twin flames | daemon targaryen

sixty-one

The Riverlands, Three Days Later

The first ravens came at noon.

Daemon and Damion had been down in the training yards of Maidenpool all morning, standing beside Lord Mooton as they all observed the soldiers train and spar. The two Targaryens stood along the edge of the yard, each dressed in simple black pants and black vests over loose, white, long-sleeved shirts. The father and son mirrored each other's postures, their arms crossed and expressions critical as they studied the soldiers training before them.

Perhaps a hundred men filled the yard that day, a mixture of old and experienced fighters with young squires who were barely strong enough to hold up their steel swords. Yet, every man in the yard wore determined expressions, lips pursed into frowns as they trained, their skin slick with seat and beginning to burn as they fought beneath the harsh rays of the sun and the calculating eyes of the Targaryens.

Lord Mooton and his advisors had spoken to the two Targaryens at length that morning, informing them of the training regime of the soldiers, the men no doubt exaggerating the capabilities of the fighters in their eager efforts to prove to the Targaryens they would be useful allies in the war to come. However, standing there in the training yard and seeing the men for himself, Daemon thought otherwise.

"These training programs are worse than Cole's," the Targaryen man said in hushed High Valyrian, his lips pulled back into a deep frown. "These men aren't prepared for war."

"No one ever is," Damion replied. "Doesn't mean they won't fight well."

The young prince watched a pair of soldiers sparring just a few yards from where he stood. The soldiers couldn't have been older than he was, and while they were green, no doubt inexperienced and unprepared for the fighting to come, the intensity with which they swung their swords and fought each other was enough to instill some confidence in Damion.

"We've got 700 men who will fight," Lord Mooton said from where he stood on Damion's other side. He watched the Targaryens wearily, as though attempting to dissect the foreign language with which they spoke, but it was a failed effort. High Valyrian was far different from the common tongue, and the rolling, melodic tongue the two Targaryens spoke was unlike the bastardized versions of the language the Essosi traders spoke in the ports of Maidenpool.

"More than two-thirds of them are experienced fighters," Lord Mooton continued as the Targaryens turned to listen to him. "The others will catch on quickly, I have no doubt."

"They look like fine soldiers," Damion said after a moment when it became clear Daemon would not say anything to the lord. "They will serve their Queen well."

"Aye," Mooton agreed with a nod. He studied Damion out of the corner of his eye, watching as the prince turned to survey the men training before them once more. Mooton let out a soft laugh, drawing Damion's attention back to him with furrowed eyebrows.

"I admit when I first learned Queen Rhaella's son was here in Maidenpool, I feared I would be meeting with a young boy who was his father's twin not only in looks but attitude as well," Mooton explained. He laughed softly again. "I will be the first to admit I was wrong. You have represented yourself and your mother well, My Prince."

"Thank you, Lord Mooton," Damion said, surprise coloring his words. Mooton nodded, turning back to look at the soldiers once more.

"We will defend your mother's claim until our last breath," Mooton vowed, not looking away from the men training before them. "Your arguments for your mother's claim were true. My House will benefit greatly from your mother's reign, that is no mystery. But, we will fight for her because she is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She will serve the people well."