Anyway in an effort to not turn one of my coworkers into a goresplosion, that scene I told you about. (Anon, hear me out. What if it's good omegaverse)
There's a silence, afterward. Daeron would have wanted to believe he'd misheard, somehow, or that he'd missed a jape in the words or the tone. But the whole table freezes, faces pained. His own fingers go still where he'd been spinning the ring on his hand. It really is beautiful, wonderfully crafted, the curl notches with lines to resemble dragon scales, the exquisitely cut stones set into the face. Gleaming with Targaryen colors in every light. It must have been amongst the ugliest in Rhaenyra's collection, easy to give away and forget. He'd been so happy to wear it, to show it off to her. She must have been laughing at him the whole time. Look at him, so easily placated, so very silly, so very eager to please. "Apologize," Rhaenyra snaps, making everyone jump. She sounds every inch the cold, commanding Queen. Joffrey stares back at her, confused. "No, that...I don't need..." Daeron says, sounding every inch the fool they know him to be. Defending Joffrey, again, despite the fact that his husband has made it clear at every turn that Daeron is nothing to him, and will never be anything but. It's true, though. Daeron doesn't need jewelry. He doesn't need care, or love, or affection. Or anything at all. He's the perfect omega, pretty and silent and unfeeling, there to do his duty and be ignored in the meantime. How could he forget that? How could he cling to a silly little ring that he thought might mean Joffrey actually thought of him, if only sometimes? Saw him? He slides it up and down his knuckles, feeling it catch and release. "Might I. I am so sorry, might I be excused? I feel..." Sick. Unwell. Unwanted. He's moving before he's chosen to, chair scraping the stone with a wail, hurrying into the hallways. Rude of him, and stupid. Rhaenyra had not dismissed him. He knots his fingers together, anxious and picking, and realizes the weight is gone. He's left the ring on the table. An insult. Spitting in his own face. Like a stupid, petulant child, throwing a fit. A foot stamping tantrum because... what? He was given jewelry that costs more than a merchant might see in five years and it was not picked out personally? Because his alpha mocked his spoiled little presumptions? They must be laughing at him now, if they aren't furious. His stomach lurches, despite there being nothing in it. Just as well. Daeron couldn't bring himself to eat now. He curls up on the bed and waits, wondering what Joffrey will do when he comes back.
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