dragons bright and dark @ladysands - Tumblr Blog

Ginger Ale

Dreamwine, Part Twenty-Four First Part | Previous Part | Next Part

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Pairing(s): Daeron Targaryen x OFC (Lenore Redwyne) Word Count: ~3.3k Warnings: Drinking, Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape Summary: Vaegon gives Daeron a peace offering on their voyage back to King's Landing. At court, Rhae tells Maekar where she's been.

Author's Note: :)

------

Daeron left for King’s Landing four days later, the pall of that last dream still hanging over him. It had been months and months–nearly two years–since he’d had any new dreams. What did it mean that, the very night after Rhae had come home from Tyrosh, he’d been cursed with this one? Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them again, the corpses at the feast, their rotting flesh black as night. But was it black with decay? Or black… for another reason?

Black… for the Blackfyres?

Lenore’s decision to remain behind–though Daeron understood it–did nothing to lift his mood. It was best, yes, that she remained on Dragonstone where she could focus on their son, herself, and, yes, their unborn child. Daenor would do best away from court and away from Aerion, where he could settle into a new routine under the softer influences of his mother and Aemon. They would be safe there, too, as they had agreed that Ser Rylan Redwyne, Lenore’s cousin and one of the two Kingsguard assigned to their family, would remain behind as well. But he would miss her. No one else truly understood him, and no one else could hold him close when he awoke in the middle of the night after a bad dream.

Along with Rhae and Vaegon, Dyanna, too, would be accompanying him back to King’s Landing. She had practically begged to come when they’d told her he would be leaving, as she missed their cousin Daenora already. The extended time together would likely be good for both girls, and Lenore had even suggested that he invite both Daenora and her mother to Dragonstone, if not permanently then at least for part of the year. Isolation, as Lenore pointed out, would only make her dreams feel worse–and didn’t Daeron know that was the truth?

There was still a chance that that dream she’d had two years prior had been just a normal nightmare, though. She hadn’t told them about any others, and she still seemed like a normal, happy girl of eight years. At least, she didn’t act as haunted as Daeron had felt after his own dreams had begun.

Aemon had sent a raven ahead to tell their father to expect him and Dyanna, though he made no mention of Rhae or Vaegon. They all agreed that that bit of news would be best given in person. By ship, it took three or four days to travel from Dragonstone to King’s Landing, depending on the winds. Unfortunately, as their captain announced on the morning of the second day, it would likely be closer to four.

Four days of seasickness for Daeron.

That night, unable to sleep, Daeron found his way out onto the ship’s deck. His stomach was still in knots, but at least the sea breeze gave him some fresh air. Down in his cabin, it had been so stuffy that he’d barely been able to suppress the urge to cough up the few pieces of bread he’d choked down earlier that day. Leaning against the mast, he tilted his head back and just… looked up at the stars. His mother had always told them that falling stars brought good fortune to those who saw them. That night, each and every star in the sky remained stubbornly in place.

Of course they did. He was learning to live with his dreams, but that didn’t make them any less of a curse.

“Seasick?”

Daeron turned, and there was… He sighed. There was Vaegon fucking Blackfyre. Daeron just looked at him. Yes, obviously he was seasick–and company was the last thing he wanted, least of all from him.

Vaegon sank down onto the deck next to him. He held up a flagon and produced two empty cups from his bag. “Ginger ale?” he offered. “Tyrosh’s cure for seasickness. Guaranteed to settle your stomach.”

Daeron raised an eyebrow. “Ginger… ale?” He never heard of such a thing.

“Ale brewed with fermented ginger root,” Vaegon explained. “Your sister told me they usually give you ginger tea when you’re sick. I thought a man of your… habits… might prefer something a bit stronger.”

Ale brewed with ginger root… Well, far be it from him to turn down a drink. Daeron took the offered cup and held it out, allowing Vaegon to pour for him. Maybe it would help his nausea and maybe it wouldn’t. At the very least, maybe it would help keep the dreams away so he could actually get some rest.

“My wife hates ale,” he said. That would be one reason he’d never heard of such a thing before. Lenore told him all about different wines from around the world, but she despised ale. If she even knew this existed, she wouldn’t have thought of it as a solution.

