twin flames | daemon targaryen

five

Rhaella spent the day after the funeral in the royal gardens, hidden in her usual spot among the daisies and cherry blossoms. The flowers did not seem as beautiful and lively as they did just days before. In fact, they made her feel quite sad. How could such beautiful things exist and parade before her eyes when she was feeling such ugly sorrow and despair?

Rhaella stared down at the open book in her hands, mindlessly running her fingers across the drawings on its pages. It was a children's book, one that Rhaella had not read in years, that contained legends from those of the Children of the Forest and to Florian and Jonquil. Rhaella remembered with a sad smile how she used to giggle and wish for a destined love like theirs.

The stories were her favorites when she was younger, and she could remember begging Aemma to read the stories again and again to her every night. Aemma did so without fail, her funny voices and expressions sending Rhaella into peels of laughter so loud that she woke Rhaenyra in the chambers next to hers.

A tear fell onto the faded image of Jonquil and her sisters, and Rhaella hurriedly wiped it away before it could bleed the painted drawing. The spine of the book was long since cracked and its paintings faded from use, a sign of the love it had been given over the years.

The crunch of fallen leaves caught Rhaella's attention, and she looked up to see Daemon weeding through the flowers towards her. She swore under her breath and quickly wiped away the tears falling from her eyes, setting her jaw as he came to a stop in front of her.

"I remember that book," he said softly in High Valyrian, wary of the listening ears around them. Since his talk with Viserys, Kingsguard and men in the service of House Hightower were following him like fleas on a dog, ready for force him from the Keep he was exiled from. He gestured towards the book in her lap with a sheepish smile. "

"When your mother neared the end of her pregnancies and couldn't read to you, you would beg me to read in her stead. I fear that I did not do the stories justice like Aemma did," he continued after a moment. 

Rhaella did not say anything, instead turning her gaze back to the drawing. Daemon sighed, bowing his head as he clasped his hands behind his back.

"You have heard of my departure then—"

"You mean your banishment from court?" She interrupted, unable to help herself. She peered up at the man with a mixture of anger and sadness, saying in the common tongue, "Tell me what they are saying is not true, uncle. Tell me that you did not proclaim Baelon as Heir for a Day to your whores and friends."

Daemon did not speak, and Rhaella scoffed. She had to hear it from one of her maids, which almost made it hurt more. 

"Rhaella—"

"I-I do not understand you, Daemon," she muttered. She closed the book loudly, her attention solely on her uncle. "You comfort me as I hold Baelon's dead body, you stand behind me and Rhaenyra as their pyres are set aflame, and yet you turn and spew my words of grief as fuel for your own gain."

"Rhaella, you must know that I would never intentionally hurt you—"

"And yet you hurt me all the same," Rhaella said hotly, angrily wiping away a tear that fell down her cheek. Her black skirts caught in the breeze that whipped through the garden, the flapping of the fabric the only noise in the silence that settled between Daemon and Rhaella.

"You are right," Daemon said finally. "I am sorry." Rhaella looked up at him in shock. Never had she heard those words fall from his lips so candidly. Daemon grimaced at her surprise.

"I doubt that there is anything I can do to make it up to you," he continued on, his gaze on his boots. Rhaella watched him, the children's book gripped tightly in her hands. "But know that I will try, little dragon."