Blood, Fire and Loyality
The morning sun had barely kissed the horizon when Rhaenyra awoke, the warmth of the fur blankets a stark contrast to the chill that still lingered in the air. Her eyes searched the chamber, finding Mysaria lying beside her, her gaze fixed on the Queen's face. The advisor’s dark eyes held an intensity that made Rhaenyra’s heart flutter—not from fear, but from an unexpected thrill. "Good morrow," she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep.
Mysaria’s smile was a soft curve of her lips, the corners of her eyes crinkling with affection. "I trust you slept well," she said, her voice a gentle caress. Rhaenyra nodded, the warmth of the other woman’s presence still a comfort she hadn’t allowed herself to fully understand until now.
They lay there for a moment longer, the quiet of the dawn wrapping around them like a cocoon. The castle was still slumbering, the only sounds the distant cries of the dragons and the rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs below. The Queen felt a sense of peace that had eluded her for so long, a peace that seemed to emanate from the very core of her being, where once there had been only turmoil and doubt.
Mysaria’s hand began to move, her fingertips tracing delicate patterns on Rhaenyra’s bare arm. The touch was feather-light, a silent conversation in the language of skin. It was a gesture that seemed to speak of comfort and reassurance, a gentle reminder that she was not alone. The Queen watched the shadows dance on the ceiling as the patterns grew more intricate, her thoughts drifting like the embers in the hearth.
“You know, Rhaenyra,” she began, her voice as soft as a whispered secret, “I’ve shared many beds in my life, but never with the intention to simply rest beside another.” The words hung in the air, a gentle confession that seemed to carry with it the weight of a thousand unspoken truths. Rhaenyra felt the warmth of her advisor’s body next to hers, the gentle rise and fall of her chest with each breath, and she realized that in the chaos of the world outside, this quiet intimacy was a precious gift.
Mysaria’s gaze searched hers, a question lingering in the depths of her eyes. “But here, with you, it feels like home.” Rhaenyra felt her own eyes fill with tears at the sincerity in those words, a warmth spreading through her that was more than just the heat of the dying embers.
The Queen rolled onto her side, her eyes never leaving Mysaria’s. “And to me, you are more than an advisor,” she said, her voice thick with feeling. “You are the anchor that keeps me grounded in a sea of treachery and doubt.” Her hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from the other woman’s face, the touch tender and filled with a quiet yearning.
Mysaria’s cheeks flushed at the confession, and she turned her head to press a soft kiss to Rhaenyra’s palm. “I am honored to be by your side.” she murmured, her voice as warm as the embers in the hearth. The Queen’s hand lingered there, the heat of her skin a gentle contrast to the coolness of the room.
Their eyes met again, the firelight casting a soft glow on their faces, and for a moment, it seemed as if time had stopped. The warmth of their bodies created a cocoon of intimacy that seemed to shield them from the cold realities of the world beyond their chamber.
Mysaria’s gaze searched hers, and she spoke with a vulnerability that she had never shown before. "This feels too good to be true," she whispered, her voice trembling with hope and fear. "I want to believe that we can find a way through this together, that we can build something real and lasting." Her eyes searched Rhaenyra’s, looking for reassurance, for a sign that their connection was not just a fleeting comfort in a world of shadows.
Rhaenyra felt a sudden tightness in her chest, a knot of emotion that she could not unravel. She knew what Mysaria meant—how rare it was to find someone who understood the burden of their position, the weight of their crown, the fear of their fate. "You have nothing to fear," she murmured, her thumb brushing gently against the soft skin of the other woman’s cheek. "I will not break you, nor will I ever betray your trust."
Mysaria’s eyes searched hers, looking for the truth in the dancing flames of the firelight. Rhaenyra's heart swelled with a fierce protectiveness, a need to shield this woman who had become so much more than an advisor. She pulled Mysaria closer, their bodies fitting together like the lost pieces of a puzzle. "You are not just a confidante to me," she whispered, "you are a beacon in the dark, a light that guides me when all else is lost."