“I…” Vaegon cleared throat as he poured for himself. “I know. Robert…”

“Ah,” Daeron said as Vaegon trailed off. He knew that Lenore hated ale because he’d been there at Summerhall when Robert Grandison had served nothing but ale just to torment her. Daeron shouldn’t have needed the reminder that the man who’d kidnapped and then married his sister had known the one who’d thrown him in a cage and raped his wife. The whole situation was completely absurd–and more proof that he was irrevocably cursed.

He drank so he wouldn’t have to speak. The ale was rather good, actually–easily more palatable than the steaming hot ginger tea his brother Aemon fed him for his nausea.

For a moment, the night was silent but for the lapping of the waves against the ship’s hull. Then Vaegon spoke up. “I want to apologize,” he said, “for my part in it. What happened at Summerhall. It wasn’t my plan.”

“Oh?” Daeron asked. “Well, you sure participated in it.” Robert couldn’t have taken Summerhall without help from Vaegon and Tyrosh. He wouldn’t have even been bold enough to attempt it otherwise.

Vaegon sighed. “Robert made a deal with Bittersteel,” he said. “My uncle was just as good at holding a grudge as his name suggests. So was Robert. They made quite the pair–out for revenge together, both willing to use any means necessary to achieve it. My brother Haegon was only six years old when our father died. Bittersteel raised him–raised us. He was the closest thing to a father we had. It was wrong to go along with his plan, but who among us hasn’t done things we regret?”

Daeron drank, because… seven hells, were there things he’d done–or not done–that he regretted. If he hadn’t run from Ashford, if he’d warned anyone about the Great Spring Sickness, if he’d paid more attention to Aelor at Daella’s wedding, if he hadn’t let Lenore go looking for Aelora, if he’d done literally anything at all for Aelora afterwards…

“But my uncle is gone now,” Vaegon was saying. “You saw to that, I hear. The brothers I have left, my mother and sisters… we don’t want war. We don’t give a shit about the Iron Throne. We just want to live in peace, without fearing an assassin’s blade in the dark.”

Honestly? Wasn’t that what Daeron wanted too? Peace? He wasn’t a warrior. Robert Grandison had already paid for what had happened two years prior. So had Bittersteel. What grudge could he possibly have against the Blackfyres now? In what way would more war serve his family? Especially now that Rhae was having Vaegon’s child?

“Do you really love my sister?” he asked.

Vaegon didn’t even have to think about it. “I have loved your sister,” he said, “since the first moment I saw her, struggling against the three trained soldiers who’d caught her at Summerhall. I will never forget how she tried to bite me.” Daeron turned his head and found him smiling–the same kind of smile Egg got when he talked about Betha.

Lenore believed that Rhae really did love Vaegon. Was it possible that Vaegon really did love her too? That she wasn’t just a pawn in some scheme to get them to lower their guard and give up the advantage?

Daeron drank again, polishing off what was in his cup, then held it up to Vaegon, wordlessly asking for more. Vaegon obliged, and, for a long few minutes, they just sat there, sipping from their cups in silence, listening to the waves and watching the stars.

“My brother Daemon,” Vaegon said at last. “He had these dreams…”

Daeron stiffened at the word, but he didn’t say anything, so Vaegon kept going. “He was only seven years old when the Battle of Redgrass Field happened, but he told everyone he’d dreamt that Aegon and Aemon,” their two eldest brothers, “would die. No one believed him until it was too late. And then, almost ten years ago, before he left for Whitewalls, he told us all he’d dreamt a dragon egg would hatch there. He turned out to be wrong about that.”

Not wrong, Daeron knew. Daemon had merely misinterpreted his own dream, a pitfall into which Daeron himself fell all too often. An “egg” had hatched at Whitewalls, because that was where Egg had revealed himself to be a Targaryen prince and not just some hedge knight’s squire.

“I…” As he continued to speak, Vaegon eyed him–as if he knew that Daeron suffered from the same curse. Daeron had spoken of his dreams to the small council while they’d been discussing what to do with Bittersteel. Given what Vaegon had said before about Daeron’s role in Bittersteel’s execution, word of that conversation had somehow reached Tyrosh. “I have always wondered what a burden that was for him. To see the future.”

