winterfell express

1931, Lord Harroway’s Town
Aboard the Winterfell Express

“What do you mean- whose army?”

“Not the Riverrun houses, surely? The Brackens and Blackwoods have been known to make their stands in this area.” Murmurs filled the dining cabin.

“Let’s not accede to conjecture until we are sure.” Harwin Strong commanded firmly, his soldier instincts taking over as he trudged his way to where Criston was standing. The latter pulled the shutters down for him to see. His eyes widened, but he said nothing.

At the other end of the room, Mysaria gradually loosened her grip on the table. “Are you alright?” Rhaenyra half whispered, her brow quivering, the rest of her face growing taut with anxiety.

“Yes, are you?” Mysaria’s eyes searched her, looking for possible injuries. Rhaenyra bristled. She seemed uncommonly worried, almost fearful. Without thinking, Mysaria reached forward and caught one of Rhaenyra’s hands in her own, running a thumb across her cool knuckles. “I’m alright,” Rhaenyra breathed out, pushing a grin to the fore to reassure Mysaria. She didn’t pull her hand away.

“You’re not leaving us here, are you?!” Celtigar’s timid voice cracked into the stuffy room. Rhaenyra looked up to see Harwin and Criston stepping out of the dining car.

“As a Captain of King’s Landing’s military, I must ascertain if this has anything to do with the ongoing civil war,” Harwin said, “I shall attempt to speak with them. Mr. Cole will be following me in case things go south, which-” He put his hands up in a motion to appease, “is improbable. It is most likely that we’ve inconvenienced their mission or other and I believe that once we’ve cleared the air we shall be on our way again.”

Before he disappeared down the hallway, his eyes flickered and met Rhaenyra’s, and she knew they’d had the same thought. In his gallant address, Harwin had left out the fact that first-class passengers on the King’s Road, wayward Targaryens for instance, made especially good hostages in wartime. She guessed the tradesman, Criston Cole would have thought the same when he scanned the room quizzically just now. Silently, she prayed it would not come to pass. There were rumours about her identity, but… surely, no one knew for certain, did they?

Nervous discussions started up again once the men disappeared down the corridor. Unable to hide her curiosity any longer, Mysaria gingerly edged towards the window beside her and Rhaenyra and tugged down the shutters. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she estimated fifty to sixty men in the dark staring back. Inert, uniform and deathly quiet. She could scarcely make out a face. Thin pillars protruding from each of their backs told her they were armed with bayonets. From their organised form, it seemed hardly likely to be the platoons of Bracken nor Blackwood. In Riverrun, that might mean something else. The thought made Mysaria’s blood freeze, and in that moment she was glad to be holding Rhaenyra’s hand.

“Who do you reckon they might be?” Rhaenyra whispered with trepidation. “Just a guess,” she urged, when Mysaria still kept mum.

“I can’t be sure but I think it might be the Brotherhood,” Mysaria replied in a small voice.

A jolt of anxiety lanced through Rhaenyra. She abruptly withdrew her hand from Mysaria’s, trembling slightly as she re-lit her cigarette and brought it to her lips. Helpless, Mysaria pulled back too, swallowing a sudden feeling of emptiness; the imprint of Rhaenyra’s spiry fingers still tingling against her palm.

“I might be wrong-”

“The Brotherhood Without Banners, huh–” Rhaenyra repeated, “I thought those outlaws would be halfway to King’s Landing by now. Relishing the deaths of whatever wealthy gentry they can get their hands on.”

“Perhaps they are and this is a pit stop.” Mysaria met Rhaenyra’s glassy eyes. “Lily, you don’t think they would-”

“They’ll take one look at this first class cabin and hang us all,” she blurted in a torrent of aggression, “Gods help us.”

Out of instinct, Mysaria stiffened and leaned away at the outburst. She took a deep breath. Now was not a good time to be overwhelmed with panic. As calmly as she could, she reached out once more and gathered Rhaenyra’s hand in both of her own. Her touch was gentle, but her eyes and voice were firm. “If need be, we’ll bargain our way out. We know how to.”

