House Of The Dragons

In the midst of war. As fire continued to consume the realm. And some fears became more dangerous than battles… There were still nights the maesters never wrote of.

The fire burned softly before them. For a few more hours, the realm seemed to have ceased to exist. Their clothes lay abandoned beside the flames, still damp from the sea air. Rhaenyra rested against Daemon, her body nestled against his. A blanket covered their legs. With her head resting upon his chest, she listened to the steady beating of his heart. She had almost forgotten this feeling. Simply being close to him. Feeling his warmth. His breathing.

Daemon’s fingers moved slowly along her back, sometimes tracing their way up to the nape of her neck before drifting down again. Neither of them spoke. They did not need to. For the first time in weeks, Rhaenyra was not angry with him. And for the first time in even longer, Daemon did not have to guess what she wanted from him. She was there. In his arms. That was enough.

Then his hand stilled. Rhaenyra felt it immediately. She lifted her head slightly. Daemon was staring into the flames.

“There is something you need to know.”

She closed her eyes.

“That sentence rarely brings anything I wish to hear.”

The shadow of a smile crossed Daemon’s lips. But it disappeared almost immediately.

“While I was away from you…”

Rhaenyra shifted slightly upright.

He continued.

“There was a woman.”

This time, she sat up completely. Daemon immediately felt the cold replace the warmth of her body against his.

“A woman?”

“Alysanne Blackwood.”

Black Aly. Rhaenyra knew the name. By now, the entire realm knew the name of the archer who had brought down Criston Cole. She said nothing. So Daemon continued.

He told her about the camp. The fire. Their conversations. How Alysanne had managed to draw a smile from him when he had almost forgotten how. Then he told her about that night. Her question. The way she had moved closer. What she had wanted.

Rhaenyra’s expression slowly hardened.

“And you?”

Daemon held her gaze.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing happened.”

Rhaenyra turned her eyes toward the fire. Several seconds passed.

Then:

“Kill her.”

Daemon’s hand went still.

“No.”

Rhaenyra slowly turned her head toward him.

“I was not asking.”

“Yes, you were.”

He held her gaze.

“And my answer is no.”

She rose, pulling the blanket around herself.

“She tried to take what belongs to me.”

Something immediately changed in Daemon’s eyes. He stood as well.

“I do not belong to you because you wear a crown.”

Rhaenyra turned sharply toward him. He stepped closer.

“I belong to you because I chose you.”

She remained silent. Rhaenyra stared at him for several more seconds. Then she looked away.

She did not speak Alysanne Blackwood’s name again that night. Nor the next day. Nor in the days that followed. Daemon believed the matter was over. He should have known his wife better.

The weeks passed. The war did not slow with them. Ravens continued to arrive. Armies continued to march. The dead continued to fill letters Rhaenyra had learned to open without trembling.

Then came the day when the sky itself seemed to go to war.

Vhagar’s roar tore through the clouds. Caraxes answered. Two creatures made for an age in which men should never have dared believe they could rule them came face to face.

Daemon saw Aemond upon Vhagar’s back. He needed no command. Neither did Caraxes. The red dragon surged forward. Vhagar opened her jaws.

The two dragons collided with a force that seemed to shake the earth itself. Below them, men nearly stopped fighting. Every face turned toward the sky.

Caraxes was faster. Vhagar was stronger. Daemon knew it.

He drove Caraxes higher. Then faster. Vhagar pursued them. An enormous set of jaws snapped shut behind them. Too close. Far too close.

For a fraction of a second, Daemon understood with strange clarity that this could be the end. And the only thought that crossed his mind was neither his crown, nor his war, nor his brother long dead.

Rhaenyra.

Then a familiar roar split the sky. Daemon turned his head.

Syrax.

His expression changed.

“Rhaenyra…”

She had come.

Syrax dove toward Vhagar. Aemond was forced to turn his dragon away. Caraxes immediately attacked again. For a few moments, the sky became nothing but fire, claws, and screams.

But Vhagar was wounded. Not enough. Aemond finally broke away from the fight. Vhagar retreated. Alive.

Daemon watched her disappear into the distance. Now he knew. One day, Aemond and he would finish what they had begun. And on that day, one of them would not return. Perhaps neither of them would.

