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Jul 23

the distance in between (1/2)

The small piece of cloth that had fallen underneath the settee hadn’t been there the previous day as far as Daeron knew. He recognized the fabric immediately, the familiar irregular stitching of the monogram that could only have been wrought by his own hand. It was the smell that Daeron did not recognize, something floral that could be jasmine and was neither Valarr’s nor his.

Daeron and Valarr are married, with a child, and with a dire need for communication between them.

based on this post from @daeron-the-dreamer

Also in Ao3

***

The small piece of cloth that had fallen underneath the settee hadn’t been there the previous day as far as Daeron knew. The maids hadn’t even noticed it before him, and it was only by chance that he’d seen it. He recognized the fabric immediately, the familiar irregular stitching of the monogram that could only have been wrought by his own hand.

It was the smell that Daeron did not recognize, something floral that could be jasmine and was neither Valarr’s nor his.

It took Daeron an uncomfortably long moment to consider the scent. The soap used on their linens and clothes was clean and neutral; their daughter’s was of milk with a hint of citrus that she might grow into; Matarys’ was of the loquats that his mother had been fond of while pregnant with him. Daeron could not think of anyone from the family that smelled of jasmine.

Daeron folded the cloth neatly. It had been a measly favor that he had made a long time ago. The years did not make his needlework any better, though he liked to believe they had improved his symmetry. This was one of his first few tries, Valarr’s name added last as if an afterthought to the small pattern of dragon wings that Daella had taught him.

Regardless, Valarr had graciously received it when Daeron had nothing else to give him then. He had folded it and kept it in his breast pocket as if it had been a finely made thing. “I will treasure it,” Daeron remembered him promising.

Now it lay on the ground mildly grimed by unswept dust and smelled of another.

“Oh, you found it.”

Valarr arrived unnoticed, crossing the threshold in quick succession. “I thought I lost it on the way back.”

“It was under the seat.” Daeron handed it back without fanfare. “I did not know you were here.”

For a moment, Valarr looked away slightly, if a little embarrassed. “I was looking for something. It wasn’t here.”

Daeron hummed, briefly observing the way Valarr thumbed the silk fondly before turning his back on him to make for the table that held the morning tea.

“Did you scent it?”

“I might have been holding onto it longer than I thought. Have it sent with Lorra so it might be cleaned.”

“There’s no need,” Valarr said hurriedly. The silk was no longer on sight when Daeron offered him tea. “I was thinking,” he began once he’d taken a sip. “I have an hour or two by midday. If the weather forbids, I thought we might take Vaella out in the Godswood. We could ask for the midday meal to be brought out.”

Daeron mustered a smile. “She’ll love that.” At eleven moons old, Vaella was still at the young age to not know how to demand for more, though for certain she would like the prolonged period of time that she got to have her sire’s attention. Daeron needed not say it, warming at Valarr’s boyish grin. “We’ll be ready by then.”

“Thank you.” Something must have put Valarr in an incredible mood that his joy was somewhat infectious. “Truly,” he added, voice low and quiet, and for a moment he looked as if there was something else to be said.

“Have you already broken your fast?” Daeron asked.

“I have, with Father,” Valarr said, somewhat apologetic, even. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

He made an aborted step forward before clearing his throat, nodding, and left with the usual strained air that Daeron became familiar with in the last couple of moons.

He couldn’t exactly tell when it began, but by estimation it was since Vaella’s birth. Valarr had been hoping for an alpha son for an heir, and for a time there had been a hope that their first child would be one. Daeron had been measured and determined to have been carrying low that he had also begun to believe in Maester Yormwell’s supposition, though all he had honestly hoped for was a healthy child that would not carry the taint of Daeron’s years of reckless inebriation. That he had fallen pregnant so soon in the marriage was a miracle in itself.

He’d had a hard labor, and after a day, a beta daughter was presented to him. Daeron had thought to name her Dyanna, in honor of his mother, but after seeing the eyes she shared with her sire, the name Vaella came to him with clarity as she fed on him for the first time.

Their marriage was solely for the purpose of binding together the two lines of King Daeron II’s eldest and youngest sons and to keep as much Valyrian blood on the throne with hopes of eventual children possessing more notable features; Vaella had none save for her single purple eye, but Valarr had looked at her with utter delight, cooed at her with his gentle voice to tell her that he was her father when he thought Daeron was asleep. He loved Vaella, of that Daeron held no doubt.

But Valarr was much closer to the throne since Uncle Baelor ascended two years ago. Daeron was not unaware of the expectations placed on his shoulders, far more than before they had wed. An alpha son would assure everyone the security of succession in a way a beta daughter could not. And with Daeron’s less-than-stellar reputation that hardly made anyone confident in his character to be the future queen of the realm, the last thing they needed was for his capability to bear Valarr an alpha son to be brought into question.

