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It's a terrible thing to be a daughter in this world, only worsened by the weight of a father's wrongdoings.
The night Alicent learns this, she is just a maiden of three-and-ten years. It is the last night she will ever truly be an innocent thing, not that she is aware of it.
He comes to her at dusk; the embers of Alicent’s candle flame are still warm, a porcelain doll is clutched to her chest, and she is lost somewhere between reality and dreams. His hands are slick with something cold as he shakes her awake.
"Wake! Wake, Alicent! We must go, my child. Come, hurry," he says to her urgently.
“Father, what—”
He hushes her, picking Alicent up like she is something precious, something more than what she really is to him. She wants to keep that feeling and hold it tight to her. Except, she cannot focus on it because there is an all-consuming pain ripping through her body. She cannot hold back the scream of agony that escapes from her.
"All will be well. You must wait it out, hold strong, and you will be alright,” Father says.
It hurts. She hurts. Everything hurts.
“Father, Father, make it stop—,” Alicent wails as another wave of pain consumes her, bones popping in the wake of it.
His grip loosen as he slips Alicent into the arms of another. Gwayne perhaps? She cannot tell. Her limbs feel as if they are breaking, and her senses are working against her. Nothing is right. Her father is lying.
Alicent is dying, and it is so very painful. She heaves a sob, and Gwayne places a kiss on her forehead as he runs. Alicent is not even. certain when he began to run in the first place. It doesn’t matter. She’ll soon be dead even if it is Maester Mellos he runs to. Another one of the bones in her thigh pops, and she screeches, gripping her brother tighter as her bone lengthens.
He screams in tandem, for she has hurt him too.
“I am sorry. I am so sorry,” she babbles to her dearest brother.
She is sorry for hurting him, for not being a good enough sibling, for not loving him enough, for dying a broken mess in his arms.
“Hush, sweet sister. All will be well. Trust me,” he says.
She wants to trust him more than anything in the world, but how can she survive this pain? She digs her nose further into the crook of his neck, inhaling his musky scent, so utterly him—stronger, now that it is the only solace from her pain.
He stops and lays Alicent down on a soft bed of grass. She opens her eyes and finds herself deep in the forest that surrounds her village, near the roots of a great pine. There is no maester to be found, just Gwayne and Father. In his arms are chains, ones she has never seen before. They are thick and long and appear to be spiked at some points.
“Father, Gwayne, what is-”
Before she can finish her question, Alicent falls into another wave of pure and utter agony. The sound that escapes her mouth is inhuman as she fights through a pain so sharp, it splits her open from the marrow.
“Quickly, Gwayne. We must make haste before it is too late.”
“Yes, Father.”
Her brother tries to lift her again, but the pain is so terrible, that Alicent fights him, and so he drags her—her dearest brother drags her backwards, as though she is nothing but a sack of grain. Alicent cannot react further, for she is already crying. Through her blurred vision, she sees her father with the chains still in-hand.
“What is happening?”
“It’s almost time. Please remember I’m doing this because I love you,” her father proclaims severely.
She realizes with a dawning horror that the chains are for her. That her father intends to shackle his own daughter like a hog led to slaughter—that her brother is helping.
Alicent attempts to buck away from him, but Gwayne’s grip is firm. He holds her in place against the trunk of the pine.
“No, no, no,” she pleads helplessly.
“Forgive me, Alicent,” Gwayne whispers into her ear, even as he restrains her, allowing their father to bind her to the tree.
The spikes dig into her flesh, tearing it. Blood drips down her limbs and torso. It hurts, but no more than their betrayal.
What is happening? Why is this happening? Is she dying? Are they killing her? Hasn’t she been a good daughter, a good sister, a good girl? What has she done to deserve this?
A strap of leather is shoved between her teeth around her head to secure it before she can ask such questions.
A muzzle, as if she is nothing but an animal.
They step back, staring at her with pity, despite having put her here. She gazes back at them, finally seeing them clearly. They are both covered in blood and what looks to be ash, but the moonlight is too dim to truly tell.
What have they done?
Her brother steps forward, hand on her cheek, and tells her, “All will be well. Come the morning, you will be right as rain.”
Then, he and their father both leave her there. She cannot speak a single word, so she screams and screams and screams from behind the muzzle. Not once do they look back. For the first time in her life, she hates them. She knows not what is going on, but nothing is right.
Her tears persist, as does her pain; she’s losing control of her functions. There is a prayer at the tip of her tongue, one to all of the seven gods she calls her own, but none are saving her despite her years of piety and devotion. Just this once, she falters, and they no longer listen to her prayers.
“Mother,” Alicent calls out through the muzzle, unsure if it is her own she wishes for, long dead to illness, or the Mother to which she prays. Comfort is what she is longing for, and both are meant to provide it, yet none arrives.
