From Flames to Fury (Part 2)

Chapter 4: Where I Belong

You're nothing without me.

No one will ever want you.

Even though I had left him, even though I had fled that life, his shadow still haunted me. He was like a specter, whispering in my ear, feeding me doubts. What would Rhaenyra, a literal queen, want with you? You're just a temporary distraction. She's using you, like everyone else has.

The voices swirled, tugging at my chest, tightening the familiar knot of anxiety. What would someone like Rhaenyra—beautiful, powerful, a queen—possibly want with me? She could have anyone, literally anyone in all of Westeros. She could pick a lord, a warrior, a noblewoman.

What was I? A woman dragged here by fate, a woman who didn't belong in this world. What could I offer her that someone else couldn't? I was a healer, yes, but I was not of her blood, not of her station.

I swallowed, trying to push the thoughts away, but the scars ran deep, and Johnathan's voice still lingered. You're just a plaything. She doesn't love you. She'll discard you the moment you become inconvenient.

I looked at Rhaenyra then, standing so close, her eyes brimming with sincerity, filled with a depth of emotion that was both inviting and terrifying. My fear clawed at my chest, a persistent grip that made every breath feel like a struggle. The vulnerability I felt urged me to retreat, to flee from the raw truth of the moment, but there was nowhere to run—not from her, not from what was unfolding between us.

My lips parted, yet the words I longed to say remained trapped in my throat, shackled by the ghosts of my past. A bitter laugh threatened to escape me as I considered the absurdity of my situation: here I was, caught in the chaos of a violent world, a war raging around me where death lurked at every corner. I could be struck down by a sword or devoured by a literal fucking dragon, yet the thing that terrified me most was the thought of Rhaenyra breaking my heart. That fear felt more potent than any battle I might face, more daunting than any enemy I could encounter.

It was maddening to realize that amidst all the turmoil, the thought of emotional vulnerability felt like the greatest risk of all.

Rhaenyra's eyes searched mine, and god—the look in her eyes—it was like she knew. She could see the war I was waging within myself. The recognition of my inner turmoil flickered across her face, softening her gaze even more. There was no judgment in her expression, no impatience. Just understanding.

"Elizabeth..." she murmured, her voice low, gentle, as if she feared that speaking too loudly would shatter whatever fragile strength I had left. "I love you."

I felt the wetness on my face before I even realized I was crying. The tears came unbidden, blurring my vision and filling me with an overwhelming sense of frustration. Jesus, Rhaenyra just told me she loved me—not for the first time, but this was different. This was so plain, so direct, so real.

It should have been beautiful. I should have been smiling, pulling her into a kiss, telling her I loved her back.

But instead... I was crying.

My chest tightened, embarrassment and frustration tangling inside me as more tears slipped free. I reached up to wipe them away, desperate to keep control, to not ruin this moment with my own brokenness. But before my hand could reach my face, Rhaenyra caught my wrist, her fingers gentle yet firm.

"Don't," she whispered softly, her voice filled with more tenderness than I could bear. She didn't release me; instead, she held my wrist there between us, her thumb brushing lightly against my skin, grounding me in the present.

I wanted to curl inside myself, to hide from the intensity of her gaze, but Rhaenyra's hold kept me anchored. She didn't judge me for the tears. She didn't try to rush me through the emotion. She just... held me. And it was in that stillness, in the gentle way she stopped me from pushing away my own vulnerability, that I felt the dam inside me start to crack further.