Tormented Spirit | 25
Part 1 [...] 20 21 22 23 24 25 26
"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."
Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 6k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, slow burn, DD:DNE, emotional constipation, pregnancy/birth, miscarriage, panic/anxiety attacks, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: ok one final chapter after this fr. the smut on p23 got way out of hand thus the adjustment lol. Also mitker is literally Kermit backwards HAHHAAHHA| cross posted on ao3
@arabellasleopardcoat @prettybiching
Aegon had his mother's voice tuned out as she chastised him over the latest prank he pulled on the servants. He had poured so much gravy on his plate, it now looked like he had soup and vegetables.
Aemond watches him haphazardly mix his gravy and turns to his own plate. He pours a bit of gravy on his meat, mimicking his brother.
"Aegon," Alicent furrows her brows, "Aegon are you listening?!"
Aegon does not look up at her.
The Queen bristles from her seat, "do not wait for me to punish you before you listen."
Aegon whines and leans back.
She sighs, expression softening slightly now that her first born has reacted to her. She turns to her side when she hears Helaena singing the song her sister had taught her, "all the birds sing sweetly for you, so come rest ye darling wee head."
The Queen wipes her face. How badly she wishes that you were here with her. She never did know how to properly discipline Aegon. She always fears she was either too cruel or too lenient, considering her father knew only the former and she did not want to mirror him. "You will apologize to those servant women, do you understand me?"
Aegon crosses his arms, slumping in his seat. He mutters under his breath, "I don't want to."
Alicent narrows her eyes, "what did you say?"
Aegon looks at her mother in defiance, "I don't want to!"
"Well, it doesn't matter," she seethes, "you will!" then slams he fists on the table, making Aemond drop his spoon in shock. She notices and sighs, "apologies, love."
Aemond leans into his mother's touch when she brushes his head.
Aegon grits his teeth, heaving in anger.
Helaena continues singing, "the apples grow up the trees, and flowers rise up from the ground—"
"My son," Alicent says a notch softer, "your actions are a reflection of the Crown," she speaks in a low voice, hoping it would calm them both, "you are the first born son of the king. You will be measured against him as–"
"What of my first born son?" Viserys walks into the solar, weight shifting from his feet to his cane.
She comes to an abrupt stand and immediately helps him walk towards the table.
Viserys gratefully leans into his wife as he goes to the head of the table. His eyes are fixed on Aegon the entire time, "skoro syt se laehurlion?" Why the face?
Aegon refuses to answer. He has grown to detest the sound of High Valyrian.
The king sighs, "iksan sure skoros mirre issa, aōha muña iksis paktot." I'm sure what ever it is, your mother is right.
Alicent steals a glance at Aegon before helping the king sit. After,, Viserys notices Aegon's gravy laden plate. He furrows his brows, "are you awfully fond of gravy?"
Aemond turns to Aegon's plate then his father, answering for him, "ziry iksos sȳz, kepa." It's good, father.
Viserys turns to Aemond.
Aegon groans and rolls his eyes, annoyed at his brother, annoyed at his father, annoyed at his mother, annoyed at his sister, who should really just- "SHUT IT!"
Helaena stops singing. She turns to older brother.
"Aegon!" Alicent snaps, pointing a finger.
"She's fucking annoying!" he sneers.
"LANGUAGE, BOY!" the queen hisses in frustration as she scoops some peas and meat for the king.
"Let him be," Viserys waves her off, "you cannot blame him," he takes his spoon and begins eating, "he probably learned that from his uncle."
Aegon hardens at the mention. Alicent grits her teeth.
"When is uncle coming back?" Aemond mutters in between bites.
"Don't be fucking stupid-"
"Aegon!" Alicent can't help but chide.
"- they're clearly never coming back," Aegon snaps, heart thumping loudly behind his ribcage. He stares at the brown goop that has overtaken his plate and grunts the instant he sees a tear drop from the bridge of his nose.
"But they can visit for my nameday, can't they?" Aemond asks his father softly.
Viserys does not even look up from his plate.
Aegon roughly scratches his face, "they didn't come for my nameday," he glares at the imbecile.
Aemond catches the redness of Aegon's eyes.
"They didn't come for Helaena's or mother's," the eldest slams his hand on the table as he comes to a stand, "why would they come for a dragonless moron like you?"
"AEGON, GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Alicent snaps, heaving in anger at the boy.
"With pleasure," he snaps, flipping his plate over, making the gravy splatter all over the table and to Heleana who was sat across Aegon.
Viserys hears his daughter's gasp and watches his son walk away, "stop!"
Aegon ignores him.
"Come back here and apologize to Rhaenyr- Jaecy- Heleana!"
Alicent turns to king as he stammers. Her eyes water as Aegon storm out the room.
"DAEMON!" Viserys screams, immediately regretting it as his head begins to hammer.