To his husband’s credit, no words of such had come from him directly. Nor did he push for their marital duties even after Daeron had been determined properly healed from the childbirth. He wondered, now, if it was to their detriment.

Daeron swallowed a sigh. An unknown scent was not a certainty, and while he did not know Valarr as much as he wanted, he was no stranger either.

He heard a nursemaid enter. “The princess has been bathed and fed for the morning, My Prince.”

“Thank you, Myra.” Daeron smiled at his girl who giggled upon seeing him, her arms flailing excitedly to be taken. “I’ll take care of her hair. Ask Lorra meanwhile to bring a meal from the kitchens. Have some small slices of apple for Vaella too,” he said to Vaella’s nursemaid who curtsied at the command.

Vaella was already dressed in coral pink and with her hair brushed, her arms eagerly latching around his neck. With his mood effectively lifted by her mere presence, Daeron sat her on his lap, brushing her hair briefly before sectioning it for a couple of braids. His daughter was never a difficult child even in times like these, like a prim and proper princess already for someone barely a year old. Daeron finished quickly, placing a kiss at the back of her head.

He ate with Vaella still on his lap, a small doll occupying her attention when it wasn’t on Daeron and the bits of apple he was giving her. The meal was completed in quick order, and when Myra and Lorra returned, a bath was already drawn for him. Vaella went with her nursemaid without a fuss.

The day promised to be another long one with nothing else awaiting him and his daughter aside from Valarr’s company. Missing out on what day it was presently was one thing that Daeron missed during his drunken binges. He dreamed sparingly here and there since he and Valarr married, and he supposed that another thing to be grateful for. He couldn’t imagine accidentally waking his husband on their marital bed after a particular nightly terror, nor could he imagine himself being able to bear not seeing Vaella for a day after the night had robbed him of peace. His hand retained the mild tremors, though easily hidden the longer he abstained from alcohol.

Daeron refused the maids’ assistance with dressing him. He donned a dress with a dark skirt and white sleeves, the purple of his mother’s house covering his torso. For someone with nothing to occupy much of his time and who had gotten adequate sleep, Daeron looked exhausted in the mirror. He tried not to look closely into his own eyes, afraid that he might find something there, like an unexplained melancholy or dread that he could never tell where had come from.

Some queen he’d make someday.

He did not know how long he sat there staring at nothing before one of the maids asked him if he needed help with his hair. Daeron refused yet again, schooling his face and could only muster a placid smile before deciding he’d been away from his daughter for too long.

***

The midday granted to them was pleasant—not too hot out and with the cool air of early spring. The Godswood was quiet save for the rustling of leaves and the distant noise of the outside world.

Vaella babbled at him, in her hand clutching dried red leaves and presenting them to Daeron gladly. He took some from her, folding them in shapes to his girl’s delight. The soft twigs he entwined together to make a small crown of leaves and tiny flowers and placed it atop Vaella’s head.

A servant approached them to ask whether he’d like their meals to be brought up now. Valarr was yet to arrive, hence Daeron’s initial refusal, but when the hour grew and passed by, he had to ask for a platter of bread and cheese and a plate of assorted fruits.

The food arrived and was finished even as Daeron deliberately ate slowly. Vaella was fed by her wet nurse, and even then Valarr did not come.

“Do you know where my husband might be?” Daeron asked the same servant who asked again if he’d like the midday meal now. “Did the morning council hold him up?”

“I will ask someone to find the Crown Prince, My Prince. As for the morning council, I will have to check,” the young man said before hesitating, “But the King has already taken his meal in his solar with His Hand.”

Ah.

“Thank you,” Daeron managed. “If you find my husband, simply let him know that we’ll be returning to my apartments. Send the meal there, if you will, and make sure your prince has eaten his.”

He did not think of Valarr as he ate with barely any appetite and refused to dwell on speculations that he could not prove yet. It was only after he’d settled Vaella down for an afternoon nap that Valarr arrived in a rush, disheveled with his hair out of place and the collar of his tunic partly opened. “Gods, Daeron, I’m sorry. I—” he said, a humorless laugh escaping him, “I fell asleep on a chair. I thought I could catch some for at least half an hour before—” His shoulders fell. “I’m sorry.”

Valarr did look like he’d been flushed from sleep, the grogginess of the eyes overridden with panic after oversleeping.

It didn’t explain why he reeked of jasmine, however.

Daeron glanced away. “Have you been sleeping late?”

“...Yes,” Valarr admitted, hanging his head in resignation. “It’s my fault too.” He ran a hand across his hair, a gesture of nervousness that Daeron had long discovered. “Supper tonight. I think I can manage that.”

