she looks at Rhaenyra like she’s the first person she’s seen in years. Oh, yeah, and the way she locked her in a freezing underground bunker. BUNKER AU  watch out for flying glass Rhaenyra blinked, her vision swimming. A pale fluorescent bulb flickered above her, bathing the concrete ceiling in a sickly light. Her head throbbed, her ribs ached, and her throat was so dry it felt like she’d gargled glass. She tried to move, but something tugged at her wrist. A restraint. Her arm was strapped to the cot with a thick nylon band. She glanced down at her other arm: same thing. The restraints weren’t tight enough to hurt, but they were secure, buckled neatly at each of her wrists. The panic rose in her chest like a flood. “What the fuck…” she whispered, pulling weakly against the restraints. Her body screamed in protest, her muscles stiff and useless. Her legs wouldn’t respond properly, and even tilting her head sent a sharp pain shooting down her spine. The room was small and cold, with bare concrete walls and a steel door at the far end. A metal table near her bedside held medical supplies, all neatly arranged. It looked sterile, eerie, like the kind of room where terrible things happened. Her breathing quickened. She tugged harder at the restraints, her chest heaving as memories came rushing back: Harwin’s voice on the phone, the road, the crash. “Hello?” she croaked, her voice cracking. Her throat was so dry it felt like she hadn’t spoken in days. “Is anyone there?” Nothing, no one. Rhaenyra drifted in and out of consciousness after that. At some point, the door swung open, and she heard the faint shuffle of shoes on the concrete floor. A figure moved in her peripheral vision, though too blurry for her to make out. The faint scent of antiseptic reached her nose as something cool pressed against her forehead. Rhaenyra forced her eyes open, squinting against the light. “Who…?” she croaked. Her voice barely worked. “Shh…” It was a woman. She was sure now it was a woman. Her fingers brushed Rhaenyra’s wrist briefly, checking the restraints, before she stepped back. “Wait,” Rhaenyra rasped, trying to lift her head. The pain made her gasp, her body too heavy to obey her. She blinked again, but the woman was already leaving, slipping out the door without so much as a glance back. - The next time Rhaenyra woke, the room was darker. Someone had dimmed the light, or maybe her vision was fading. She turned her head slowly, wincing at the pull of the bandages across her ribs. Her mouth was parched, her lips cracked, but she willed herself to focus anyway. The woman was there again, standing at the foot of the cot. She wasn’t touching her this time, just standing there, still as a statue, watching. Rhaenyra’s heart hammered in her chest. “What… what do you want?” she rasped. The woman startled, her hand twitching like she hadn’t expected Rhaenyra to wake up. Her face was pale, cherub-like, and tightly composed. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, as if unsure what to say. Rhaenyra’s voice came out stronger this time, louder. “What the fuck do you want with me?” The woman flinched at her tone and began to creep backwards toward the door. “Wait,” Rhaenyra said again, louder this time. “Stop!” But the woman was already backing toward the door, her movements stiff and jerky, like she couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. “Wait!” Rhaenyra called, struggling against her restraints. Her ribs protested, a sharp stabbing pain making her cry out, but she kept pulling. The woman paused, her hand on the door’s panel, and turned back for half a second. Her eyes were big and brown. They lingered on Rhaenyra, looking very frightened. Then she turned, and the door clang shut. - Rhaenyra stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the bulb above her was painfully bright. Her muscles ached, her head throbbed, but she was awake now, too awake. Like she slept for a thousand years. Her hands clenched against the restraints. She needed to get out of this bed, out of this room, out of here. Her sons were probably worried sick. Who knew what Harwin might have told them? How long had she even been gone? The car she'd wrecked, a 2024 Ford Mustang GT, sleek and new, not yet fully paid off, Harwin was going to lose his mind. The bug-eyed woman, her captor, didn’t seem violent per say. But was it only her that was holding Rhaenyra wherever she was? There could be others. Big, scary men who were going to harvest her organs or worse. The next time she heard the door clang open, Rhaenyra didn’t wait. She didn’t think. Her body screamed in protest as she sat herself up, dragging her hands against the restraints. The woman was there again, her tray with water balanced perfectly in her hands, her bun as tight as it had been before. She froze when she saw Rhaenyra upright, her eyes widening as if expecting her to collapse. “You need to take it easy,” she said, her voice awkward, like out of practice with conversation. “What the hell is going on?” Rhaenyra rasped out, jerking her wrists to fight the restraints. “Why am I tied down?” The woman hesitated, her lips parting slightly, her eyelashes fluttering with lingering shock at seeing Rhaenyra up and moving. “You were thrashing in your sleep,” she told her, setting the tray down on the table quickly, holding out her arms thereafter like she wanted to fuss over Rhaenyra. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.” “Yeah? Well, I’m awake now! Let me go! I’m not an animal,” Rhaenyra spat. The stranger’s hands were perfectly still, folded in front of her like she was bracing herself. For what, Rhaenyra didn’t know. And then, without another word, she stepped forward and released the closest restraint on her wrist. The nylon strap came loose with a quiet click. The woman leaned over her, close enough that Rhaenyra could see the faint freckles dusting her pale skin and the tiny flyaways of auburn red hair that had slipped free from her bun. She smelled faintly of antiseptic and something kind of salty, something… really good. But all Rhaenyra saw was her chance. Her now free hand shot out, reaching for the scissors on the table beside her. Pain flared in her ribs as her arm stretched, but she ignored it. Her fingers wrapped around the handle, and before her captor could register what she was doing, Rhaenyra swung them at her. The woman gasped, stumbling back. The tray on the table clattered loudly, the glass of water toppling over and spilling onto the concrete floor. Rhaenyra lunged in such a way her injuries shrieked with agony, but the strike missed its mark, swiping through empty air. “Stop!” The woman’s voice cracked, high pitched, panicked. She raised her hands in front of her like a shield, her eyes wide. “I’m just trying to help!” Rhaenyra kept herself upright, ignoring the stabbing pain in her side. Her breathing was ragged, her body trembling from the effort of holding herself up. “Help?” she managed, though the exertion of her attack had made her vision go spotty. “You call this help?” The woman took another step back, her shoes slipping slightly on the spilled water. Her eyes darted toward the door, then back to the scissors in Rhaenyra’s hand. Her whole body was tense, braced for another attack, but she didn’t run. Rhaenyra wasn’t sure why, probably only because one of Rhaenyra’s arms was still restrained. “You were bleeding,” she explained, her voice faltering. “When I found you, you were… there was so much blood. I thought you were dead at first, but then…” She trailed off, looking at Rhaenyra with such a sincere, pleading face that was almost believable. Rhaenyra hesitated. The scissors hovered between them, her hand shaking. “I pulled you out of the car. I cut you free myself,” the woman said quickly, the words spilling out like she was trying to stop a flood. “It was wrecked. Crushed. The whole front was crunched, there was glass everywhere. You were still breathing, but just barely. If I’d left you there, you would’ve—” “Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” Rhaenyra interrupted, her voice rising. The woman didn’t answer right away. Her hands were still raised, her eyes fixed on the scissors. “I’ll explain,” she said finally, somewhat defeated. “But you need to put that down first. And you need water. Food.” Rhaenyra glared viciously. “You think I’m going to sit here and have a snack while you—” “You’ll pass out again if you don’t,” the woman cut in. “You’ve barely moved in days. You have to eat.” Rhaenyra’s stomach growled loudly. She winced, biting back the sting of humiliation, but her grip on the scissors didn’t loosen. The woman watched her, then stepped back slowly, moving toward the metal door. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “I’ll bring something.” And then she was gone. Rhaenyra’s body sagged back against the cot as soon as the door clanged shut. The scissors slipped from her trembling hand, clattering to the floor. Her ribs screamed with pain, her arm heavy as lead, and her restrained hand throbbed from her futile attempts to wrench it free earlier. But she wasn’t done yet. Adrenaline surged through her veins, spurred by defiance and desperation. Gritting her teeth, she jerked against the restraints again, her free hand clawing at the tether around her wrist. The sharp motion sent fire through her ribs, making her gasp, but she kept struggling. Her vision swam, dizziness crashing through her and threatening to swallow her consciousness. Despite this, she kicked wildly, the thin blanket draped over her falling to the floor. It landed in the puddle of spilled water near the overturned glass, soaking up the mess as her breaths grew ragged. The door creaked open, and the woman returned, this time carrying a plate of food in one hand and a fresh glass of water in the other. Rhaenyra’s eyes locked onto her, wild and filled with fury, her body trembling from exertion. She gave the restraint another tug, the sound of metal scraping against wood punctuating the little concrete cell. “Stop it!” the woman’s voice cracked, sharp but pleading, like a cry caught between fear and frustration. She set the plate and glass on the table. Her retreat was quick, each step cautious, her hands trembling as she backed away to the far wall. “You’re hurting yourself.” Rhaenyra’s defiance flared, pushing her to yank against the restraint one final time, even as her vision swam. The edges of the room blurred, black spots clouding her sight. She slumped forward with a ragged gasp, the fight draining from her limbs, leaving her wheezing and spent. Her gaze, dulled by exhaustion but still burning with anger, fixed on the woman. “Afraid I’ll try and stab you again?” she rasped, her voice a fractured whisper. “Yes,” the woman answered. There was no anger in her reply, only stark, vulnerable fear. It stopped Rhaenyra cold. Her glare faltered, her breath hitching as she struggled to make sense of the woman’s strange, disarming sincerity. She grabbed the glass with her free hand, the motion quick and wild, water sloshing over the rim. She drank deeply, the coldness cutting through the dryness of her throat in a way that hurt. When it was empty, she looked at it for a moment, her grip tightening. Then she hurled it. The glass sailed through the air, the force of it surprising even her. It struck the floor a few feet short of the woman, shattering into jagged shards that glittered and sailed skittered around the concrete floor. The woman flinched violently, her shoulders hunching as if she expected the glass to strike her flesh. Her breath hitched audibly, a ragged, fearful sound. She stared at the broken pieces scattered on the floor, her wide eyes flickering with panic, as though the shards might rise up and cut her themselves. Her voice, when it came, wavered. “That’s two glasses you’ve broken now. Please,” she said, her desperation bleeding through, “just calm down.” Rhaenyra’s laugh tore from her throat, low and bitter, devoid of any