Aemond watches as his father leans his head into his hand. He vaguely hears him mutter, 'what's that fucking boy's name?' in High Valyrian. He turns back to his plate as Alicent takes Helaena away to change.
Aegon bolts his door and drags a chair beneath the knob, more than certainly locking himself in his chambers. He runs to his bed and grabs a pillow. He hacks it against the sheets repeatedly while screaming in frustration.
Once he was tired, he jumps into bed and flails his limbs. Once he was tired of that, he sighs and lets the tears fall. He cries and stares at the ceiling as he thinks of you.
He slowly sits up and walks towards his desk. He gets a vial of scented oil and uncorks it. Citrus. Lavender. You.
More tears fall.
He leans on his desk, continuing to take in the smell as he sobbed until his mouth went dry. He grabs the ewer of wine beside him and drinks directly from it until it was empty.
Aegon is immediately tipsy.
His vision is blurry and he finds it difficult to cork the vial of fragrance, still, he manages. He opens his drawer and pulls out parchment and a quill.
𝔄𝔲𝔫𝔱. ℑ 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔬 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔲𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔴𝔞𝔶. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅𝓈 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝑒… 𝐼 𝓈𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝓅𝒾𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝐼 𝐻𝒜𝒯𝐸 𝒴𝒪𝒰. 𝒟𝒪𝒩'𝒯 𝒴𝒪𝒰 ᎠȺ𝖱Ɛ 𝖢ටⱮƐ βȺ𝖢Ҡ Ƒටའ ȺƐⱮටហᎠ'Ϛ ហȺⱮƐᎠȺӋ į చįꝈꝈ ҠįꝈꝈ ǶįⱮ!
Aegon slashes his quill across the paper. He screams, crumples it, and chucks it out his window before throwing himself back onto his bed.
The balled message thumps upon the head of a prince.
Laenor looks up after feeling the hit. Upon seeing nothing but a clear sky, he examines the floor, looking for whatever it was that hit him. He slowly begins to walk off upon finding nothing out of the ordinary, but just as he resumes in his usual gait, the wind blows the crumpled letter towards his boots. He picks it up before it is blown off again.
Lines weigh his face immediately when he reads it, "my poor boy."
It takes two days for that letter to come to you, or rather your place of current residence.
You weren't accepting letters anytime soon, not if your husband had anything to say about it.
"D-Dae-" you could barely manage to bring his name past your lips, not when his own were lapping your weeping womanhood like a man starved.
Your legs tighten around his head and he chuckles as he pulls out yet another peak from your aching cunt. You begin to sob when he doesn't let up and try to kick him away.
He only stops because the knock and grating call of his name from the door kills the mood. Daemon slowly pulls away from your thighs, licking his lips. His nose, chin and neck were glimmering with your sticky arousal.
You were helplessly sprawled on your back, arms by your head, chest heaving. You were teary eyed and flush. Your night gown stuck to you from how sweaty you were. You closed your eyes, thinking a nap would do you well, but you couldn't help but look at your husband as he placed a hand on your swollen belly.
Daemon is terribly proud of his work. His wife was panting from blissful exhaustion and won't be going anywhere anytime soon. Well done, man.
His head snaps to the door when the knock and the voice grows louder. He groans and rises from where he knelt at the edge of the bed. He sits at the foot of the cushions, fastening your legs around his bare torso, "what is it?!"
A servant with terrible skill of Westerosi mumbles something unintelligible from the door.
Daemon groans, set on merely ignore her.
That is, until you stir and try to prop yourself on your elbows. It's a challenge, considering you were incredibly top heavy, with your round belly and your heavy teats, not to mention your husband incessantly wedged between your thighs. He makes a face, "don't move."
You whine, "no... I really can't."
Daemon huffs, pulling away from you just to grab your shoulders and push you down.
You whine louder in protest.
Your slick dribbles down his throat, "I did not make you peak four times just for you to get off bed and answer the call of a wench."
You take a much needed deep breath and wipe his chin, "you are in no condition to speak to anyone."
He watches you rub your stickiness between your fingers. He smirks and grabs your wrist, licking them and making you squeal when he bites a knuckle. "You think so little of me."
You try to grab him when he pulls away.
Daemon chuckles and waves a hand when the bang of the door persists, "yes, yes, a moment."
"Daemon!" you call in horror, "at least wipe your face!"
He turns around merely to smile at you and opens the door anyway.
You cover your face with your arms as you hear conversation happen. Horrifically, it becomes quite long.
You cannot even relax after hearing the door close.
Daemon sees your form, the line that formed between his brows dissipates. He quietly walks over to the unlit fireplace as he opens the letter that was handed to him, "you needn't hide anymore, dearest, the girl is gone."
"You're terrible—"
He pops the waxen seahorse seal and chucks it into the fireplace.