He looked like he was shuffling on his feet as he waited for Daeron’s reply. “It’s alright. If you can’t make it, then you can’t. If you can, then we’ll join you. Perhaps after Vaella has been fed and put to sleep.”

“I’d love it if she could join us. It’s not like our daughter’s a fussy child.”

How would you know? Daeron smiled thinly. It was the truth, however, though for someone who hardly saw her throughout the day, it was a wonder how Valarr even knew.

“I’m really sorry, Daeron. I will make it tonight. I promise.”

***

True to his words, Valarr was present for supper, with Vaella seemingly cheering for his presence at the table. Seeing her joy was enough for Daeron to forget the frequent times that Valarr had been missing, his absence earlier, and how Valarr smelled like a stranger.

Daeron observed their daughter on her sire’s lap. From what he knew, children had sensitive noses, especially to odors new to them. Was Vaella not reacting because she could not detect the new smell on her father? He couldn’t decide which was worse either: that Valarr had been wearing jasmine on him for too long that Vaella had learned to associate it with him, or that Valarr was hardly around for her to properly distinguish his true scent.

He nibbled on his food distractedly, an inexplicable weight settling in his stomach since he found that cloth.

“... Daeron?”

He blinked, staring at his plate of cold food before looking up to find Valarr frowning at him worriedly. Vaella was already in her nursemaid’s arms without Daeron hearing Myra enter at all.

“My apologies,” he muttered. Pushing a section of the meat to the edge of the plate before giving up on it. “You were saying?”

“Are you alright?” Valarr asked, his frown not letting up. “You’ve been staring at your food without eating.” Daeron did nothing else but acknowledge it mildly and waited for him to repeat what it was that he’d been saying. Valarr’s eyes fell on the table. “Aegon wrote earlier, and he said he wrote one to you as well that you might receive a little later. He and Ser Duncan will be here within the week.”

Daeron felt his mouth curving into an effortless smile. The last time he saw Egg had been a moon before Vaella’s birth, and by the time he’d received word that his first niece had been born, a moon or so earlier than expected, he was as far into the Neck on their way to the North. Daeron had imagined his younger brother fuming as he wrote in his letter about a betrayal of his niece to arrive early just so Egg could miss her.

The last letter from Egg was a response to Daeron’s previous one where Vaella had imprinted her little hand after ink had accidentally spilled on it. Egg had said that he’d never seen a more adorable little hand, and Daeron knew his brother already loved her to death before even meeting her.

“I’ll let Father know that I’ll handle the preparation,” Daeron said in place of the abrupt silence.

The assent that Valarr gave him was almost distracted, leading him to eventually ask again, “... are you alright?”

“Of course.” His mood was certainly lifted by the news. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

***

Daeron was left with something to do in the next few days prior to Egg and Ser Duncan’s arrival.

His brother’s letter had reached him the very next day after that supper with his husband. Egg’s letter had been brimming with excitement over seeing his niece for the first time, and some of his and Ser Duncan’s travels that he could fit in the remaining space of the parchment. There would be more, no doubt, once he had Egg in person.

Valarr tried to regularly join them for midday meals and supper, if not while they broke their fast, and even engaged Daeron in the current affairs of the council. Daeron understood it as Valarr’s regret for not making it a couple of days ago, as if accidentally falling asleep was something one could take against him after his apparent exhaustion. He already let it go but appreciated Valarr’s efforts all the same.

The lingering smell of jasmine was another matter entirely, something that Daeron caught a faint whiff of as Valarr fetched him personally with Vaella in tow to come down together and meet Egg.

His brother had gotten taller, the top of his head reaching Daeron’s shoulder. He couldn’t stop himself from gathering him in his arms, squeezing around shoulders that had filled out. Scenting him came instinctually, his chest trilling when the familial gesture was returned easily.

“You let it grow,” Daeron observed the short silver hair that Egg now sported.

“Only in the last moons on the way here. The hat did the rest.”

Daeron grinned. A little behind was Ser Duncan attempting to make himself unnoticed. “We meet again, Ser Duncan.”

“Your Grace.” Ser Duncan bowed his head low. At Valarr, “Your Graces.”

Vaella squeaked, earning her a laugh from her sire before presenting her with a proud beam that Daeron had to admit was a sight to behold. “Your Princess Vaella.”

“My Princess,” said Ser Duncan without losing his deference, though with his blue eyes softening considerably as he looked between her and Egg. “She looks like you,” he murmured to Egg.

“Of course she does, ser,” Egg said. “Can I?”

Vaella went to her uncle without a fuss, much to Egg’s delight to finally carry her. Daeron warmed at how easily Egg rocked her on his feet as she stared at him curiously.