mirth. It rasped like a rusted blade dragged across stone. “Fuck you,” she spat, all but snarling. Her body was coiled tight, trembling with fury, with agony, and her wrist raw from where the restraint bit into her skin. The woman remained with her back pressed against the wall as though it might swallow her and hide her from Rhaenyra’s wrath. Yet, written all over her face, alongside the unmistakable fear, there was such a deep, agonized concern that must’ve been what kept her from fleeing again. “Eat,” the woman pleaded, her voice breaking on the word. She stooped carefully, her movements jerky, to pick up the soaked blanket and the larger shards of glass. Her fingers trembled as she collected them, holding everything awkwardly in her arms. She didn’t turn her back to Rhaenyra, as though afraid she might be attacked at any moment. Rhaenyra scowled, her fury unquenched, but hunger gnawed at her resolve. With a huff of frustration, she reached for the bread. The warmth of it startled her, a small shock against her cold, trembling fingers. For a moment, she hesitated, staring at the golden crust as if it didn’t belong in this dismal cell. She tore off a piece and shoved it into her mouth, chewing mechanically, barely tasting it. The bread disappeared quickly, and she moved on to the vegetables, their freshness an insult to the misery of her surroundings. The woman stayed rooted in the corner, her back pressed flat against the wall. Her wide, frightened eyes tracked every one of Rhaenyra’s movements. She looked ready to bolt if Rhaenyra so much as twitched in her direction. The scissors in her hand were clenched so tightly Rhaenyra wondered if she’d come over and stab her to death. Rhaenyra swallowed the last bite and leaned back against the cot, flinching from her body’s aches. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shot a dark look at the woman. “Now explain why you kidnapped me before I throw the plate at you too.” The woman flinched at the threat but didn’t move. Her lips parted, her voice emerging thin. “I told you,” she said, clutching the scissors tighter as if for reassurance. “Your car crashed. I found you—” “And why didn’t you take me to the hospital?” The woman’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “I couldn’t.” “Why not?” Rhaenyra demanded, her anger curling tighter. The woman’s gaze darted toward the door, so quick it might have gone unnoticed if not for Rhaenyra’s sharp eyes. Her voice faltered. “I’ll explain,” she said, the words stiff and forced, as though dragged from her unwilling throat. “But not yet.” “You can’t just keep me here,” Rhaenyra growled. “I have a family. People will come looking for me.” The woman’s face twisted strangely but she held her ground. “Not yet,” she repeated, her voice cracking slightly on the words. Rhaenyra’s jaw clenched, her glare burning holes into the woman’s fragile composure. Finally, the woman stepped forward, picking up the empty plate with her eyes fixed downward as though avoiding Rhaenyra’s glare might somehow protect her. She turned toward the door. Rhaenyra’s voice stopped her just as she reached it. “Who else is here?” The woman froze, her back to Rhaenyra. She stood motionless for a moment, the tension in her shoulders so palpable it felt as though the air itself might crack under the strain. “Who’s keeping me here with you?” “There’s no one else,” she admitted. “It’s just me.” - Rhaenyra woke to the sound of her own breathing, shallow and rasping in the still air. Her ribs ached dully with each inhale, but it was the feeling of being watched that sent her snapping upright. She wasn’t alone. The woman stood at the foot of the cot, holding a fresh tray of food. Her head tilted slightly, like she’d been studying Rhaenyra. The fluorescent light above cast sharp shadows across her face, making the hollows of her cheeks and the curve of her brow seem more pronounced. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Rhaenyra croaked, her voice still rough. She pushed herself further upright with her free arm, ignoring the way her ribs screamed in protest. “Are you just going to stand there and stare at me like some creeper?” The woman blinked, her expression twisting into something that might’ve been guilt. “I didn’t want to wake you,” she said softly, holding up the tray like it was a peace offering. “You need the rest.” “How long have you been standing there?” The woman hesitated, her lips parting slightly as though to answer, but then she thought better of it and looked down at the tray instead. “Not long,” she said finally, though something about the way she said it made Rhaenyra’s skin crawl. “You’re so weird,” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath, but her eyes drifted to the tray despite herself. The smell of something warm and savory hit her, and her stomach growled loudly. She bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. “You mentioned you have a family,” the woman said suddenly. Rhaenyra froze, her hunger momentarily forgotten. “What?” “Yesterday,” the woman clarified, her voice soft and careful. “You said… something about your family.” Rhaenyra’s mouth opened, then closed again. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected her captor to say, but it wasn’t that. She could picture Jace’s face so clearly it made her chest tighten. He was beautiful, with his stubborn little pout, the way his dark curls fell into his eyes, his stupid ugly Zumiez outfits. And Luke, her favorite, sensitive but the smartest, always trailing after his older brother with wide, eager eyes. And Joffrey, still a baby, still needing her in a way the older boys didn’t anymore. She tried to tell herself they were fine. That they were with Harwin. But the thought didn’t soothe her. Her mind flitted to Harwin next, and her stomach twisted. He’d been furious when she stormed out of the house, his voice hard and thundering after her. She could still hear the frustration in his voice, the echo of that old argument looping endlessly between them. Harwin, with his patience stretched thin, his voice always gentle until it wasn’t. He was a good man. She told herself that all the time, repeating it like an affirmation. He was steady, reliable, kind, endlessly forgiving. Her chest tightened, and for a moment, she thought of Daemon instead. The thought came unbidden, painful and jagged. She didn’t want it, didn’t invite it, but there it was. His voice, his sharp teeth, slipping into her thoughts like smoke. He would’ve enjoyed it if he'd seen her like this. Weak. Tied down. “I do,” Rhaenyra answered cautiously. “I have a husband. And three sons.” The woman didn’t react at first, but then her shoulders dropped just slightly, her face falling in a way that was almost imperceptible. Except it wasn’t. She looked… disappointed. No, deflated. “Why do you care?” The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped forward and set the tray on the table beside the cot, staring carefully herself out of Rhaenyra’s reach. “Eat.” Rhaenyra glanced at the tray. Eggs, toast, and some kind of meat. Ham, maybe. Maybe it was her broken body desperate for nourishment, but it smelled incredible. Almost thanks worthy. But she wasn’t about to give her captor the satisfaction of gratitude. “Are you going to stare at me while I eat, too?” The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped once again toward the far wall, standing there like she didn’t know what else to do with herself. Rhaenyra's hunger was much stronger than her pride. She reached for the fork, still eyeing the woman warily, and took a small bite of the eggs. They were annoyingly good. Light, buttery, fluffy, the kind of thing you’d expect in a diner, not a prison cell. She ate in silence and tried to ignore the woman staring at her. Finally, she set down her fork. “Where am I?” “A bunker." Rhaenyra froze. The word dropped like a stone into her chest, dragging everything down with it. Her eyes darted to the steel door, its edges sealed so tightly it might as well have been welded shut. The room’s low ceiling seemed to press closer, the walls creeping inward. No windows. No cracks for light to seep through. Underground. Her breath quickened, panic threatening to rise. “How far down?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, though her pulse roared in her ears. The woman shifted, her body stiffening. “Far enough,” she said, her tone vague and evasive. The non-answer made Rhaenyra’s stomach churn with unease. Swallowing hard, she forced herself to focus on the woman. She needed information. Anything that could help her piece together the madness of this situation. “A bunker,” she repeated slowly, feigning calm. “That’s... um... okay. Do you live here?” The woman nodded once. “All by yourself?” Another nod. Rhaenyra studied her more closely, her eyes narrowing. The woman couldn’t have been much older than her. Mid-thirties at most. She was undeniably attractive. High cheekbones framed a pale complexion. Her red brown hair, unstyled but clean, tied up behind her. Her plain clothes, neutral and unassuming, did nothing to hide her beauty. She didn’t fit here. Not in this tomb of steel and concrete. She looked like she belonged at a dinner party, on someone’s arm, surrounded by men who couldn’t take their eyes off her. Married, probably. Or pursued relentlessly, at the very least. So why the hell was she here? Alone. “You don’t seem like the loner type,” Rhaenyra said, tilting her head. “Why would someone like you live in a place like this?” The woman’s expression didn’t change, but her hands betrayed her, twisting and fidgeting in front of her like nervous doves. “It’s safe here,” she said finally. Her voice was brittle, like a leaf about to crumble. Rhaenyra’s brow furrowed. “Safe from what?” The woman’s head tilted, her lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line. Her gaze flicked briefly toward the door, as though something unseen might be listening beyond it. When she turned back, her eyes were unfocused. “There’s been an attack.” Rhaenyra felt her stomach drop. “An attack?” she repeated, the words spilling out before she could stop them. Her voice rose slightly, cracking under the weight of her disbelief. The woman nodded, her hands wringing together harder. “It isn’t safe to be outside anymore,” she said, each word delivered grimly. For a moment, Rhaenyra just stared at her, unable to mask the incredulity in her expression. An attack. Unsafe. It was insane. She was insane. Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a faint, forced smile. “Right,” she said slowly, using the same voice she used with Joffrey, trying to keep the edge of panic from slipping in. “Of course. That makes sense.” It didn’t. None of it made sense. But she wasn’t about to argue with a lunatic holding her underground. If she had any chance of getting out of here, she needed to play along. She needed to get on this woman’s good side, fragile as it seemed. “Do you have a name?” Rhaenyra asked abruptly, her tone softening, the edges rounded out like she was coaxing a skittish animal. The woman blinked, startled. “What?” “A name,” Rhaenyra repeated, her voice lilting gently, aiming to remain calm. “Do you have one?” The woman hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor as though the question required more thought than it should. “Alicent,” she said at last, the syllables falling awkwardly from her lips. Rhaenyra hummed softly, tucking the name away in her mind. “That’s a nice name,” she said, leaning back against the cot. Pain flared in her ribs, but she ignored it. “So, Alicent, have you always lived here?” Alicent’s brow furrowed, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. “No,” she said after a long pause. “Where did you live before?” Rhaenyra pressed, keeping her tone light and conversational, even as her pulse raced beneath the surface. She studied Alicent closely, watching the way her hands fidgeted, her gaze flitting nervously as if searching for escape routes that didn’t exist. Alicent was clearly unhinged. Fraying. Alicent stiffened, her shoulders drawing tight. “Denver.” Rhaenyra blinked, startled by the sudden specificity. “Denver?” “About thirty minutes from the airport,” she added, her words coming slowly, like each one had to be pulled out of her. Her mind raced with the implications, trying to map out the landscape in her head. Where did that make them? She’d been driving back away from Boulder, far away, when she’d spun out on the ice. Where were they now? What direction? North? South? East? West? She fought the wild urge to demand more information. She wanted to scream, to shake the answer loose, to force Alicent to confess every detail. But she didn’t. She bit back the rising panic and forced herself to breathe, to stay composed. She needed Alicent to keep talking, not to shut down or run off. “I’m from Boulder,” Rhaenyra said. The words felt strange in her mouth, disarming, but she pushed forward. She remembered reading somewhere, maybe a true crime article or some podcast episode, that you should give killers as much personal information as possible, make them see you as a person. Maybe it would make them hesitate. Maybe it would keep you alive. “My name is Rhaenyra Strong,” she added, her voice steadier now. She tried to summon another smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but maybe Alicent wouldn’t notice. “Rhaenyra… Strong. And you’re from Boulder?” Alicent asked, slightly warmer and curious. Rhaenyra nodded, watching her closely, trying to decide if the faint curiosity was genuine or calculated. “Yeah.” she said. “Been there about six years now.” She wanted to say more, wanted to throw out details, streets, landmarks, anything to keep Alicent engaged. But she hesitated, worried about boring Alicent. She wasn’t sure if this was working yet, wasn’t sure what Alicent would do if the conversation turned the wrong way. “I’ve been to Boulder,” Alicent piped in, her voice filling the space. “A few times. It’s nice.” “Yeah. It is nice. Are we near Denver now?” Instead of answering, she took a careful step closer, reaching for the tray on the table. Rhaenyra’s stomach tightened instinctively as Alicent approached. Her muscles coiled, ready to react, but she forced herself to stay still. Alicent’s hands trembled as she lifted the empty plate and glass. She glanced at Rhaenyra once, briefly, before retreating again. The cracks in Alicent’s shyness were there, widening with every exchange. She just had to figure out how to widen them further. Alicent stopped just before stepping out, her fingers hovering near the door panel. "Are you really married?” she asked abruptly, her voice quiet but pointed. The question surprised Rhaenyra. “What?” “You said you have a husband,” Alicent said without turning around. Her head tilted slightly to the side, her gaze fixed on some distant point ahead. “But you don’t have a ring.” Rhaenyra’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as her hand twitched involuntarily toward her left finger: bare, as Alicent had noticed. The memory hit her like a cold wind: Harwin’s voice rising over her own while they fought, the ring burning against her skin as she yanked it off, her hand trembling as she threw it at his face. Luke had seen it all, which she realized far too late. She couldn’t remember where the ring had landed. She swallowed hard, forcing the memory back into the shadows of her mind. “I…” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then she straightened, her expression hardening. “I don’t need a ring to be married.” Alicent turned slightly, just enough for Rhaenyra to catch a glimpse of her profile. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her brown eyes flicked down briefly, like she was measuring the truth in Rhaenyra’s words. Rhaenyra felt her stomach twist, heat rising in her face. Alicent didn’t look convinced, but her expression remained frustratingly blank, giving away nothing. The urge to lash out simmered just beneath her skin, but she swallowed it down, forcing her face to remain soft, approachable. Rhaenyra forced a sharp exhale, breaking the tense silence. “Look,” she said quickly, feeling the irritation creep in. “I don’t want to get into a debate about my marriage right now. I need to pee.” Alicent blinked, startled. “You know, the bathroom.” Rhaenyra said, trying not to roll her eyes, trying to stay as ‘nice’ as possible. Alicent’s lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile but wasn’t quite sure how to. She glanced down at Rhaenyra’s unbound wrist, then back at her face. “Anything else?” “Could I have another blanket? It’s freezing in here.” “Of course,” Alicent agreed quickly. “I should have brought more earlier. But I was worried you might overheat… you were sweating so much before. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.” “That’s… thoughtful,” Rhaenyra replied, allowing another faint, calculated smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. It felt unnatural on her face, but she held it steady, watching for Alicent’s reaction. Alicent’s mouth twitched upwards too, the smallest hint of a smile breaking her otherwise frightened expression. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Rhaenyra felt a flicker of satisfaction. Alicent was buying it. She just needed to lay it on thicker. “And um… I’m sorry,” Rhaenyra forced herself to say, each word tasting bitter on her tongue. She dropped her gaze briefly, feigning guilt. “About earlier. For… attacking you.” Alicent tilted her head again, her brow furrowing in a way that almost made her look sympathetic. Cute, even. “You were scared,” she said eventually, as if offering an excuse for Rhaenyra’s behavior. Rhaenyra could hardly believe her luck. The killer was making excuses for her now? She hid her delight beneath a carefully composed expression, letting her fake smile warm just a touch. “That’s generous of you to say.” Alicent hesitated, then nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. “It’s okay. I understand… and I forgive you.” Rhaenyra wanted to scream at the absurdity of it all. Forgive her? While she was the one locked in a cell, deep underground, with no clue what kind of madness had led her here? But she kept her face calm, her tone even, as she replied, “Thank you, Alicent.” Alicent’s eyes flickered briefly, a strange light passing through them, before she straightened and stepped toward the door. “I’ll be back,” she promised. The door clanged heavily shut behind her, the echo vibrating through the room. Rhaenyra exhaled slowly, slumping back against the cot as the silence swallowed her again. She was sure of it now. Who even noticed something like a missing wedding ring? Who just asked about it, like it was some casual observation? The whole interaction left a sour taste in Rhaenyra’s mouth, the conversation turning over in her head like a splinter she couldn’t pull out. And yet… She pressed her fingers against her bare ring finger, the ghost of the band still imprinted faintly on her skin. She couldn’t stop the memory from surfacing again: Harwin’s yelling, Luke’s cries, and… something else. Her hand fell back into her lap. Her sons. That’s what mattered. They were probably worried sick by now. And, even worse, Harwin might’ve told them something happened without explaining what. The thought of Jace, Luke, and Joffrey thinking their mother walked out on them sent a fresh surge of panic through her chest. She couldn’t let that happen. She needed to get out of here. But the only way to do that was through Alicent. If she had to play along, to coax whatever humanity was buried in that fractured mind, then so be it.  someone to enfold Chapter Notes See the end of the chapter for notes Rhaenyra didn’t have to wait long after the clang of the door. She heard the metallic creak as it opened again, and when Alicent stepped inside, she looked as stiff and guarded as ever. The tray was gone, replaced by nothing but the same watchful, brown eyes and the nervous energy that Rhaenyra was starting to recognize. Rhaenyra straightened as much as her aching ribs allowed, tilting her head slightly and forcing her expression into something gentle, even grateful. “You’re back,” she said softly, aiming tone for non-threatening. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.” Alicent blinked, her lips parting slightly like she wanted to respond, but she said nothing. Instead, she just stood there, her hands clasped tightly in front of her like she was waiting for… what? Permission? Rhaenyra’s fingers brushed over the nylon strap still holding her wrist. She let her shoulders sag slightly, giving the impression of exhaustion, helplessness. It was like one of Harwin’s hunting trips up north. She could only liken interacting with Alicent to dealing with a skittish animal. “So, I was thinking,” Rhaenyra began, her voice dipping into something almost conspiratorial. “I get why you didn’t completely untie me. With the scissors and all… I probably scared you.” She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Honestly, I scared myself.” Alicent’s gaze flicked to the strap and back to Rhaenyra’s face, her jaw tightening slightly. “But I think we can agree I’m not in any condition to hurt anyone,” Rhaenyra continued. She tugged lightly at the strap for emphasis, letting it fall limp against her wrist. “I can barely sit up,” She offered a small, tired smile. “Please, just let me stretch my legs. I’m going stir crazy.” Alicent took cautious steps forward and closed the space between them. She leaned down, unbuckling the strap with steady hands. Rhaenyra forced herself to stay still, not flinching or yanking her arm back. When her wrist came free, she flexed her fingers casually, as if she didn’t want to break Alicent’s nose. Which she very much did want to. “Thank you,” she managed out. Alicent straightened and took a small step back, though her eyes stayed fixed on Rhaenyra. “Are you ready to use the bathroom?" "Yeah." When Rhaenyra swung her legs off the cot, her ribs flared sharply in protest. She bit back a hiss of pain, but her knees began to buckle the moment her feet hit the floor. Alicent moved immediately, slipping an arm under hers to keep her upright. “Careful,” Alicent murmured, her voice infuriatingly patient and gentle. Rhaenyra stiffened slightly at the touch, instinct telling her to pull away, but she didn’t. Alicent was stronger than she looked, steady and sure, and Rhaenyra let herself lean into her just enough to stay upright. “I’m fine,” she lied quickly, forcing a small laugh to hide her discomfort. “You’re injured,” Alicent said simply. “Yeah, I noticed,” Rhaenyra muttered under her breath, though she kept her tone light. Alicent’s hand hovered under Rhaenyra’s arm as they walked, her grip firm but careful, like she wasn’t sure how much weight Rhaenyra was willing to lean on her. Every step sent sharp flares of pain through Rhaenyra’s ribs, but she bit back her discomfort, focusing instead on her surroundings. The hallway stretched ahead of them, dim and yawning, the hum of fluorescent lights like a faint, insistent ringing in Rhaenyra’s ears. Alicent’s arm was firm under hers, steadying her as they walked, each unsteady step sending shocks of pain rippling through her ribs. The bunker seemed to inhale and exhale around her, its long shadows shifting with the flicker of overhead bulbs. The walls, pale green and peeling in places, gleamed faintly under the cold light, as if sweating from the years of silence and solitude. Every sound, like her uneven breaths, or the faint scuff of Alicent’s boots, all seemed to stretch endlessly, filling the emptiness between them. The air smelled faintly of metal and dust, sharp and clean, industrial. Like a place meant for survival but never for living. Rhaenyra clung to Alicent’s arm more than she wanted to, her body betraying her as her knees threatened to buckle. The steadiness of Alicent’s