From Flames to Fury (Part 2)

As we stood watching Jacaerys walk away, I stole a glance at Rhaenyra, unsure of what to do next. She remained motionless, her expression a mask of stoicism, but I could see the subtle tension in her jaw, the way her fingers clenched at her side as she watched her eldest walked away from herr. The weight of this moment pressed down on us like a heavy fog, choking the air with unspoken fears. What lay ahead was uncertain, and the urgency that had driven us just moments before had dissipated, leaving us paralyzed in this fragile silence.

I shifted uncomfortably, my heart racing with anxiety. This wasn't the time to offer reassurances, not when doubt gnawed at the edges of my mind. I felt the impending sense of loss wrap around me like a shroud, a feeling all too familiar in this brutal world. With no clear path before us, I resolved to take the initiative. I stepped forward, hoping to be something she didn't have to manage or order around, something that wouldn't add to her burdens.

Before I could go far, Rhaenyra's hand shot out, gripping my arm with surprising force. It wasn't harsh, but it was enough to stop me in my tracks, enough to pull me back from whatever reckless decision I was about to make. My heart skipped a beat as I turned to face her, expecting her eyes to be locked on the battlefield or the child in the distance. But they weren't. She was still fixated on Jacaerys, the way he flew ahead, unprotected.

The turmoil in her eyes was palpable—a storm of fear and anguish swirling beneath her calm façade. Every breath she took seemed to tremble, as though she was holding back a tidal wave of emotions that threatened to drown her. The weight of it all—the battle, her sons, the kingdom—pressed down on her like an unrelenting burden.

Finally, she turned to me, her hand still gripping my arm. And when her violet eyes met mine, I saw it—the same storm, the same fear that she had when she watched her son fly away. But now, it was reflected back at me.

She was terrified. Not just for her son, but for me. For us.

I could see it in the way her gaze softened, the way her lips parted as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. She was scared that, like Jacaerys, I was about to fly into danger, and that she might lose me too. The same fear that had gripped her heart for her son was now staring her in the face again, through me.

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Rhaenyra's grip tightened, her fingers trembling slightly against my skin.

"Elizabeth," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken fears.

She didn't need to say anything else. I could feel the desperation in her touch, the silent plea in her eyes. She was asking me—begging me—not to make her go through this again. To not become another piece of her heart she had to lose in this war.

Her vulnerability struck me like a blow, and for a moment, everything else—the battle, the fire, the chaos below—faded away. All I could see was her, standing before me, torn between duty and love, between the need to fight and the fear of losing those she cared about most.

I reached up, covering her hand with mine.

"I remember my promise, Rhaenyra," I whispered, my voice soft but firm. It wasn't just a vow to return—it was a vow that I would fight, not just for her, but for the future we were trying to build together.

Rhaenyra's grip on my arm tightened, the desperation in her eyes flickering for a moment, like a candle fighting against a strong wind.

Suddenly, her other hand reached up, her fingers threading through the back of my hair as she gripped the nape of my neck. Before I could process the intensity in her gaze, she pulled me forward with surprising force. I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart lurching in my chest, half-expecting her to press her lips to mine right there in front of everyone. I could feel the eyes of the guards, the dragon trainers, the riders, the remaining council members on us—on her—and for a moment, panic surged through me.