"Is it not unbecoming of a man of the city watch to enter a lady's chambers uninvited?"
"Is it not unbecoming of a lady to hold a blade to the commander of the city watch's throat, my princess?"
[or]
Amongst the ceaseless battle of succession to Vi...
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111 A.C
WHEN MAESTOR MELLOS WAS DISCOVERED IN A POOL OF HIS OWN BLOOD, HIS CHAIN TWISTED SO TAUGHT AROUND HIS THROAT THAT THE METAL LINKS HAD TORN THROUGH THE FLESH AND WITH THE VERY SAME BLADE HE'D USED TO BUTCHER THE QUEEN PLUNGED DEEP WITHIN HIS CHEST, THERE HAD BEEN NO QUESTION AS TO WHO HAD SLAUGHTERED THE MAN. The raw slice carved into Baela Targaryen's cheek and the fresh bruises that marred her face, wounds inflicted by the dead maestor in a feeble attempt to defend himself were condemning in their own right. No endeavours had been undertaken to hide her actions, she wore the evidence openly for all to see.
No one, not even Otto Hightower had dared to question why the princess had received no punishment for her blatant crime. None had dared to broach the subject as preparations were put in place for the late queen and her babe's funeral. Even as the man's body had been sent back to the Citadel, calls for his replacement accompanying the corpse, none spoke against the King's willful ignorance of the princess' crime.
It had been Rhaenyra who had discovered her aunt wandering aimlessly through the Red Keep in the dead of night, her nightdress sodden with blood that had not been entirely her own. Seeking a solace only her aunt could provide the young princess had happened upon her aunt, her stare unfocused and mutterings of 'I couldn't protect her' falling from her lips in an icy mantra. Rhaenyra, fearing her aunt had been attacked the very same eve in which she'd lost her mother, had sought out her uncle-to-be and then the king's guard and from there it had only been a matter of minutes before the carnage within maestor Mellos' chambers had been unearthed.
Uncaring for the uncouth whispers that were sure to rise in the wake of his actions, the sneers of impropriety at the choices he'd made regarding his betrothed's state, Harwin Strong had lifted the broken woman into his arms, ending the trail of bloodied footsteps that had followed her. With the young princess at his side, one of her aunt's hands clasped within her own for fear the woman would vanish were she to let go, Rhaenyra refused to part from either of their sides. As he'd marched toward Baela Targaryen's chambers he held not a single concern for what others would say come morn.
Upon guiding the two distraught princesses within the darkened chambers, he need not bark orders for water to be brought, his love's loyal handmaiden was already ushering maids to and from filling the bath, steam rising within the bathing chambers. Tayla had made to lead her lady from her betrothed's grasp and bathe her but a firm shake of the man's head had been all the direction she'd needed. Taking up station by the door, both Rylan Strong and Josian Eleshem on the other side guarding against untoward visitors, the handmaiden held fast, refusing to allow anyone entrance to see what many would view as unseemly.
All she saw was a devoted man tending to his lady love in her time of need.
With gentle hands and softer words, Harwin drew the blooded nightdress from the near-comatose princess and set her down in the bronze tub awaiting her. His eyes never wandered, never took advantage of her state of undress and nor did his hands as he carefully washed away every last sanguine droplet that dared mar her pale skin. Harwin did not rush, did not scrub with haste, in every way unexpected of a man styled 'Breakbones' he was careful and tender with every touch.
