[You're still awake? Ser Wylis, you should be asleep. You wake up before me, and sleep last. Your duty demands that you remain in your best physical condition. Lady Ashara may be returning to Starfall to prepare for the wedding, you mustn't allow your body to lose itself.]
"Wow, she sounds just as she looks, gentle and caring. But what is this talk… should I be having this conversation with the Queen?" Wylis muttered to himself, but felt relieved by the latter half of the contents. Ashara's return to Starfall was relieving as the rebellion was probably around the corner.
And he had a feeling; he knew what was going to trigger it. Not much different from what he knew, but this time, he'd be involved.
Once again, he returned to the table and wrote on a piece of paper.
[I am used to it, Your Grace. Believe it or not, it's food that keeps me strong and built like this. Food and countless hours of training. But I feel warm to know that…]
He took a pause, a little nervous. Should he? Should he flirt with the Queen? He was attracted to her, no doubt, and honestly, he wanted to give her some happiness. But he didn't know if she wanted it. She was really hard to read.
"Fuck it, let's do it."
[... To know a Queen so gorgeous holds even a flicker of concern for me—well, it humbles and heartens me both. I'll lay my head down now with that thought as my pillow—surely, sleep will come easy now.]
With that, he shoved the paper back into the pipe and sent it up. Since he'd said goodnight to her, he jumped back to digging. He just needed to climb to the lower floor now.
Pang! Pang!
"What the… I just said goodnight." Wylis frowned hard this time. The Queen wasn't that talkative as far as he'd seen during the day. She barely spoke ten sentences at the table with the other ladies.
He was a bit hesitant now. He expected a note full of reprimand for flirting with her.
[It ill befits a young knight to waste his charm on a woman long past her spring, Ser Wylis. Let Lady Ashara fill your thoughts, not a shadow like me. Rest while the night is still kind.]
"Oh? So she's more bothered that I'm committed, but less about the flirting? Interesting."
He wrote down another note.
[To praise but one flower when two grace the garden? That would be a crime of taste. Your beauty, my Queen, demands not passing comment but legacy—songs, perhaps. Or the envy of painters. And age—If you are past spring, then I'm afraid I'm more weathered than the likes of Ser Barristan.]
He sent it. This time, he didn't hurry and waited.
Woosh!
Sure enough, the response came fast.
[Careful, Ser Wylis. Many have met ruin, mistaking the shine of a thing for its strength. You are but nine-and-ten; the world is not as it seems. At times, what glitters the brightest may just be the most eroded beneath. Rest well.]
Wylis calmed down when he read that. She was talking about herself indirectly. And he sympathized with her. It must feel suffocating, stuck in one place with no way out. No hope left. Her own son, the crown prince, ignored her plight. The entire Kingsguard knew, the entire Red Keep knew, the Grand Maester knew, and probably all of Citadel and realm knew. The pain she suffered through the Mad King's insanity. Yet, she had no one to save her, just eyes aimed at her, filled with pity.
He honestly didn't know how to respond. She ended each note with a farewell, as if hinting that he could stop replying if he wanted to.
But he found his hand writing again.
[A blade may break, yet a true smith will see it sing again. A flower may wither, yet the right touch will bring it to life. Even the cruelest wound can be undone if the healer dares. As I was cursed for a lowly life, now a knight, exchanging words in the middle of the night with the brightest bloom in the realm. Come dawn, if fate frowns and the executioner waits, still—I'd say it was worth the sin.]
Without thinking much, he sent it up.
Then he waited.
He waited some more.
After an unusual amount of time passed, he was sure no response would come. He sighed, hoping he didn't overdo it, and finally returned to digging his tunnel. He climbed down into the ballroom in no time and dug further down.
Hours later, he returned, mending the surfaces of the floors. It was impossible to finish the tunnel in one night. The real digging through the hard underground was still ahead of him.
And he did need some rest for his daily duties.
####
Clack!
"You may enter."
Queen Rhaella Targaryen heard that masculine voice from outside her bedchamber's doors as they opened. Four maids walked in holding various things. As usual, they helped her prepare for the day.
They cleaned the bedchamber, removed the ash from the hearth. They helped her bathe, scrubbed her body, and cleaned every inch of her, and then prepared her clothes. Her hair was combed and styled, and her gown, without wrinkles, was tied.
But unlike other days, she found herself more absent-minded than usual.
"Put more under my eyes."
She was ashamed to show the redness around her eyes. Aerys hadn't visited her, but her tears had escaped. She just hoped to mask them, as usual.
Afterwards, she walked behind the maids and left the bedchamber. Just like yesterday, she was greeted by that wall of masculinity, smiling at her. A smile that seemed genuine, without that gaze of pity or mockery. It felt real, and once again, she found herself raising her hand.
"Ser Wylis," Rhaella said, and felt his warm lips tap on the back of her hand. It shamed her to even imagine it lingering a moment longer on her skin.
"Your Grace."
His voice pacified her otherwise irksome start of the day. And then, she turned around and headed to her son's bedchamber. On the way, she held herself back from speaking about the written exchange of the previous night.
Too many eyes were on her, she feared. Wylis seemed like a good, honest man, and the last thing she wanted was for him to face her spouse's madness. Not that he wasn't already a victim of it. She could feel it in the way he carried himself. He wasn't delighted or honored to be there. He was forced into that duty.
"Ah!"
Suddenly, for some reason, right as she was walking through the hallway, she stumbled on one foot and found herself falling forward. She was no knight; her body wasn't fast enough to react. She knew she was going to land face first.
"Your Grace!"
And just like that, she found herself safe. How that giant of a man moved so fast was beyond miraculous. But then she felt his arms, massive, firm. He'd pulled her back from falling, now she was leaning backwards, his mighty arm around her upper back, his palm holding her shoulder. His other arm was scandalously draped above her belly and held her waist.
Her spine curved in a graceful arch as if gravity had tried to take her down but failed. One of her feet hovered just above the ground, the other bent slightly, toes grazing the floor for balance. She felt like she was floating at that moment. Not falling, not standing, but held.
He's… humongous.
"Your Grace."
So lost in the moment, she was frozen, staring at Wylis' face, and noting the warmth, hardness of his arms and hands. But then she was thrown out of that moment, and left standing straight.
"Yes… I'm well." She regained her composure and looked up. Still finding Wylis standing less than a foot away. He truly felt like a wall, encompassing her entire body in his shadow. A charming shadow at that.
"Please be careful."
She nodded and resumed walking.
That entire day was spent like that. And it was confusing. Years had passed, despite how terrible her marriage had been, not once had she thought of another man. She had remained loyal to her husband and her family.
Even now, she didn't really have any disloyal thoughts. But somehow, she found herself appreciating Wylis's presence. He stood out amongst all the men; he played with Rhaenys and tolerated Viserys. He felt immensely powerful, as if he could protect her from a storm of swords; all she had to do was stand in his shadow.
She watched her new royal knight in silence the entire day. She observed him, his faint movements, his exchanges with other Kingsguards. It seemed as if he had no enemies. All were his friends or admirers. Even Ser Jaime, known to be boastful, showed respect.
It's a sin to hold him hostage in these walls. He should be let free.
In her heart, she felt for the tall knight. Being a caged bird herself, she hoped for the young man to spread his wings, unlike her.
______________________
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