Daeron chuckled and held up his cup. “You find ways to cope,” he said, then took a nice, long drink. There was no use denying it when Vaegon already knew. His dreams showed him things that would eventually come to pass. The problem was that, with very few exceptions, the things he dreamt of were all horrifying. That was why he drank.

Vaegon laughed. “I suppose you do,” he agreed.

Another moment passed in silence, the two of them each taking a drink. Then Vaegon sighed. “Have you… Do your dreams give you any clue as to how this…” He gestured to himself, and then to Daeron to indicate the relationship between their families. “How this… is going to work out?”

Daeron tipped his head back against the mast, closing his eyes as he did so. “No,” he lied. He’d had that dream about the black corpses at a feast, but… Well, while it seemed like that was related to Vaegon and Rhae and their return, he couldn’t be sure, and telling Vaegon that his entire family might die sounded like a really, really good way to sabotage their negotiations before they even reached King’s Landing.

“No,” he said, “I never dreamt anything about my sister either.” If he had, then they might not even be in this situation.

Vaegon drew in a deep breath, then nodded. Exhaling, he set the flagon down beside Daeron and rose to his feet. “Enjoy, my friend,” he said. “Good night, and get some rest.”

Daeron smirked. “Not bloody likely,” he said as Vaegon disappeared.

Though he did feel better. Vaegon’s ale actually seemed to have helped his stomach, and their conversation… Perhaps peace was possible, if only they could get his father to agree.

If only.

When they docked in King’s Landing two days later, Daeron suggested that Vaegon remain on the ship, lest he risk being arrested on sight before they could properly explain to his father what had happened–as he had been on Dragonstone. Vaegon didn’t argue–he had no desire to be thrown in the dungeons again–so Daeron disembarked with Rhae and Dyanna. By the time they made their way all the way up to the Red Keep, he was already sweating. If there was one good thing about Dragonstone, it was that it was actually cooler than King’s Landing.

He was told fairly quickly that his father was in his apartments in Maegor’s Holdfast–with Aunt Alys and Daenora, which was convenient, as it meant that Daeron could bring Dyanna and his aunt could take both girls. There was no reason, after all, for the three of them to be there for this conversation.

Seven hells… Daeron didn’t even want to be there for this conversation.

As Ser Donnel opened the door to admit them, Daeron walked into the room first with his daughter. His father and Aunt Alys were sitting and enjoying a cup of tea while Daenora practiced her needlepoint. They looked up when he appeared, Daenora’s face lighting up at the sight of Dyanna. Then Daeron stepped aside, and his father saw Rhae.

He went stock-still, his mouth open as he stared at her–as if he were in shock, as if he couldn’t believe she was actually there, as if he couldn’t believe she was actually real.

Rhae smiled. “Hello, Father.”

As if her voice had broken the spell, their father was out of his seat in an instant, crossing the room and pulling his long-lost daughter into his arms. He embraced her more tenderly than Daeron had ever seen him embrace any of his other children–except, perhaps, for Egg.

Pulling back, his father held Rhae by the shoulders and looked her over–then he frowned. “You are…”

Rhae nodded, her smile still on her face, as if it could stop the storm that was surely coming. “I am with child, yes.”

“Who…?”

Rhae hesitated, and Daeron caught his aunt’s eye, jerking his head in the direction of the door because this was about to get ugly. Aunt Alys nodded and whisked both girls from the room.

His father watched them go, then turned his attention back to Rhae. “Who is the father?” he asked, more forcefully this time.

“Promise me you won’t get upset,” Rhae said, a quaver in her voice.

Daeron bit back a chuckle, because there was no way their father wasn’t going to get upset. He turned his back on the two of them, working his way around to the other side of the room, where he’d spied a bottle of brandy. If he saw the look on his father’s face, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from reacting, and his laughter was not going to help the situation.

“Rhae,” their father said, his voice strained. “As thrilled as I am that you are here and that you are alive, if you do not answer my questions right now, then I make no promises for how upset I will become.”

Quietly–so as not to draw his father’s ire–Daeron poured himself some brandy and took a sip.

“My husband is the father,” Rhae said behind him.

“And who,” their father asked, his frustration mounting, “is your husband?”

Rhae drew in a deep breath before she finally said, “Vaegon Blackfyre.”

A heavy silence fell, and Daeron knocked back his drink. Setting his cup down, he filled it again.

