The Bloody Prince: HOTD SI

Chapter 52

MYSARIA-The Lady Misery

Mysaira had seen many cities in her life. She had seen them from the worst possible place, as she was sold from one brothel to another, from one city to another. She saw the worst of humanity in these cities, saw the depths of human depravity as humans were peddled away like cattle, and treated even worse than livestock.

All this happened while the rulers, and the men in power sat in their gilded castles and laughed, as if ignorant to the plight and destruction of humanity that happened around them.

No. They were not blind to this depravity, rather one could say that they enjoyed it, profited from it, as they took more and more from the poor as their castles grew taller and their coffers wider and wider.

And yet she found that truth challenged a few years ago, as she started to look into the life of the young monarch who was set to inherit the most powerful seat in the realm, for that was what the Iron Throne was—the most powerful seat in the realm.

Aegon Targaryen, born to a dysfunctional marriage, the boy had always had a strange reputation. Some called him a child blessed by the warrior and the Crone, others named him a blood thirsty power hungry bastard who held no care for human life.

Such contrasting opinions for a single person, and yet as the years would pass and the boy would find himself inching closer and closer to the Throne, she would decide to look into those rumors for herself, and the truth could not have been more surprising.

For both of them were right about Aegon Targaryen. He was blood thirsty and power hungry killer to his enemies, and yet for those he held close, he was no less than a saint.

Even now, for over three years she had seen him slaughter thousands with nothing but the stroke of his quill, as he manipulated an entire war, killing thousands for nothing but a threat and revenge.

While on the other hand she saw the downtrodden of the city uplifted, she saw their illnesses healed, their bellies fed, their heads covered, their streets cobbled, their water cleaned, and so much more.

And as she stood near the window of her manse watching the capital city spiralling infront of her she wondered, for a second how she should judge a man like this.

And he was a man now.

The years had been much kinder to the boy who had once walked into her brothel to chastise his own father. And now the little hints of immaturity had all but vanished, as his features grew sharper and sharper with each passing year.

One could even spot the hints of a stubble trying to grow out, and yet the boy kept his face shaven much like his father.

Though all the changes were not for the better, for she saw what others did not. She saw the dullness of his gaze, that had lost much of their light as his heart grew heavy with burdens and betrayals.

Betrayals that even she could not protect him from.

It had become routine by now, as he would come to this manse every week, clad in a cloak that hid his face, and he would walk past rooms filled with beauties, young and old, mature and immature, without even a single glance, and would climb up the stairs to this room.

And then he would sit, read all the information that she had gathered over the days and given the sheer extent of her network, often times it would take him hours and hours, as he would continue to scribble in his diary while Mysaria would often stand by the window watching the city around her until it was time for him to give his orders.

Orders that would decide the fate of thousands of men.

And it made her laugh as she thought of it. Of how the fates of so many men rested in the hands of a simple whore.

"Well, it seems our war is set to begin soon," he voiced out, and she raised a brow as she saw him push aside all the scrolls and missives, while he turned towards her.

"Our war began three years ago," she answered cryptically, for that was the truth.

"I mean the real war, one that is fought by swords, shields and ships, not by gold and subterfuge," he answered as he turned to face her.

"The Velaryons are wavering. They are out of options. They will have to kneel, or they will perish," he finished, and that was true. But this tragedy was of his making, not that the Velaryons would ever understand that.

"And you plan to come to their aid," she asked as she walked upto him, and despite her presence or clothes, his gaze did not linger at her as he nodded, as he stared into her eyes.

"Yes, I do," he answered truthfully, not that she had not known that before. But still, hearing it out of his own mouth did make it more certain.

"You would be putting yourself in danger," she asked, and she was aware of his martial prowess, but war was unpredictable. And she had no qualms in saying that the Seven Kingdoms would be worse off, if Aegon Targaryen lost his life.

"Then I would have fallen a prey to my own hubris," he answered as a man who had nothing to live for.

"A man must always fear three things," he began as he lifted three fingers closing them one by one as he continued.

"He must fear the Gods lest they judge him for his actions, he must fear for his legacy that he leave behind this world a better place than the one he came into, and he must fear his own hubris lest it lead down a path that makes him fear neither the gods, nor his legacy," and there was wisdom in those words, wisdoms that was lacking in men thrice his age.

And yet here sat a boy just stepping into his adulthood, and yet, he spoke of life and death with such disregard that if often made her nervous.

"The world would be a worse off without you in it," she added as she picked up the missives, and walked to the fire, as he scoffed behind her.

"I will take your word for it," he added, and she saw him crack his knuckles as she began to dispose of the missives, chucking them into the fire piece of piece, as he began to write in his diary with his quill.

And even if she could glance back, to try and read it, she would be unsuccessful, for the words written on the pages would make no sense to her. They were all written in a foreign language, one that only he knew.

"We must do something about the budding alliance between Lys and Myr," she added as she rid of the missives, giving him her own advise.

"With the Rogare Gold at their backing, Myr could prove itself to be a troublesome enemy," and that was the real war. This conflict in the Stepstones was nothing but a prelude, a smokescreen for the real war that was to come.

