Bloom

..Not more than a year ago

On campaign in the Vale, they had managed to goad the Milk Snake clan into an open melee. 

The clash had been brutal, the Rhaenari legion victorious.

Afterward, Rhaenar retired to command tent for a brief moment of rest and perhaps a cup of something hot.

It was then that the messenger arrived, clutching a letter. Rhaenar immediately recognized the handwriting.

Alicent's.

In those words, he ate the ache. Her tearstains blotted the parchment like the mottled coat of a stray horse. 

Rhaenar could feel the pain in every link of letter, each word leading to sentence.

His battle-hardened heart faltered.

For a moment, all Rhaenar wanted was to abandon the campaign, mount Sundance, and fly back to King's Landing to support his friend.

It would have been a terrible decision. How could he leave? 

The Vale counted on him.

A promise to rid their land from generations of banditry. For the roads to be safe from peril. Villages free from fear.

What's more, Rhaenar had dragged his men across half the continent and into war, had wagered with the Lady of the Vale that he would secure victory within six moons. 

The stakes were too high. His hand was forced.

There could be no return to Alicent.

Thus, miles apart and with no other solution, the response came via paper.

Rhaenar sat at his command desk, quill in hand. 

For a while, no words sprawled, and that saddened Rhaenar. 

Had the first real battle, the brutal theater of army against army, robbed his condolences? 

Then suddenly, thankfully, words poured out, unbidden. 

A simple letter. Rhaenar

did not fully understand where the words had come from, but they flowed nonetheless, by a force equal parts infinite and creative and mundane.

"Though flowers may wither and towers do tumble, may love forever last."

.

..

Rhaenar laughed.

Did he really write such corny prose? It was hard to recall.

Alicent did have the habit of keeping old letters, so he guessed there was no reason to doubt.

"What is so funny?" Said Alicent, grateful for the sudden change in mood.

Maybe she was good at this company thing after all?

"Nothing," Rhaenar said, "How that kind of idealism came from me, I'll never know."

He turned his head to face her.

"Or maybe it's you who brings it out?"

For a moment her heart stopped. 

That enveloping smile Alicent had known since childhood. Those magenta eyes that shone like quasars befallen. 

This was the true safety and compassion the gods had promised, lightening bottled in human form. Funny form. A form that mattered~

Zap zap zap!

Her lips parted. For one too many heartbeats, Alicent forgot to breathe.

"That's not true," she choked out. "You've always been like this."

Alicent felt like kicking herself. That was not the kind response you'd read in the fairy tales. The handsome prince taken by sweet word of shy maid. 

By gods… this company thing was tougher than she thought!

"I suppose you're right," Rhaenar sighed, his voice darkened again.

Eyes flicked this way and that over the city. Glazed and lost.

Alicent recognized the mistake at once. Her words sounded like the same empty reassurances Rhaenar heard all his life. 

How could her sincerity cut through the walls built up, forged by years of hollow praise?

It didn't help that Rhaenar's defense was heightened.

Especially now, with half the realm gathered in King's Landing. Talking and gawking and making noises.

Blah to the blah to the blah!

Alicent chuckled. A golden sound.

"It's a good thing I'm right. You know why?"

Rhaenar said nothing, but a sly curve hit his lips. He liked her sudden spunk — always had (when it rarely appeared). 

"Because if I wasn't," Alicent continued, now steady, "then you would not be you, and you would not have sent me thus. I would not have come back from despair. I would not—"

She faltered. A gust of wind stirred the air. Pigeons to night.

Between she and Rhaenar, a single black feather drifted, twisting and turning like a shadow against the pale. 

It passed between, fleeting thing, 

 dark strands caught as it floated in the space where breaths joined.

 "— I would not have smelt the roses."

Rhaenar froze, stunned as if by a crack of the whip. 

His mind reeled.

The exhaustion — the wear of battle and burden — it was as if her words had snapped him from some dream.

It was almost cruel in its clarity, like the punchline of a joke long in the making.

A sleeper agent that heard a sudden phrase. A snap of the fingers.

Rhaenar could see it clearly now, that spring day when, on a whim, he gave Alicent that rose. 

Children running wild in the gardens. Laughing and leaping, gifts and gestures.

Who could have known how meaningful those carefree days would become?

Alicent smelled that rose and smiled.

Since that day, without fail, a new flower appeared in Rhaenar's chambers.

It all felt so quant, the memories like a melody in the air.

Alicent's eyes, bright with that determination rarely shown..

Soft skin cool under the silvery light, dress spun like a fairy of the night

Lips softly glossed, the only warmth it seemed.

Glistened red, a blossom in the evening bloom. 

Rhaenar then caught what could only be described as an invasion of the five senses.

It started when nostrils flared. He could have sworn her lips had a scent to them. Suddenly, he was like a bee, infrared vision honed on target. The hunger was primal, the kind that gnawed the depth of his stomach, and lower still, a tingle at the base of the stinger. 

Rhaenar could feel the wind as it brushed against the hairs on his forearm; feel the wind sway them closer, magnetized by the moon above, wave and shore, until their lips gently embraced.

What followed was blank.

Everything faded but the sixth sense, the exhilarating jolt as they kissed, eyes closed yet locked in bliss.

Alicent raised a hand, meekly caressing his cheek.

Rhaenar slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

Alicent exhaled then, a sensual breath.

Rhaenar explored her tongue. She let out a soft moan.

That's all it took. The smoothe brushes of her bodice turned clawish and grabby.

Fingers curled around her pert bosom as Alicent was lifted, her chest pressed against him.

She straddled him, legs wrapped around waist.

Rhaenar kissed with rouge fervor.

They breathed hard between each kiss, Alicent gripping the back of his head, fingers tangled in locks of silver. He grunted at that.

The moment was raucous, a far cry from the tame fantasies of their idle walks, days spent in study, flowery letters, the wishful whispers of secrets~

The momentum was too much. A tidal wave of pleasure. Exploration. Heat.

It all happened so fast as Rhaenar slipped his flesh under her dress. 

How hands rough and calloused from years of combat training could so tenderly match the silk, virgin skin of her thighs, Alicent will never know. 

Nor could the Lady of Hightower have known how much it would escalate.

It all seemed so natural as Rhaenar dislodged her small clothes. Unearthed his hard, pulsing cock. 

Alicent squeled. 

"…Rhaenar!"

The Prince opened his eyes.