A twig breaks, and her head snaps to where she hears it. There, bathed in moonlight, is the prettiest lady she has ever seen. The maiden looks as if she has been kissed by the very moon itself with her beached features, all pale hair, pale skin, and pale eyes. The only color about her is the red cloak she wears, a red as deep as blood.
“Help me please!” Alicent yells, but it comes out all wrong and not at all due to the muzzle.
The lady does not respond, nor does she make any indication that she has heard Alicent. She simply stands there, watching her. As if she is waiting for something. For her.
Is she the Maiden? The Mother? Is this who the gods have sent to watch over her? Will she keep her safe? Is she even real?
Alicent doesn’t ponder on this for too long. Her attention is forced elsewhere as the moonlight finally hits her own skin. If she thought she was in agony before, she’d been completely wrong. Her body is undergoing a transformation so brutal that the pain of it rips her apart from head to toe. The spikes of her chains dig into her and as she grows and shifts, yet they do their job of keeping her confined, making the transformation excruciating as bone fights steel and loses.
It seems like an eternity has passed when it is finally finished.
Alicent feels—oh, she feels—like she wants to run. She wants to be free of these chains. She is so very hungry. She wants nothing more than to sink her teeth into something, to devour and claim the flesh of another.
She struggles against the chains for hours, vacillating between snarling at her restraints and wailing for anybody to free her, because she is a maiden, she doesn’t belong in the dark forest, shackled to a tree beneath the moonlight like a beast.
She’s hungry, but she’s terrified, and has been since she was first awoken in the night by bloodied hands. The terror has not abated, even now that she, herself, is a terrifying creature.
She is not Alicent Hightower.
She…she…it is a beast with no control of its thoughts, let alone its actions.
It is the beast who wishes for little else than to run free and feed.
It howls for hours, fighting to follow its instincts, but it’s all for naught because nobody comes for her.
And yet, the moment the moon is overtaken by the sun, the beast is gone, and a terrified maiden is left in its place.
They come for her when the sun has just risen. In their hands are weapons, and she feels her heart breaking once more. Is that what it would have come down to had she not turned back into the meek daughter she once was? They have done this to her, and they are willing to kill her for it.
If she hadn’t wasted all her tears already, she would have wept at the sight of them.
Gwayne looks at her first. There is so much relief in his face as he runs to her, weapons dropping from his hands as he rushes forward.
“Oh, Alicent. You’re well. I was so worried,” he tells her, simpering words falling from his mouth as he undoes her muzzle. “Next moon will be easier.”
“Next moon?” Alicent asks, dazed.
“I’m so sorry, sweet daughter,” her father says, quietly. “I did not know this would be your burden to bear.”
Alicent’s eyes widen slightly as she realizes with utter dismay that the beast in her chest will return each moon and never go away.
And that it is her own family who have cursed her.
While father undoes her chains, Gwayne speaks quietly to Alicent. He is explaining something about forgiveness and misdeeds, about misfortune and unrighteous vengeance, but it just goes in one of her ears and out the other. She is exhausted and wants nothing more than a meal, a warm bath, and the comfort of her bed. There are wounds all over her, but they matter little since she cannot feel them.
She has gone numb.
She cares not for their explanations. She knows what they have done, if not the details. She knows what has happened to her and what she now is. Something completely other, cursed. They have done something to invoke the wrath of the Valyrian gods, for the gods Alicent keeps would never be so vengeful to curse her. It is she who must bear the brunt of their foolish errors. She hates them, but they are all she has left now that she has no other future than that of a daughter and sister. Alicent knows in her heart that she will never be a wife or a mother, not when she lives as a monster by moonlight.
“All was well, just as you said it would be,” Alicent replies to their incessant querying, voice hoarse due to the hours of screaming she has just endured. “I think I should like to go home now, if you would permit it.”
Her father nods, and Gwayne takes her into his arms gently.
Alicent closes her eyes and tries to pretend that this was all just a dream, nothing more than a nightmare.
She fails.
It happens again and again and again. Every time the moon is at its highest and fullest, Alicent becomes the beast that longs for nothing but to be free. It is a painful thing each time too, but she is never alone.
The moon-kissed lady, who appears more a girl than the lady Alicent once believed her to, now that Alicent has had multiple nights to study her, is always there. She always watches Alicent silently. She appears only when the sun is away, and remains at such a distance that Alicent sometimes wonders if she is just a hallucination, one made of her own longing to not be so alone in her misery. It would be unnerving to anyone else, but Alicent finds comfort in the girl’s pale appearance. She is never by herself in the worst moments of her life, for the girl is never far, real or not.
With every moon, Alicent’s hair grows, and her features age, but the girl stays the same each time; pale features, red cloak, and no shoes—like a doll, frozen in time; small, and hauntingly beautiful. Her expression never changes either, always the same curious look on her face. It makes her no less beautiful, and Alicent wants for nothing more than to see the girl smile—at her.