Daeron sensed Valarr closing in next to him as they watched Vaella run tiny fingers through Egg’s short hair without pulling at it like children were wont. This close, Daeron could feel the warmth coming off of him, something that he remained starkly aware of even as Father and Uncle Baelor came to see Egg.

Valarr was wearing a grin when Daeron chanced a glance at him, and not a moment sooner did mismatched eyes meet Daeron who looked at him like he was a wonder… long enough for Daeron to be reminded of the morning after they consummated their marriage.

He cleared his throat mildly to fight off the flush from rushing up to his face, but the light touch against the back of his hand was unmistakable, and Daeron let it linger.

***

He completed a neat dark stitch on a red silk, aware of Egg’s eyes on him. “You seem different.”

Daeron supposed the staring was going on for days, and only now did Egg speak. “In what way?” He lifted the silk briefly. “I’m still shit with needles if that’s what you think. You might be even better at me.”

Egg huffed but did not deny it. “I mean, you seem,” he hedged, “It suits you though. Being a mother.”

Daeron cracked a wry smile. “Thank you, brother. You’ll be the first to say so.”

“Everyone says so. Even Ser Duncan.”

“I wager it’s a shock to him. The last time he saw me I must be, what, still hungover?”

“He was here for your wedding, remember? And you were already pregnant with Vaella when we left.” Egg rolled his eyes at him, not wanting to rise further to Daeron’s bait. “I mean it. You seem different compared to the last time we saw you.”

Daeron merely hummed. “I had to be, no? Can’t be seen as the useless lout anymore. Makes the days longer without wine, in truth, but Vaella more than makes up for it.”

They both watched her on the soft carpet, surrounded by the toys brought to her by her uncle. A new doll was clutched in one of her fists, a present from Matarys all the way from Blackhaven, where he was squiring for one of his younger maternal uncles.

“I’m surprised you don’t have omegas-in-waiting,” Egg pointed out, apropos of nothing.

Daeron didn’t have to say that he had no selection of them wanting to be his companion, not that he would know what to do with them, used as he was to his lonesome since he presented. A company would have made slipping off somewhere to drink even harder. “I have some maids and Vaella’s nursemaids. Your niece isn’t a difficult child.”

“And you?”

The curl of the tail he was stitching was a little off. He disentangled the loops and began again. “I suppose I’ve never had a need for them.”

“A queen has companions. They will be your confidants, and they can go with you where even sworn alphas in your household could not.”

Daeron didn’t know how he could explain that he honestly had no opinion on the matter; Egg’s disapproving frown at his lack of companions was not dissimilar to that of their father’s, however, and Daeron found this as amusing as how his younger brother seemed keen to arrange some for him.

Daeron had a sudden inkling what this meant.

“You have names in mind then?” he asked lightly.

“Lady Gwin Ashford, for one. She’s eight-and-ten within the year but won’t be married for some time yet; her betrothed is ten,” he said. “She’ll be the oldest of them if you take her, but that’s an advantage. I think.”

“You think,” Daeron repeated amusedly under his breath.

“Rhae, once she's back from Starfall. Our sister will choose you before getting betrothed anytime soon.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong about that. “It won’t be for another four moons yet.”

“She can be the last to join.” For the next one, Egg briefly hesitated. “Lord Blackwood’s youngest children are omegas. Brian wants to squire for a knight rather than be the spouse of one. He’s only a year and a half younger than his omega sister, Betha.” Daeron did not react to the way Egg’s voice pitched higher at the mention of her name. “She’s… a bit wild for court, but she can learn under you.”

Lady Betha must be quite a girl to make an impression on someone like Egg. “Very well.”

“What?”

Daeron raised an eyebrow. “Your arguments are sound, brother,” he said at Egg’s apparent surprise. This boy. “I’ve never had a reason to think of having omega companions, and Valarr never pressed me to have them.” Nor would it be a hardship to convince his husband either. “I will let him know before I draft my letters. The King and His Hand will know of it as well.” He smiled. “I shall tell them that it’s your brilliant idea.”

Egg’s face colored. “There’s no need for that.”

“Nonsense.”

***

There was some merit to Egg’s idea, though Daeron thought of them largely for Vaella. She was still young, but she’d benefit from having some playmates of her age in a few years.

A sibling or two would serve, perhaps, but with the dust gathering atop his and Valarr’s marital bed, Daeron suspected that it might not be in the near future.

There were hardly any children close to Vaella’s age among the children of Red Keep’s courtiers, so he might have to look into others within the Crownlands. A letter to their kin in Dorne might be best as well.

Valarr approved of the idea wholeheartedly and readily suggested inviting to court Lord Rosby’s widower and their alpha boy Gregor Rosby, who had just turned one. He had no complaints either about the names of the omegas that Egg had proposed. “Will they be enough?” he asked, if a bit sheepishly. “I confess that I ought to have thought of it sooner. I have companions myself but not as many as I had before. Some you have to cut loose.” He smiled wryly. “I must find a squire too, I suppose. Brian Blackwood is of that age, yes? We might have him and Lady Betha, after all. One for each of us.”

