twin flames | daemon targaryen

fifty-five

Days passed, and the world slowly began to turn again. The sun rose and fell each day, ships came and went from the port towns of Driftmark, and ravens slowly flew in one by one to High Tide, bearing reports of the Battle in the Sky.

The rivers of the Stormlands had run red, whole forests and fields covered in splatters of dragon blood. Farmers and hunters in the desolate areas of the Stormlands had heard the roars and shrieks of dragons as Targaryens warred in the hurricane. They had seen fire flash within the clouds, they had seen blood raining down as the dragons of Old Valyria tore each other apart.

They had seen the remains of Arrax fall from the sky and into the sea. They had seen a man fall, too, his figure small and slight in the wide expanse of the sky, caught at the last minute by a bronze-scaled dragon before he hit the water. Rhaegar.

Rhaella read every report that came through High Tide with an unwavering intensity. She read the letters over and over again, her amethyst eyes scanning over the details of the battle that had claimed her son. She read how the hunters had gone searching for the fallen man they knew to be a Targaryen prince. They had scoured for hours, searching every cave, every creek, every beach. They found nothing.

Lord Borros Baratheon had sent her a letter personally, the neat script of the maester employed by the House of the Stag flowing fluidly across the page. The descendant of the Storm Kings promised revenge for Rhaegar's death. He pledged his navy to her cause and declared that her every order would be accomplished. To have the betrothed of his eldest daughter be slain in his own lands was an outrageous slight, and Borros would not take it lightly.

Cassandra, too, had written Rhaella. The letter had arrived late in the night, and Rhaella knew who had written the letter as soon as her eyes ran across the cursive scrawled over the top of the letter. The Targaryen woman had not the heart to read it just yet. She had hardly been able to write to Daemon as it was.

Baelon had taken on the task of informing Aemma and Damion of Rhaegar's death, having already sent letters to the lords of the Great Houses informing them of the brutal murder of Rhaegar and Lucerys at the hands of Aemond and his dragon. Thanks to Helaena, they had been given a headstart in refuting the claims the Greens had planned to make, Baelon's rage-filled words striking fury and indignation in the hearts of the leaders of the Great Houses.

For all the cultural differences between the Westerosi and Valyrians, there was one thing agreed on no matter one's heritage: kinslaying was the most grievous crime a man could commit. It was evil, cowardly, and went against everything they held dear. To do so on a diplomatic mission...Baelon may as well have signed Aemond's death sentence.

But, there was one letter that Rhaella refused to let Baelon write.

My beloved.

I'm sure word has come to you by now, but I wished to write to you all the same. The rumors are true. Rhaegar was killed in the Stormlands. Aemond attacked our son and Lucerys in the sky, and Vhagar's flames encompassed Rhaegar whole. His body has not been found yet. Vermithor has not returned, and he is nowhere to be seen. Elaena and Viserra had gone after him, and they, too, have not returned home. We have sent as many search parties as we dare, Borros has even joined in on the efforts.

Helaena has joined us on Driftmark. She is the only reason that we know of what occurred. The Greens have planned to cover it all up, but now their plan has failed.

We have already alerted the Great Houses. Aegon has chosen his side. He has chosen the kinslayer and the betrayers. This means war.

Rhaella

She had written the letter in loopy High Valyrian, an attempt to keep her words to her husband concealed from prying eyes. As she wrote, she imagined Daemon at her side, reading over her shoulder as he always did. Yet, when she turned, it was just her, alone in her chambers.