"Indeed, Drazenko Rogare has proven himself to be more capable than I had initially thought, but he has made a mistake," and she raised a brow.

"And what mistake is that?" she asked.

"He has forgotten about the dangers of a scorned woman," and she raised a brow, for she knew just who he was talking about.

"Your great aunt," she guessed and he nodded.

"I must simply tempt her to strike back at Drazenko for his insults," he added, and that would be easy enough given the recent tensions between them.

"If she does the rest of the magisters would devour her whole," she added, and he shrugged.

"Saera Targaryen has a cunning to her, but she has always let her pettiness blind her, and this would be no different, we just need to give her the appropriate bait," he sighed, and she asked as she threw in the last missive.

"And what might that be?" she asked.

"Myself," and her head snapped towards him as she raised a brow.

"You plan to come out of the shadows," she asked, and he shrugged.

"I will have to soon enough, when the Sea Snake eventually fails," and that time was very near.

"By then this shadow war would soon turn into an open war, one that would only end with the destruction and subjugation of The Triarchy itself," and that would not take long.

To one it may seem as if that the Triarchy was winning this war, bit things were not so simple. Myr and Tyrosh were stretched thin as they poured gold and men into the Stepstones, driven by their own greed and hubris.

But that would end soon.

The years had allowed her to gain a proper foothold in the Crab Feeder's army, and they knew the location of each and every cave on those wretched islands, along with the exact number of men, their weapons, and their plans.

"Will the King even allow such a war?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"I will make him," he answered as he gave her a piece of paper, and made to stand up.

"These are your instructions, have the orders conveyed," he ordered and she nodded as she pocketed the paper, and that singular page would decide the fate of thousands, and yet it had mattered little to him.

"I will see them implemented," and with that, he rose up from his seat and reached for his cloak once more.

"I have some other news as well," she began, speaking slowly and cautiously as he nodded.

"Yes?" he asked, with much care. As per her expectations, his demeanor shifted the second she took that name.

"It is about Otto Hightower," and his movements halted in an instant as he turned to face her once more, his face stoic as always, but she saw the fire rage in those eyes at the mention of that name.

"What of it?" he asked.

"Gwayne Hightower died a few days ago," and though it was for a split second, she felt his lips turn up.

"He succumbed to an injury he took while hunting bandits in Old Town," and she had an inkling that this was his doing. All of it was.

The years had been rather unkind to Otto Hightower, and it was as if the Gods themselves were punishing the man.

First had come an accident that had robbed the man of his ability to walk, and then over the years, his children would all die, succumbing to death under rather mysterious circumstances, and now the man was all alone.

"A shame he was a good knight," he commented with a hint of remorse.

"It was you, wasn't it," she asked as he finished wearing his cloak, and the reason was obvious enough to all those who knew of Aegon.

"Do you wish to judge me for it?" he asked with a scoff.

"No. I just wonder, when will it stop?" she asked, and he scoffed.

"Soon. Very soon," he answered as she connected another dot, and just as he was about to leave the room, she called after him once more.

"Is that why you have been slowly infiltrating and inserting your men into Larys Strong's network?" she asked as he turned around and narrowed his eyes at her.

"You plan to kill him as well, don't you?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"You truly do have the dragon's blood running through your veins," she whispered, for she already knew the answer to her question.

"To do all this, just for her. It will not bring her back," and he nodded.

"I know, but I must seek justice," and she raised a brow.

"Is this justice?" she asked, and he nodded.

"It is," and with that, he turned away from her.

"Then you should forgive the Princess, my Prince," and his feet halted on the door as she cautiously continued.

"For she is right, you do not love her. Not truly," she whispered back and saw him shake his head.

"What you truly love is the freedom to avenge her death...."

"You are wrong," his voice tore through the room, and as he glanced back Mysaria backed down as she saw the rage in his eyes.

"She broke my trust. She destroyed my most sacred relationship, and you think I should forgive her..." he asked, and she realized that she had made a mistake, for this was the simmering rage that he had kept hidden.

"I cannot forgive her, for I have her the truth before she agreed to marry me, and she chose to do so of her own volition," and by now, the Prince was facing her.

"But none can determine the matters of the hear..."

"I don't care about the matters of the heart," he scoffed as he looked into her eyes.

"For if I did that, the entire Vale would be filled with piles upon piles of men who wish to see me dead," and that may be true.

"I judge people by their actions, and Rhaenyra betrayed my trust. She broke sacred vows and destroyed a part of me that I hold most dear. I cannot forgive her. Not for that," he whispered and she was surprised by his rage, or more specifically at the expression of it.

"Then what will you do?" she asked.

"Truth, is I do not know yet," he answered and she was surprised that a man like him did not know.

"And I cannot afford to lose focus even for a second, for unlike Rhaenyra, I have no time to deal with the matters of the heart," he scoffed, hints of frustration leaking into his voice as he made to leave the room.

"Because I have a war to win...."

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PS: Did anyone get the reference in the chap name!