Rhaenyra circled Syrax above the battlefield. She was searching for Caraxes. For Daemon. At last, she saw him. Alive. She could breathe again.

Then her gaze fell upon the men below. And she saw her. A woman. A bow in her hand. Dark hair.

Alysanne Blackwood.

Something tightened inside Rhaenyra. Every word from that night returned to her.

She came closer to me.

I refused her.

And then those words.

I belong to you because I chose you.

Syrax descended. The soldiers scattered as the dragon’s claws struck the ground. Alysanne did not move.

Rhaenyra dismounted. She walked toward her.

“Alysanne Blackwood.”

The young woman inclined her head.

“Your Grace.”

Rhaenyra studied her. For a long moment.

“You wanted my husband.”

Alysanne raised her eyes. She could have lied. She did not.

“Yes.”

The honesty of her answer almost surprised Rhaenyra.

“And?”

Alysanne glanced toward Caraxes in the distance.

“He did not want me.”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened.

“Did that stop you?”

“No.”

Silence.

Alysanne added:

“He did.”

Behind Rhaenyra, Syrax shifted. A low growl rose from her throat. Alysanne looked at the dragon. Then at the Queen.

She understood perfectly well what could happen. One word would be enough. Rhaenyra would not even need to draw a sword.

“What did he say to you?”

Alysanne frowned slightly.

“Your Grace?”

“Daemon.”

Rhaenyra took another step toward her.

“When you understood that he would not touch you. What did he say?”

Alysanne hesitated.

Then:

“I asked him whether it was his Queen who stopped him.”

Rhaenyra felt her heart quicken.

“And?”

Alysanne held her gaze.

“He answered, ‘My wife.’”

Rhaenyra went still.

My wife.

Not his Queen. Not the woman whose crown he defended. Not the woman for whom he commanded armies.

His wife.

Rhaenyra looked at Alysanne. Then at Syrax.

For one terrible second, she imagined the word.

Dracarys.

One word. One breath. And nothing would remain of this woman.

But she thought of Daemon. Of that night beside the fire. Of what he had told her.

I belong to you because I chose you.

Rhaenyra breathed in. Then stepped back.

“Leave this place before I change my mind.”

Alysanne did not need to be told twice. She inclined her head.

“Gladly, Your Grace.”

Then she walked away.

Rhaenyra watched her leave. Syrax growled behind her, almost displeased at having received no command. Rhaenyra placed a hand against her scales.

“Not today.”

She found Daemon some time later. He sat against a stone while a man finished bandaging a wound on his arm. Dried blood still covered part of his face.

Rhaenyra dismissed the man with a look. Then she knelt before her husband.

Without a word, she dampened a piece of cloth and began wiping the blood from his cheek.

Daemon watched her. He knew Rhaenyra well enough to recognize when her silence was hiding something.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Rhaenyra.”

She continued as though she had not heard him.

“I spoke to Alysanne.”

Daemon’s jaw tightened.

“Is she alive?”

Rhaenyra stopped.

“For now.”

He exhaled slowly.

She continued.

“She told me what you said to her.”

This time, Daemon understood immediately.

Rhaenyra placed the bloodstained cloth beside her. Then lifted her eyes to his.

“Your wife?”

Daemon looked at her. For a long moment.

“Always.”

Something gave way in Rhaenyra’s expression. She rested her forehead against his. Daemon closed his eyes.

For several seconds, neither of them spoke.

Then Rhaenyra looked at the wounds upon his face. His arm. The blood. And her gaze drifted toward the sky where Vhagar had disappeared.

The jealousy that had consumed her weeks earlier suddenly seemed almost foolish. Alysanne Blackwood was not the one who could take Daemon from her. She understood that now.

There was something far more dangerous. Something ancient. Immense. Something that had nearly killed him before her very eyes.

Rhaenyra gently ran her fingers along her husband’s cheek.

“One day, he will kill you.”

Daemon opened his eyes. He did not answer.

And it was his silence that frightened her most.

She knew what it meant. Daemon knew too. One day, Caraxes would take to the sky again. Vhagar would be waiting.

But not today.

Today, he was still here.

So Rhaenyra moved closer to him. And this time, when she wrapped her arms around his body, she held him as though she could keep the entire world from taking him away from her.

Daemon rested his face against her hair. Neither of them spoke. They no longer needed to.

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

To be continued…