⚔︎ ── From the day you were born, you had always been independent. Plenty of times had you pushed your husband away in order to do things your way. Yet, when you come back from Rooksrest, the only thing you want to do is seek comfort in his arms.
The wind whipped against your face as you soared above the clouds. Your braid, which had once been so tightly secured that it caused a headache, was now loose and unruly, with flyaways disrupting your view. Your silver locks had been dyed a brownish-red color, stained with the blood of the enemy. The blood had dried crusty and uncomfortably, with no doubt that it will be difficult to scrub off of your body.
The battle was all you could think of as you rode back from Rooksrest. What was meant to be an ambush against one of Rhaenyras dragons — if necessary — had turned into the potential demise of the King himself. Aegon had flown to the battlefield with no experience on the matter, trying to save what little respect, if any, the realm held for him. Truly, you had no experience either. Only being 10 and 9, you had never seen the realm in such a state. However, your dragon has, and you permitted him to act independently with you as an overseer. You could still smell the flesh. The immense heat of the flames crackled and popped, accompanied by the screams of those unfortunate enough to be caught in the inferno. It was a sound you wished you would never hear again, yet you knew you would. You would hear and smell it for the rest of your life, whether it be long or short. Thousands of lives were lost that day. Friend and foe alike.
Rhaenys Targaryen — The Queen Who Never Was — had fallen. Crushed under the weight of her own dragon as they tumbled down from the sky together after an attack from Vhagar. It saddened you to watch such a formidable duo as they struck the ground in a fiery explosion. She was undeniably brave, and you couldn’t deny her willingness to fight to the death for what she believed was right, even if she was fighting on the wrong side. You had left shortly after, climbing upon your dragon and ordering him to head back to camp. You were well aware of Aemond’s volatile nature whenever he became worked up, and frankly, you did not wish to witness his anger. You were lucky that he did not turn on you as he did his own brother, who lay burnt and ruined next to the half dead Sunfyre. Another beautiful creature soon to be claimed by the dark hands of War.
Your own dragon — who fortunately escaped unscathed from the tussle — screeched with restlessness as he soared over the hills. His large wings beat as fast as they could, and you could sense his eagerness to land and rest. You could not blame him. Your bones ached from being tossed and turned in your saddle. A deep cut had been inflicted on your shoulder by a soldier who had unexpectedly attacked you, only to be swallowed whole by your dragon. The healers would undoubtedly scold you for your carelessness or deliver another lecture on why the battlefield was an unsuitable environment for a woman like yourself, as they had before, and you would surely introduce them to your dragon. However, you could not predict Ormunds reaction.
“Bē konīr..” You whispered as your dragon soared even faster than before.
When you spotted the Hightower camp in the distance, your head rested on the front of the saddle. While it wasn’t home, far from it, you had grown fond of it. Nestled safely in the hills, surrounded by nothing but trees for miles, the camp was strategically chosen. It would easily conceal your dragon and Tessarion if necessary. Your dragon, with its dark green and white scales, blended seamlessly with the surrounding foliage, making it difficult to distinguish from the leaves and grass. While he was quite too big to fit in the surrounding forest, it would still be difficult for anyone who happened to fly above. Your dragons roar boomed loudly across the hills, echoing all throughout the camp. From your place in the sky, you could see the soldiers rushing about to prepare themselves for your predictably harsh landing. You reached back and further tightened the strap around your lap, gripping onto the reigns as you ordered your dragon to do one more circle around the camp to give them more time.
Your descent was far from graceful. Your dragons feet hind legs the ground first, delivering a booming impact that shook the ground. Dust swarmed your vision as his fore-claws bit into the dirt, carving deep furrows before his momentum finally died down. The final powerful beat of his wings blasted warm air across the field as he finally landed completely. Your dragon violently shook its body, tossing you back and forth on its back.