“Brian Blackwood is an omega.”

“... so you’ve said. What of it?”

What of it, indeed. Daeron had spoken to remind him without meaning to. “There are alpha boys of squiring age whose family might feel slighted for not being chosen.”

“Someone will be offended regardless of who I choose.” Valarr huffed. “Let one of the squires be an omega, and should he prove himself worthy of knighthood, then he’ll be one I will entrust you and Vaella to. I will choose another to squire with him, preferably an alpha boy who has a good sense not to complain working with an omega. Unlike all of those old alphas who think what’s between one’s legs is all that matters.”

At Daeron’s startled blink at his outburst, Valarr sighed wearily. “Forgive me. I promised to leave the politicking off the table.”

“I don’t mind. Gossips hardly reach me, if you can believe it,” Daeron told him, making Valarr smile. “What of Daenora?”

“Our cousin has little interest in knighthood, though I hear the Vale is making a fine huntress out of her.” Valarr picked at the table napkin. “If it won’t be offending their Old Gods, I’ve considered a Northener. Or invite them to court at the very least. The King already sent an overture to include them in our inner circle.”

The way Valarr let the statement trail off was telling in its futility. Uncle Baelor was selective in his Small Council since he ascended; the seats remained filled, though with some currently occupied by those a broken hip away from immobility. Lord Manderly was a recent addition as the Master of Coin and clearly represented the North at the table, but if the crown was still looking far up the North, then it might be another seat in the council soon, or something else more substantial.

“A marriage,” came out of Daeron in a stroke of realization.

“... yes,” Valarr said tersely. “Close to the crown is what the King believed fitting.” He worked his jaw. “He cited some blood pact from years past. A daughter of fire for a son of ice.”

Daeron vaguely remembered an agreement of some kind from their history. It would have to be Vaella given her young age, if there was no hurry in fulfilling it; if so, Daeron wondered why he only learned of it now—a recent development or something purposefully kept from him even by his father.

“I refused,” Valarr said suddenly, just when Daeron felt his throat drying. “Vaella is my heir, and I will not send her so far away from where she will rule one day.”

“While I cannot bear to think of being apart from her one day, she will not be your only child,” Daeron said, swallowing, “Unless you’ve decided that she is.”

Ashamed was what Valarr certainly looked like, and Daeron couldn’t decide what to make of it until he spoke, “I don’t wish to pressure you.”

“That’s kind, but it is what I’m made for, is it not?”

“And that’s not your only worth, Daeron.”

“One might argue that it is my only worth,” he could not suppress the amusement that did not feel, “I’ve never been a model of wisdom, but I like to think I’m not that stupid when they arrange us to be wed. You will be king one day, and you need children. One or two who will have silver hair and purple eyes. Better if all of them do. A close kin with barely any of those features still has better chances than another omega or a beta who doesn’t have our blood at all.”

Age was what placed Daeron ahead of Rhae in consideration, and his status as an omega compared to Daella who was a beta. Had Aerion been not exiled for his own brand of inexcusable madness, he’d be the perfect choice for the Crown Prince.

He did not resist the urge to entwine his fingers with Valarr’s hand on the table. “I am grateful for your kindness. Truly,” Daeron continued. “You afford me a choice that I might not have gotten at all had I been wed to another. But despite my father’s reservations, I know my duty to you and to the throne.”

Valarr held his hand without hesitation, squeezing it back with what Daeron took as a confidence in what he’d said. It mattered not, he thought, that something in Valarr’s features dimmed along with the smile that did not reach his eyes.

***

His husband’s season was closing in with each passing week. If Daeron had not kept track of it, it was visible in the sudden tension in the line of his shoulders, his lurking about around their apartments and Vaella’s nursery, and how he’d been scenting Vaella with uncommon frequency.

His scent tended to linger in Daeron’s own chambers as well, even with Valarr’s scarce visits there and often to bring their daughter to him. By the end of a sennight, Valarr approached him like one would a wounded wild animal that Daeron could only find terribly funny.

“I will have time to prepare your nest,” Daeron offered when Valarr remained by the threshold of the room without uttering any word. “Let me know what else you need so that I might add them.”

“My nest is… fine,” Valarr eventually said, careful. “I took Vaella’s swaddling clothes. Her first one.”

A grin threatened to escape Daeron. He tempered it down lest he scare his husband from asking. “I’ve set aside a tunic of mine from yesterday, but if you’d rather something more recent, I’ll keep one the night before your rut.” He’d already given orders to the maids to set aside a skirt or a tunic every day just in case Valarr’s season would start any time.