It is a terrible thing, wanting. It seems as if it’s all she ever does; what her future will always hold. An intangible desire. It makes her visit the sept more often, so much more pious than even a septa. Her knees have perpetual bruises from the way she kneels at the altar, praying for salvation. The sept is her home away from home though she can never fully join the faith, not with her…condition. It is an unspoken rule not to acknowledge it, to work around her—it.
Sometimes Alicent wishes she would just die, but to think so is sinful, so she doesn’t let her thoughts wander off anymore. In fact, many things about her are sinful. It’s why she is always praying—praying for forgiveness and deliverance. She has to believe that one day her gods will hear her prayers and grant them because, despite her affliction, she is good.
They’re benevolent gods; they have granted Alicent her very own moon-kissed girl. Perhaps, they will show mercy in time, too.
Or so she tries to convince herself, but as time passes, her resolve crumbles.
Is it not enough that she is a beast, deprived of a family and children? Must she also be deprived of the carnal pleasures found between lovers?
Alicent holds strong for so long, but there are nights where there is no moon in the sky, and her hand finds itself traveling between her thighs, sliding up and down her length, wrist twisting at the top, her thumb sliding across the wet slit at the tip of her cock as she teases herself through the night, not stopping until she makes a mess of her bedclothes.
As if that isn’t sinful enough, it isn’t herself she imagines in these moments, not even a man she is courting, let alone a man at all. It’s her moon-kissed girl Alicent envisions each night after everyone has fallen asleep, and there is only darkness. Her dreams are much the same, except her impossible girl speaks to her. She calls Alicent such lovely epithets, tells her that all her nights belong to her, and more too, but Alicent always forgets by the time she has risen with the sun.
It’s depravity at its finest, wishing to thrust herself on another—on a girl—when she is a cursed creature. For this reason, Alicent is a septa in all but name, in order to repent for what she has become and the carnal desires it brings out in her.
Her days belong to prayers and good deeds, while her nights belong to prurient obscenity. She has tried to resist temptation, but she has no control of her dreams. She always slips back into such sinful behavior. She just can't seem to let go of her moon-kissed girl; it's almost as if more witchcraft has been set on her. Even while Alicent suspects this, she has spent enough sleepless nights pondering why she acts the way she does to know that it is not more magic, but something more subtle.
Men, she has found, have always let her down. There is no stirring inside of her when she looks upon the handsome ones she’s heard all the ladies whisper about. No, her heart does not quicken when she stares at one, or any, for longer than is required. Nothing rises inside of her but apathy and disgust.
It is a lady’s form that draws her eyes, that makes Alicent’s thoughts go from proper to debased. One in particular, her moon-kissed girl, continues to plague Alicent, but she would have it no other way.
Her future will always be in the forest, and it’s there she always is.
For some inexplicable reason, Alicent is comforted by this notion.
“Is it really so bad?” are the first words Alicent hears as she comes to.
The girl’s voice is both nothing and everything like she expected it to be; familiar yet not. There is a girlish quality to it, melodic, but ancient too—something other.
Alicent blinks, moonlight no longer clouding her vision and mind.
The doll that stands sentry during Alicent’s cursed nights is right in front of her, leaning down so that they’re face to face, or would be if Alicent’s face was not covered by a muzzle. The sun is not yet out, but it soon will be—and still, she is here. If Alicent were not chained up, she could reach out and touch the girl, to affirm whether she has truly gone mad or not. Even if she could, Alicent isn't sure she would have the courage to actually do it.
It’s easier if she does not know.
“Can you understand me?” The ethereal girl asks again. Alicent can only nod her head and stare at her, memorizing the slope of her nose, the prominent cupid’s bow of her lips, the gleaming violet of her irises, and the smooth, unblemished skin; as perfect as porcelain, even to Alicent’s inferior eyes.
A doll, but now so very real when she’s this close.
“Oh, good!” Her moon-kissed girl smiles, and if Alicent only thought she was a fool for her before, she is certain she is now.
“I am Rhaenyra, and you are Alicent. Would you like to be friends?” The girl asks.
Rhaenyra.
It suits her.
Alicent wants to speak it until she no longer can.
Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra.
It’s a lovely name for a lovely girl.
Her name is Rhaenyra, and she would like to be friends. She would like to be friends with Alicent. It’s as if…as if…as if Rhaenyra is real, but how can she be when this is everything Alicent has ever dreamt of?
Alicent whines through her muzzle. She sees Rhaenyra’s mouth fall into an o-shape. “Silly me, I forgot about this pesky thing.”
Before she can realize what is happening, Alicent’s muzzle is falling onto the ground, and this is—she is—
“Yes,” Alicent finally answers. “I would love nothing more than to be your friend, Rhaenyra.”
Soft, delicate hands cup Alicent’s face, and she melts into the touch—and oh, Rhaenyra’s touch is heavenly, and she is so very real.
“We shall be the best of friends, you and I, Alicent.”
