twin flames | daemon targaryen

fifty

Dragon roars echoed in the skies above the Stormlands. Thunder rumbled and boomed, and dark, threatening clouds obscured the sun from view. Streaks of lightning electrified the sky, flashes of purple light illuminating the world for just a moment before it was sent into darkness once more. Rain poured from the heavens, falling so hard and heavy that one could barely see five feet in front of them. Winds rushed in from the Narrow Sea, cold and biting, sending the rain near horizontal in its fierce speed and gusts.

Rhaegar sighed disgruntledly as he pulled his cloak tighter around himself, his form hunched and his head bowed in an attempt to fend off the cold of the rain. The Targaryen prince was soaked to the bone, goosebumps rising on his skin despite his best efforts to warm himself. He sat on Vermithor's back, his legs chained to the leather saddle securely as the Bronze Fury flew them to the stronghold of the ancient Storm Kings: Storm's End.

Thunder boomed deafeningly above Rhaegar and Vermithor, but neither Targaryen nor dragon paid it much mind. They had been flying in the storm for over an hour, having been greeted by the darkened clouds and harsh rainfall the moment they entered the Stormlands. It was as though the Storm Kings of old were personally welcoming the Targaryen into their ancient home in their own spiteful, vengeful way, still holding hatred for the dragons that had conquered their lands.

Rhaegar let out a noise of complaint as a strong gust of wind ripped the edges of his cloak from his hands, causing the soaked fabric to fly back and nearly choke him where it was clasped around his neck. Angrily, Rhaegar reached back and grasped onto the cloak and pulled it tight around himself once more, his lips set into a grim frown.

What he would give to be flying towards the Riverlands right now with Daemon and Damion. He would have been dry, enjoying the lands of Westeros with his father and little brother. Instead, he flew alone in the Stormlands, isolated save for the constant company of Vermithor, soaked and angry and tired. But he would endure it, for his mother and his family. Lord Borros Baratheon's support was too important.

The leader of House Baratheon held a formidable navy in his control, the loyalty and ferociousness of his bannerman well known throughout Westeros. The words of House Baratheon were Ours is the Fury, and Rhaegar knew that with the Baratheons and the Stormlands fighting for his mother, the Blacks and the Greens would come to know that fury firsthand and when that fury combined with the fire and blood Rhaegar would rain down on them all, the Blacks and the Greens would be forced to beg for mercy.

Despite the coldness of the rain pelting onto his skin, the wind gusting at him and leaving the skin of his face raw and red, Rhaegar's blood simmered within him. The events of the past days remained ever-present in his mind as he and Vermithor flew along through the Stormlands, the memories fueling the rage and dragonfire within him.

His mother's illness. Her dream, her talk of Conquerors and Promised Princes. Viserys's declaration. Their imprisonment. Viserys's death. Robert's death. Aegon's Coronation. The Betrayal of the Greens.

Never would he imagine a reality in which his mother and their family would be so disrespected by their own blood. The tensions within House Targaryen had been clear to Rhaegar since he was but a young boy in the Red Keep, struggling to understand why he, his siblings, and his parents were always forced to stand and sit between the other two factions of his family. He could remember the hidden insults said between Rhaneyra and Alicent and his mother's attempts at peace. He could remember how he and Aemma had once heard the servants whisper of a Bastard King and realized that they spoke of Jacaerys and his role as Rhaenyra's heir.

But now the hidden insults and whispers in the corners of the Red Keep were shouts and accusations. Rhaegar's mother was no longer the peacekeeper, now she was Queen. And yet the Greens had spoken lies about her, they had imprisoned her, and they had stolen her crown. The Blacks were preparing to wage war, furious that Rhaella had taken claim to what was once Rhaenyra's. It was up to Rhaegar and the rest of his siblings to fight for her, for Rhaella, and make them all pay. He could not fail. He would not fail.