𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 [𝗥𝗼𝗯𝗯.𝗦]

17

THE JOURNEY
ONWARDS

            

DAERON strode through the garden with much determination in each step he seemed to take. And there was nobody to tell him otherwise, for his heart only ached for those he had lost. And this was acknowledged by his companions.

"A house of ghosts," said Kovarro. "Where are the guards?"

"No guards. The warlock kill with sorcery, not steel." These words that came from Ser Jorah's lips were met with much caution. For how could they not be?

"Let them try," spat Daeron, clutching tightly at the sword upon his hip. The sight of the top of the tower certainly wasn't welcoming, as their was no entrance in sight. And all Daeron wished for was his dragons.

"Is this a riddle?" Asked Daeron, a slight frown pulling at those pink lips of his.

Ser Jorah barely noticed the disappearance of his Prince, but that could hardly be held in surprise. For Daeron was quiet when the need came for it.

Silence was his weapon.

"Prince Daeron!" He called out in a rather frantic manner, and his heart could only beat wildly. For he couldn't lose his charge and friend, not to the face of such madness as magic.

The darkness had greeted Daeron like that of an old friend, all that surrounded him was darkness. It was eerie in a sense, but Daeron wasn't blind to the torch that sat upon the wall. It might glow brighter in the dark, but there was no form of natural darkness that lingered. It was empty.

"Are you trying to frighten me with magic tricks?" Yelled Daeron, rage was upon his tongue. "You want me? Here I am!"

The dragon screech that echoed throughout the walls pierced his heart. And Daeron could only run, step upon step, in search of the sound that had made him shiver and shake.

Daeron only continued to search ever so desperately for the children he had lost. There was an ache within his chest that couldn't be soothed. Not in the slightest. He eventually came to a pit, but it held nothing of high importance. Yet, he couldn't have been more surprised when he entered into a warm room, and there was laughter and joy to be found. And upon the steps was a throne, forged of iron and steel. There couldn't be less than a thousand swords, he knew what it was. But the woman that stood before it was unfamiliar, wrapped in her red and black gown. Until those purple eyes looked back at him, Daeron couldn't help but stare in shock as they were the same eyes his brother Viserys had possessed. But there was a sense of warmth to them that he had not carried. Her pale silver curls were long and beautiful, as was she. Daeron had never seen another with such Valyrian features before, not since his brother. And then he knew, there could only be one person who held the possibility to be this woman.