“The silk,” said Valarr abruptly. “The one you’re working on.”

Daeron showed the blue silk confusedly. He’d only finished his needlework on it this morning. “This?”

Valarr nodded. “It’s not for someone else, yes?”

“For whoever, really. I’m thinking Egg, but I can always make him another.” Though he wagered Egg already had one with a raven. “It’s no better than the one you already have, in truth.”

“You made it. That’s enough for me.”

There was a tender brushing of skin when Daeron handed it to him. It did not linger, though the heat did, and so was Valarr’s gaze on him before leaving hastily with a flimsy excuse.

He looked presentable enough, he believed. He’d already given orders to his maids and Vaella’s nursemaids and wet nurses for the next three days. To Egg, he’d entrusted the rest of Vaella’s time.

The white silk of the shift was wrapped around him in the ways it ought to, if a little tight around the waist and hips. He had scrubbed himself close to raw and brushed his hair enough that it felt soft and shone under the candlelight. He almost resembled himself on the day of the wedding when he had been prepared and glamored for the ceremony.

The noticeable difference perhaps was the lighter skin around the eyes, this time without the trace of a long night with alcohol. He almost looked… younger.

Daeron’s skin pricked as he paced around his chambers, training his ears to listen for any coming footsteps outside and the inevitable that would follow.

He was already sitting on the bed when the first candle burnt itself. Daeron rose to light another… a new one when it was also finished… and one more when another hour passed…

…and another, once the previous one melted as well.

It took five candles before it dawned on him that no one would be coming to fetch him tonight.

Daeron was unable to sleep and promptly gave up trying to. It was toward the nursery that he went upon donning a robe, the halls still cold with the hours away from dawn.

Vaella’s evening wet nurse was asleep when Daeron quietly entered, though his daughter seemed to be fussing and sniffing within her cot. Daeron knew it was her sign of an impending wail and was immediately on her before it could break into her heartbreaking sobs.

“Shush now,” he whispered, rocking her gently. “I’m here, love. I’m here.”

“My Prince!” Eldric rushed to bow deeply. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I thought the Princess—” He bowed even deeper, if it was possible. “She’s looking for her sire and his scent.”

Daeron inhaled Vaella’s soft smell when he felt a tenuous hold over his patience. “You’re dismissed for tonight, Eldric. I’ll keep her company.”

Vaella refused to be settled down again once they were alone. “Little princesses should still be sleeping at this hour.” She was no longer crying, but her nose and puffed-up cheeks were still red. Daeron booped her nose. “What keeps you awake, my love?”

She made a hiccuping noise when he stroked her small back, twisting and reaching for whatever part of his robe that she could reach with her fists. When she managed to reach in between the partings of his shift, Daeron surrendered and let her feed. Might as well let her take her fill if it would help her return to sleep.

Unfortunately for him, Vaella remained very much awake even after relinquishing his chest. She must have sensed his exasperation though, for what she did next was take his face in her little palms and knock her cheek to his mouth. Daeron granted the kiss that had her giggling when he started to pepper her face with a number. “Mumu!”

He paused, blinking. Sweetling?”

Vaella inclined her head slowly as if in consideration before hooking her chin against his chest, babbling when she fiddled with the laces of his shift. “Mumu.”

Daeron gasped. “Say it again.”

There was a twinkle in her mismatched eyes that seemed to dance like starlight. “Mu. Mu.”

Her wide grin showed her first two teeth as if she knew how proud she made Daeron. “Say muña.” Vaella shrieked when he descended on her once more with a shower of kisses and tickles. “Mu-ña.”

“No!” she exclaimed suddenly in between her giggles that had Daeron laughing with her. “Mumu. No!”

If nothing else, he had this.

***

“I thought you’d be gone for a few days,” Egg said when he found Daeron around Vaella later that morning. “You said—”

“I was wrong,” Daeron told his brother simply. There was nothing else to discuss about it. “She spoke her first word today, you know.”

“What? What’s her first word?”

Daeron told him of her valiant attempts so far to complete muña to a promising degree. It sure did make Egg insist on her to pronounce kepus, to her utter disinterest and to Daeron’s utter amusement.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Egg looked properly bummed that Vaella hardly looked at him at all, what with the irregular-looking doll from Rhae having taken her complete fascination. “A fortnight of you speaking Valyrian to her already did wonders.” He smiled wryly. “At least we know she promises to be a better student than I was.”

Egg snorted. “I’ve yet to teach her anything. Maybe she picked them up from Valarr.”

Daeron could easily imagine Valarr teaching her in their tongue. A pretty picture, though he knew it for the impossibility that it was; Valarr could hardly afford to eat a meal with them on the regular, what more sitting down to dedicate himself to see to her lessons?