Mysaria’s breath hitched, the warmth of her cheeks flushing under Rhaenyra’s gaze. She leaned in, her eyes fluttering closed, and placed a soft, lingering kiss upon the Queen’s lips. It was a gesture of understanding, of shared pain and hope, of the unspoken promise to stand by each other’s side through the tempest that was their fate.
The kiss was gentle, tender, filled with all the unspoken words that their hearts held. It was a silent declaration of their bond, one that transcended titles and duty, reaching into the very essence of who they were as individuals. Rhaenyra felt a warmth spread through her, chasing away the shadows of doubt and fear that had clung to her like a second skin.
When they parted, their eyes remained locked, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. The flames cast a soft glow upon them, painting their faces in a warm, intimate light that made the rest of the world feel far, far away.
Mysaria spoke first, her voice a gentle rumble of emotion. "Thank you," she said, her hand cupping Rhaenyra’s cheek. "For seeing me, for knowing me." Her thumb stroked the Queen’s skin, a silent promise of her own steadfastness.
Rhaenyra leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. "I do," she murmured, "I see you." The words were a balm to the wounds that lay beneath the surface, a declaration of trust that resonated deep within them both.
Mysaria pulled away, the warmth of her hand lingering on Rhaenyra’s cheek. She took a deep breath, the scent of the dying fire and the salt from the sea mixing in the air. "We should prepare for the day," she said, her voice a soft whisper that seemed to carry the promise of a new dawn.
The Queen nodded, the gravity of the moment weighing on her. The warmth of the furs felt like a cocoon around her, but she knew the battles of the day would require her to shed that comfort. She stood, her body feeling both heavy with exhaustion and light with hope.
Mysaria followed her lead, the firelight playing across her bare skin as she too rose to face the day. Their eyes met, and Rhaenyra felt a jolt of something more—it was a bond forged in fire, unyielding and true. They had shared something sacred in that chamber, a bond that could not be easily broken.
The Queen moved to her wardrobe, her hand sliding over the fine fabrics of her gowns, each one a testament to her rank. She pulled out one of her favorites, a dress of deep black velvet trimmed with crimson silk, the colors of House Targaryen. She offered it to Mysaria, her voice a whisper in the early morning air. "Wear this," she said, her eyes never leaving hers. "I have wished to see you wear my house’s colours for a while now."
Mysaria took the garment with trembling hands, the fabric like liquid shadows in the flickering firelight. She knew the significance of the gesture—Rhaenyra was offering her a place by her side, not just as an advisor, but as a companion, a confidant of the heart.
As she slipped into the gown, the velvet whispered against her skin, a stark contrast to the rough tapestry of her past. The crimson silk felt like a declaration of unity, a promise of loyalty that went beyond the bounds of duty. Rhaenyra watched her, her eyes filled with something that looked akin to admiration and affection.
Mysaria felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she fastened the dress, the weight of the fabric and the significance of the moment both unfamiliar and comforting. The Queen’s gaze was as warm as the fire that had once been a silent witness to their shared secrets and fears.
The gown was a masterpiece, the deep crimson a stark reminder of the Targaryen blood that flowed through their veins. The intricate black embroidery shimmered like the night sky, studded with tiny crystals that reflected the fading firelight. It clung to her body, accentuating her curves, making her feel like a queen in truth.
Mysaria looked to Rhaenyra, her eyes filled with a quiet gratitude that spoke louder than any words could. The Queen returned her gaze with a soft smile, the lines around her eyes crinkling with warmth. She stepped forward, her own hand reaching out to adjust the neckline of the gown, her touch gentle, almost maternal.
"You are beautiful," she murmured, her voice a gentle caress that seemed to warm the very air around them. The words were not just a compliment but an affirmation of the strength and grace that she saw in Mysaria. The dress was a perfect fit, as if it had been made for her, the fabric molding to her body like a second skin.
