twin flames | daemon targaryen

forty

Rhaella's heeled shoes clicked against the stone floor of Maegor's Holdfast, the sound echoing alongside Rhaella and Daemon's whispered High Valyrian. The corridor was deserted save for them, their path lighted by the torches on the wall and the rays of moonlight filtering in through the stained windows.

The couple had received word from one of Alicent's ladies that dinner would begin at the hour of the bat, but the sun had long since set by the time the couple had emerged from their chambers with swollen lips and hair in disarray much to the amusement of Ser Robert, who stood guard further down the corridor away from their apartments.

When they had left the hall of the Iron Throne hours earlier, it was as though the Peaceful Princess and the Rogue Prince were alight with dragon fire, their twin flames burning as one as they walked coated in the blood of the one who dared to insult them.

They couldn't keep their hands off each other, and passing courtiers watched the couple in disgust, awe, longing, and surprise. As soon as the princess and prince had reached their chambers hidden away in the Holdfast, the door was shut and locked behind them to only be opened once during the next several hours to receive the message from Alicent.

Now they walked through the corridors arm-in-arm, preparing themselves for the next battle that lay ahead of them. They were dressed in clothes of dark red and black, their white-golden and silver hair brushed and braided to perfection. They were the picture of Targaryen excellence, even with their swollen lips and the faint bruises that marked Rhaella's neck.

"Our spies tell me that Vaemond had sworn the Velaryon army to the Hightowers should he have won the petition," Daemon said softly, his jaw clenched as he frowned. "They are preparing for war, just as we thought."

"It will come soon," Rhaella said, her eyes dancing over one of the few tapestries decorating the corridor. She recognized it to be a gift from Lys with the image of a dragon upon it. The dragon was black and dwarfed the small town depicted below it, no doubt made to resemble the Black Dread.

"Agreed. One of Alicent's maids told me—"

"I didn't realize that we had one of her maids in our service," Rhaella murmured, turning to gaze up at Daemon with a raised eyebrow. Daemon only raised an eyebrow in return.

"Our network has grown greatly in our absence," Daemon told her. "It seems that as war approaches, more and more have chosen a side in it. Many in the Keep have chosen ours. Everyone is sensing the war on the horizon."

"Including Aegon," Rhaella added. "He spoke to me ahead of the petitions." Daemon tensed beside her.

"And what did he say?"

"Aegon told me that Orwyle predicts the King will die by the next moon."

Daemon came to an abrupt stop, halting Rhaella beside him. She looked up at him in concern. The Rogue Prince's gaze was cast to the floor, his expression hidden from view.

When they had visited Viserys earlier that day, they both knew that his condition was worse than they could have imagined. It came as no surprise to either of them that he would not live among them for much longer, but that did not make the fact hurt any less.

Rhaella sighed softly and reached up to place her hands on either side of his face. Gently, she tilted his head until their foreheads rested against each other, their breaths mingling between them.

"For all of his faults, he is still my older brother," Daemon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes were closed and his fists clenched at his side at the thought. "I have never lived in a world without him. When he is gone, it will be just me."