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TWENTY-SIX —— THE HOUR OF THE GHOSTS
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109 AC, KING'S LANDING.
It feels like a sort of distorted dream to be back at the Dragonpit with Daemon, Morrigan thinks as the two of them make their way inside the large space again— it might even be the same one, she thinks as Daemon waves the two Dragonkeepers off, as four years ago.
Deep inside the space, Morrigan can make out the shadows moving and knows, even before she hears him, where Caraxes is. She thinks she might've even known where to find him without it. Something in her stretches and yearns with such a ferocity, it aches in her chest. A string pulled tight and she knows if she follows it she will find Caraxes at the other end.
As she slowly makes her way through the large arch inside, she notices Caraxes stilling, attention honing in on the intruders and behind her, she can hear Daemon talking to the Dragonkeepers in quiet High Valyrian.
It's odd to hear the language again, Morrigan thinks as she comes to a stop to wait for Daemon. She has not heard it in years— not more than passing commands to the dragons. Not more than trying to figure out how to teach her own son a language she's only been taught by her father— passed down from Baratheon to Baratheon solely by chance that Rogar Baratheon had learned the language before his wife had passed away only a few years into their marriage— at such a young age.
It's odd to hear High Valyrian again, but in a way, it is also comforting. It reminds her of home, and of family, more than anything else. Even if Daemon, if the Dragonkeepers like anyone else she has met that is not of her House, speaks it like a poem, like a melody.
After a few more exchanged sentences Morrigan can only half understand because of the volume of their conversation, she hears the footsteps of the Dragonkeepers as they retreat and leave the two of them alone with the large beast in the darkness.