“Lykirī.” You hummed, reaching out to gently caress his scaly neck. Your dragon turned his head back to look at you, letting out a whistling sound as your eyes met his. Carefully unhooking yourself from the saddle, you slid down his side and onto the ground with a thud. Your feet hurt from the impact, yet you pushed forth towards the camp. Tessarion, who was confined in his makeshift cage, eagerly protruded his head as you passed by, cooing as you went.
The soldiers who lined the tiny dirt path bowed respectfully as you strolled past them, removing your riding gloves and holding them in your right hand. A few soldiers lingered, their eyes fixed on you as you made your way to the council tent. You were sure you were a sight to behold. Covered in blood and ash from the battle, your riding leather bore cuts and singed marks on the torso. A few soldiers even cheered as you marched by, and you couldn’t help but raise your chin higher in pride.
“Lady Hightower.” Daeron greeted you, bowing his head in respect. You could see his eyes grow wide at the sight of you covered in blood, but you raised your hand to stop him.
“It is not mine. Do not worry.” His shoulders seemed to become less tense at your words as he nodded. You caressed his cheek lovingly before allowing him to open the curtain of the tent. Upon entering the tent, you were greeted by the surprised gazes of the lords seated at the main table. You could feel their eyes rake up and down your body, their mouths closed tightly in thin lines. At the head of the table sat your husband.
Ormund Hightower sat with his legs crossed, his face unreadable as he took you in. You almost could sense a hint of humor in his state. Before you could even speak, he beat you to it.
“Leave us.” His words were unyielding, leaving no room for argument. The various Lords could do nothing but bow to you on their way out, muttering a curt my lady with it. You nodded to them in return, watching to ensure they all had left. When the final one excited and the curtain flapped closed behind them, you returned your gaze back to your Lord husband.
“You smell of dragon and death.” You snickered, unsheathing your sword before dropping it onto the table.
“I wonder why, husband.” He followed you with his eyes as you rounded the table, coming to sit upon it to his left.
“Not all your blood, I hope.” When you did not answer, he stood. His hands hovered as he looked you over, and when he finally made sight of the wound on your shoulder, he sighed.
“I will have the healer come and dress it.” Your hand shot out with force, grabbing his bicep to hold him in place.
“Stay with me, for now. I cannot stand to be alone.” Ormund simply looked in your eyes for a moment before nodding and moving to stand in front of your knees.
“Well? What news do you bring me?” His hands rested gently on your outer thigh. Not squeezing, not gripping, just resting. A sign to show you that he was with you.
“Rooksrest is ours. Gwayne and Cole are taking care of the Lord of the castle.” Ormund nodded as you spoke, his ringed thumbs caressing you gently.
“Aemond is brazen and foolish, so full of his own ambition that he is blinded by it. Rhaenys Targaryen is dead. And her dragon, Meleys, as well. Caught in the jaws of Vhagar.” You blinked rapidly as you tried to get the vision out of your mind. “Aegon is gravely injured. As is Sunfyre. He surely will not be able to fly again.” Ormund went still.
“Aegon? Why would they allow him to fly out?”
“They didn’t,” You spat, shaking your head as you looked to the side. “The idiot flew on his own accord. Tried to uphold whatever honor and bravery he had and failed in the process. His armor was forged into his skin, Ormund.” Your eyes fluttered upward to meet his, and the tears you had fought so hard to suppress finally broke free.
“I can still smell it, Ormund. I can still hear it.” His large hands reached up to gently caress your cheeks.
“Tis the price of war, sweet girl. No one enjoys such things. Yet we must preserver for the sake of the realm.” You grabbed the hands that were on your face and held them.
“I will call the healers and have them clean your wounds. Then I will have them draw you a bath. You reek of dragon.” You laughed, shaking your head at his jest. Ormund smiled before reaching down to plant a kiss on your cracked lips.
While the war raged around the both of you, none of it could reach you. Not while you were here, in your husbands arms.