"- uncouth, and ill-mannered."
Daemon's furrow returns when finds two papers, one uncreased and one crumpled. He skims the former, finding it was penned by your beloved Laenor, as he expected, then the latter. His brows raise when he realizes it's from Aegon.
His silence makes you pull your arms away from your face. You slightly lift your head, finding his back turned from you, "v'you nothing to say to me after such embarrassment?"
Daemon laughs loudly to mask the sound of him crumpling all the papers into a ball.
You watch him turn to you, hands behind his back, shit eating grin on his face, and groan, covering your face with your arms again.
To your unwitting detriment.
Daemon chucks the paper into the fireplace and quickly finds something to light the fireplace with, "only that I am utterly offended my slick covered skin brings you embarrassment and not pure, unadulterated pride."
You watch him crouch down to light the fireplace. You slowly roll on the bed and sit yourself up, "I'm not cold, duck."
He watches the letters burn, "I have never quacked once in my life."
You rub your belly as you giggle.
Daemon looks over his shoulder. The sight and sound of your mirth makes his lips curl into an adoring smile, "I like it when you're dumb-fucked."
You watch him stand and saunter over, chest and feet bare, trousers low enough to show the beginnings of his pubic hair. He brushes the hair that stuck to your forehead behind your ear. You lean into his touch.
"You say the oddest things."
You hum, "I still wouldn't walk around filthy, dear."
Daemon chuckles, kneeling down in front of you again.
You whimper and try to push him off before he can push himself between your thighs, "I'm tired."
"Mmm, well I was hoping you'd be exhausted," he makes a stupid face as he places his hands on your knees, "I suppose I should— aw!"
He laughs as he clutches the cheek you just slapped. You point a finger, "I'm serious. I will die if you make me peak one more time."
He leans onto your lap, rubbing the sides of your thighs, "well, you spoil sport, not only do you offend me by being embarrassed by my sincere love for you, but you doubly offend me by thinking the worst of-"
"Stop speaking," you grab his jaw, smushing his lips, "I am too hot for this conversation. You shouldn't have lit the fireplace."
Daemon growls playfully as he tries to bite your hand.
You sigh and push him away again, "enough, cow."
The prince loses his balance and falls on his bum, "rude," he watches you get to your feet, "how would you like it if I called you cow?"
You sigh, gripping your swollen breasts, "halfway there, methinks."
Daemon rises as you head to the bathroom. He opens the door for you and helps you get out of your nightgown before guiding you into the tub. You hiss at the water.
His brows furrow, "cold? I can ge-"
"It's fine," you shake your head and slowly sink down, "someone kept me from bathing for far too long."
Daemon removes his pants and comes in with you. He hisses, "fucking hell, it is cold."
"Daemon! No! Out! Now!"
He happily ignores you, even as you punch his arm to prove your point. He turns to avoid your assault but then takes some soap and begins to wash the arm you used to hit him.
You glare, "get out."
"I don't know why you're complaining," he says, focusing on your arm, "I'm literally helpi— aw!"
"You're helping to get your cock wet."
Daemon looks at you, "well, obviously— AW!"
"Get out!"
"I was going to say obviously I'm helping because I love yo-" he clamps his mouth and eyes shut when you splash water onto his face. Just as he opens his eyes, you splash him again.
You giggle as you hear him groan.
"Ao tymagon lēda perzys, riña." You play with fire girl.
You tilt your head, "funny," you splash him again, "kostan emagon kivigon bisa iksin iēdar." I could have sworn this was water.
Daemon gives you a look, as if daring you to splash him again.
So, you do.
You squeal, as soon, he grabs you and seals you in his arms. He pulls you on his lap and bites your neck.
"You think I won't fight back?" he bites your shoulder next, "I'll make you peak on my knee, don't test me."
"Alright!" you wrangle against him, "I'll stop! Please, don't make me peak again."
He makes a face, "that doesn't sound right."
You take the soap from him and rub your arms, leaning into his chest, "it is right if you don't want me to die."
He pauses then brushes your hair aside, "I don't want you to die."
"Good," you raise a brow at him, "I should like to grow old with my child after I give birth."
All of Daemon's smugness is completely washed away as you wash the stickiness on your thighs. He takes a breath and adjusts you on his lap, arms coming around to clutch your belly. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, kissing you there, "you will. I swear it."
You lean into him, "you cannot swear it anymore than I can, pup."
"I can," he mutters, rubbing your bump, "their maesters will burn if harm befalls my wife—"
"They do not call them maesters here, darling."
"— or my heir."
"..."
"..."
You look at him.
He looks back at you.
"I thought you said you've no need of heirs?"
There is an irritation upon him, "I don't."
"I cannot guarantee you a boy, m-"
"I know," he raises a hand, "I don't need a boy. A girl can happily inherit nothing from me."
