The Dragon's Wildfire

Epilogue

Clad in armor, shielded by the black dragon sigil of House Targaryen, and wielding swords forged in the fires of their determination, the loyal forces of Queen Rhaenyra stood ready for battle. Their hearts burned with a righteous fury. They bore the weight of their losses and injuries with grim determination, knowing that their march was not only to claim victory but also to seek justice.

Among them, Prince Daemon and Ser Arden led the charge, their eyes aflame with vengeance, their hands itching for the taste of bloodshed. They were determined to confront those responsible for the heinous acts committed against their house.

As they set forth on their march, the Targaryen dragons soared above them, their mighty wings casting shadows on the ground below. The presence of these legendary creatures served as a symbol of the Targaryen's power and their unwavering resolve.

The anticipation of battle hung heavy in the air as they approached the Keep. The tension among the Targaryen forces was palpable, their collective breath held in anticipation of the conflict that lay ahead.

Daemon raised his sword high, his voice ringing out over the ranks of knights, soldiers, and loyal retainers. "Kill every enemy in your sight, spare no one!" he declared, his words met with a resounding shout of allegiance from his men. Their battle cries echoed through the air, a thunderous declaration of their loyalty to their queen.

As they breached the gates of the Keep, the sight that greeted them was not what they had expected. Instead of a formidable array of enemy knights and soldiers, they found a gruesome scene of bloodshed and carnage. The seven-pointed star, the symbol of the faith of the seven, lay shattered and desecrated on the ground, a stark testament to the fury that had engulfed the keep.

Daemon's voice was hushed as he whispered to Arden, "What is this...?" The prince's eyes scanned the gruesome tableau, his brow furrowed in confusion and suspicion.

Everywhere they turned, the courtyard and halls of the keep were strewn with the lifeless bodies of knights and soldiers, their armor and banners bearing the telltale emblems of House Hightower. It was a scene of utter chaos and devastation, as if a tempest of violence had swept through the keep, leaving no one unscathed.

Ser Arden's grip tightened on his sword hilt, his gaze sweeping over the gruesome aftermath. "This... this is a massacre." he muttered, his voice filled with disbelief. "But who could have done this?"

The loyal Targaryen forces cautiously advanced through the eerie silence, their senses alert for any sign of danger. The mystery of what had transpired within the enemy keep weighed heavily on their minds, and they knew that they needed answers.

As they ventured deeper into the heart of the enemy keep, the Targaryen forces were confronted with a chilling and gruesome tableau. In the central hall, just below the imposing Iron Throne, the severed heads of their enemies were displayed. The bloodied visages of Otto and Alicent Hightower, Aegon and Aemond Targaryen, Ser Criston Cole, Ser Arryk, and the Heads of the Council who had sided with the Greens, adorned gruesome spikes. It was a macabre spectacle, a stark symbol of the vengeance that had been wrought upon House Hightower.

The grand tapestry that had once borne the sigil of House Hightower had been torn down and discarded, adding to the eerie atmosphere of the hall. The loyal Targaryen forces moved cautiously through the chamber, their expressions a mix of horror and fascination at the grim display.

Suddenly, the hall's doors swung open, and a hush fell over the room as all eyes turned toward the figure that entered. Covered in blood from head to toe, the person appeared to be a specter of death, clutching a severed head in her hands. The room was filled with a tense silence as the Targaryen forces braced for what would come next.

When the figure noticed their presence, she slowly lifted her head, her features obscured by the darkness and blood. However, as her eyes met those of Prince Daemon Targaryen, a smile crept onto her blood-smeared lips. It was a smile that sent shivers down the spines of those who beheld it, a smile both unsettling and filled with a wicked glee.

"Father... what took you so long to come here?" she purred, her voice dripping with an eerie sweetness. "I'm sorry for ruining your fun, but I grew bored and decided to play. Did I overdo it?"

Daemon stared at the figure for a moment, his expression a mix of astonishment and relief. Then, unable to contain himself, he burst into laughter. "Oh, my wildfire." he exclaimed, "You never cease to amaze me every time."

Ser Arden, who had been gripped by a mixture of shock and joy, released his sword and rushed to the figure's side. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight, relieved hug. Daemon, however, did not hesitate to claim his daughter, gently but firmly pulling her away from Arden and into his own embrace.

"Elaena." he whispered, his voice choked with emotion, "by the gods, you're alive."

Elaena, still wearing her blood-soaked attire, rested her head against her father's shoulder. "I promised I'd come back, didn't I?" she replied, her voice soft and muffled against his chest.

Daemon released his daughter slightly and studied her face, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride, relief, and concern. "You're hurt." he noted, his gaze flicking over the bloodstains and her disheveled appearance.

Elaena shrugged nonchalantly, as if the violence and carnage around her were of little consequence. "Just a scratch or two." she replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

The loyal Targaryen forces, initially stunned by the unexpected turn of events, gradually began to relax. They exchanged incredulous glances, unsure of how to react to the reappearance of Lady Elaena, who had been believed to be dead. The hall, once filled with tension and apprehension, now buzzed with whispered conversations and expressions of amazement.

Daemon led his daughter away from the gruesome display of severed heads, guiding her toward a more secluded area of the keep. Arden followed closely, unable to hide the relief and joy that washed over him.

As they moved away from the grisly scene, Daemon couldn't help but ask, "Elaena, what happened here? Who did this?"

Elaena's enigmatic smile persisted as she glanced over her shoulder at the severed heads displayed on spikes. "Just a friend of mine." she replied cryptically, leaving her father and Ser Arden with more questions than answers.