twin flames | daemon targaryen

sixty-four

The Riverlands

"I yield," Prince Daeron muttered. "It is done."

The young prince looked up at them all, purple clashing against purple. Anger burned in Daeron's eyes along with regret and grief and fear. Daemon, Damion, Aemma, and Jace stared back at him. A moment passed, one filled with the sounds of swords clashing from the battlefield as Green and Red fought in the bloody fields surrounding Harrenhal.

Darksmoke let out a great roar that sent the ground beneath their feet trembling. Damion stepped forward wordlessly, his expression carefully blank, yet his violet gaze filled with fury. He sheathed his sword and took out a band of rope from his belt. Harshly, he grabbed hold of Daeron's wrists and brought them behind the young prince's back, tying them together so tightly the rope dug into Daeron's skin.

Tessarion shrieked, the dragon's call filled with pain, and Daeron flinched. He turned to look at his dragon, catching sight of the blood spilling from the gashes lining his sides. "Please," he whispered, his purple eyes widening. The Targaryens before him stilled at the sound of his voice. Daeron hesitated, licking his lips anxiously, humiliation coloring his cheeks. Tessarion shrieked once more, and Daeron swallowed thickly. "Please. Tessarion—"

"We will care for him," Aemma spoke up, her voice flat and monotone. Daeron met his cousin's gaze, shrinking beneath her cold stare. "We do not kill dragons...unlike some."

Daeron barely held back a wince, bowing his head in silent thanks to her.

"Take him to the cells," Daemon ordered, staring down in distaste at Daeron. His gaze moved to his youngest son, who stood behind Daeron, and Damion nodded in reply.

The Rogue Prince took in Damion's appearance, the ash that covered his skin and his hair, the way the violet of his eyes caught in the dim light of the sun shining down upon them. Damion had fought in his first battle, he had cornered Daeron in the skies, had gotten his surrender, and had spared his life when all others would have killed the Green Prince without a second thought. Amid his anger and battle craze, pride washed over Daemon. "Well done, my son."

Damion stared up at him with wide eyes as though not believing what he had said. His shoulders straightened, appearing years older in his scorched white armor. Then, he nodded and pushed Daeron in the direction of where Harrenhal loomed in the distance.

Daemon turned back to Aemma and Jace, studying them both carefully. Ash covered their skin as it did Damion's, but he could not see any sign of injury. Aemma wore her red riding leathers, her hair tied back into a tight Valyrian-styled braid, her amethyst eyes flashing with determination as she stared at her father. Dark bruises lined the skin beneath her eyes, yet Daemon had never seen his daughter look so awake and alive.

Jace stood close beside her protectively, the Strong boy wearing silver armor, the sigil of House Velaryon carved into the chestplate. He regarded Daemon wearily as though expecting the Rogue Prince to raise Dark Sister against him. Daemon had half a mind to, but then the sounds of battle grew louder around them. The sounds of swords against swords, of men screaming and groaning, filled his ears, and Daemon clenched his jaw tightly.

"We take to the skies," he told them both, already walking past them to mount Caraxes. The Blood Wyrm clicked and shrieked shrilly, his elongated neck twisting and turning erratically as he flapped his wings. Aemma and Jace did not question him, following his lead to mount Silverwing and Vermax quickly.

Within seconds, Caraxes, Silverwing, and Vermax were back in the skies. The sounds of their wingbeats echoed for miles, their shrieks and roars even farther. Darksmoke joined them riderless, the great dragon circling above the three before diving down and unleashing his fire upon the soldiers on the ground. Without hesitation, the other dragons followed him.