Rhaenyra’s downward gaze floated up to her, curious and befuddled, reminding her of a listless child. Even in fear, Rhaenyra carried charm. Mysaria gave her hand a quick squeeze. “They won’t… find out if we play it well, I promise,” she dared to say. She’d never referred to Rhaenyra’s identity so outwardly before tonight’s dinner. It had always been a line drawn in the sand, an implicit contract. Their relationship was all about pleasure on the condition of boundaries, was it not?

But she felt a tug all of a sudden. Something deep in her gut wanted Rhaenyra to know she could trust her. The nagging bewilderment that had plagued Mysaria creeped up again. She convinced herself it was the shock of their current circumstance, the imminent danger. Yes, that must be it .

Across the table, Rhaenyra searched Mysaria’s sharp eyes that held an interminable control. She could not believe it was possible to be amused at this moment, or also nearly heartened to tears. She leaned into the grasp of Mysaria’s hands. The hands she so loved to watch dancing over her body. There it was – that depth of strength and darkness she’d glimpsed in their most intimate moments, what led her to name Mysaria ‘Lady Misery’. She’d always likened it to nonchalance, even cruelty. But, no…

There was a new shade to Mysaria’s unwavering firmness that she’d never expected; she was almost ashamed to have never gleaned it before.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Lily?” Mysaria probed, her eyes narrowing.

Just then, Harwin and Criston re-entered, looking much less grave than before. The murmurs ceased. “Fear not, they promise us no harm. They are looking for something- someone, and will leave once they have it.”

“What- who are they?” Mrs. Arryn, the closest to them, asked.

“They represent House Tyrell, who’ve been pledged to the fight in King’s Landing. They’ve gathered word of a spy from the Brotherhood Without Banners and are here to detain him.”

Rhaenyra exhaled in half-relief. At least it was not the Brotherhood after all, though she would still have to be on guard. Mrs. Arynn, however, was not consoled.

“Do you mean to say there is one of those outlaws on this train?!” Her eyes darted around accusingly.

“We’ll find out soon enough, ma’am. There’s no need to be alarmed. They require everyone to get their passports and line up on the platform.”

⊹ ⟡ ⊹

The Tyrell army completed their inspection outside the train with a cold efficiency that left everyone chilled to the bone but relieved. Fifteen minutes in, passport checks were halted by a ragged shout, followed by three soldiers dragging out a dishevelled stowaway. The young radical looked every bit the part, wearing the infamous blacks of the Brotherhood Without Banners and a saintly expression of serenity in the face of arrest.

They led him away without quarrel, and the first class passengers gossiped their fill. Of his ungainly manner, the way his uniform hung loosely on his scrawny form. They were as pleased with the vision of vulgarity as they were disgusted by it, gratified by the contrast they could perceive of their own moral and social positions. Mysaria watched the Tyrell army disappear into the cold dark with their prisoner, holding her tongue against his uncertain fate. He seemed little more than a teenager.

As the passengers lumbered back onto the Winterfell Express, Criston Cole trailed behind. He looked out as Mysaria did before into the snowy wilderness, perturbed.

His home was a land of summer and ochre and in the early days, he had bitterly loathed the cold cities of the North. It was only of recent times that he came to appreciate the unrelenting bleakness of winter, its absence of scorching rubble and rot, its biting winds, its silvery elegance. He recalled coming across an impoverished family frozen to death, and it was only then that his childish longing for home began to wane for good. Now Dorne was but a murky dream. From his pocket, he pulled out a neat roll of paper and dropped it by a drier spot of frozen mud. In this new world, there was much work to be done.

⊹ ⟡ ⊹

Mysaria planted her feet on the floor, focusing on the gentle rumbling of the train below the soles of her mary jane pumps as Rhaenyra shuffled around for her evening toilette. She was still thinking of the spy – the boy, really, who had been taken away. The unfeeling chatter from the other first class passengers had unnerved her. She wouldn’t think of such things often. Most of the time she preferred not to be reminded of how different she was from many of her clients.

But Rhaenyra’s relief at his arrest had bothered her too.

“What do you think will happen to him?” Mysaria asked this rhetorically, but Rhaenyra stopped to look at her, truly considering the question.

“I don’t know. But… the Tyrells are industrial, not cruel. Perhaps they will give him a chance should he cooperate,” Rhaenyra replied, and to Mysaria’s surprise there wasn’t a hint of sarcasm in it. Mysaria nodded, deciding to close the conversation. Sometimes it was all people like her, people without connections and money could have. To hope for the best.

Their cabin door slipped ajar, and Mysaria turned to see Harwin Strong standing sheepishly by the entrance. He noticeably avoided looking at her.

“Rhaenyra, I need to speak with you. It’s not about-” he prefaced embarrassingly as Rhaenyra’s eyebrows began to rise, “Not about… It’s a practical matter.”

“A practical matter , he says.” She thought at the least she could stop by the dining car and pinch some chocolate for her and Mysaria. With a chuckle she threw her coat on and ambled towards him. But before they could turn out of the cabin she turned to scold. “Aren’t you forgetting something? Haven’t you something to say to Lady Mysaria?”

It was like a scene in the nursery, Rhaenyra the nursemaid and Mysaria and Harwin the errant children. They both blanched. Gods, this is awkward , Mysaria thought, though she knew she’d be laughing her head off at the memory once he left. She thought she glimpsed his ankle twisting in childish reluctance. “Sorr-y,” he barely coughed out.

“Water under the bridge,” Mysaria obliged quickly, fighting the urge to burst into giggles.

With the hurrah of a hostess, Rhaenyra threw up her gloved hands in celebration. “There, friends again! Doesn’t everyone feel better? I certainly do.” Harwin looked as if he wished the ground would swallow him up. Rhaenyra shooed him out into the corridor and the two walked away, beginning to discuss in low tones.

Knackered from the long day, Mysaria decided to settle in for the night. She picked up her unfinished novel and was about to burrow into the decker bed when the door opened yet again. She looked up and froze.

Criston Cole moved quickly and quietly into the room, sliding the door closed behind him and blocking it. The air grew still as he leered at her wordlessly. Apprehension crawled, needlelike. It was a familiar feeling. She took a calm half-step back, still close to the bed. Wherever she went, she always kept the habit of stowing a jewelled dagger under her pillow. It had belonged to her first pimp.

“What do you want?” she asked coldly.

“It’s a long journey, and a lonely one.”

“Get out. I’m not looking for company.”

His eyes narrowed in brazen amusement. Mysaria made to lean down and grab her dagger, but he closed the distance before she could find it and grabbed her shoulders. “And what if I were a paying customer?”

An alarm flared in Mysaria’s gut, she thrashed against his grip. “Let me go!” He closed his arms around her but she would not stop. Everything told her she had to fight. Experience, instinct, anger, despair. She buckled her knees, lifted her legs and kicked his shins, rammed her fists into his sides. When she felt his face attempt to forcefully muzzle against her neck she twisted round and sank her teeth into his earlobe and jaw. Only then did he scream and recoil, and Mysaria stared holes into him, her eyes crazed and watering. The metallic taste of his blood was pressed flat against the roof of her mouth as she grit her teeth, though she could only glean it in slivers behind her rising adrenaline and nausea. Criston Cole sneered at her, about to close in again.

She braced this time, ready for whatever it would take. But instead he only relaxed and grinned wryly, acceding defeat this time, before turning sharply and leaving.

Her knees trembled, a delayed sense of shock washing over her. Once she caught her breath, she grabbed her paperback novel and staggered to the door. Her clammy, shaking hands rolled the novel into a bundle and she shoved into the crevice of the sliding door to jam it. Then she closed all the shutters and collapsed onto the bed. A little voice told her she should warn Rhaenyra as soon as possible, but at present she should be safe, as long as she was not alone.

The silence around her grew stiff and eerie. Mysaria screwed her eyes shut, registering that she would be stuck on this train for two more days with that man. This liminal hunk of metal and wood, filled with people she had nothing in common with, charging into a land she was completely unfamiliar with. Ragged with anxiety, she could feel her train of thought growing incoherent and irrational. In her mind’s eye she saw faces, voices. Men that she remembered and those she didn’t. She thought of the Brotherhood’s spy dying in the cold, surrounded by deadly silent soldiers.

She tried to focus on her breathing, but terror gripped every inhale and exhale, making her feel like her throat was closing up. I’m not here , she voiced the familiar mantra in her head. But it wasn’t working.

⊹ ⟡ ⊹

Rhaenyra stubbed her cigarette against the window parapet outside Harwin’s compartment and pulled her coat tighter. “You’re not about to die, are you?”

“No, no,” Harwin asserted, “I’m just preparing for the possibility. War is a nasty business.” He gazed thoughtfully at the envelope he had passed to Rhaenyra. A final will and testament that Rhaenyra was to mail to his family, just in case.

“Even for you, this is dramatic.”

“I have a bad feeling, Rhaenyra. I cannot divulge, but I’m travelling to Winterfell on military business. There’s a man I must see to… an important man.”

Rhaenyra nodded, knowing not to press him. He glanced at her apologetically.

“I know it’s strange to task you with this, but maybe it was providence that we came on the same train. I can only trust you with this right now.” The romantic statement brought a snort from Rhaenyra.

“Only pity it is coming to naught for you.”

“I do not mean that… I think of home often, and you were part of it,” his downcast eyes grew melancholic, “I was a fool to let you go out of my life.”

It came as a surprise to Rhaenyra that she did not roll her eyes. Instead, she shook her head. Perhaps seeing his sad mug now left her with pity, she could not know. “There’s a scheme of things,” she admitted, “Sooner or later, we would’ve parted anyway.”

“We already did, you made sure of it… But I needn’t have hurt you before you left Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra’s chuckle rang brightly at this. She remembered their final row well. It had even come to blows. She threw a vase and he returned with a punch. How alive they felt, for the first time in their affair. “I hurt you too,” she offered. More than that , the unsaid words hung between them. She’d also selfishly disappeared without warning and left everyone devastated.

“Why did you run away?”

Rhaenyra looked at him but did not answer.

“Did you ever truly love me? Or was it all a ruse?”

Now it was her turn to be tiresome and sentimental. She shook her head and pocketed the envelope. “When I needed your faith, you withheld it. And now when I don’t need it, and don’t deserve it, you give it to me.” Her nerves ruffled, she left him to his thoughts and returned to her compartment. She thought it might be that his melancholy affected her, but her stomach turned with an unfamiliar twinge. Was this nostalgia? Homesickness? Maybe some of it was guilt. No matter , she thought, reaching her door. I don’t want to think about it and I won’t.

To her horror, the door to her compartment would not budge. She rattled it several times, and found it was jammed with the novel Mysaria had been reading. On cue, Mysaria abruptly appeared, removed the paperback and let Rhaenyra in. “Home sweet home,” Rhaenyra chirped. She entered quickly, chilled from the night air and threw down her coats and things. “Why did you bar the door?”

“In case of intruders,” Mysaria mumbled. She had closed the door behind her and re-jammed it, but did not move away. Rhaenyra turned and stopped short when she glimpsed her stony, pale face.

“What is it?” Behind those unreadable eyes, Rhaenyra thought she was looking really ill now.

Mysaria only continued to stare at her, wordless, her lip quivering slightly. She’d spent a good ten minutes screaming in her own mind, needing something to stop this - anything. Before either could speak, she stepped forward, took Rhaenyra’s face in her hands and pressed their lips together.

It took a moment before Rhaenyra could react, and when she did all she could register was the soft, pillowy warmth of her mouth. She pushed her mouth a little wider and ran her tongue against Mysaria’s lower lip, savouring it. It was only then that she remembered she’d meant to get them chocolates. For a closeted sweet tooth, Mysaria certainly tasted so.

Taken with Rhaenyra’s response, Mysaria let out a soft moan and nipped Rhaenyra’s lower lip. Tugging the blonde against her suddenly, she dived in to leave urgent kisses along Rhaenyra’s ears and neck. Wet, slobbery smooches that drove a satisfied whimper. She nibbled into the crook of Rhaenyra’s neck, where she was most sensitive and lapped her tongue over it. Rhaenyra felt herself getting wet quickly, though she was surely taken aback at this sudden seduction. Not just the aggression in it, but the hurried way Mysaria was laying waste to her body. It was – very unlike her usual lovemaking.

“Mysaria-” she gasped, feeling Lady Misery’s mouth and hands vividly moving about her

“Hmm?”

“Is something wrong?” The tremor momentarily returned to Mysaria’s hands, her mind a sudden, lightning white. She forced it away.

“Yes,” she said into Rhaenyra’s neck, the thundering in her ears reaching a fever pitch. “Everything is wrong.”

For a second, Rhaenyra did not respond, although Mysaria’s harried kissing and fondling continued. She knew she was being out of character, hysterical maybe. She told herself she would stop if Rhaenyra pulled away and be resigned to licking her wounds elsewhere. But before long, Rhaenyra’s arms closed around hers, caressing her back. Relieved, she leaned into her lust, her duty of misery. She made quick work of removing Rhaenyra’s dress, both their corsets already removed by this time of night and as soon as her chest was exposed Mysaria took to nuzzling, pinching and fondling her nipples. She took one in her mouth and swirled the tip of her tongue around it, gratified by the little yelps of pleasure it elicited.

In a cloud of pleasure, Rhaenyra’s fingers played around, fumbling for Mysaria’s dress buttons. But the feeling of being undressed suddenly crawled over Mysaria. It was wrong, painful. There was only space for anything other than that in her shaking body. She tore Rhaenyra’s wrists roughly away from her dress and pulled her in by the jaw, closing their mouths in a long, dark kiss. Mysaria wanted control and before she knew it, she was in the upper hand. She stroked her thumb over Rhaenyra’s sharply angled jawline, staring into her eyes with a deathly coldness. Her other hand dropped down and cupped Rhaenyra between the legs. To her slight relief, Rhaenyra took to the game, smirked back at her and let her thighs inch apart. Mysaria slipped her hand under Rhaenyra’s knickers and slowly pushed her middle finger inwards, allowing it to slip between the folds and began combing and exploring around. She found Rhaenyra’s clitoris and dared to let the tip of her finger just slip over it. Rhaenyra’s knees nearly buckled. Gods , she was wet.

When Rhaenyra began to moan, Mysaria abruptly tore her hands away. Instinct flared in her. She grabbed Rhaenyra’s waist and flipped her round. Rhaenyra’s hands slammed onto the table before her for balance, a happy gasp leaking through her lips.

But Mysaria suddenly blanked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Anything you wish, poppet.”

Alright, then. Mysaria tugged off Rhaenyra’s knickers and returned to fondling her nipples, dropping intermittent kisses on her back and shoulder. Rhaenyra leaned into her touch. “Oh- Lady Misery”

Something in her pleasured tone aroused Mysaria. She let herself flow with the feeling, let her mind be drowned out. She inched her other hand towards Rhaenyra’s inner thigh and heard her breathing hitch with excitement. With a renewed focus, she dipped two fingers into Rhaenyra’s folds and spread it open slowly. Then swiping up, she found the hard nub again and began rubbing it in measured circular motions, matched with her flicking of Rhaenyra’s nipples.

She pushed her mouth behind Rhaenyra’s ear, her voice low. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes- yes-” Rhaenyra moaned, “Don’t stop.”

Mysaria picked up the pace, though her touches on Rhaenyra’s clit remained feathery and delectable. Soon, Rhaenyra’s parted thighs were beginning to tremble, her moans becoming more frequent. Every touch was a pendulum swinging her just shy of orgasm. Then just as she thought she would cum, Mysaria removed her hand abruptly from between her legs and went to her other chest, rubbing the slick moisture from her pussy into her erect nipple. The sudden loss of pleasure in her clit sent an excruciating whimper from Rhaenyra. Mysaria darted a tongue over her earlobe from behind.

“That was one,” she said in mock gentleness, her breath a hot tickle on Rhaenyra’s neck. “I will give you release after five.” Rhaenyra’s legs nearly gave way at that. How would she make it to five? Still, the thought of such prolonged pleasure was irresistible. Only Mysaria had the real skill for it, Rhaenyra determined. And she was also the only one Rhaenyra would allow to toy with her like this.

Her second incoming orgasm was much faster than the fast, with her clit already engorged and raw from the attention. Rhaenyra considered cheating. She ached to cum, but Mysaria read her body like a book and withdrew just in time. Her clit twitched painfully, seemingly reaching forward, desperate to be touched. “Two.”