Her name has never sounded as soft and sweet as it does when Rhaenyra says it.
"Please."
Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra.
A kiss is placed on her forehead. Alicent would have fallen to her knees right then and there, were it not for her chained form.
It's been so long since someone has been gentle with Alicent, since someone who knows what she is has treated her like something precious. It’s not just anyone, either, but the girl who has stood over Alicent through the worst of nights, who has watched the maiden become the beast and fall back again; who has not once run away, afraid.
Alicent wants to speak with Rhaenyra, but her voice won’t allow her to; it’s gone. She whines, heavy in the back of her throat, which catches Rhaenyra’s attention. She softens further, if possible.
“I’m so sorry it has taken me so long to speak to you, Alicent. I just wasn’t sure if—,” Rhaenyra pauses, her eyes flitting to the side for the slightest moment before locking back with Alicent’s.
No, not her, never her. Please don’t say you thought I would hurt you. Never you. I—
“Well, I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to, so I stayed away, but close enough so that I could see you,” Rhaenyra continues.
Tears well up in Alicent’s eyes, such different tears than the ones she usually sheds during these nights. Her heart flutters in its cage, wishing to fly off and make its home elsewhere.
Alicent pushes past the pain and her own limitations and says, “I’ll always want you near me.”
Rhaenyra’s smile widens, caressing Alicent’s cheeks once more, thumbs stroking the tender flesh beneath them. “As do I, but I fear I must go now.”
Alicent doesn’t want her to go, but she knows that Rhaenyra belongs to the moon, just like it, and that the sun is almost beginning to peak out.
“I wish this moment could last longer,” Rhaenyra whispers reluctantly, as if she’s telling a terrible secret. “I’ll be back next time. I swear it, Alicent.”
With a quick motion, her muzzle is back on. The last Alicent sees of Rhaenyra is her red cloak fluttering in the wind before she is gone. Alicent is left alone once more, but the difference this time is that she knows it will not last.
The weeks leading up to the next full moon leave Alicent weak and wanting, filled with an energy she has never felt before. Pure and utter joy, but somehow more. Her nights are still filled with her girl—Rhaenyra. But this time, they feel all the more real. Perhaps that’s because Alicent knows her name now, or because she’s certain that she’s actually real and not just a figment of her imagination.
Alicent still goes to the sept, but as she sits beneath the altars of the Seven, Alicent does not spare them a single thought. It is not intentional, of course, but she cannot stop thinking of Rhaenyra.
Her family notices her strange behavior but do not comment on it. It becomes another of the unspeakable divisions between Alicent and those who raised her.
When the full moon finally comes, Alicent is buzzing with excitement for the very first time. She cannot bring herself to tamper it down even though she notices brother’s and father’s clear apprehension as they take her into the forest. They do what they usually do, and she keeps her eyes peeled for silver and red when they leave.
And there Rhaenyra is, a few paces away, looking the same as always. “Hello, Alicent. I’ve missed you.”
She sounds genuine, and Alicent knows she is, unlike so many others.
Once Rhaenyra takes off her muzzle, Alicent replies, “I’ve missed you too. Stay with me?”
Rhaenyra smiles. It’s then that Alicent notices how sharp the girl’s teeth are; they suit her.
“Always.”
Moons turn into years and still, Rhaenyra stays.
Every full moon when Alicent is chained to that abhorrent, damp tree, Rhaenyra is there. And unlike everything else in Alicent’s life, her moon-kissed companion never changes.
Quite literally, too.
Unlike Alicent, who grows from girl to lady, Rhaenyra remains in an ambiguous state between the two, forever a doll made flesh. Alicent does not mind it because to her, Rhaenyra will always be the same girl who never left Alicent alone in her most dire hour of need. Rhaenyra will always be older in her mind, despite her youthful body.
Alicent will never admit it, but she likes Rhaenyra this way, smaller and more delicate than Alicent herself. It feels perverse to even think about, but Alicent herself becomes a beast each month, so surely this is nothing compared to that.
Before Alicent shifts into her beastly form, Rhaenyra keeps her company. They talk and talk and talk, until the moon is high and the pain overtakes her. Each time, she learns more and more about Rhaenyra.
Her full name is Rhaenyra Targaryen, and she’s been alive for longer than Alicent can comprehend. She was born in Old Valyria, a land so ancient, it’s mythical. Perhaps in another life, Alicent would not believe her moon-kissed girl, but the beastly form that Alicent takes each moon was once a legend, too and serves as proof of the girl’s gods, as well as of her homeland. So, instead of suspicion, Alicent accepts this eldritch truth from Rhaenyra. In fact, she finds it fitting, for Rhaenyra’s beauty is as otherworldly as her claims of origin, as devastating as the hand of her gods.
