『 : ̗̀➛Two parts of a whole, destined to find their second half, and when the sun finally sets on them, the last ember of hope glows in their eyes. ☄. *. ⋆ 』
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"I hear you are indisposed, dear cousin." Rhaenys' voice filled the chambers. Daenerys lay in bed, her head drenched in sweat and her face pale from exhaustion. She weakly turned her head towards the sound of Rhaenys' voice, mustering a small smile.
"That I am..." she muttered, looking up towards the ceiling once more.
Rhaenys sat down on the edge of her bed. She gently brushed a strand of hair away from Daenerys' forehead and sighed at the sight of sweat. She motioned to a maid to bring her a bucket and placed a cool cloth on Daenerys' forehead.
"Is it fever, cousin?" asked Daenerys weakly, her voice barely audible.
Rhaenys sighed again and placed a hand on her forehead. "No, I am afraid." The younger princess sighed softly. "It is something much worse—an illness that is not so easily cured." She tucked another strand of her light hair behind her ear. "Longing."
Daenerys looked away and stared out the window, her eyes filled with sadness.
"You barely sleep, Daenerys. You barely eat. Your appetite has vanished," Rhaenys continued, concern evident in her voice. "I fear this longing is consuming you."
"Are you sure it is not fever? Perhaps a bad case of the flu?"
Rhaenys shook her head gently. "You miss that man more than he is worth," she said softly.
Daenerys laughed at that bitter and hollow sound. "Perhaps you are right." She shifted her position in bed and let out a deep sigh. Rhaenys washed her forehead with the cloth some more. "Yet still, I feel sickened. And so dreadfully fatigued."
"Hm, perhaps a maester wouldn't hurt then."
"Oh, gods, a maester. What is next? A potion to cure a broken heart?" Daenerys replied sarcastically. Rhaenys chuckled softly, her hand still gently stroking Daenerys' forehead.
"You are becoming Daemon, cousin. Full of bitterness and cynicism."
Daenerys frowned, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement at the comment. "Well, it seems that bitterness is the only thing keeping me company these days," she replied. "Besides, he is my twin, after all."
"You don't say..."
.
.
.
.
He was running across war-torn fields, dodging arrows as they swung by his ear. With his Dark Sister in hand, he slashed through the enemy ranks, his movements fluid and precise. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth, and his teeth gritted. Daemon's heart pounded in his chest, fueled by adrenaline and the survival instinct. Each step he took was a dance with death, yet he remained undeterred. The scars on his body told tales of countless battles fought, but his spirit remained unbroken, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
