House Of The Dragons

In the midst of war. Beneath the weight of the crown. As the realm tore itself apart over who had the right to rule… There were still nights the maesters never wrote of.

Daemon had led Rhaenyra’s forces against the Hightower army commanded by Ormund.

At Tumbleton, war had ceased to have a face. The city drowned in a tide of blood and fire.

The night before mounting Caraxes, he had tried to convince her to fly with him. They had heard nothing from those who had sworn allegiance to his Queen.

But Rhaenyra had refused. Too determined to make the High Septon bend the knee.

He had refused. She had him executed. And Daemon had left without her.

When he returned from Tumbleton, Rhaenyra already knew. She was waiting for him.

He approached her covered in dust and dried blood, the battle still written across his face. Even Caraxes bore the wounds of the fighting.

Rhaenyra looked at him. Alive.

And that simple realization seemed to unleash all the anger she had been holding back.

“You could have died.”

Daemon did not flinch.

“Many did.”

The anger in her eyes flared.

“I am not talking about them!”

Silence.

This time, Daemon truly looked at her. And he understood.

His Queen had become capable of sending thousands of men to die for her crown. And yet she was still incapable of accepting that he might become one of them.

“You wanted war, Rhaenyra.”

Her jaw tightened.

“I wanted my throne.”

“They are the same thing now.”

She stood perfectly still.

He wanted her to contradict him. To become angry. To tell him he was wrong. Anything.

But she said nothing.

So Daemon looked away.

For the first time in a long while, he made no attempt to provoke her. Nor to reassure her. Nor to draw her back into his arms.

He simply walked past her. And left. Without looking back.

He would not abandon her. Never.

But something had changed. He no longer knew what place he held beside the woman he had married.

So this time, he would not pursue her.

He would wait for her to come back to him.

The maesters write of wars, coronations, and deaths. But some stories never found their way into their books.

To be continued…