grip was surprising, a strength that didn’t match her small, delicate frame. “You’re really strong,” Rhaenyra muttered, half a compliment, half an observation. “Do you lift weights?” Alicent glanced down at her, her brown eyes as unreadable as ever. “No.” Rhaenyra frowned, her confusion growing. “You don’t seem to struggle helping me get around.” “I do. You’re really heavy.” Really heavy? Rhaenyra snorted. Alicent was so unintentionally, freakishly funny sometimes. When they stopped at a steel door, Alicent pressed a hand against it, and it opened with a faint groan of hinges. The bathroom inside was small and sterile, its walls the same cold green as the hallway, its fixtures porcelain and slightly yellowed with age. A faint smell of disinfectant clung to the air. “I’ll be right outside,” Alicent said, her voice low and hesitant, as though she expected Rhaenyra to collapse the moment she let go. “I’m not going to drown myself in the toilet,” Rhaenyra joked, masking the tremor in her voice. “I think I’ll live.” Alicent nodded and she stepped back into the hallway, the door creaking faintly as Rhaenyra closed it behind her. Inside, the air felt colder, more brittle. The fluorescent light above buzzed faintly, casting sharp, unkind shadows across the cracked tiles and stained porcelain sink. Everything in this room seemed like it belonged to another time. Like a relic from the Cold War. Rhaenyra leaned heavily against the sink, her ribs flaring as she adjusted her weight. Her reflection in the scratched mirror above was barely recognizable: her pale face gaunt and shadowed, her hair tangled and streaked with dried blood. For a moment, she stared at the woman in the glass, feeling the cold press of the bunker around her. She turned away abruptly, running the water to wash her hands. It was colder than she expected, the shock of it sending shivers up her arms. She dried her hands on the stiff, scratchy towel hanging beside the sink, then glanced at the door. Alicent was waiting. The hallway felt longer on the way back. Rhaenyra’s steps dragged, her legs trembling beneath her, but Alicent didn’t waver. Her arm was steady, her grip firm but careful, like she was afraid of holding on too tightly. “Feel better?” Alicent asked when they reached the room again. “Much,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice thin and brittle, but she forced out the pleasantry. “Thank you.” Alicent helped her back onto the cot, easing her down with the kind of care one might give to a broken object. “I’ll bring blankets,” she said quietly, stepping back toward the door. Rhaenyra watched her go, her body sinking into the cot as exhaustion clawed at her. The door creaked open, then shut again, leaving the room colder, emptier in Alicent’s absence. For a moment, Rhaenyra considered her options. The door hadn’t locked. If she wasn’t so drained, so broken, she might have forced herself up, might have stumbled through the hallway in search of an exit. But she’d overdone it already. Her ribs ached, her head throbbed, and the bunker would be nothing but a labyrinth. So, she let her eyes slip closed and exhaustion take her. - Rhaenyra woke slowly, the thin veil of sleep lifting as she stirred. At first, all she registered was warmth. Then her eyes slitted and she saw the heavy press of fabric over her body, tucking her into the cot. Her ribs still ached, a dull throb pulsing with each breath, but her skin no longer felt chilled to the bone. It wasn’t until she blinked her eyes open, staring up at the concrete ceiling, that she realized: she was cocooned. There were layers of blankets. Soft ones, colorful ones, wrapped around her like some desperate attempt at comfort. Her gaze drifted to the wall beside the cot, and her breath caught. Leaning against the wall, just above the cot’s edge, were small pictures. Not framed, not hung. Just leaned there in varying distances from each other, as if someone had spent hours deciding where to place them. They were faded and fragile looking: a field of purple flowers, a lake shrouded in fog, a blurry photograph of an owl staring directly at the camera. Rhaenyra blinked at them, her mind struggling to process. How utterly insane was her captor? She exhaled a soft laugh, but it caught in her throat as unease rippled through her. It was cute, in a way. Maybe… sweet, even. But it was also horrifying. A prison cell, spruced up for her comfort. Alicent had likely crept around the room while she slept, placing these pictures and blankets with some delusional sense of care. Her chest tightened. Alicent’s kindness felt sharp-edged, laced with something obsessive and off-kilter. She closed her eyes, trying to push the unease away. Exhaustion tugged at her again, pulling her back under, and she drifted in and out of sleep for what felt like hours. - In the suffocating tomb of the bunker, the antisocial little City of Ember wannabe nightmare Alicent had placed her in, Rhaenyra’s memories felt sharper, more vivid. Maybe it was the absence of screens, the lack of distraction, or just the sheer monotony of this place. Whatever the reason, unprocessed moments from her life kept resurfacing, dragging themselves into her mind uninvited and making her skin crawl. One memory surfaced, jagged and bitter. Last Christmas. Luke had been disappointed after unwrapping the wrong kind of Star Wars figurine. It wasn’t the one he had wanted. Harwin had told him to be grateful, scolding him, while Rhaenyra, more the appeaser, promised Luke she would get him the right one. That had been enough to spark an argument. She could still hear Harwin’s words, which had, admittedly, been playful. But stung nonetheless. “You’re spoiling them, just like your uncle spoiled you.” Rhaenyra hadn’t taken that one well. She'd lost it and shattered their brand-new Polish pottery cookie jar, the one Harwin had gotten as a white elephant gift from his perfect little job. She could still picture the shards on the floor. She was startled to the sound of the door creaking open. Alicent appeared, once again, poking her auburn little head in and then the rest of her. She was a sight to behold. So still and pale, her shadow stretching long into the room. It made Rhaenyra’s heart jolt in her chest. “Fuck,” Rhaenyra muttered, letting out a sharp exhale. “You scared me.” Alicent flinched faintly, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. “I don’t mean to keep frightening you.” She hovered in the doorway for another moment, as if waiting for permission to step inside. Rhaenyra tilted her head back against the pillow, her body too heavy to move. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she said lightly. “Come in.” Alicent nodded once, stepping forward with hesitant movements. She was carrying a small tray, and Rhaenyra’s stomach twisted as the smell of warm broth reached her. “I’m not hungry,” Rhaenyra said before Alicent could speak, her voice sharper than she intended. “You need to eat,” Alicent said, her tone softer but insistent. She set the tray down on the table beside the cot. “I said I’m not hungry,” Rhaenyra repeated, baring her teeth just slightly, her exhaustion at the moment felt so permeating the idea of eating was not a pleasant one. Alicent's eyes raked over her, her brown eyes studying her face like she was reading something Rhaenyra couldn’t see. Then she stepped closer, sitting down carefully on the edge of the cot. “Sit up,” Alicent ordered. Rhaenyra hesitated, glaring at her for a moment, but then she relented, because what choice did she have? She shifted slowly, wincing as her ribs flared with each movement, and propped herself up on the pillow. Alicent’s arms reached around her, adjusting the blankets to once again swaddle around her, as if they could hold her in place. Alicent carefully lifted the bowl of soup and the spoon once she was done and angled her body towards Rhaenyra. “Here,” Alicent murmured. She dipped the spoon into the soup, her movements slow as not to spill, and lifted it to Rhaenyra’s lips. Rhaenyra stared at her, the absurdity of the situation nearly making her laugh. She considered refusing again, but the ache in her ribs and the heaviness in her head made her think better of it. She needed to play along with her captor, anyhow. So, she opened her mouth and let Alicent feed her the first spoonful. The soup was warm and rich, the taste of herbs, chicken, and olive oil was a welcome change from her mouth’s dryness. She hated how good it felt going down, how much her body craved it even as her pride bristled at the indignity of being fed. The clink of the spoon against the bowl echoed softly in the quiet room. Alicent moved with care, her face tense with concentration, as though she was doing something as complex as brain surgery. Or, she could just be frightened that Rhaenyra might claw at her now that she had both hands free. Maybe it was the boredom beginning to peek through all her pain and isolation, or perhaps it was the proximity, but being so close face to face with Alicent made her really soak in the features of the woman before her. Her face was a soft oval, graceful and somewhat noble, like she carried traces of aristocratic blood. She had gentle signs of aging that made it difficult to place her exact age. Up close, Rhaenyra noticed slight creases at the outer corners of her eyes and a faint line between her brows. Her cheeks bore a faint natural roundness that softened the sharper angles of her face, and her nose was straight, with a narrow bridge and the faintest upturn at the tip. Her lips, though, caught Rhaenyra’s attention. They were full, bowing slightly at the center of the upper lip, not overly ripe but perfectly proportioned. Pink, pretty. Her eyebrows were thick but not bushy. And then there were her eyes themselves. Twin wells of amber brown, sparkling with a depth that seemed to ripple under the fluorescence. There was a sheen to them, a wetness that caught that light and made her look perpetually on the edge, frightened and vulnerable. Her lashes were darker than her hair and longer than Rhaenyra expected. Mascara? She doubted Alicent had been applying makeup in the bunker, but still. A tingling sensation crept through her skin starting in her face and buzzing closely to where Alicent sat near her leg. It spread through her body, entirely unwelcome, and her pulse quickened as she struggled to make sense of it. Her breath came faster, her ribs protesting the motion. It was panic. That had to be it. It was the strain of confinement, the disorientation of being trapped, and the unnatural closeness with a stranger. She was just on the brink of a panic attack, or something. And yet her mind wouldn’t stop circling back, wouldn’t stop marveling at the beauty sitting so close. It was as if her eyes were trying to soften Alicent, to paint her as something other than what she was. A malicious jailer at worst and a mentally ill lunatic at best. It had to be Stockholm syndrome. That was the only explanation. And this early on? She needed to get hell out of here. Alicent fed her the last spoonful of soup, setting the bowl aside carefully. A quiet stretched between them, pressing in like the dim, suffocating air of the bunker. For the first time, Rhaenyra found herself wanting to fill it. “Do you... have a mental health history or something?” The words tumbled out before she could think better of them, sharp and awkward. Her ribs tightened immediately in regret, and her gaze darted to Alicent, bracing for some kind of explosive reaction. Alicent blinked, her brown eyes flicking up to meet Rhaenyra’s. Her lips parted slightly, as though the question had caught her off guard, but she didn’t look angry or offended. That was surprising, almost disarming. Instead, she tilted her head, her expression distant, like she was carefully considering her answer. “I went to therapy after my mother passed away, actually. For a few years as a child.” Rhaenyra stared at her, her mouth slightly ajar. That wasn’t the answer she had been expecting. She shifted uncomfortably, her fingers twitching beneath the blanket, and tried to backpedal. “Oh, well, I just... I mean, it’s not every day you meet someone who lives underground. It’s unusual, that’s all. I didn’t mean...” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes flickered toward the hallway, calculating whether Alicent might storm off or, worse, decide she needed to be restrained again. Alicent didn’t move, though. Her gaze was steady, even curious. Then she asked, “What about you?” The question hit Rhaenyra like a slap. Her head jerked back slightly, and her cheeks flushed with heat. “Why?” she asked, sharper than intended. “Do I seem like it?” Alicent laughed. It was a quiet, unexpected sound that left Rhaenyra stunned. It was the first time she had seen Alicent laugh, and it wasn’t the kind of laugh she’d expected. It wasn’t unhinged or cruel; it was soft, warm, like she found the question amusing in a gentle, harmless way. The realization mortified Rhaenyra. The person who had locked her underground in a bunker thought that she was the crazy one. She felt heat crawl up her neck, the embarrassment sticking in her throat like a lump. She straightened slightly, wincing at the pull in her ribs, and tried to regain some semblance of composure. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” she muttered, her voice grumbling now, openly laced with annoyance. Alicent’s laugh faded into a faint smile, her expression turning unreadable. “It isn’t, really,” though she looked like she thought it was very fucking funny. Rhaenyra didn’t know what to say to that. The tension between them thickened again, the silence pressing against her ears. She should have felt victorious. After all, she’d forced Alicent to admit she wasn’t entirely normal. But instead, she felt off-balance, and stupid for even asking the question to begin with. Alicent rose slowly and gathered the empty bowl. “You should rest,” she told her, in a voice Rhaenyra recognized as motherly. She suppressed the urge to spit in Alicent’s direction. She turned and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Rhaenyra alone with the lingering warmth of the blankets and the humiliating press of her own memories. - Time passed in a haze of half sleep and quiet routines. Rhaenyra wasn’t sure how many days had gone by. Maybe it had been three? Five? A week? Two weeks? The fluorescent lights in the bunker occasionally dimmed, which must’ve been ‘night time’, but the air always carried the same sharp, metallic chill. Her body remained stubbornly weak, her ribs a constant, aching reminder of her fragility. Trips to the bathroom had become a ritual of humiliation, supported by Alicent’s steady arm and silent watchfulness. Each time, she returned to her cot, drained of what little strength she had managed to gather, her world narrowing to the stiff cot and the four concrete walls of her cell. And yet, the room had changed. The pictures leaning against the wall had multiplied. There were more now, pictures of faded landscapes and wildlife scenes, a smudged watercolor of a flower, and a small black and white photograph of a ballerina mid pose. The blankets had been swapped again, the newest ones heavier and softer, layered over her like a swaddle. On the table beside her, Alicent had placed small objects: a polished river stone, a cracked geode, and a neatly folded paper crane. Rhaenyra had taken to watching Alicent’s ‘offerings’ with a mixture of amusement and wariness. The gifts, if that’s what they were, unsettled her as much as they comforted her. They were small and odd, strange fragments of a life she couldn’t yet piece together, as if Alicent were trying to apologize for the captivity. Today, Alicent brought a new object. Rhaenyra blinked awake to find her standing at the edge of the cot, holding a glass jar in both hands. Inside was a pressed fern, its delicate leaves perfectly preserved, suspended like a fossil in amber. “And what do we have here?” Rhaenyra murmured, like a kindergarten teacher encouraging the slow kid during show and tell. Alicent hesitated, glancing at the jar as though unsure whether to hand it over. “A fern,” she explained, setting the jar on the table beside the other objects. “Thought you might like it.” Rhaenyra turned her head slightly, eyeing the jar. “It’s so… pretty. Thank you,” she said, letting her voice carry a note of warmth. She had learned, over these long days, that Alicent responded extremely well to kindness, however strained or artificial that kindness was. Alicent nodded, her expression strange as ever. “Yes.” Rhaenyra tilted her head, filing the response away. Alicent often spoke like that, in short, clipped sentences. She was weird. But, Rhaenyra needed to be on her good side so Alicent didn’t randomly decide to smother her in her sleep. Or take her organs. Or eat her. Or all three. She shifted slightly on the cot, wincing as her pain flared. “You’ve brought me a lot of things,” she observed, gesturing vaguely at the growing collection. Alicent’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile flickering across her face before disappearing. She stood there for a moment longer, her hands twitching slightly at her sides, before she spoke again. “May I sit?” The question caught Rhaenyra off guard. She blinked, staring up at Alicent. “Sit?” Alicent nodded, gesturing toward the chair near the far wall. “There.” Rhaenyra hesitated. Alicent had been hovering in the room more frequently these past few days, standing just out of reach but never lingering too long. This was the first time she’d asked for something for herself. “Sure,” Rhaenyra said finally, her tone careful, in lieu of the sarcastic ‘you may sit’ that she wanted to spit out. Alicent moved quickly, dragging the chair across the room with a faint scrape of metal on concrete. But instead of placing it directly beside the cot, she set it across from Rhaenyra, the edge of the chair just touching the table. She sat down stiffly, her posture straight and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The room felt smaller now, the air heavier, as though the space between them had taken on a weight of its own. Rhaenyra broke the silence first, tilting her head slightly to study Alicent. “So,” she said lightly, “do you do this with all your guests?” Alicent frowned faintly, her fingers tightening in her lap. “You’re not a guest,” she mumbled. Rhaenyra bristled. “And what am I, then?” She didn’t answer. Instead, she pivoted, as she often did when Rhaenyra prodded about the nature of her captivity. “Do you have any allergies?” “Allergies?” Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose, a faint laugh escaping her. The shift in topic was so abrupt it almost caught her off guard. “No. But my middle child is allergic to peanut butter.” “What was his name?” Rhaenyra felt the ‘was’ like a needle under her skin. She bit her tongue against a sharp retort, reminding herself that Alicent was just… unhinged, sick in the head, not right. “Luke.” “That’s a nice name.” Alicent replied, “How did you meet your husband?” Rhaenyra shifted slightly, her irritation flickering to the surface despite her best efforts. "Oh. Harwin." She sucked her teeth, the sound sharp in the stillness. "We met at a bar. A bar I wasn’t even supposed to be at, actually. But, you know, we hit it off." Alicent tilted her head slightly. "Were you very smitten with him?" Rhaenyra blinked at the question, barely holding back a laugh. Smitten? The phrasing struck her as strange, old-fashioned. “I mean… yeah. I ended up marrying him after all,” she said, her words carrying a slight edge of incredulity. "And what did you like about him?" Alicent pressed, her tone as steady as ever, though her fingers twitched slightly in her lap. Rhaenyra frowned faintly, the question putting her on the spot in a way she hadn’t anticipated. "He was burly," she said after a beat, her words coming slowly as she tried to piece together a response. "Mid-length hair. Kind of rugged. I don’t know… hot. Older." "Older?" Alicent repeated, her voice pointed. Her eyes were intense, stare-ey, and the weight of her scrutiny made Rhaenyra shift uncomfortably. "You like older men?" The question made Rhaenyra flinch, a small, involuntary reaction she tried to hide. Her voice slowed, turning cautious. “…Yeah.” "How old are you now?" "Thirty-two." "And Harwin?" "Forty-two." Alicent’s nose crinkled in a subtle, unmistakable reaction, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. The expression wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough. There was a clear flicker of disapproval that crossed her pale face. Rhaenyra’s chest tightened, and a flicker of annoyance sparked in her gut. Really? The woman who lived in a bunker, stockpiling who knows what and asking invasive questions like some kind of mad recluse, was judging her ? Alicent didn’t know the whole story. She didn’t know about the nights Harwin had stayed up with Joffrey when he was sick, how hard he worked, or the way he’d defended their family, even at his own expense. She didn’t know a damn thing. Rhaenyra sucked in a slow breath, forcing herself to push down the rising irritation. "He’s, um… sweet. Really sweet. Nicest guy you’ll ever meet. He’s protective too, he once beat up another dad for picking on our boys. And… he hunts," she added, the last part tacked on as if it might bolster her case. Alicent nodded and Rhaenyra desperately found herself wanting to change the subject. “You know, I don’t know anything about you.” Alicent glanced up at her, her eyes wary. “What do you want to know?” “Anything,” she said. “You’re the one asking all the questions. Seems fair that I should at least know something about you.” Alicent hesitated. “There’s not much to tell.” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, leaning back slightly against the pillows. “You’re hiding me in a bunker in the middle of nowhere, and you think there’s not much to tell?” Alicent’s lips twitched again, but not into a smile. “I danced,” she admitted. “Danced?” “I was a ballerina,” Alicent explained, her voice clipped. Rhaenyra stared at her, trying to reconcile the fidgety, awkward woman in front of her with the image of a ballerina. It sort of made sense. “I can see it,” she decided upon replying, taking again a long look at Alicent’s features. Yeah, she was pretty gorgeous. Slim too. Not very tall, but were all ballerinas even tall? She didn’t know. It was a wonder to her how mental illness could plague the minds of people even as attractive as Alicent, it must not discriminate. Alicent’s hands twisted faintly in her lap, her gaze distant. “It was a long time ago,” she said simply. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “How long?” “I stopped when I was twenty-seven.” “And how old are you now?” “Twenty-eight.” That surprised her. “That recent?” Alicent didn’t answer right away. Her gaze flicked to the jar of the fern on the table, as if searching for something safe to focus on. “I performed in New York for a while,” she said finally. “After school.” Rhaenyra blinked. New York? That was… more than she had expected. “Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You actually performed? Like, professionally?” “Yes.” “And what school did you go to?” “Juilliard.” Rhaenyra’s breath caught for half a second before she smoothed her expression. Juilliard? That was a name she knew, even if she knew next to nothing about dance. She studied Alicent, her mind racing. This strange, cave dwelling woman had been a professional ballerina in New York? “Um… wow.” Alicent glanced at her briefly, her lips pursing faintly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Rhaenyra hummed, filing that answer away. She leaned her head back against the pillow, keeping the conversation going, trying to splice out information she could use to escape. “Did you have any job after that, or was dancing your whole thing?” “Just dance,” Alicent said. “Ever been married?” Rhaenyra asked, tilting her head slightly to watch for a reaction. Alicent stiffened. “No,” she said quickly. Rhaenyra caught the faintest flickers of awkwardness, discomfort, maybe embarrassment that crossed Alicent’s face before they were gone. “What about kids?” “No,” Alicent said again, her voice tight. Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, filing that reaction away too. “So, what, you’re terminally single? Do you at least have any family?” she teased, her tone warm enough to disarm. Alicent shook her head, though the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “I had brothers.” “Had?” Rhaenyra pressed gently. “They’re gone now,” Alicent muttered. Rhaenyra hesitated, the sharpness of her questions dulling. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, even crazy people didn’t deserve their loved ones dead. If they really even were dead. Alicent didn’t respond. After a long moment, Rhaenyra cleared her throat, steering the conversation in a different direction. “So, what did your parents do?” “My father worked for a defense contracting company,” Alicent said, her tone growing more measured. “My mother just looked after us.” Ah, hence the bunker. It was starting to come together. “How old were you when she died?” “Six.” Rhaenyra nodded slowly, though the words spurred memory of her own loss. Her parents died together. One moment, they were driving home from a vacation, and the next, their bodies wrapped around a telephone pole. She hadn’t been with them. She’d been staying with Daemon for the weekend, due to her father’s reluctant agreement to let her bond with her uncle. “Don’t waste your life on ghosts,” he’d said when he caught her crying in her new bedroom one night. And then he’d pulled her into the whirlwind of his life, filling the silence with parties, endless promises of excitement, and himself. For a time, it had worked. The ache of loss dulled under the noise, and Daemon became the only constant in her life. But even then, she’d known that he wasn’t really protecting her. He was keeping her close for himself, for reasons she hadn’t understood back then. Rhaenyra blinked, forcing the memories back into their box. She tilted her head slightly, studying Alicent. “I’m sorry,” she said again, though the words felt hollow now. She wasn’t sure who she was saying them for. Alicent didn’t respond to that either. She sat in silence for a moment, her gaze fixed on the floor, before finally looking up at Rhaenyra. “Is there anything else you need?” Rhaenyra paused, glancing down at herself. The blankets, the pillows, the layers of care Alicent had draped over her. It was all clean, all soft, all suffocating. But underneath it all, her body ached with a different discomfort. “I need a bath,” she said finally. “Or a shower. Anything. I’m starting to stink.” Alicent blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Seriously,” Rhaenyra said, her tone softening into something almost playful. “I smell terrible. You can’t just keep burying me in quilts and hope it goes away.” Alicent frowned faintly, her gaze flicking over Rhaenyra like she was trying to confirm the truth of the statement. And then, quietly, almost too quietly, she said, “I think you smell good.” The words hit the air like a stone dropping into water, rippling outward. Rhaenyra froze, her breath catching for a fraction of a second as the comment registered. There was no humor in Alicent’s voice, no awkward laugh to follow. Just… sincerity. Her heart gave a faint, nervous flutter, but she forced herself to laugh, shaking her head. “That’s… sweet,” she said as smoothly as she could manage given how weird it made her feel. It was not sweet. It was fucking creepy as shit. “But we should still do something about it.” Alicent nodded quickly, her face tightening into that neutral mask again. “I’ll prepare something,” she said, standing abruptly. She was out the door before Rhaenyra could say anything else, leaving the room colder, quieter, and her captive stunned. Rhaenyra sank back into the pillows, staring at the concrete ceiling as her mind did flips. What the fuck was that? When Alicent came to help her, Rhaenyra noticed immediately how she avoided her gaze. “I’ve prepared the bathroom,” Alicent said softly, standing in the doorway with her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She shifted her weight awkwardly, her pale cheeks faintly flushed, though her voice was calm. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, letting her lips curl into a faint smile. “Oh, you’ve ‘prepared’ it?” she murmured, though the sharp ache in her ribs tempered her sarcasm. “I assume you’ll be helping me?” Alicent hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. “If you’ll allow it.” Rhaenyra blinked, surprised by the phrasing. Allow it? She hadn’t been asked for permission once since she’d woken up in this strange bunker. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” she said lightly, though her tone carried more warmth than bite. Alicent stepped forward, her movements measured as she slipped an arm under Rhaenyra’s shoulders. “Careful,” she murmured. Rhaenyra bit back a wince as Alicent lifted her, the pull on her ribs sharp and immediate. Her legs were weak beneath her, trembling with each step, and she leaned heavily on Alicent as they moved toward the door. The hallway felt colder than usual, the concrete walls leeching the warmth from her skin. Alicent didn’t speak as they walked, her grip steady but careful, as though she were afraid of touching too much. When they reached the bathroom, Alicent pushed the door open with her free hand, guiding Rhaenyra inside. The room was different from the smaller, sterile restroom she’d seen before. This one felt larger, more lived in, though no less utilitarian. The clawfoot tub in the center gleamed faintly under the flickering fluorescent light, and steam curled lazily from the water. “Thank fuck,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice dry but tinged with real gratitude. The warmth in the air was a welcome contrast to the chill of the bunker. Alicent guided her to the edge of the tub, easing her down onto a small wooden stool that had been placed nearby. “Wait here,” Alicent said, her voice tight, before stepping back to retrieve something from a nearby cabinet. Rhaenyra let her head tip back slightly, closing her eyes for a moment as the heat from the steam reached her. Her ribs still ached, her body still felt hollowed out, but the thought of sinking into that warmth was almost enough to make her forget the bunker, the pain, and her kidnapping entirely. She opened her eyes when Alicent returned, holding a small bundle of gauze, scissors, and tape. “I need to remove your dressings,” Alicent said, kneeling beside her. Her hands were steady now, though her voice carried a faint edge of something brittle. Rhaenyra glanced down at her shirt, which clung to her skin, rumpled and damp with sweat. “Alright.” She bit back a groan as she struggled to peel the fabric over her head, her movements sluggish. Alicent remained frozen, hands twitching at her sides, but didn’t offer assistance. After an agonizing moment, Rhaenyra managed to pull the shirt free, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. She glanced at Alicent. “Happy?” Alicent ignored the question entirely, focusing on the bandages as if her life depended on it. “Hold still,” she murmured, reaching for the edge of the gauze. Her fingers were careful, deft as she unwound the wrappings. Rhaenyra winced as the adhesive tugged against her stitches. “Sorry,” Alicent said quickly, her voice hushed, her eyes flicking to Rhaenyra’s face before returning to the task. Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, studying her. She was so strange. Alicent had been the one to stitch her up, for fuck’s sake. She’d seen everything, hadn’t she? Rhaenyra hadn’t been wearing a bra then, either. “You’re very thorough,” Rhaenyra said, her voice warm with exaggerated appreciation, still trying to butter up her captor. The words seemed to startle Alicent even worse, and in turn her fingers twitched slightly on the gauze. When the last of the wrappings fell away, Alicent hesitated. Her gaze lingered on Rhaenyra’s exposed skin for way too long, her expression heavy. Her hands hovered in the space between them, shaking faintly, before she abruptly jerked back as though burned. She muttered something under her breath, something too quiet for Rhaenyra to catch, and began gathering the discarded bandages with stiff, mechanical movements. Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed as she watched her, the sudden shift in energy prickling at her nerves. “You’re being weird,” she said suddenly, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Alicent froze mid motion, her back stiffening. “I’m not,” she replied quickly, her tone clipped, defensive. Her eyes darted toward Rhaenyra’s direction but looked past her. Instead, they focused somewhere over her shoulder, wide and unblinking. “If you say so.” “Um,” she said, her voice too high, too tight. “I-I just…” She trailed off, shaking her head sharply, like she was trying to dislodge a thought. “I need to… get rid of this,” she finished lamely, clutching the used gauze like it was precious and bolting toward the trash can in the corner. Rhaenyra blinked, baffled by the strange display. This was off, even for Alicent. Did nudity make her that uneasy? “What is your deal?” she asked, more to herself than Alicent, who was now methodically disposing of the bandages with an intensity that was unnerving. “Nothing! I’ll help you in,” she said quickly, her voice void of any composure. Alicent’s hands were shaky as she slipped them under Rhaenyra’s arms again, guiding her to the edge of the tub. The warmth of the steam curled around her, and Rhaenyra felt her body ease as she moved one leg over the rim. The water was perfect. Hot but not scalding. When Rhaenyra finally sank in, the heat enveloped her completely, soothing the ache in her ribs and the tension in her muscles. She let out a low sigh, leaning her head back against the porcelain rim. “I-I um… I’ve got to… I’ll… give you privacy,” Alicent said awkwardly, her voice low. Rhaenyra tilted her head, watching her for a moment. The fuck was she so nervous about? “Thank you,” she returned, lowering herself a little further. Alicent nodded sharply, stepping out of the bathroom without another word. Rhaenyra cleaned herself as best as she could, the water cushioning her movements and easing the sharpest of the aches in her ribs. She scrubbed her skin with the soap, and only after the suds were slick against her hands did she realize the soap smelled like Alicent. The thought left her unsettled. Her hair came next, the process made awkward by its length. She worked carefully through the tangles, wincing when she pulled too hard. She’d wanted to cut it short and that idea sparked yet another argument with Harwin while they'd gone to get the mail. They’d made up later, or so she’d thought, until they were lying in bed and he muttered that she embarrassed him by ‘acting like white trash’ in their ‘nice neighborhood.’ The comment had pissed her off so much she’d grabbed her pillow and stormed off to the couch. She hadn’t gone back that night. Or the next. That memory clung to her, sour and raw, as she let the water drain from the tub, watching it swirl and disappear. The quiet didn’t last. She heard the faintest creak of the door and opened her eyes just as Alicent stepped back into the bathroom. Rhaenyra’s heart jolted, though she kept her expression calm. “…Yes?” Alicent hesitated, her eyes rooted to the floor below her. “I just… wanted to check.” “Check what?” Rhaenyra asked, tilting her head. “That you’re okay.” “I’m still alive,” Rhaenyra said, though her tone carried more curiosity than irritation. Alicent’s discomfort was written all over her face: the faint flush in her cheeks, the tight line of her mouth, the way her gaze refused to even glance in Rhaenyra’s direction. “And I’m done now.” “How was it?” Alicent asked quickly, the words tumbling out like she couldn’t stop them. Rhaenyra frowned slightly, still trying to make sense of her. “Good. It’s nice to be clean.” “Yes. It is. You should dry off.” “I’d love to, but I need a towel for that,” Rhaenyra said, her tone flattening. She watched as Alicent crouched to open a cabinet, retrieving a towel and holding it stiffly in both hands, as though it were going to come to life and bite her. She stood there, rooted in place, the towel clutched in her hands. “Are you waiting for something?” Rhaenyra asked, tilting her head. Alicent’s pale cheeks flushed deeper. “No,” she said quickly, stepping forward with an abruptness that made her movements jerky. Rhaenyra leaned forward to grab it, the last of the water rippling faintly as she moved, and Alicent took a step back so sudden it was almost a stumble. That was when Rhaenyra saw it. The way Alicent’s eyes lingered just a fraction too long on the droplets clinging to her skin. The tightness in her jaw, the way her hands clenched at her sides as though she were physically restraining herself. The faint, unmistakable heat in her expression before she quickly averted her gaze. Oh, Rhaenyra thought. She didn’t say anything, didn’t let her face betray the sharp click of understanding in her brain. “I… forgot to get clothes,” Alicent said awkwardly, her voice tight. “Did you?” “Yes,” she continued quickly. “I’ll… be right back.” Before Rhaenyra could say anything else, Alicent turned and disappeared through the door again. Rhaenyra dried herself slowly, the thick towel soaking up the water that clung to her skin. The heat of the bath lingered on her body, making her ribs feel less like broken glass and more like a dull ache for the first time in awhile. But as her body relaxed, her mind churned, sharper and more alert than it had been since the crash. Alicent was attracted to her. The realization burned in her mind like she’d just sat staring at the sun, its outline permeating her thoughts. The way Alicent’s eyes had lingered, for the briefest second, the nervous flutter of her eyelashes. It wasn’t just awkwardness. It wasn’t just nerves. It was something deeper, something Alicent clearly couldn’t control, and that made it all the more dangerous. Rhaenyra’s stomach twisted as her mind leapt to the worst possibilities. A bunker in the middle of nowhere. A girl too strange and skittish to have a normal conversation without falling apart. And now, the realization that her captor was harboring some kind of attraction to her. Was she a stalker? A serial killer? The thought made her chest tighten, but she forced herself to breathe through it, gripping the towel more tightly. No way. If she had wanted to hurt her, she would’ve already. She was just… weird. And gay. Weird wasn’t reassuring. Neither was gay. But it was better than the alternatives her mind was conjuring. Rhaenyra waited, her fingers idly brushing against the edges of the towel. The chill was more pronounced now, the heat of the bath leeching from her skin. She sighed faintly, glancing toward the door just as it creaked open again. Alicent stepped towards her, clutching a folded bundle of fabric to her chest. “These should work,” she said, holding the bundle out like an offering. Rhaenyra took it slowly, her gaze flicking over the fabric as she unfolded it. Soft cotton, pale pink, with the unmistakable face of Minnie Mouse printed across the chest in faded colors. She blinked, her lips twitching faintly as she held up the pajama top. “Really?” Alicent flinched faintly, her fingers twitching at her sides. “They’re clean,” she said quickly. “Are these yours?” Rhaenyra asked, her voice dipping into something almost teasing. “Yes,” Alicent muttered. Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, her shoulders tense, as though bracing for more teasing. “They’ll do,” she said as pleasantly as she could possibly manage, though the absurdity of the situation made her want to laugh. Minnie Mouse pajamas, in a cold war-era bunker, handed to her by a fucking lesbian kidnapper who looked like she might spontaneously combust if blinked at the wrong way. “Can you give me a minute?” Rhaenyra added, holding up the pajamas. Alicent nodded quickly, stepping back toward the door. “I’ll be outside,” she said, her voice tight, before slipping out and closing the door behind her. Rhaenyra sighed, pulling the towel tighter around herself as she stood. Her ribs protested the movement, a sharp stab of pain cutting through her side, but she gritted her teeth and pushed through it. The cool air bit at her damp skin as she slipped the pajama top over her head, the soft cotton sticking slightly to her still damp hair. The pants were looser, the fabric pooling around her ankles as she adjusted the waistband. They smelled faintly of detergent, clean and warm. She glanced at herself in the mirror above the sink, the pale pink fabric clashing with her white, long, damp hair and the faint bruises blooming along her collarbone. She looked ridiculous. When she slowly waddled slash limped out of the bathroom, Alicent was waiting just outside the door, her back straight and her hands clasped tightly in front of her again. Her eyes flicked to Rhaenyra briefly, taking in the sight of her in the Minnie Mouse pajamas, before darting away again. “Well?” Rhaenyra said, arching an eyebrow. “How do I look?” Alicent’s lips twitched faintly, as though she were suppressing a smile. “Fine.” “Fine?” Rhaenyra repeated, tilting her head. “Not exactly a glowing review.” “They fit.” Rhaenyra hummed faintly, crossing her arms over her Minnie the Mouse's big smiling face. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” Alicent stiffened, her cheeks flushing again. “Yes,” she said quickly, too quickly. “Yes?” Rhaenyra’s eyes bulged, her mouth falling open in surprise, because wow because this woman fucking nuts. “What? Why would you admit that you’re hiding something from me?!” Alicent looked at her, helplessly, with her big pathetic eyes, slightly parted mouth, and fluttering eyelashes. “Alicent?” Rhaenyra pressed louder this time, the tension stretching thin between them. But Alicent seemed determined to deflect, her composure wavering as she changed the subject. “If you’re feeling up to it,” she said quickly, “I could… show you around. At least the main room.” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, her skepticism obvious. “A tour?" “Not… a full tour. I know you’re still weak. But… you’ve been here a while,” she said finally. “I thought… maybe it would help you feel less…” she stopped, sucking her teeth faintly before she finished. “Less trapped.” Rhaenyra tilted her head, studying Alicent’s face. It was hard to tell if Alicent was trying to make her feel more comfortable, or if she just wanted an excuse to spend more time with her. “Fine,” Rhaenyra acquiesced. “But only because I’m tired of staring at the same four walls.” Alicent nodded quickly, stepping forward to offer her arm. Rhaenyra hesitated for half a second before taking it, leaning into Alicent’s grip. The hallway stretched ahead of them, dimly lit by a row of flickering fluorescent bulbs. The walls were painted that tiresome pale, chipped green, their cold concrete edges softened only slightly by the occasional metal support beam. The air smelled like old water and machinery, and their footsteps echoed softly as they moved. “This place is huge,” Rhaenyra murmured, her voice carrying a faint note of disbelief. “It’s bigger than it looks,” Alicent said quietly, guiding her forward. “It was designed to hold a lot of people, but…” She trailed off. “But it’s just us now.” The hallway branched off into smaller corridors, each one marked with faded stenciled letters that Rhaenyra couldn’t quite make out in the dim light. Alicent led her down the main path, her movements slow to match Rhaenyra’s halting steps. “Where does that go?” Rhaenyra asked, gesturing faintly toward a side corridor as they passed. “The storage room,” Alicent answered. “I’ll show you someday.” They reached an archway that opened into a sprawling area at least eight times the size of Rhaenyra’s room. The room was warm, both in temperature and atmosphere. Soft neon lights lined the edges of the ceiling, casting the space in a faint, colorful glow. A well-worn leather couch sat in the center of the room, piled high with mismatched blankets and throw pillows, and a low coffee table was cluttered with books, old VHS tapes, and an ancient-looking chessboard. A kitchen occupied one corner, its counters clean but clearly lived in. A kettle sat on the stove, and a stack of ceramic mugs rested on the counter beside it. Against the far wall, a bookshelf groaned under the weight of its contents. It appeared to be everything from paperbacks with cracked spines to thick, leather bound tomes. The cold concrete walls had been softened with tapestries and string lights, their warm glow casting soft shadows over the space. There were more bookshelves, all full, and other little shelves of electronics and other gadgets. But the thing that caught Rhaenyra’s attention was the jukebox in the corner, its bright neon lights flickering faintly in the dim room. “A jukebox?” “It was my father’s,” Alicent said quietly, guiding her towards the couch. Rhaenyra let herself sink onto the couch with a sigh, her ribs flaring briefly before settling. The leather was worn but soft, and she felt a thousand times better now that she was clean. “This is nicer than I expected,” she admitted, glancing around the room. Alicent hovered nearby, her hands twisting faintly. “Are you hungry?” she asked after a moment, her voice soft but steady. “What’s on the underground menu?” Rhaenyra asked dryly. Alicent hesitated, her gaze shifting briefly toward the storage room down the hall. “I could make some soup,” she said finally, her voice soft and measured. “I don’t have much else prepped. I haven’t really been cooking for two, but I could take a trip to the supply room if there’s something specific you’d like. You could just sit here, and I could bring you whatever you want…” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. Alicent was rambling, something she had never witnessed before. Maybe the earlier nakedness was still bothering her. Either way, it was unnerving to see her like this. “Soup sounds good,” Rhaenyra said, cutting her off to spare them both the discomfort. Alicent nodded and turned toward the kitchen, her movements brisk and purposeful. Rhaenyra leaned back, feeling her body relax more than it had since she had woken up in this strange, claustrophobic bunker. Her gaze drifted to the coffee table, where a stack of loose VHS tapes lay neatly arranged. The Dark Crystal, Blade Runner, and other old titles were labeled with neat handwriting, the lettering precise and tidy. She tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Were you watching these?” she asked, raising her voice to carry across the room. “Oh, yes,” Alicent replied from the kitchen. The clatter of dishes accompanied her voice. “It passes the time.” Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on the tapes a moment longer before shifting to the jukebox in the corner. “Does the jukebox work?” Alicent paused what she was doing in the kitchen and glanced over her shoulder. “Yes.” Without another word, she abandoned whatever task she’d been focused on and moved to the jukebox. She stood in front of it for a moment, her slender fingers gliding over the buttons, before Etta James’s voice filled the bunker. The melody hummed through the space, reverberating off the walls and softening the edges of the room even further. Rhaenyra tilted her head back against the couch, her damp hair sticking to the leather. The main room’s dim, ambient lighting was cozy compared to the oppressive fluorescent glare she’d been subjected to since waking up in this nightmare. Her body ached from her earlier trek, her muscles burning with exhaustion, but the sultry strains of Etta James made her head swim pleasantly. “—Oh, I'm hoping to discover—” She let her gaze wander lazily, her eyes settling on Alicent as she moved around the kitchen. Alicent milled around, opening drawers, turning knobs, and moving in quiet, efficient bursts. “—a certain kind of lover—” Rhaenyra found herself staring. She wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the isolation, or some twisted effect of the bunker’s claustrophobia, but there was something about Alicent’s presence that was… stare worthy. Maybe it was the way she seemed to hover on the edge of nervousness, like a bird perpetually ready to flee. Maybe it was her attentiveness, her strange eagerness to please. “—who will show me the way—” Her gaze traced Alicent’s frame as she moved, taking in the way her shirt clung to the curve of her back and shape of her waist, then her hips. Alicent was… attractive. In a way. Not to Rhaenyra, obviously. Rhaenyra liked men. Big, burly men. Masculine men. Dangerous men, even. Alicent was none of those things. She was small, delicate, and… what was the word? Juicy? Curvy? “—and my arms need someone—” She wondered what Alicent would be like to fuck. Not for her to fuck, obviously. That was ridiculous. Crazy. But if she herself were a man. A real man, like Harwin. She could almost see it, almost feel it, as if it were unfolding right in front of her. Alicent, naked, bent over the counter, her glutes taut and perfect, trembling the way she always seemed to do. She was so perpetually nervous or unsure. Her breath would come in high pitched little gasps, her head turning back, her wide, doe-like eyes filled with that same stunned, helpless look she always gave Rhaenyra. “—someone to enfold—” It would drive a man wild. It would drive her wild, if she were one. That look of hers would beg to be ruined, broken, fucked out of her until it melted into something even more helpless and needy, until those pitiful little gasps turned into desperate, shameless cries. Alicent seemed like the type who’d fall apart under the right attention, the kind who’d offer herself up completely. She would be so eager, so pliant, and willing to do anything just to feel wanted. “—to keep me warm when Mondays and Tuesdays grow cold—” In her mind, Rhaenyra saw it vividly, so vividly it almost felt real. Alicent bent over the counter, her hips pushed up. The wet, obscene slapping of skin against skin would echo in the small room, sharp and punishing, mixing with Alicent’s whimpers. She could practically hear it, the rhythm building, relentlessly so. A hand would come down hard on Alicent’s ass, leaving a bright red mark, the shape of her palm clear against her pale skin. Alicent would jerk forward, gasping, her voice high and broken, but she wouldn’t protest. No, she’d take it, take whatever was given to her, because that’s what she seemed like. Like someone who needed to be told what to do, someone who’d beg for it. Her pathetic little noises would spill out, muffled against her arm or the cool surface of the counter, her body arching back, desperate to meet every thrust. “—love for all my life, to have and to hold—” Her neck, long and pale, would arch so beautifully if a hand gripped it, tilting her head back. Rhaenyra could practically feel the way Alicent’s skin would taste, soft and warm, as she- no, he- traced his mouth along her throat, leaving marks there, similar to the ones Rhaenyra had from the crash. She would- HE would mark her. In revenge, almost. Her pretty red hair would spill messily over her shoulders, her body arching, her back curving— —the realization of what she was fantasizing about slammed into Rhaenyra with a force that left her breathless. She shook her head sharply, disgusted with herself. What the fuck was wrong with her? Her thoughts were like a teenage boy’s. She would scream at her oldest if he ever dared objectify a woman like that. Yet, the thoughts wouldn’t leave. Alicent, her mouth open and dripping, her body trembling, completely undone by her -no, by the man she imagined herself as. It remained, dark and intrusive, curling deep in her chest like a secret she couldn’t shake. “—oh, and I want a Sunday kind of love—” Then came an idea. Her ticket out of here. Alicent’s feelings, her attraction, could be the key. Rhaenyra didn’t need to do much, just enough to feed into whatever Alicent already felt for her. Just enough to earn her trust, to make Alicent let her guard down. Harwin would understand. Of course he would. Besides, it would make for an incredible chapter in her survivor’s memoir. She could already picture it… how she outwitted her captor by using her own obsessive feelings against her and triumphed over the Black Swan. Rhaenyra chuckled under her breath at her own lesbian ballerina joke, a soft, amused sound as her eyelids began to droop. “—oh, yeah, yeah, yeah—” She continued to watch Alicent, her movements skittish but purposeful. She wondered briefly what Alicent would look like hoisted onto the counter, her shirt discarded, her breath coming in uneven gasps. What her breasts might look like, her skin flushed and— —“Do you like onions?” Alicent’s voice rang out, cutting through the haze of Rhaenyra’s thoughts like a slap. Rhaenyra jolted, startled, her face flushing hot with embarrassment at where her mind had gone. “Uh… love ’em,” she replied, her voice cracking slightly. “—I don't want a Monday, Tuesday—” When Alicent returned, she was carrying a tray with two steaming bowls of soup, a small plate of crackers, and two mismatched spoons. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want crackers,” she said meekly, setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of Rhaenyra. Her voice was calm again, but there was still a faint, nervous edge to her movements, her hands lingering on the edges of the tray longer than necessary. “Crackers are fine,” Rhaenyra said lightly. Alicent sat down stiffly in one of the armchairs. “Good.” “Thank you,” Rhaenyra murmured, picking up her spoon and taking a cautious sip of the soup. It was all veggies, but nice and flavorful. She glanced at Alicent, who was sitting unnaturally still. “This is good.” Alicent’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Thank you,” she said softly. They ate in silence for a while, the sound of the jukebox filling the room with faint crackles and low singing. But Rhaenyra’s mind was restless with her thoughts from before. How does one even begin to flirt with a lesbian? Let alone a mentally ill one? “How does it all work?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Alicent blinked, her gaze snapping to Rhaenyra’s face. “What?” “The bunker,” Rhaenyra clarified. “The water, the power, all of it. How does it work?” For a moment, Rhaenyra thought she wouldn’t answer. But then something shifted in Alicent’s expression, a faint spark of pride, maybe, and the other woman straightened slightly in her chair. “It’s… a lot of systems, so it’s a lot.” Alicent said more confidently than usual, her voice carrying the faintest note of enthusiasm. “I’ve got time,” Rhaenyra said, leaning back against the couch, holding her bowl of warm soup in her lap. “The water comes from the Denver water table,” Alicent began, her hands gesturing faintly as she spoke. “It’s an underground aquifer… basically a natural reservoir beneath the city. It uses a pump system that taps into it, so we have fresh water even if the surface supply is… compromised.” “Compromised,” Rhaenyra echoed dryly, raising an eyebrow. “Right.” Alicent ignored the sarcasm, her voice growing steadier as she continued. “The water gets filtered and stored in tanks. Some of it goes to the hydroponic room, where the plants and fish are.” Rhaenyra blinked. “Fish?” Alicent nodded, her expression softening slightly. “Aquaponics,” she said. “The fish produce waste, which gets broken down by bacteria into nutrients that feed the plants. The plants, in turn, filter the water, which goes back to the fish. It’s… efficient.” Rhaenyra tilted her head, surprised. “So you’re farming fish down here?” “Yes,” Alicent said simply. “And plants?” “Tomatoes, herbs, lettuce,” Alicent listed, her hands twitching faintly in her lap. “Nothing fancy, but it’s sustainable.” Rhaenyra let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “Right. That’s not fancy at all.” Alicent’s lips twitched, though she didn’t quite smile. Rhaenyra needed her to smile. She needed her to take the bait. “And the power?” Rhaenyra pressed, leaning forward slightly. Alicent hesitated, her gaze flicking briefly to the TV before returning to Rhaenyra. “Geothermic, mostly,” she said. “There are backup panels on the surface. But there’s also a backup generator. Biogas... it runs on methane produced by the compost from the plants and fish waste.” “That’s… impressive, Alicent. Very impressive.” Alicent’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she glanced down at her lap. “It’s just practical,” she said softly. Rhaenyra continued to lounge back on the couch, her gaze drifting to the jukebox in the corner, its neon lights humming faintly in the dark. It had long switched to some other song. Her mind turned over the details of the bunker, the quiet efficiency of its systems, and the strange, nervous woman sitting across from her. “This place is incredible.” Technically true. Crazy, but incredible. Rhaenyra looked back over at Alicent, offering her a smile. Alicent’s gaze flicked up to meet hers briefly, her amber eyes lit up from the flattery. “Thank you,” she said softly. Rhaenyra let her gaze settle on the stack of VHS tapes, her soup bowl now resting empty on the table. “So,” she said, keeping her tone cool, casual, “do you have a favorite?” Alicent looked up from where her hands fidgeted in her lap. “Favorite?” she repeated. “Movie,” Rhaenyra clarified, nodding toward the tapes. “Out of all those, which one do you always go back to?” Alicent hesitated, her gaze flicking to the stack of tapes, then back to Rhaenyra. “I don’t know. They’re just… something to pass the time.” Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly, honeying up her voice a bit. “Oh, come on, everyone has a favorite. Pick one for us. Let’s watch something.” “You want to watch one now?” Rhaenyra shrugged, letting another faint smile tug at her lips. “Why not? It’s not like we’ve got anything else to do.” After a moment’s pause, Alicent stood, moving to the stack of tapes. She crouched down, her fingers brushing over the handwritten labels. Rhaenyra watched her carefully, noting the way she handled the tapes, she was so meticulous and anal. Must be the ballerina in her. “Blade Runner,” Alicent decided at last. “Perfect,” Rhaenyra smiled faintly, leaning back into the couch, and then to really ham it up, added. “Good choice, Alicent.” She watched as Alicent slipped the tape into the VCR. The screen flickered to life, the hum of the television filling the room as the movie began to play. Alicent hesitated before returning to her armchair, sitting stiffly on the edge with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Rhaenyra let the silence stretch, letting Alicent stew in her own awkwardness for a bit, before she spoke up. “You don’t have to sit all the way over there, you know.” Alicent’s head turned sharply. “I’m fine here.” Rhaenyra let out an easy laugh, tilting her head as she gestured to the empty space beside her. “Come on, I won’t bite.” She leaned back once more, her posture loose and inviting. “It’s just a movie. Sit with me.” “I’m comfortable here,” Alicent replied, but the hesitation in her voice was unmistakable. Rhaenyra softened her tone further, adding a touch of warmth. “That chair doesn’t look comfortable. And it’s not like I’m contagious or anything.” She patted the couch again, her smile gentle, coaxing. “Come here. You’ll see it b