There was a frown on Egg’s face that was almost reminiscent of their father’s. He must have sensed something behind the sudden strain with the mere mention of Valarr’s name. He was the most perceptive among siblings; that… or Daeron was careless this time in letting his scent reflect his displeasure.

His frown persisted in the next few days of Valarr’s rut, where Daeron’s absence was completely expected, and deeper it remained when Egg saw Valarr for himself, fresh out of his rut that there was still faint pink on his cheeks and smelling strongly of jasmine.

Vaella was the first he went to, and by extension, Daeron. Valarr did not address the last couple of days, and neither did he.

There was nothing else to be said.

***

“... must have done a number on him. Did you see him almost limping?”

At least two men were laughing; one of them Daeron recognized for that ugly laugh of his as one of Valarr’s companions. One of Abelar Hightower’s sons, if he wasn’t mistaken.

“One of yours?” somebody asked, snorting. “Can’t believe someone finally removed that stick far up his ass.”

Another person snickered. “Dragon prince or no, he’s an alpha—give him an omega pretty enough, and he’ll pop a knot. Hells, I’d want anyone else who doesn’t always stink of wine and sick.”

“Shh! Lower your voice down, will you. The keep’s walls have ears, I tell you.”

A scoff. “It’s true anyway, no? ‘sides, not naming names.” His words slurred mildly. “Can you imagine having a sot for a queen? You’ll have to outdrink him first before you can properly petition the king.” He chortled at his own jape. “The brother is even prettier than that one. And if it’s true, the one we got has been run through by several alphas before getting wed.”

“There’s a child though. All important parts seem to be in order.”

“A beta girl who’s lucky that her eyes are the same as her father's. After that, well, doesn’t look like there will be any more soon. Ow—what?”

“Your voice. Keep it down.”

The one who sounded like he was deeper in his cups compared to the rest only snorted, his uncommon stupidity brought about by alcohol familiar. “Oh, sod off. We didn’t ask you to keep your voice down when you sang to him your praises for your cousin.”

“How could I not? He wants to know more about him.”

A laugh. “He wants to make a second omega husband of him then?”

“Shut it.”

“What? Your cousin is pretty, no? And a widow with a strong alpha boy for a first son. What’s there not to like? He’s certainly not like the one he currently has and avoids at—”

“My Prince?”

Daeron jolted from where he was listening in, turning to find Ser Duncan behind him without Egg in sight. “I’m,” he swallowed, “I didn’t hear you, ser.”

Ser Duncan looked at him with something that Daeron couldn’t be bothered to determine the meaning of. “Prince Aegon has been looking for you. Something about you and Princess Vaella joining him and Prince Maekar for supper.” He glanced at the door Daeron stopped by. “My Prince…”

“Tell my brother we’ll join them. And if he might keep Vaella occupied for an hour or two,” Daeron told him, unable to hold Ser Duncan’s earnest eyes any longer. “Excuse me, ser.”

He barely managed it toward the secluded part of the royal gardens before giving in to the urge to curl to himself, a sob escaping him without meaning to. He seemed unable to contain them back to where he thought he’d been managing to keep everything locked up so far.

He didn’t know why it had to hurt when all he’d heard were true. He wasn’t proud of who he’d been before Vaella, before Valarr, and if it wasn’t for them, he might still be the same. He held no illusions about what was expected of him, and he wasn’t asking for anything else but respect and stability and peace for their child foremost.

So why, then, did it matter now that they speak of Valarr’s attention turning elsewhere when Daeron himself had suspected it and didn’t think to confront him? Was it because there was no name before? That the one Daeron had pictured was a vague image of another omega, not even a clear man or woman, and just someone else that wasn’t him and would never remind Valarr of him?

“Prince Daeron.”

Blearily, he looked up to find Ser Duncan standing there like he was afraid to hover. Daeron turned away to wipe his face hastily. “Ser. I thought I sent you to tell my brother my reply.”

“I did, My Prince. I came back to find you.”

“That was quick.”

“I have long legs.”

Daeron huffed out a laugh against himself. “Did Egg ask to bring me?”

“No.” Ser Duncan gestured at the ground next to him. “May I?”

Daeron nodded unthinkingly, watching as Ser Duncan folded himself ungracefully but carefully and simply sat there, his back next to the tree that was hiding them with its shade.

For someone so tall, Ser Duncan kept to himself easily without a word, and the silence that stretched between them for what felt like hours was rather pleasant, Daeron found. When he decided that they’d tarried long enough, Daeron only rose with feet that felt like jelly, as did Ser Duncan, whose arm extended to him, prepared just in case, but retreated when Daeron steadied.