“Daeron,” their father said, and Daeron stiffened. His father’s voice was short and clipped, filled with barely contained rage. He turned, drink in hand. “Would you please leave us? I would very much like to speak to your sister. Alone.”

Daeron didn’t need to be asked twice. Having just refilled his cup, he scurried out of the room. His father didn’t wait until the door was closed behind him before he started shouting, and his words filled the corridor: “I did not fight two wars against those bastards for you to marry and have children with one of them!”

Gods, he didn’t envy his sister. This was exactly the reaction he’d expected his father to have. He couldn’t even blame him for it. Vaegon’s family had tried not once, but three times to take the throne. His father and brothers had made the realm bleed over and over again, and Daeron’s father had personally risked his life to defend it. If Uncle Baelor hadn’t arrived when he had all those years ago… Well, Rhae might not even exist.

And Vageon wasn’t blameless either, no matter what he wanted them to believe.

His father’s muffled yelling was still coming from behind the closed door when footsteps echoed through the hallway. Daeron looked up from his cup to find Aerion approaching, a frown on his face. “Why are you here?” his brother asked. “You just left for Dragonstone last week.”

Daeron smirked. “You mean to say you didn’t miss me?”

“No,” Aerion said bluntly.

Daeron chuckled. That was fair. If he were Aerion, he probably wouldn’t have missed him either. After the coronation, Daeron had more or less avoided Aerion, choosing to spend his time with Egg and Aemon instead. Lenore was convinced he was a bad influence on their son, and Daeron himself hadn’t forgotten his brother’s unsettling suggestion that he might not live long enough to take the throne. Daeron didn’t want the throne, but he very much wanted to continue living.

He brought his cup to his lips, frowning to realize his drink was nearly gone. He would have to do something about that, wouldn’t he? “Rhae is back,” he said. “She was waiting on Dragonstone when I returned.”

Aerion blinked, and then a hopeful little smile spread across his face. Rhae, after all, had been his favorite sibling, since he’d come back from Lys to find her a woman grown, at least. “You jest,” he said.

Daeron shook his head and pointed backward, toward Ser Donnel and their father’s door. “She is attempting to explain to him where she’s been as we speak. He isn’t taking it well, I’m afraid.”

Aerion frowned. “And where has she been?”

“Getting married to Vaegon Blackfyre,” Daeron said, “and preparing to bear him a child.”

Immediately, Aerion’s eyes darkened, and he took a threatening step toward Daeron, who held his hands up. “I wish I was joking,” he said quickly. “Truly. I wish I was.”

Aerion stopped, and he took that step back, his jaw clenched. “He forced her obviously,” he said. “Father will see this fixed, now that she’s returned.”

“Will he?” Daeron asked, raising an eyebrow. “You think he will break his little girl’s heart? She is absolutely besotted with her new husband, after all.”

Aerion scoffed, “You can’t actually believe that.”

Daeron drank, finishing the little bit of brandy that had been left in his cup. Frowning, he lifted it and stared down into it, closing one eye. Surely, there had to be a hole in it. He opened his mouth to speak, but then the door opened behind him.

And his father and sister stood on the other side. Rhae stepped out into the hall, eyeing Aerion, but their father simply sneered at him and Aerion. “What the fuck are you two looking at?” he snapped before slamming the door and leaving the two of them alone with Rhae.

“Well?” Daeron asked her.

Rhae took a deep breath. “Well,” she said, “he has agreed to consider it–peace, with Vaegon and his family. He said we can discuss it further in the morning.”

Daeron glanced at Aerion, who hadn’t stopped staring at their sister’s belly, round with someone else’s child. He’d wanted to marry her before she’d disappeared. Was he actually… jealous? He’d known Aerion would be angry, but was he actually upset that their sister was having someone else’s child?

“Good,” Daeron said to Rhae. “Egg and his wife should be here somewhere. You should go and see them.” Rhae hadn’t seen Egg since Daella’s wedding, if he remembered correctly, and Betha was pregnant as well. Perhaps they would get along. If nothing else, they could keep Rhae company while Vaegon remained on the ship.

In the meantime…

Daeron passed his empty cup to a conveniently placed Ser Donnel and clapped Aerion on the shoulder. “Let’s go and find something to drink, shall we?”