House Of The Dragons
In the midst of war. As fire continued to consume the realm. And some distances became more dangerous than battles… There were still nights the maesters never wrote of.
Daemon had kept his word. He had not abandoned her.
His armies were still hers. His dragon still fought for her cause. His sword still belonged to his Queen.
But he no longer returned to her. He had stopped waiting before a door she refused to open.
And yet, the waiting became endless.
Days turned into weeks. The war continued and, with it, the deaths.
He missed her terribly. The warmth of her body against his at night. Her scent. The way she breathed when she dreamed. Even the anger she so often turned against him had become something he missed.
Her orders still came written by her own hand. But she no longer spoke to him.
It was amid this chaos that Alysanne Blackwood began riding regularly alongside his men.
Black Aly.
He understood why they called her that. She was not afraid of blood. Still less of men covered in it. And, rarer still, she did not seem particularly impressed by him.
The first time she dared to mock his temper, Daemon stared at her long enough to silence most men. She only smiled.
It had been a long time since a woman other than Rhaenyra had managed to draw even the faintest trace of a smile from him.
He probably should have been wary of that. He was not.
One evening, after a long day of riding, they found themselves alone beside the fire. The others were already asleep.
Caraxes rested farther away, an immense red silhouette in the darkness.
Alysanne sat across from Daemon.
“Do you always stare at the fire as though it has personally offended you?”
Daemon raised his eyes to her.
“And you speak a great deal for someone who wishes to keep her tongue.”
She smiled.
“The Prince everyone speaks of… I was beginning to think they had invented him.”
He should have been irritated. Instead, the faintest smile crossed his lips.
She saw it. Of course she did.
Silence returned.
It was not unpleasant. Perhaps that was the most dangerous part.
Alysanne looked at him.
“Is there someone waiting for you?”
His smile disappeared. He stared into the flames.
“No.”
She remained silent. Then she moved a little closer.
Daemon did not move.
He could have. Perhaps some part of him even wanted to.
It would have been easy. One night. Nothing more. To finally receive the attention and desire he had been denied for those long weeks.
Alysanne was close enough now for him to understand everything she was not saying.
But when she lifted her eyes to his, Daemon turned his face slightly away.
She stopped. Not offended. Simply curious.
“Your Queen?”
Daemon remained silent for a few seconds. Then he slowly shook his head.
“My wife.”
Something changed in Alysanne’s expression. She understood.
She rose to her feet and disappeared into the darkness.
Daemon remained alone beside the fire.
He had decided that he would wait for Rhaenyra to come back to him. He still meant it.
But that night, for the first time, he understood that waiting for her did not simply mean giving her time.
It meant choosing her again.
Even when she was not there. Even when she could not see him. Even when another woman could have made him forget, if only for a few hours, everything Rhaenyra still made him feel.
Daemon raised his eyes toward Caraxes. Then toward the sky.
He remained still for a few moments.
His decision was made.
“Māzigon, Caraxes.”
“We’re going home.”
The maesters write of wars, coronations, and deaths. But some stories never found their way into their books.
To be continued…