You press your lips into a line and look down when you feel the babe kick. You take his hand and place it there.
Daemon looks at his hand, silently awaiting movement with gentle rubs. His hand stops when he feels his baby move.
You smile softly, "do not be so disappointed in us if the babe is a princess."
He furrows his brows, "I would not."
You smile wider as he brushes your hair. You hum, "you needn't pretend you don't prefer a son."
He says nothing.
"For both of our sakes, I prefer that it be a boy as well."
He calls your name.
"That I would have completed my duty."
"Your duty is to live with me until my last breath," he speaks with conviction, hands on your bicep, "do not speak as though our child's beginning is your end."
You smile again.
His expression crumples at the tears that accompany it.
"It is not," you muster, hoping to convince the both of you.
"It isn't," he kisses your forehead. He begins to soak your shoulders, "now, let's get you clean."
After bathing, you both emerge from your chambers wearing the fine silks your host gifted you. Daemon drones about his dragon ride yesterday and you lean into him as you head to the dining room for an awfully late lunch.
"Ah, my friends!" Mitker calls from the balcony at the end of the hall. He inhales deeply then exhales grey smoke as he speaks, "you finally emerge!"
You smile at him squeezing Daemon's arm tightly.
Your husband doesn't even look at you and raises a finger at the approaching man, "put out your pipe."
You squeeze him again, always anxious by his bluntness. You can already smell the smoke wafting over and it only makes your belly churn further. You smile and rub your bump, "it's just the smell—"
Mitker raises a hand, puts his pipe out, and props it down on one of the outdoor tables. He then takes a prepared lemon slice and sucks on it as he brushes himself off. He sequentially walks over, smelling of smoke and lemon, "my friends."
Daemon raises another finger, "that's close enough."
You mutter his name under your breath, masking it further with a smile.
Mitker laughs, clasping his hands together, "the dragon's fire for his bride never wanes."
Though you could tell he truly found no offense in Daemon's speech, you couldn't help but feel remorse, "forgive me. I am just incredibly—"
"There is nothing to forgive," both men say, one reassuring and one pointed. It's obvious which came from Daemon.
Mitker gestures, "my second wife does not enjoy my smoking habit either. Do not worry your pretty little head."
You smile sheepishly.
A servant passes and her master pulls her aside. After she nods and walks off, Mitker turns back to you, "I've asked food be served. I am sure you are very hungry from coupling all morning."
Your entire body burns while Daemon flourishes with laughter. Mitker walks off, nonchalant, and talks about the food he had the cooks prepare for today.
You glare at Daemon, tugging at his arm.
He looks at you, lips still spilling with amusement.
"You're being inappropriate," you quip.
Your husband chuckles, "twas not I that brought up our marital conduct."
You swat his arm, "I meant the way you speak to Magister Mitker."
Daemon furrows his brows.
"Lest you forget, prince, we are in Lys, and rely on the kindness of our host."
His nostrils flare, "if he wasn't already greatly indebted to me for freeing the Triarchy from the Crab Feeder so he can freely deploy his trade boats," he raises his brows, "he should be honored host us," he tilts his head, speaking carefully, "and my dragon."
You clench your jaw, "Daemon."
"He enjoys my impertinence, you know. I play into the part he expects me to"
Your voice comes out as a sharp whisper, "your awareness of your own impertinence is shocking and irritating."
Daemon's grin deepens, "do not pretend you don't enjo–"
"Silence."
"Ah," Mitker turns to you once you reach the dining table, "your midwives and healers have already arrived. If you should like to meet them before giving birth, I would be most glad to introduce you after your meal."
Your lips part as Daemon pulls the chair for you. You smile as you sit, nodding eagerly, "yes. I should very much like to meet them."
"I employed only the best," your host shrugs for effect, "midwives who have overseen the births of my 6 brides and 20 of my children, soon to be 21," he points with a laugh.
You join in his laughter.
Daemon sits next to you, watching your expression closely.
"My hired two healers have come from the famed House of Red Hands itself," Mitker nods, "they are here to help where the midwives might not, and hopefully might even help with your affliction."
The sentiment leaves you different. So much so that you, in fact, have to pull a smile when the magister stares at you a second too long.
Daemon notices. He takes your hand and squeezes it, "that is good."
You turn to his hand then back to Mitker, "it is... I am honored by your intensive care."
The man raises his arms through laughter, thoroughly pleased by the reaction, "the honor is all mine, my friends."
That moment, the servants come to serve your food.
"To have a Targaryen babe who might one day sit on the famed Iron Throne be born in my home is an honor I will have forever."
You smile at the servants as they pour your some water.
"Now," Mitker says, "eat. I must go to my children," he laughs, "I promised to play with them in the garden after smoking."
As your host disappears, