Where The Sea Meets The Sun
Rhaenyra’s steps were a soft echo in the vast corridors of Dragonstone, the very stones seeming to whisper tales of dragons and kings long past. Her cape swished with the rhythm of a serpent, a fiery trail of red and black that left an imprint of power and authority in her wake. The air was cool, the scent of the sea mingling with the dust of history, as if the very walls held their breath in anticipation of her passing. The torches flickered in the sconces, casting a warm, wavering light that danced with the shadows, playing a silent dance of flame and stone.
The library was a sanctuary of knowledge, its towering shelves filled with the wisdom of centuries. The smell of aged parchment and leather filled her nose as she pushed open the heavy door, the hinges groaning as if complaining of the disturbance. But there was no sign of Mysaria, only the lingering scent of her favourite perfume.
The Queen’s eyes scanned the rows of books, the titles of each one a whisper of history, a promise of forgotten secrets. But she was not here for knowledge; she sought comfort and counsel. She moved through the labyrinth of tomes, her steps slow and deliberate, her eyes searching the shadows for a glimpse of the woman who had been her confidante, her guide through the treacherous waters of court politics.
Mysaria’s absence was a void that Rhaenyra felt acutely, like the sudden loss of a limb. Her thoughts raced with the implications of Addam’s revelation. It was a twist in the tapestry of fate that she could not ignore. The wind howled outside, sending gusts of chilly air through the castle, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her, feeling the coldness of her solitude.
Leaving the library, Rhaenyra’s boots clicked against the cold stone floor, echoing down the corridors that had seen generations of Targaryens. The torches flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced along the walls like the whispers of her ancestors. The castle felt like a living creature, its very stones humming with the history of battles and alliances, of love and betrayal.
Her path led her to the parapet, a narrow walkway that clung to the castle’s side like a dragon’s claw. The wind was a living force here, snatching at her cloak and hair, carrying with it the briny scent of the sea. The waves crashed against the shore below, their rhythm a mournful serenade to the Queen’s quest.
There she found Mysaria, her figure illuminated by the oranges and pinks of the sunset. The light painted her in a fiery embrace, a silent sentinel watching the world burn away into nightfall. Her eyes were on the horizon, lost in thought, and she did not hear the Queen’s approach.
Rhaenyra’s footsteps slowed as she approached, the words she had rehearsed in her mind suddenly feeling inadequate. She cleared her throat gently, and the sound was swallowed by the wind. Mysaria turned, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, as if she had known Rhaenyra was there all along.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice as warm as the embers of the dying sun, “what brings you to such a lonely place?”
Rhaenyra’s gaze drifted to the horizon, the fiery sphere of the sun kissing the sea before it disappeared. The horizon was a canvas of reds and oranges, a reflection of the tumult within her. She took a deep breath, the salt air filling her lungs, and turned to face her advisor. “I have found something... unexpected,” she began, her voice carrying the weight of her discovery.
Mysaria’s eyes searched hers, understanding flickering like a candle in the depths. “The dragonrider?” she asked, her voice as soft as the whisper of a secret.
Rhaenyra nodded. “Addam of Hull. He claims to have tamed Seasmoke,” she said, the words still feeling foreign on her tongue. The wind picked up, tugging at her hair and the edges of her cloak, as if the very air was eager for her to speak more.
Mysaria’s gaze followed hers, a knowing look in her eyes. “A bastard son of House Velaryon, yes. A true son of the sea, they say,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving the horizon. Rhaenyra felt a twinge of something she hadn’t felt in a long time—excitement. The prospect of a new dragonrider, especially one who could ride a beast as fierce and unpredictable as Seasmoke, was a rare and precious gift.
The Queen nodded slowly. “He has a strength about him, a determination that I have not seen in any of my kin. And the way Seasmoke took to him... it was as if they had known each other for a lifetime.” The wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of salt and the promise of change.
Mysaria’s expression remained stoic, but Rhaenyra could see the spark of hope in her eyes. “It is not just strength or birth that makes a dragonrider, but the bond between rider and beast. And perhaps, in this tumultuous time, a bond born not of blood but of valor may be what we truly need,” she mused.
The sun dipped lower, painting the sky with hues of gold and crimson, as they watched in silence. The distant waves whispered secrets that only they could hear, secrets of battles and love lost. Rhaenyra felt the warmth of the sun on her face, a stark contrast to the chill that had taken up residence in her heart.
Mysaria’s eyes remained on the horizon, her expression inscrutable. Rhaenyra’s thoughts swirled like the currents below, her mind racing with the implications of Addam’s arrival and the bond he had formed with Seasmoke. Yet, there was something else that weighed on her, something she had not yet dared to speak of.
“There is another matter, one closer to my heart,” she began, her voice carrying a hint of trepidation. The wind gently tugged at her hair, a silent reminder of the storms that often accompanied the truths she was about to share.
Mysaria’s gaze shifted from the horizon to meet hers, her eyes searching. “What is it?” she asked, her voice a soft caress that seemed to hold the promise of understanding.
The air hung thick with the ghost of their earlier indiscretion as Rhaenyra turned, her gaze piercing the shadows where Mysaria stood—a silhouette framed by the setting sun. “I have found something… unexpected,” she breathed, the words a blade poised between confession and threat. Mysaria arched an eyebrow, her lips parting in a gentle smile that never reached her guarded eyes. “In you,” she purred, the reply velvet-edged, as if the admission were both a surrender and a trap sprung, and for a heartbeat, Rhaenyra held her breath, she was suspended between the weight of a queen’s reckoning and a whisper of something perilously close to longing.
Mysaria’s breath hitched, the sudden revelation a storm in the quiet sea of their conversation. The Queen’s voice was a tightrope walk across a chasm of unspoken truths. “You speak in riddles, Your Grace,” she replied, her tone a dance of curiosity and caution.
Rhaenyra turned to face her fully, the setting sun casting a warm glow across her face, making her look like a goddess of old Valyria. Her eyes searched Mysaria’s, a silent plea for understanding. “The kiss we shared, it was...,” she said, her voice a soft crescendo of emotion. “It stirred something in me that I thought had long ago turned to ash. It made me feel alive again, as if I could conquer the world with nothing but your fire by my side.”
Mysaria searched Rhaenyra’s eyes, the depth of her own feelings a tempest she hadn’t dared to acknowledge. The silence stretched taut, filled with the echoes of battles past and the promise of battles to come. Her hand reached out, a tentative gesture of comfort, her voice a soft caress in the fading light. “My Queen.”
Rhaenyra’s hand caught hers, the contact electric, a spark that ignited a fire within her chest. The warmth of Mysaria’s touch was a balm to her soul, a gentle reminder of the love and support she had found in the most unlikely of places. The Queen’s gaze never left hers, the intensity of her stare a silent declaration of the tumult in her heart.
“We have been through so much together, you and I,” Rhaenyra whispered, her voice carrying the weight of years of shared secrets and battles lost. “And now, with the fate of the realm hanging in the balance, I find myself drawn to you in a way that I cannot ignore. In the face of such uncertainty, I seek the certainty of your counsel and your strength.”
Mysaria’s eyes searched hers, a softness that was rarely seen in the Queen’s advisor shimmering in the fading light. She reached out and cupped Rhaenyra’s cheek, her touch as gentle as a mother’s caress. Their eyes held for a moment longer, a silent conversation passing between them, before their lips met in a kiss that was as fiery as the dragons they served.
The kiss was a conflagration of passion and comfort, a meeting of two souls who had been tempered by the flames of war and loss. Rhaenyra’s arms wrapped around Mysaria’s waist, pulling her closer, as if trying to meld their very essences together. The warmth of their bodies mingled with the cool evening air, a stark contrast to the heat of their emotions.
As their lips moved in a silent dance of longing, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting a warm golden glow over the parapet. The light bathed them in a soft, ethereal light that seemed to set their hearts aflame. The sky above was a canvas of deepening blues and purples, the first stars beginning to twinkle like distant diamonds.
The kiss was a kind of homecoming, a place where both women could find refuge from the storm raging outside. In each other's arms, they found the strength they had both been seeking, the certainty that had eluded them in a world fraught with doubt and betrayal. Rhaenyra’s hands slid up to cradle Mysaria’s face, her thumbs brushing against the softness of her skin, feeling the contours of her jaw and the gentle slope of her cheeks. The warmth of their embrace was a stark contrast to the cold, hard stones beneath them.
Mysaria’s eyes searched hers, the fire of the sunset reflecting in her dark irises. Her hand now rested on the small of Rhaenyra’s back, the heat of her touch searing through the layers of fabric and armor. It was a gentle touch, yet it conveyed a fierce protectiveness that spoke of battles yet to come and wars yet to be won.
The Queen’s own hands moved to grip the fabric of Mysaria’s shirt, pulling her closer, feeling the warmth of her body pressing into hers. The kiss deepened, a silent conversation that spoke of love and fear, of hope and despair, of a future that was as uncertain as the path ahead of them. The scent of the sea mixed with the smell of leather and sweat —it was the most intoxicating perfume Rhaenyra had ever known.
When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled in the cooling air. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving them in the embrace of twilight. For a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.
Mysaria spoke, her voice a gentle caress against the wind. "You are more than a queen to me." The words hung in the air, filled with affection that was as vast and unyielding as the sea itself. Her hand slid down to Rhaenyra’s waist, her fingers tracing the curve of the Queen’s hip.
Rhaenyra’s heart stuttered at the touch, a warmth spreading through her like the first light of dawn. Her eyes searched Mysaria’s, finding an understanding that went beyond words. The wind whipped at their hair, mingling the scent of salt and sweat with the sweet perfume of the sea lavender that grew in the crannies of the castle walls.