In return, Alicent tells Rhaenyra about her own history and family, though the tale is much less romantic; a dead mother, a selfish father, and a brother who she once loved more than anything in the world. She tells Rhaenyra of what had broken her faith in them, of the night of her very first transformation, and Rhaenyra understands—of course she does. It was her moon-kissed girl’s gods that set this upon Alicent.
Throughout it all, Rhaenyra simply holds her hand, coaxing the memories out of Alicent as she keeps their fingers intertwined, speaking more of her homeland and the dramatic mythos when Alicent is too sorrowful to speak of her own life. One evening, Rhaenyra does for Alicent what her father and brother could never bring themselves to do; she provides a name for the beast within Alicent’s chest.
“A beast, you might say, but the proper term would be werewolf,” Rhaenyra tells her.
Werewolf, Alicent mouths. She tests the word on her tongue. It feels right.
It’s on that night that Alicent gathers her courage and asks, “And what are you?”
Rhaenyra looks up at Alicent with glowing violet eyes that look as dangerous as the gods they’ve spoken of. Rhaenyra’s gaze is followed by a sharp, smug smirk that makes Alicent shiver; it has nothing to do with the cool breeze.
“I was wondering when you were going to ask,” the girl says. “I am a nightwalker. As the name suggests, I belong to the moon, like your beast form. I cannot go into the sun which is why I always leave when I do.”
“A nightwalker,” Alicent whispers. It, too, feels right. “And what does that entail?”
Somehow Rhaenyra’s smirk widens, and lit by moonlight, she has never looked lovelier. Nor has she ever looked so unlike the girl she has become accustomed to. It is easy to forget that Rhaenyra is a creature, something other, but Rhaenyra cannot be confused with anything else at the moment.
“I require a…different diet than the one most others indulge in. It keeps me the way I am, unchanging,” Rhaenyra reveals, confirming Alicent’s observations.
Unchanging, constant, and eternal—all things Alicent was once told about the love of a family and the guidance of her own gods, but that none other than Rhaenyra has ever proven to be true.
As time goes on, Alicent becomes more in-tune with her doll-like sentry.
She can pick up her scent before Rhaenyra has revealed herself; something vaguely citrusy and woodsy, a scent that intensifies when Alicent transforms. She drools like a craven beast each time she picks up on it. Whenever Rhaenyra is not near, the beast howls and howls and howls.
Alicent was wrong when she called herself a fool for speaking to Rhaenyra, for Rhaenyra makes Alicent feel anything but foolish. Rhaenyra makes Alicent feel human, even when she is anything but. She makes Alicent feel cared for. Her heart beats solely for Rhaenyra’s own, even to the same tune.
One night a moon is not enough.
At first, she knows not what this is, this feeling that has been carefully cultivated each time Rhaenyra smiles at her, or undoes her muzzle, or takes her hand into her own, or tells her something about herself, or remembers something Alicent once mentioned in the passing…
But there comes a time when Alicent finally puts a name to these emotions: love.
Once, this may have terrified her, even moreso because it is a girl her heart, body, mind, and soul long for, but does not terrify her now. Maybe it is the specific girl in question, but Alicent knows her love is true and will remain true until she draws her dying breath.
There is no one else Alicent would rather have. The beast inside of her knows that, too. It longs and longs and longs for Rhaenyra, and Alicent cannot continue fighting against it. She isn’t sure she even wants to. They both want the same thing, the same person, and she has grown wise enough to admit that she and it are not so different.
It is simply Alicent without the inhibitions she enforces upon herself, or that others have enforced upon her. All the feelings it feels are ones she does too, simply intensified and heightened, more primitive than logical. She has spent years pushing everything down and away…but once a moon, her repressed feelings emerge. The longer she goes on, the more painful it is—not to shift into the beast, but to shift back into the human.
It is when she starts to grieve the emotions from that form, ones so much bigger, stronger than her human mind can comprehend, that Alicent finally makes a decision. As the citrus-and-wood aroma of her girl fades and her brother comes to retrieve her from the pine tree, Alicent decides that she will finally tell Rhaenyra the truth of her feelings.
The next time they meet, Alicent will follow Rhaenyra to wherever it is she goes, and she will never look back.
It is only her brother who takes her out to her final chaining; their father is horribly sick with a fever that has suddenly swept the village, and even her brother appears to be fighting it off. He seems to know something is wrong, or at the very least, that something is different from every other time he has left her. Alicent has been talking to him during their trek to their destination, something she never does, but her brother takes her good will easily.
When he is finished with his self-appointed task, he stares at her with an emotion that she has never seen on his face.
“This is goodbye. Is it not?” he asks.
Alicent stares back at him and decides she will tell him the truth. Despite what he has done to her, there will always be a part of her that is the little girl who loved her big brother. “Yes.”
“I love you, and I know it’s not enough, but it’s true, Alicent.” He places a kiss on her forehead, and then he’s gone.
Alicent is not alone, though, because Rhaenyra appears a moment later. She’s smiling when she greets Alicent with a kiss on the cheek. Then, she undoes Alicent’s muzzle.
