House Of The Dragons

In the midst of war. As the dragons drew closer. And some nights were perhaps destined to be the last… There were still hours the maesters never wrote of.

The room was silent. Daemon sat on the edge of the bed, bare-chested, while Rhaenyra finished cleaning the wound across his shoulder. He winced when she pressed the cloth against his skin.

“Don’t move.”

“You take far too much pleasure in giving me orders.”

She looked up at him.

“You faced Vhagar today, and I’m the one who frightens you?”

A tired smile crossed his lips.

“Always.”

Rhaenyra lowered her eyes to his wound again. She wanted to smile. She could not. Her fingers were trembling slightly.

Daemon noticed. He gently caught her wrist.

“Rhaenyra.”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m alive.”

At last, she looked up at him.

“Today.”

This time, he had no answer. So she finished bandaging his wound in silence.

A few hours. That was all they had been given. A few hours before the maps were spread across the tables again. Before the orders. Before the dragons. Before the dead.

Rhaenyra had a bath prepared. Steam still filled the room when she stepped into the water. She closed her eyes. Then she felt Daemon settle behind her. Her back naturally found his chest. As though their bodies had never learned how to wage war against each other.

He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist. Rhaenyra rested her hands over his. For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

Daemon gently swept her hair aside. His lips brushed the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes.

“Your shoulder.”

“Will survive.”

“I could still make you get out of this bath.”

His arms tightened slightly around her.

“Try.”

This time, she smiled.

She slowly turned in his arms. Water slipped over her shoulders as she came face to face with him. Daemon looked at her. Not as his Queen. Not as the woman whose throne he defended. Simply as her.

Rhaenyra ran her fingers along his cheek. Then through his damp hair. She kissed him. Slowly at first.

Daemon placed a hand against her waist and drew her closer. The second kiss held none of the same patience. Weeks of anger. Fear. Longing. The battle. Everything seemed to dissolve into the warmth of the water and the long-awaited closeness of their bodies.

Rhaenyra wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed him again. Daemon responded immediately. His hand found her waist once more and pulled her against him.

This time, their kiss no longer held the cautious tenderness of their reunion. There was longing in it. Fear. And that strange urgency born from suddenly understanding that tomorrow is promised to no one.

Rhaenyra slid her fingers through his wet hair. Daemon broke their kiss only long enough to catch his breath. His forehead remained against hers.

“My shoulder, you were saying?”

She smiled against his lips.

“Shut up.”

She kissed him again. Her lips then moved along his jaw and down to his neck.

Daemon closed his eyes. For a few seconds, he simply let her. He breathed in her scent. The scent he had believed, only weeks before, he might have to learn to live without.

“Rhaenyra…”

She placed a finger against his lips.

“Not tonight.”

He looked at her. She knew what he had been about to say. Aemond. Vhagar. The war. Tomorrow.

“Not tonight,” she repeated.

So Daemon said nothing more. He kissed her.

And for a few hours, they let the realm burn without them.

It was a raven that brought them back to the war.

Rhaenyra was sleeping against Daemon when someone knocked at the door. Once. Then again. She opened her eyes. Daemon was already awake.

They looked at each other. Neither needed to ask. Something had happened.

A few minutes later, Rhaenyra broke the seal on the message. She read it. Then her expression changed.

Daemon stood.

“What is it?”

She did not answer immediately. She simply handed him the parchment.

Vhagar had been sighted.

Closer.

Aemond was advancing.

Daemon read the message again. Then slowly placed the parchment on the table. Rhaenyra was watching him.

“No.”

He looked up.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

Daemon stepped toward her.

“Rhaenyra.”

“No.”

This time, her voice trembled.

“You have only just come back to me.”

He remained silent. And she immediately hated that silence. The same silence as on the battlefield. The silence of a man who already knew that one day, he would have to face Vhagar.

Daemon placed a hand against her face. Rhaenyra closed her eyes.

“Stay a little longer.”

It was not an order. Not this time.

Daemon looked at the woman before him. His Queen could have commanded him to ride into battle. His wife was asking him to stay.

So he stayed. For a few more hours.

They returned to bed without speaking of what awaited them. Rhaenyra nestled against him. Daemon wrapped an arm around her waist. She placed her hand over his. As though she could keep it there. As though morning could never come so long as neither of them closed their eyes.

But morning would come. Caraxes would take to the sky again. And somewhere beyond the clouds… Vhagar was waiting.

Rhaenyra tightened her fingers around her husband’s hand. Daemon pressed one last kiss into her hair.

They did not know it yet. But sometimes, goodbyes do not look like goodbyes. Sometimes, they simply look like two people in love…

who still believe they have tomorrow.

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

To be continued…