Ruin Me

Chapter Eight

They couldn't speak. If they spoke, if any words passed between them, be they good or bad, Daemon would certainly turn around.

This alliance of theirs was on a thin edge. Daemon was on the verge of taking her straight home and Daenyra was on the verge of knocking him overboard. So, they said nothing. Rather, they just sat and stewed in their emotions and in the reality of what they were doing. It was better this way. No words meant that there were fewer ways for Daenyra to not trust him because what they were about to do required an insane amount of trust between the two. Daenyra didn't know if she did completely trust him, but she wanted to. There was some naïve part of her that wanted to believe that these two years in war had changed him. She would need to see if his actions backed up his words.

It was perhaps, that same naïve part of her that kept wearing that stupid necklace. She didn't know why. Maybe it was because she wanted to cling to what little piece of their ancestry she had – to the little piece of her that hoped that maybe Queen Visenya Targaryen had worn this necklace. She wanted to be like that, a woman known as a warrior. But there was also the other hand. The other hand that held the secret truth clutched in its fist in the hopes it would never see the daylight. That just maybe, she had kept this necklace on for him. That every time she tried to take it off, all she could think of was that moment on the beach. All she could think of was the time a secondborn, the only secondborn who knew her pain, had gifted her something extraordinary. Yet, despite her true reasonings for not wearing a different necklace since he had put that one on her, all she knew for certain was that every time she tried to take it off, it felt wrong. Mayhaps it was the gods' way of telling her to wear it always as they pricked her with doubt so deep that she believed it safer to keep it on. And beneath her armour, it now sat as her chest rose and fell in even breaths despite the rapid beating of her heart.

She was not second-guessing herself as she let her mask slip into place and she felt nothing as she readied her body for battle, the hardest battle she would ever face.

Daemon rowed as they sat opposite each other, their eyes locked in an endless gaze as they reached the shores. It seemed almost mechanical, the way that they moved as they put their plan in motion. They had to be absent of emotion in this moment because to panic or feel even the slightest hint of fear would make them hesitate and that could mean the difference between life and death. It was the first lesson that Ser Harrold drilled into her. Don't ever enter a fight when you are flooded with emotion. It is why she put her mask on, the first trick he ever taught her to do.

The boat was beached on the shore as Daemon set down his oars and got out. He made her falter when he held out his hand to her as she got to her feet. For a moment, she simply stared at his outstretched hand, his silent plea for her to trust him. And in the next moment, she took it. 

His grip on her hand was firm but still gentle as he helped her out of the boat. The sand crunched and sank beneath her feet, her hand still in Daemon's. Together, they walked across the blood-soaked sand.

The beach this battle would be fought upon wasn't just soaked with years of blood but years old bodies, bones, weapons, ships and crabs. A single glance would tell you the story of a battle that was being fought for years as they stepped over a torn Seasnake banner. A single glance was all one would need to be told the tale of death and destruction that occurred on this beach, which was still occurring as groaning men groaned their final breaths. And a single glance as they walked across said beach, would tell you that there was only more death and destruction to come because this war would end one way or the other.

It had been sunny as Daemon rowed but now on the beach, the cloud of smoke and ash was so thick that no sunlight could shine through as fires burned and water splashed on their boots, and they made their way across the scorched beach. She still felt nothing as they stepped on bones that cracked beneath their feet and lifeblood that stuck to their shoes.