Quietly, they returned to Vaella’s rooms with Egg accompanying her. What Daeron did not expect to see was their father carrying her in his arms, a rare fond smile gracing his face that thinned as soon as he noticed them.

“Father.”

“Where have you been?”

“Walking. Ser Duncan escorted me.”

Maekar grunted and stared at Ser Duncan in a way that did not speak of any improvement in his tolerance for the hedge knight. “Leave us. Aegon, bring Vaella with you.”

Daeron sent her off with a kiss on her cheek, scenting her for a moment before handing her to his younger brother. Egg didn’t seem to want to leave but complied with a sigh.

“Are you eating enough?” Maekar asked in that brisk manner of his, though his eyes ran up and down to gauge for himself. “You look thin.”

“I must have finally discarded the added weight from the pregnancy.”

“Aegon is concerned about you. Said you’re not eating much, nor sleeping as you should.”

“I’m alright, Father.” He smiled flimsily. “I’m not drinking, if that’s what you want to know. I don’t want to mess up my scent for Vaella.”

“And Valarr?”

“... what of him?”

“Is it true what they say? That he’s keeping another in his bed?”

Daeron bit the inside of his cheek. “I didn’t know Ser Duncan heard them.”

“He did,” Maekar said, tone turning harder than usual. “They’ll be thrown out of the Red Keep. Valarr shouldn’t have let them around him in the first place.”

“Does he already know?”

“He will,” his father promised. “He ought to know better than to surround himself with wagging tongues who can foolishly disgrace his wife and child.”

“He wasn’t there, Father.”

“And that makes it any better?” Maekar scoffed. “When I allowed your marriage to him, it was with my trust that he’ll treat you with utmost respect. I thought his father raised him better than a dimwitted alpha who thinks with his knot.”

“Allow?” He could already feel the weariness seeping into his bones over the matter. “Didn’t you propose it yourself? Everyone knows the arrangement is entirely unfair to Valarr, but the King doesn’t know how to refuse you.”

When Maekar didn’t look like he had any response to that, Daeron sighed. “I’m tired, Father. If it’s alright with you, I wish to rest before the evening. We’ll see you at supper.”

***

“Bet–Lady Betha said she and her brother are on their way,” Egg spoke when only the sound of utensils filled the table. “She said to expect them soon.”

“Who’s them?” Maekar asked.

“Lord Blackwood's omega children. Lady Betha is to be one of Daeron’s omegas-in-waiting, and her brother Brian to squire for Valarr.”

“And you’re in correspondence with them directly?”

“Y-Yes.”

Color rose high in Egg’s cheeks. If their father noticed, he made no mention of it, grunting. “Rhae can be asked to return early. Write to Daella too.”

“Will that be alright?” Egg asked. “I thought she’s managing Summerhall for you.”

“You should’ve been the one managing our seat for me. Daella will marry one day,” their father pointed out without heat. “I’ll let her decide if she wants to stay here, but ask her to come to the capital either way. Your sisters are away for too long.”

He and Egg shared a look briefly and understood it for what it was: their father missed their sisters. If he had a say, he’d find a way to bring back Aemon too, if at least for a visit.

“That will be grand, with them both,” Daeron spoke for the first time since he had Vaella sent to be fed. “About time they meet their niece too.”

Supper was a quick affair right after but lasted long enough for Daeron to return a little later to Vaella’s chambers without unreasonably refusing to seek Valarr before he bed down for the night.

Vaella was already being dressed down by Eldric when Daeron arrived. He was half-considering dismissing him for the evening, wanting to sleep next to Vaella, when he caught a faint smell from her discarded dress.

“Eldric?” Daeron asked carefully. “Was Valarr here?”

“He was, My Prince.”

“Alone?”

“Yes, My Prince. He wasn't long gone when you came in. He played with the princess and—”

There was blood rushing in his ears when he went to find Valarr in his solar. Ser Willem and Ser Roland were outside the doors, the latter caught mid-sentence in his warning when Daeron went past them.

“I said I don’t wish to be disturbed. What is—Daeron?” Valarr stood immediately. “Forgive me, love. I do not recall that we have an enga—”

“Did you come to Vaella’s rooms and scented her?”

“I–Yes, I did earlier.” Valarr sighed. “I’ve been meaning to find you after these.” He gestured at the pile of letters on the table. “I have to leave early tomorr—”

Daeron heard the loud smack before he registered his palm numbing at the slap.

“I can forgive you smelling of another because I know that I’m not what you wanted and never will be.” His tremulous voice hardened to something firmer, louder, “But don’t you dare bring that stink anywhere near my daughter.”

The sudden anger that seized him went out like fire blown out by a strong wind. “For a time, I thought we’d be different,” he whispered.

Valarr’s eyes were wide and still on the ground when Daeron turned to leave.

tbc