Alicent wants so much more than just a kiss on the cheek. She wants to fulfill years of fantasies and dreams. After tonight’s transformation, she wants to indulge in every single thought she has had about her moon-kissed girl.
Nothing is holding her back, not even herself.
Rhaenyra is caressing her hand when Alicent feels that familiar sensation of desire, and for the first time in her life, Alicent yearns for it instead of fearing it. She wants to become whole at last, wants to run in the woods with nary a care in the world, wants to feel her transformation rather than fear it, wants to simply let go and be free.
Quietly, Alicent tells her, “It’s time.”
It speaks to the strength of their bond that Rhaenyra does not need to be told what exactly it is she means. She does not ask her if Alicent is certain she wishes to be unchained, she simply does it. Rhaenyra breaks each chain with a simple squeeze of her smooth palm, and they crumble beneath her touch.
Just as Rhaenyra has watched her for years, so has Alicent watched her beloved nightwalker.
Rhaenyra does not age. She does not allow sunlight to touch her. She does not eat the way Alicent does. She has a strength that should be impossible for such a tiny girl to possess. She is faster than Alicent’s vision can catch. She has never had any bruises, scraps, or cuts on her skin; it is always unblemished. She has teeth so sharp that they would easily sink into flesh.
She is the moon incarnate, and Alicent wants her.
She says so, and Rhaenyra’s lips thin as she grins widely, her impossibly-sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight.
“I know. I’ve always known, Alicent, but if you want me, you’re going to have to prove it.”
Oh, she plans to.
Rhaenyra steps back from her and dares cheekily, “Catch me if you can.”
Then, she runs off; her hair, a banner in the wind as it flows behind her.
And Alicent—Alicent erupts.
She can feel the change upon her. It will help her succeed in her aim of catching what she has spent so long coveting. The change feels different than any other time before, almost as if it was never meant to be painful. For years Alicent had dreaded her transition. It always hurt; bones cracking and popping, fur bursting from her flesh, teeth protruding from her gums into sharp, elongated incisors, and of course, the constant wrongness she once felt in that state.
However, it’s nothing like that this time. This time, Alicent feels like she’s simply slipping on a silk shawl. She shifts into her beastly form gradually. She finds that it’s even more comfortable than her normal form, like she should always be this way.
Her transformation is complete the moment the moon hits the highest peak of the night sky.
On instinct, Alicent lets out a howl and it echoes throughout her home—her home, what a strange thought, but it is true, for she knows that over the years, she has begun to feel more at ease here than the room she slept in and the house she grew up in.
She goes running off in the direction her girl has gone in, nose in the air as she attempts to find that intoxicating scent of sharp citrus, burning cedar, and an underlying twang of iron, of blood. It’s all over the area, like she has zipped all around the forest to make Alicent’s goal so much harder.
Good.
Alicent savors the moment. She wants to make this last for as long as she can, and when she finally has Rhaenyra, she is never letting go. She is never going to leave her. She will finally, finally be hers in all the ways that matter. For years, she has craved this ethereal girl, and she is done being held back by false proprietary shaped by gods who never listened. The gods Alicent has worshiped for years have no place here, and no time for the opinions of the unworthy.
On this night, Alicent even dares to wonder if perhaps her beastly form—her werewolf form—was less a curse brought down by the sins of her father, and more an answer to the prayers of a moon-kissed nightwalker.
If that is true, Alicent will sit at the foot of a new altar—one hand-crafted by the gods of Old Valyria, and governed by someone pulled straight from its ancient lore: Rhaenyra.
Alicent will gladly worship Rhaenyra as she deserves; years she has wasted praying to others when her most faithful, most loving nightwalker has always been with her.
There is no one more important than Rhaenyra, not now, and never again.
As the night drags on, Alicent almost catches Rhaenyra a few times, but she knows it’s only because Rhaenyra has allowed herself to be seen, because Rhaenyra wants to be seen. Alicent will be taking advantage of Rhaenyra’s playfulness. This is her first time seeing her nightwalker in action, after all, and she is breathless with the speed and grace of her girl, even as she is desperate to reach her.
Around the next set of trees, Alicent finds not Rhaenyra, but her red cloak. Alicent knows that her girl wears nothing beneath the cloak, which means that she is bare.
Alicent needs to find her now. However, there is an even more interesting scent attached to it. She grasps the cloak, brings it to her nostrils and breathes in, the scent making Alicent’s cock lengthen and grow.
Rhaenyra is aroused.
It is such a heady scent, a heady feeling knowing she has brought this out in her.
Alicent’s mind brings forth flashes of milk-pale unblemished skin, dusty pink peaks. It makes her hot and heavy. She wants to—needs to—
She pushes the cloak down and wraps it around her length and begins to quickly stroke herself with it. It’s a different sensation than anything she has ever done. She looks down and sees—she sees—well, if she’s going to take Rhaenyra, it will certainly hurt.
