twin flames | daemon targaryen

fifty-one

Thunder booming. Dragons roaring. Fire lighting the darkened sky with plumes of fierce reds and oranges. Shouts and terrified screams echoed alongside the wounded shrieks and clicks of dying dragons. Waves of the salty sea pounding against a rock-littered coast, harsh and unforgiving. Rhaegar's bloodied, burned body falling through the sky, small and lifeless amid the hurricane.

Elaena's eyes snapped open, a silent scream on her lips.

The Targaryen princess shot up from where she had laid sprawled on top of her bed, her hands clawing into the numerous blankets beneath her for some sort of grounding stability that would tether her to the land of reality. Her chest heaved for breath, her heart beat furiously against her ribs, her eyes frantically flitting around the room for any hint of the horrors she had just seen in her dreams.

Sun had begun to filter in through the opened windows of her chambers. The scent of dragon and smoke drifted in along the gentle breeze that rolled in from the shores of the Blackwater Bay below the castle of High Tide. The sounds of snores echoed in the chambers Elaena lay in, and the princess's bright blue gaze turned to the opposite side of the room.

A small form was curled into a tight ball underneath the burgundy duvet covering the bed that stood opposite Elaena's. A tuft of pure white hair popped up from underneath the fabric, a visual sign of Viserra who remained fast asleep, unknowing to Elaena's horrific nightmares.

Elaena took in her sister's hidden form, watching the small rise and fall of the blankets, signs that her twin was safe, healthy, and asleep. Elaena let out a huff, flopping backward onto her mattress. Her arms and legs were splayed out wide around her, and her heart slowed in her chest. She listened to the sounds of her sister sleeping, of the waves crashing against the beaches of Driftmark, and she let her eyes slowly drift close once more. A dream. It was just a dream.

Arrax's anguished shrieks pierced the storming sky. Vermithor roared with unbridled fury, sending flames hundreds of feet into the sky. Storm's End stood tall amid a hurricane as three dragons circled above the ancient keep of the Storm Kings, red, black, and green. Vhagar diving down from the heavens, her jaws agape, flames of Old Valyria burning deep within her throat, threatening to escape and bring the might of the ancient magic onto Westeros.

"No," Elaena breathed out, opening her eyes in fright. She lurched over and vomited onto the stone floor beside her bed. The world around her seemed to spin as the contents of her stomach spilled onto the floor. Gone were the sounds of her sister's snores and the waves of the bay. The only sound the Targaryen princess could hear were the sounds of thousands of voices whispering in her ears, speaking in an ancient High Valyrian that did not make sense to Elaena, yet she inherently knew what it meant. Rhaegar was in danger.

Her heart pounded in her chest as Elaena hurriedly rolled out of bed. Her bare feet slapped against the stone floor as she raced towards the small chest in the corner of the chambers where Viserra's and her riding clothes were kept. She pulled open the top of the chest, uncaring of the way the wooden top slammed against the wall.

Elaena didn't hear how Viserra's snores stopped, her mind filled with frantic thoughts as she struggled to pull on her black, leather riding outfit that stank of dragon and smoke. She tripped on the corner of her bedpost and tumbled onto the floor, her elbow smacking painfully against the stone.

"Ellie?"

Elaena flinched violently in surprise, smacking her elbow once more against the stone floor of her chambers. She cried out, cringing as bolts of pain shot up and down her arm. Her elbow throbbed as she pushed herself into a sitting position, and Elaena looked up to see Viserra sitting up on her bed on the other side of the room.