Daeron Targaryen x House!Dayne reader the night before the trial of seven
a/n: Daeron pov/soliloquy since reader is sleeping
tw: Daeron's alcoholism, mentions of death, probably ooc
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7
Daeron watches you sleep. His eyes stay focused on the steady movement of your breath.
Up and down.
Up and down.
He's found it soothing since the night you were wed.
You look so sweet curled up in his bed, the perfect princess you're supposed to be, like his mother. He raises his goblet of wine to his lips. Despite all the hissing and pushing, of course, you ended up curled up in his bed, and not in your own guest room or that blasted tent.
The wine's sour as it runs down his throat, cheap. Not at all what he'd prefer to drink, but a thirsty man will pick up any bottle.
You were right, of course. Everything you said had been accurate, but gods did it sting.
What a fool he was, always either a failure of a protector or the one who brought ruin. (Maybe it's one and the same?) Everything around him has started to rot except you.
For now.
Daeron sets his empty goblet on the table and stumbles to the bed on shaky legs. He kicks his boots off, eyes glued to you as you continue to breathe.
Up...down.
Always the heavy sleeper. He smiles softly, suppresses the urge to stroke your cheek. He makes an effort to be quiet and not disturb you as he settles in next to you. Each time you stir, he slows down, doing his best not to wake you.
When he's under the covers, you automatically snuggle back into him, and Daeron's heart aches.
He shuts his eyes and inhales deeply, orange, jasmine, salt. If he lives tomorrow, he's taking you back to Starfall, just for a short amount of time.
Being at Starfall has been difficult ever since his mother's passing. His father can't even utter the castle's name, let alone set foot there. So Daeron and his siblings followed suit, meaning that when the two of you were wed, you had been sent to Summerhall, knowing you might never see Starfall again.
Daeron loves them, but he needs space from his family (gods above, he tried so hard for them, to be enough, to be a good older brother. It wasn't enough. He was never going to be enough). And he knows how you hate the Stormlands.
He stares at the back of your head, stomach churning from guilt and bad wine. He's trapped you with him, dragged you down from the heavens into his own personal hell. And you had let him, welcomed it even. Foolish girl, his starry bride.
Daeron gently wraps his arms around you, slipping one between your body and the bed. If his arm falls asleep or is numb in the morning, so be it. He has no real plans to fight, just to lie in the mud and pray he doesn't die. He squeezes you lightly, and his legs mold to yours.
You deserve better than this, but there was no other path, no other choice. Every dragon dream he's dreamt has come to pass. The dreams that sing to him, chanting in Old Valyrian; they're pungent with the smoky sweet scent of magic and somehow linger in the back of his head before they happen.
Daeron hates them. Hates seeing what's to come. It's true, the dragons will return one day, but a torrent of death is coming, and there might be nothing he can do to stop it. But he's going to try again.
He breathes in the scent of your hair oil again.
If he can't get this right, if he can't ever prevent one stupid dream as proof that it can be done, then it's all for naught. And if that's the case, he wants to enjoy every moment while he still can.
super short Daeron Targaryen x House!Dayne reader drabble direct continuation to part 5
tw: angst, no comfort; references to Daeron's alcoholism
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7
You're still staring at the stars, wiping furiously at your cheeks as tears begin to fall.
Daeron whistles as he strolls to your side, hood draped over his head.
"Mourning me already?" His smile is lazy and full of self-loathing, and his eyes are enshrined in shadows. Whatever is going through Daeron's mind is hidden from you, but his attitude ignites the fuse that had been dangling over a flame for the past few hours.
You glare at him, filled with the desire for Ser Duncan to run outside and resume cutting Daeron's throat.
"If you speak like that again, I'll kill you myself," you hiss, before shoving him harshly. He stumbles a little, grabbing his arm where you shoved. Daeron glances at you, mouth slightly quirked up to one side.
"Trust me, I'd rather you be the one to do it," he says, stretching his arms above him, face turning to the starry night. You shove him again. Hard.
"Stop being so dismissive," you whisper sharply. "Why did you have to lie about Aegon being stolen?" He meets your gaze briefly before it drops to the dirt. His avoidance adds fuel to the fire burning inside of you.
You push against his chest; he lets himself follow back with the momentum, stumbling a little. "Why did you have to drink, like you always do?" The words are coated in venom from a well that's been pooling inside of you ever since you were wed.
"Why couldn't you have left Aegon with your father? Why did you have to be a drunk, coward?" you hiss, drawing close to him. Your faces are so close, you can smell the wine on his breath. Your eyes narrowed; you knew him well enough to know he wasn't drunk right now. But he had been earlier.
"This is your fault," you seethe, finger poking into his chest. "Your terrible dream is going to happen now." The tears you had coaxed into behaving are clouding your vision, and when the first one hits your cheek, you gasp for air in a panic. "Daeron, if you-" you cut yourself off, unwilling to finish the thought. His mother could be watching from the stars right now.
An image of Daeron lying in a pool of blood, red-rimmed eyes staring at you, lifeless. Your face pulls into a pained expression, cheeks wet from the unrelenting streams of tears.
Daeron's eyes are red and wet, and he looks as if you, in fact, have stabbed him right through the heart.