The sensation is not enough, though, and it won’t be until it’s Rhaenyra she’s rubbing against—rutting into—so she releases herself.
Suddenly, Alicent catches sight of something in the trees.
Alicent chases after the flash of ivory—jumps and catches her.
Alicent has finally captured Rhaenyra right at the base of the pine tree that was once the werewolf’s prison.
Rhaenyra is so much smaller, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Alicent is so much bigger. She could easily snap her moon-kissed girl in half like one breaks a twig when stepping on it. The idea drives her mad with power and desire.
She noses the crook of Rhaenyra's neck. Her girl arches back into her, all resistance gone now that she’s in Alicent’s arms.
Rhaenyra reaches up to caress the werewolf’s face. Her eyes are near-lidded, so very fond, despite the fur, the fangs, and the monstrous visage. The tenderness makes something in Alicent ache. It feels like acceptance, both of Alicent the girl and Alicent the beast.
And perhaps, now, they are one in the same.
“Beautiful,” Rhaenyra announces, declaring what Alicent has never believed to be true but might just begin to if the creature before her says it as fact. She has never suffered lies from Rhaenyra, never felt more like herself than when she is with Rhaenyra, either. Even here, when she is something completely other, Rhaenyra looks upon her with such an fervent gaze.
“You’ve got me now, Alicent. What are you going to do with me, hm? You’ll be my good girl, yes?” Rhaenyra asks, hand trailing down Alicent’s chest and even further to what lies between her legs. Rhaenyra’s hand is not big enough to wrap around it fully, and her eyes widen at that.
Alicent grins with all her teeth.
“Mine,” Alicent growls at her, grabbing both of Rhaenyra’s hands and pinning them to the dirt, shackling her moon-kissed girl with flesh and passion rather than the steel she once wore.
Then, Alicent leans down and licks at Rhaenyra’s arousal, tasting what she has so longed craved. It’s the sweetest thing Alicent has ever had on her tongue. Nothing could ever compare, though, so it isn’t a fair comparison.
Rhaenyra squirms beneath her, attempting to jerk out of Alicent’s hold, but she tightens her grip. She licks again and enjoys the temperature between them. Rhaenyra has always been so much colder than Alicent but now, the werewolf feels feverish, like this heat will never end and the only way to relieve it is to lose herself in Rhaenyra’s cool core.
For once, it is Rhaenyra who whines, and it’s such a pretty sound; everything she has wanted and more.
Alicent presses her face closer, nose rubbing against her little bud each time she gives another lap, making Rhaenyra writhe in the dirt. She’s already so wet, but Alicent wants Rhaenyra to be gushing when she finally slides into her. Her tongue plays with her slit before plunging in, and her nightwalker moans her name like it’s a prayer.
Alicent shoves her long tongue further inside of Rhaenyra’s tight sex, sliding it against the soft, spongy spot within, and it has Rhaenyra bucking wildly, pleading for more. The werewolf does just that and more, too, by rubbing circles into her bud. Then, her girl peaks, hard and fast, screaming, “Alicent! Oh, Alicent!”
Emboldened by the cries, Alicent does not slow. She continues to thrust her tongue into Rhaenyra, aiming to make her peak a second time, even quicker than the first.
Alicent is rough with her motions, and it seems to do the trick because Rhaenyra’s thighs begin to tremble again.
“It’s too much,” Rhaenyra whimpers as she tries to pull away, but Alicent doesn’t let her. Instead, she takes Rhaenrya’s sensitive bud into her mouth and sucks.
Rhaenyra howls as if she is a beast herself, and maybe she is. Maybe somewhere along the way, their flesh has merged as their hearts have. Nightwalker, Rhaenyra may be, but Alicent has found a home in her, buried herself so deeply inside of Rhaenyra’s soul that she is forever a part of her. Just as Rhaenyra is forever a part of Alicent.
She lets Rhaenyra ride out the waves of her orgasm gently this time, knowing that what comes next will be tight and painful. Rhaenyra is wet enough now, and that means Alicent’s big, throbbing shaft will slide right in. It doesn’t matter how small her precious girl is.
She will fit.
“Alicent, please, please, please,” Rhaenyra begs.
Alicent pulls back, taking in the view her girl has made; thighs and cunt shining with slick and the werewolf’s saliva, chest heaving as the nightwalker attempts to catch her breath, and pale skin tinged pink with arousal and desire.
Rhaenyra is so beautiful, and she is hers.
Alicent lines herself up at her girl’s cunt, and then, she pushes in.
Rhaenyra thrashes in her hold, hands gripping onto the roots of the pine as Alicent slides in, inch by inch, until the werewolf bottoms out completely inside of her moon-kissed salvation, moaning at the pleasure. Tears fill her girl’s eyes, and Alicent knows she’s big enough to hurt, but instead of detracting, there is something about it that is so satisfying; so primal—especially when it becomes clear that Rhaenyra likes the pain.