Mysaria felt a tremor of self-consciousness at the Queen's scrutiny, but Rhaenyra's eyes held nothing but sincerity. She had never felt more seen, more accepted than she did in that moment. The crimson gown was like a shield, wrapping her in a sense of belonging she had never felt before.
The Queen, noticing the blush staining Mysaria’s cheeks, turned back to her wardrobe. The garments within were a riot of colors and fabrics, a testament to the opulence of the Targaryen court. Her eyes fell upon a gown that mirrored the colors of the one she had given to Mysaria—black as the night with crimson accents that whispered of fire and passion. The fabric was a rich velvet, shot through with threads of gold that gleamed like dragon scales.
Rhaenyra slipped into the gown with an ease that spoke of long practice. The dress whispered around her, a silent promise of power and authority. As she fastened the last clasp, she turned to face the woman she had come to rely upon more than she cared to admit. The candles cast a soft glow across her skin, making her look like a creature of myth and legend.
The Queen moved to the vanity, pulling out the ornate chair with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. The polished wood gleamed in the candlelight, a stark contrast to the rugged stones of the chamber walls. She offered it to Mysaria with a gentle smile, her eyes searching hers for any hint of hesitation.
Mysaria took the offered seat, her heart racing as the Queen's hand brushed against her shoulder. The vanity was a testament to Rhaenyra's status, the mirror framed in gold and studded with rubies that reflected their combined images, merging into one. The Queen's eyes held hers in the reflection, a silent question in the depths of the crimson pools.
With trembling hands, Rhaenyra picked up a silver-handled brush, its bristles soft as a dragon's wing. She began to work through the tangles in Mysaria's dark hair, her strokes firm yet gentle. Each movement was a declaration of trust, a silent promise to be there for the woman in the battles to come. The sound of the brush against her scalp was a lullaby of comfort, soothing the storm of doubt that had been brewing in her mind.
"We need to send someone to Kings Landing," Mysaria said, her voice a whisper in the quiet room. "Someone we can trust to seek out the Targaryen bastards." Her eyes searched Rhaenyra's in the mirror, seeking confirmation of their shared purpose.
Rhaenyra nodded, her own reflection solemn. "Their support could be the difference," she murmured, the weight of her crown seemingly heavier than ever. "But whom can we send?"
Mysaria's gaze met hers in the mirror, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. "Elinda," she said finally. "Your maid. She is loyal and discreet, and she has a way with words."
Rhaenyra considered this, her eyes lingering on the reflection of their entwined hands. "Yes," she murmured, a spark of hope igniting in her chest. "Elinda it is."
Mysaria turned to face her, the fiery light from the hearth casting shadows across her face. "I will prepare her for the depurture today," she said firmly, her voice steady. "I will make sure she knows what she must do."
Rhaenyra's eyes searched hers, a silent question in the air. "Thank you," she whispered, the words carrying more weight than any crown could. They shared a look that spoke of trust and dependence, a bond forged in the crucible of shared hardship.
——————
Mysaria glided through the castle halls, the soft click of her heels on the stone floor echoing through the vast, empty space. The castle was a maze of shadows and whispers, its very stones holding secrets of past battles and alliances. Her mind was racing with the gravity of the task ahead—to send a trusted ally into the lion's den of King's Landing, to seek out all the Targaryen bastards.
Elinda was a small, unassuming woman with eyes that had seen more than their fair share of the world's cruelty. Her loyalties were unquestionable, and her ability to blend into the background was invaluable.
Mysaria pushed open the heavy oak door to the maid’s chamber, the hinges groaning a protest that seemed to match the gravity of the task at hand. The room was simple, with a small cot in the corner and a wooden chair beside it. A single candle flickered on the nightstand, casting a warm glow on the worn blanket that was folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The walls were bare, save for a small tapestry that depicted a dragon in flight, a stark reminder of the house they both served.
Elinda looked up from her mending, her eyes widening slightly in surprise at the sight of her queen’s advisor. She curtsied, setting aside her needlework with careful haste. "My Lady," she greeted, her voice a soft, deferential murmur.
