twin flames | daemon targaryen

sixty-six

The sun had set. The scent of blood and smoke and death cloaked the earth, overwhelming all who stood on the battlefields outside of Rook's Rest.

Men laid wounded amongst the bloody mud, taking their last breaths as their hearts stilled in their chests. Others limped off the field towards the scorched and melted castle standing tall on the cliffside, desperately hoping for salvation within its walls.

Many stripped themselves of their green cloaks and House emblems, wishing to blend in with the wounded men of House Staunton rather than be gutted with spears as Greens.

The moon rose high in the sky. It was a full moon, its bright white light illuminating the earth that had seen far too much death in such a short time. The stars decorated the night sky around it, twinkling and shimmering. Ancestors from centuries ago held vigil, watching over those below.

Faint whispers carried on the wind blasting over Rook's Rest, speaking an ancient language. A chill settled in the air.

Dragons remained in the center of the field. Gaelith, Caraxes, Aegarax, Vermithor, Silverwing, Darksmoke, Meleys, Grey Ghost, Vermax, Vhagar. Their enormous shapes cut horrific figures beneath the moon and starlight. Smoke rose from their nostrils, their shrieks and clicks piercing the air as they batted their wings restlessly.

Rhaella Targaryen stood in the center of the circle of dragons, staring down at the smoldering remains of her little brother.

Her amethyst eyes stung from the smoke that smelled of burning human flesh. Her lips, usually found spread in a breathtaking smile, were pursed in a grim frown. Her white-golden hair swayed about her shoulders, her curls dancing in the wind. Behind her, the rest of her family stood, watching. Waiting.

Finally, the Red Queen knelt. Her clothed knees quickly became soaked with the muddied earth filled with blood and ash. Her fingers brushed against her little brother's face, her fingertips dancing across the burnt skin. She gently closed his one eye, and, after a moment's hesitation, picked the sapphire gem from its socket. She rolled the gem between her fingers, watching as it glimmered beneath the starlight.

A low grumbling came from in front of her, and Rhaella lifted her gaze to find Vhagar staring down at her, bronze eyes narrowed. The Conqueror did not roar or bathe Rhaella with her fire as had been done to her rider. Vhagar did not rage or take flight. No, the ancient she-dragon only stared at Rhaella, watching. Waiting.

The Queen met the dragon's gaze unflinchingly. She stared into Vhagar's eyes, finding memories of Aemond playing in the bronze orbs. Her little brother, racing towards her in the royal gardens with a toothless grin. Her little brother, taking her hand and clumsily dancing with her during a feast on Dragonstone. Her little brother, blood running down one side of his face, staring up at her with pleading eyes. Her little brother, burning alive by Vermithor's flames.

Aemma. Laena. Laenor. Her twin boys. Viserys. Robert. Now, Aemond. Her little girls still lost to the world.

Rhaella closed her eyes, her head bowed, her lips moving soundlessly as she spoke a silent prayer. Muña, Laena...Watch over my daughters. Bring them back to me. Love them for me should they be in the skies with you.

A hand brushed against Rhaella's shoulder. The Targaryen woman opened her eyes, lifting her head to see Daemon standing beside her.

The Rogue Prince stared down at his wife like she hung the moon and the stars glimmering above them in the night sky. His violet eyes were full of adoration, full of grief, full of unchallenged fury that had been growing deep in his soul ever since he had come across his wife and children surrounded in the Dragonpit.