Dance of The Dragonwolf

The Mourning Dragons

Time seemed to stand still; the air was filled with a symphony of resonant bells. From the towering sept of King's Landing, each bell in the enchanting city pealed with mournful elegance, their somber toll echoing through the cobblestone streets.

The solemn chimes, destined to reverberate ceaselessly throughout the entire week, served as a poignant reminder of the profound loss that had befallen the kingdom: the passing of Prince Baelon Targaryen, a figure beloved by his people. From sunrise to sunset, the heavenly melody of the bells enveloped the entire city, their haunting sound intertwining with the very essence of its inhabitants' grief-stricken hearts.

For Daemon, the tolling of the bells became an agonizing symphony, an unwelcome intrusion into his fragile emotional sanctuary. With each resounding peal, his eyes instinctively shut as if seeking solace in the darkness, shielding himself from the piercing reminders of his father's untimely demise. His mind wandered back to the days when his father's face radiated warmth and joy, a visage that effortlessly captured the hearts of all he encountered.

Baelon Targaryen possessed an enchanting charisma, a magnetic charm that instantly endeared him to those around him. Even in his final moments, lying on his deathbed, the prince departed this world with an ethereal smile, a testament to a life well-lived and the indomitable spirit that defined him. In the midst of this citywide requiem, Daemon found himself grappling with a maelstrom of emotions. The bells, once a symbol of joyous occasions and communal celebrations, had transformed into a melancholic reminder of his father's absence. Each tolling bell became a tribute to the legacy of Prince Baelon Targaryen, forever etched in the hearts and minds of those who loved him.

Daemon found himself bathed in the golden hues of the morrow's sunlight, its gentle caress seeping through the cracks of his chamber. Perched on the edge of his son's bed, his gaze fixated upon his lap, Daemon's hands cradled the unsheathed Valyrian Sword bestowed upon him by his late father.

Yet, as the rays of hope danced upon his countenance, the anticipated elation that should have accompanied such a gift dissipated like ethereal smoke, as elusive as sand slipping through his grasp. Overwhelmed by the weight of his loss, Daemon sought solace in the refuge of his hands, his face concealed from the world. His father's death struck with force far greater than he could have imagined, an indescribable ache that echoed through the depths of his soul. And in the wake of this profound sorrow, another wave crashed upon the shores of his heart, for Lyanna, too, had departed from his life. Two pillars of love and affection were cruelly snatched away, leaving Daemon adrift in a sea of emotions, grappling with the overwhelming void they left behind.

Daemon could feel the warm trail of tears cascading down his weathered cheeks. Yet, determined to shield his beloved son from the crushing weight of despair, Daemon summoned every ounce of his inner strength, resolutely refusing to succumb to the tempest of emotions that threatened to engulf him. Aware that his son's tender heart would shatter upon witnessing his father's vulnerability, Daemon resolved to wear a mask of unwavering bravery, concealing the glistening pearls of anguish that threatened to betray his composure.

Ohh, Lyanna, her name escaping his lips in a whispered murmur that carried the weight of his desires. With her, he had reveled in a sanctuary of authenticity, a sanctuary where he could bare his soul and shield himself from the burdens of pretense. But now, in the wake of her absence, he felt an overwhelming sense of solitude. The pain of losing Lyanna, like a thorny blade piercing his heart, dug deep into the recesses of Daemon's being, rending his spirit asunder.

Each passing moment was a reminder of her absence, a reminder that their once inseparable souls had been cruelly torn apart. And yet, the anguish did not stop there, for the loss of his father added another layer of torment to Daemon's already burdened heart. It was as if the world's weight had been thrust upon him, the heaviness of grief intertwining with every beat of his wounded heart.