The Grey Wolf & The Golden Dragon | Aegon Targaryen II

Fire and Blood

Alysanne

Even from a distance, she could see the smirk on Daemon's face, making her entire body tremble with rage. He killed her son, and now he was smirking at her.

Caraxes landed, gouging open the earth beneath his feet and making the ground shudder as he let out a stream of dragonfire, burning both of their men indiscriminately. Smoke curtained around her and her eyes watered, but Alysanne's feet urged her forward.

"Daemon!" She screamed, as she closed the distance between herself and the Rogue Prince, pausing to run her sword through one of the soldiers who jumped in her way. "Stop hiding behind your dragon and fucking fight me, you coward!"

Daemon's smirk stretched into a vicious grin, as if he'd been hoping for her to demand just that. He slid from the saddle, with an ease that only increased her loathing for him, and removed his dragon helmet.

In truth, Alysanne knew she was no match for the Rogue Prince, but she no longer cared. The rage inside her had been festering for months, an infected wound in desperate need of cleaning, and only Daemon Targaryen's death would provide her the healing she needed.

A shout to her left garnered her attention and she rolled to the side in time to avoid the blade of a soldier that threatened to remove her arm. As she engaged with him, she heard Crimson snarl at her back. Knowing her direwolf was at her side brought her comfort while her back was turned to Daemon. She overtook the soldier easily enough, but then... a soul shattering yelp echoed across the field as pain radiated through Alysanne's sternum.

"Crimson!" her intended shout came out a pained whisper as her eyes returned to the Rogue Prince, just in time to watch him rip Dark Sister out of her direwolf's chest. "No..." Alysanne found herself sinking to her her knees, feeling as though Daemon had pierced through her own ribs instead. Through watery eyes, she watched as her direwolf let out a whine and sank into the dirt. Then Crimson's heaving chest stilled and the pain ebbed away, and Alysanne crumbled at the realization that her direwolf no longer drew breath.

"You come to face me yourself, I'm rather impressed," Daemon finally offered with a grin as Alysanne forced herself up off her knees, sniffling and blinking back her tears.

"You're going to be rather dead, very fucking soon," she snarled back. Amusement shone in his violet eyes as he closed the distance between them until they were mere paces apart.

"Hate me if you like, Lady Stark, but you have no one to blame but yourself." Daemon told her. "You and that drunken cunt should have bent the knee to my wife. Instead, my nephew chose the path of kinslayer."

"As you now are! Your wife's nephew; babe of less than a year!" More tears sprung in her eyes, and she swallowed back the lump in her throat as the memory of Aelys headless body resurfaced in her mind. "He was completely innocent, and you had him butchered worse than a fucking animal!"

"Are we going to argue ourselves to death, or do you actually intend to fight me?" Daemon asked, wiping Crimson's lifeblood on the side of his boot as if her death had meant nothing.

"Mayhaps I'll send your head to your wife when I'm through." Alysanne offered, tightening her grip on the blade she'd scooped up.

"Or I'll send your husband yours," he replied with a vicious grin. Alysanne struck first, a blow easily blocked by Daemon. Training with Aemond had honed her skills, but Daemon Targaryen was a far more experienced fighter. In moments, they were clashing their steel and Alysanne was fumbling through the motions to avoid Dark Sister's blade.

Both covered in armor, Alysanne aimed for Daemon's weak spots, legs and neck, her blade never once meeting its target. "You're good," Daemon admitted, "but not nearly as good as you think you are."