If Rhaenyra wants it to hurt, she can provide just that.
Alicent pulls out only to slam back in, and her girl cries out. Her eye catches on Rhaenrya’s protruding lower belly and Alicent sees just how much bigger she is in comparison to the girl she once thought was a living doll; and Alicent realizes that she was right. Rhaenyra is a doll—one made of flesh and blood that bows to the moon, just as Alicent does. It makes her salivate—makes her want more of Rhaenyra.
Alicent thrusts in and out; her oversized hands encircle the girl’s waist easily, the span of her palms covering Rhaenyra’s hips and even bits of her thigh. Claws dig into tender flesh, leaving behind precious red rubies. She wants to kiss her, but surely she can’t.
Rhaenyra’s eyes snap open. Her small hands fling up to grip Alicent’s face and crashes their lips together. It’s more of a clash of teeth and tongues, but it’s perfect and better than she ever expected. Her girl needs to breathe, though, so once they’ve gone for as long as they can, Alicent turns her attention back to other parts of Rhaenyra.
Her breasts are perky and her nipples are hard, as suspects they always are. Alicent wraps her mouth around one while one of her hands strokes the other, fingers rolling a nipple between their grasp and unintentionally, of course, digging her claws deep into the nightwalker’s skin. It does not deter Alicent, it only arouses her further. She switches her mouth onto that breast and sucks the blood away.
It tastes heavenly, almost as good as her cunt, and oh, Alicent is surely a zealot of the highest degree.
She continues to thrust into her girl, chasing the pleasure it gives her. She can tell that she’s close, unbearably so, if the way the werewolf’s own claws dig into her skin are an indicator. Rhaenrya’s tight, cold walls squeeze around Alicent, and she shudders, whimpering beneath Alicent’s enormous frame, pulsing around her thick cock, begging for more.
“Please,” Rhaenyra cries, “I’m so close.”
Alicent speeds up her thrusts, losing most of her finesse even though she barely had any to begin with.
Rhaenyra speaks her name like a litany—the best sound to ever exist—as she finds release for the third time. She clenches against Alicent’s cock rhythmically. Alicent can feel herself near the end, too. Rhaenyra falls apart so beautifully on her, but it can get better—she will make it better.
Alicent slips out of her completely, allowing Rhaenyra to breathe.
Then, in one motion, she’s inside of her girl again, filling her cunt with the oversized cock that the beast form has grown, taking and claiming as she’s wanted to do for so long.
But instead of all of the times that Alicent has taken herself into her own palm and found release with Rhaenyra on her mind, Rhaenyra is around her—and her body responds. Her tip grows inside of Rhaenyra, filling the werewolf with more pleasure than she’s ever felt as her cock flares to reach even deeper, to take more of the smaller girl, and Rhaenyra has no choice but to yield, to make it fit.
“Too much,” her precious girl whines, tears in her eyes—and how lovely the sight is, and it’s all because of her.
Alicent pushes down on her bulge, and Rhaenyra screams as she peaks for the fourth time.
This time, so does Alicent. Her seed spurts inside of her girl. Her cock swells even fatter, locking them together. Alicent pulls and Rhaenyra cries, stopping her. “It hurts,” she whimpers.
This time, Alicent heeds the warning, for she knows she is stuck inside of her moon-kissed girl. Stuck and unable to part from Rhaenyra; it feels right to be this intrinsically connected.
She only hopes Rhaenyra will be able to handle more of her when they become unstuck because she has no plans of stopping.
That night, Alicent learns where Rhaenyra goes each dawn.
It is a small cabin, deep in the forest, set in a thicket of pine trees that shelters the home from the sun. It is there that Alicent shifts back. This time, it is not painful. Now that she has stopped fighting it, has stopped fighting her true nature, she becomes less and yet more herself.
Thankfully, she is still bigger than Rhaenyra; at least that will never change.
“Mine,” Alicent murmurs against Rhaenyra’s chest when they are wrapped up together again. She rubs her cheek where her heart lays. It is so much slower than her own, she realizes, now that she is this close.
Rhaenyra croons, “Yes, I am yours, but you are mine at last. Years I have waited to collect you, and I am not usually so patient, but you have been so very worth it, Alicent.”
Alicent whines, licking her girl’s cheek, still feeling more wolf than human. Rhaenyra shifts, draping herself across Alicent’s chest, tucking her nose into Alicent’s neck. “Oh, I know. I have always known.”
It’s difficult, then, to speak more than a single word, but there is one thing left—one act that stands between joining with her nightwalker, and becoming one with her moon-kissed girl. “Drink from me,” Alicent whispers. “Please?”
When Rhaenyra’s fangs sink into Alicent’s throat at long last, it feels like being set free—it feels like coming home.