"Daeron, tomorrow, you can't-" you wince, closing your eyes. You can picture him already, getting knocked off his horse and trampled, or a lucky strike to an exposed area. If you say it aloud, you fear the dead dragon will be him.
Shaking your head, you open your eyes. The cool night air feels good on your wet cheeks. Your eyes still sting, though. And neither of you says anything.
And when you turn to walk back to the castle, you hear nothing but silence.
HII just wanted to say the i love the daeron x dayne!reader fics!! especially their dynamic :)
ahhhhhh thank you so much!!! You donāt know how much this means to me omg šš itās a mix of Daeronās mommy issues + reader balancing frustration/disgust + love
Daeron Targaryen x House!Dayne reader drabble finding out about the Trial of Seven
tw: noneeee yippie
part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7
"A trial of what?"
Aerion grins at you, teeth sharp and gleaming. He cuts deep into his apple with a knige.
"A Trial of Seven." The blade points towards your husband. "Daeron must fight with me," the blade points towards Aegon, "against his hedge knight." Aegon looks furious, purple-blue eyes shining with anger.
"Why can't you just fight him one-on-one?" he cries, fists balled up in anger. You move to stand next to Aegon and place your hand upon his shoulder, squeezing gently.
"You know why," you say, eyes narrowed on Aerion. Because he's a coward. Foul creature. Aerion points his dagger back towards Daeron.
"He was wronged as well. He deserves justice," Aerion says pleasantly, voice syrupy sweet, taunting Daeron for his lie that he'll never own up to.
Aerion rises abruptly, tossing his massacred apple into the air. "Well, better confirm our compatriots." His tone is smug and relaxed, and he sends you a cold smile before leaving. An image of a cat toying with a mouse comes to mind.
Daeron remains slumped against the table, dejected. He looks exhausted, with deep shadows under his red-rimmed eyes.
A dead dragon, and that lunk of a hedge knight's there.
Your stomach clenches as you remember Daeron's dream. You tightly shut your eyes, bringing your free hand to rest on your abdomen, panic threatening to overtake you.
"What's wrong?" Aegon asks, resting a hand on your arm. You smile, but keep your eyes shut.
"I only need a moment," you breathe out, trying to control your nerves. Your fool of a husband just had to lie and possibly bring about the very thing he was trying to prevent.
When you open your eyes, Daeron's looking at you, forehead creased in concern. His gaze is heavy, and the silence is thick, pressing in on you from all sides.
A Targaryen was going to die tomorrow. And there was nothing to be done.
"I want to see Ser Duncan," Aegon says softly, drawing away from you.
"I'll go with you, Egg" Daeron says, smiling softly at the bald boy; Aegon beams back. It softens your heart, and your panic has passed, only to be replaced by an anger so deep it paradoxically feels nonexistant. It simmers in your chest, slowly heating up your entire body, burning it from the inside out.
You follow Daeron and Aegon blindly, mind elsewhere. Could you have somehow prevented this? If you had left Summerhall earlier, or traveled with Daeron initially? Kiera had been here from the start. Why, in the name of the Mother, did you not go with him?
You pause outside the Fossoway tent, staring up at the stars. They twinkle brilliantly.
There is no easy way from the earth to the stars. It requires toil and sweat, love and blood, to make it to the stars. This moment is simply another obstacle in the path to the sky. One must simply flow around it.
Commotion from inside the tent forces you to rip your gaze away from the Heavens. When you pull the flap aside and enter, you're met with an image of your husband being held against a table, knife to his throat.
"I must confess, there are days when I have wanted to do that myself. But would you do me the kindness of releasing my husband?" you ask, doing your best to evoke the temperance of a doe, shoving your anger even deeper down.
The tall man, most likely Ser Duncan, stares at you, eyes wide.
"Please, don't hurt him," Aegon pleads. Duncan pulls away, frustration evident. You move to sit across from Daeron, facing his back, as Aegon informs Duncan that Prince Maeker will be fighting with his sons.
You close your eyes at Daeron's cavalier nature, and you feel ashamed at how pathetic he is. You were shocked by how deeply you came to love him. Your husband, who has sad eyes, terrible dreams, and loves to see the bottom of a bottle. Your chest aches as the image of the dead dragon haunts you.
"Is that all you came to say?" Ser Duncan cries, despair coloring his tone. It's the cry of a man begging for an ounce of respect. Daeron isn't brave enough to grant him that. But that's okay. He doesn't need to be brave.
"I have something to say, Ser Duncan." Wild eyes turn to look at you, the eyes of a man who thinks he's going to die soon. Daeron stiffens.
"There's not much I can do," you preface softly, face twisting in displeasure. "But I can offer you an apology, on behalf of..."
You glance down at Daeron, making note of how still he is, as if he were holding his breath.
"...my family," you say slowly. "Their falsehoods and cowardice have put you in this predicament. If you survive, you will always have a place at Starfall." Aegon perks up at this, eyes growing wide. "They will feed you, clothe you, arm you, and give you a place to rest your head. I know this is worthless now, and I am sorry about that. But it's all I can do. If by the grace of the stars you survive tomorrow, you will always have an ally at Starfall."
Duncan looks at you, as if not quite sure what to think.
"I'll be outside," you mutter to Daeron, who remains stone-still.
You exit and wander a little bit away, needing space between yourself and the tent. You stare up at the night sky and pray for a shooting star.
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