Mysaria’s hands reached lower for the third time, finding her ministrations had coaxed Rhaenyra's soppy opening well. She pushed two fingers in easily and penetrated her deeply, soon adding a third finger. The feeling of Rhaenyra’s tightness around her fingers elicited a small hum from her. Mysaria could feel herself growing wet too. She pumped in and out of Rhaenyra at a perfect rhythm, every so often swiping Rhaenyra’s clit with her thumb, each time causing a throb over her body. When Mysaria pulled her fingers out, there was a distinct splat on the ground from Rhaenyra’s leaking wetness. “Three.”

By this point, Rhaenyra was a complete mess between the legs. Despite being naked in winter, her body felt as if it was on fire. She fell back against Mysaria who held her steadfast, breathing deeply, exhausted but still not satiated. The tingle in her pussy grew fierce. When Mysaria made contact with her clit once more she cried out. Her knees fully buckled and she could only kept upright by Mysaria’s steady grip on her waist. Rhaenyra threw her head back in the throes of surrender, her eyes closed. How sweet to give in to the dark as it had its way with her. Unable to touch Rhaenyra’s breasts any longer, Mysaria contented herself with licking and nipping at her neck instead. The combined pleasure was quickly growing too much. “Please, Mysaria. Please, let me cum. I’ll do anything.” The lilting in her begging voice sent a gush of wetness into Mysaria’s own knickers. She felt Rhaenyra tremble under her touch and perceived it expertly. As she came perilously close to orgasm, Mysaria bit into Rhaenyra’s shoulder, hard enough to bruise. The shock of this pain, combined with the confusing pleasure, the imminent loss of it wrapped around Rhaenyra’s fevered mind. Tears sprang from her eyes and trailed freely down her cheeks. Misery, misery, misery. Mysaria denied her orgasm the fourth time. She brought her fingers to Rhaenyra’s mouth and she engulfed it hungrily, tasting the tang of her lust. Softened, Mysaria stroked Rhaenyra’s waist and hair lovingly. “Four. Come to the bed.”

Rhaenyra whimpered, letting herself be led to lie down. Mysaria handled her like a precious porcelain doll, dropping sweet pecks at her wet eyelashes, but Rhaenyra could wait no longer. “I beg you, darling.” Mysaria gave in as promised. She made her way between Rhaenyra’s legs and inspected her handiwork. Then she pressed the flat of her tongue against Rhaenyra’s slit and brought it up. Slowly, slowly. The whine that tore from Rhaenyra was delicious. It would remain etched in Mysaria’s mind for a long time. She had scarcely reached the bottom of Rhaenyra’s clit when she could no longer hold on. Ever the artist, Mysaria moved quickly. She pushed two fingers into Rhaenyra.

“Would you like to cum?” Mysaria asked clearly.

“More than- ah- more than anything-”

“Cum now, Rhaenyra. Cum for me.” She hadn’t realised she’d said Rhaenyra instead of Lily until it was out, but in her state, the latter did not seem to notice. For the cherry on top, she leaned in and sucked Rhaenyra’s clit fully into her mouth and ran her tongue over it in circles. Her devouring sent Rhaenyra right over the edge. She thrashed and moaned beautifully, nearly screaming with relief and pleasure at her long-awaited release. Her nails dug helplessly into the mattress beneath her as Mysaria worked, prolonging her orgasm. Scarcely had the first subsided that she felt a second climax. “I’m cumming again, oh- don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

It felt like blasting fireworks in her body. As she finally calmed, she was amused to find the adrenaline had not abated. She reached down and ran a hand through Mysaria’s hair, guiding her back up and meeting in a breathy kiss. After awhile, she pulled away and smiled dreamily at the sight of Mysaria’s half-lidded eyes.

“May I undress you, Lady Misery?”

The thought no longer bothered her as before. Mysaria took it as that her ploy had worked. Thank the Gods. She was so tired from her own exertion, of performing this cruelty that it finally purged her anxiety. She relished the thought of being turned onto now. To be shown the same harshness, to be pushed to brokenness, and then to sleep and forget.

“Yes, you may.”

Rhaenyra unbuttoned her dress one by one, and at last pulled it off.