Mysaria closed the door behind her, the weight of her words echoing in the silence that followed. She approached Elinda, her eyes searching the younger woman’s face for any sign of fear or hesitation. "Elinda, I need your help," she said, her voice a low, urgent whisper. "A task of the utmost importance, one that could change the course of this war."
Elinda’s posture straightening with the seriousness of the situation. "I am yours to command, Lady Mysaria," she replied, her voice steady and clear.
Mysaria’s eyes searched hers, looking for the strength she knew lay beneath the surface. "We need someone we can trust implicitly to go to Kings Landing," she began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Someone who can blend in, who can seek out the Targaryen bastards and bring them to Dragonstone."
Elinda's eyes grew wide with understanding. "Me, Lady?" she asked, her voice filled with a mix of shock and determination.
Mysaria nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "You have proven your loyalty time and again," she said, placing a gentle hand on Elinda's arm. "And your ability to move unnoticed is precisely what we need."
Elinda swallowed hard, her heart racing at the weight of the task laid before her. The fate of the realm rested in her hands, a burden she never dreamed of bearing. Yet, she felt a strange exhilaration, a sense of purpose. "I understand," she said, her voice firm despite the tremble in her chest. "I will do as you bid, Lady Mysaria."
Mysaria’s smile grew, a hint of pride shimmering in her eyes. "The ship will be ready by the end of the day," she assured her. "You will have all the papers and gold you need to travel in disguise. Your story is that of a merchant’s daughter seeking kin in the capital."
Elinda nodded, her mind racing with the implications of her mission. Kings Landing was a cesspool of deceit and danger, but she felt a strange sense of determination blossoming within her. For the Queen, she would face whatever lay ahead.
"But what am I to say to the bastards when I find them?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do I convince them to support our cause?"
Mysaria's eyes narrowed in thought, her mind racing through the possible scenarios. "You will tell them that the Queen has need of those with the blood of the dragon," she began, her tone deliberate and measured. "Tell them that she seeks allies, those who wish to stand with her."
The warmth from the fireplace behind her painted a fiery halo around her silhouette, casting a stark contrast to the coldness in her gaze. "But more than that, you will speak of legacy, of the great life that awaits any man or woman who can claim a dragon." Her voice grew softer, more seductive, "Whisper to them of power, of gold, and of lands to rule over. Of a place at our side in the new world we shall build."
Elinda felt the gravity of the words, the weight of the promise she was being entrusted with. It was a heady feeling, to be the bearer of such temptations. Yet she knew that the fate of the realm, and perhaps even the lives of the whole realm, hung in the balance. "And what if they are not swayed by such promises?" she asked, her eyes searching the depths of the flames.
Mysaria's smile was a knowing one, the kind that suggested she had seen the darker aspects of human nature and knew exactly how to play upon them. "They have nothing," she said, her voice a soft purr that seemed to caress the words. "No lands, no titles, no food. They are shadows living on the fringes of a world that does not want them. We offer them a chance to never be hungry again."
Elinda nodded, her hand clutching the pouch of gold and papers tightly. She knew the desperation that could drive people to the ends of the earth, had felt it herself in the cold months after her husband’s death. "I will do my best," she murmured, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart.
Mysaria stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Elinda’s shoulder. Her touch was surprisingly warm, a beacon of comfort in the chilling chamber. "Your dedication does not go unnoticed," she said, her eyes searching Elinda’s. "I will not send you unprepared."
The Queen’s advisor explained her plan in hushed tones, the words carrying the weight of a secret that could shift the tides of war. "When you arrive in King's Landing, you will have five days to find the Targaryen bastards and bring them to us. After that, we will send ships to bring you home. We cannot wait longer," she warned, her voice firm. "Our enemies grow restless, and time is a precious thing."
Elinda nodded, her eyes wide with understanding. The gravity of her mission was not lost on her, nor the urgency of it. Her thoughts swirled like the shadows on the walls as she imagined the perilous journey ahead. "I will not fail you," she murmured, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.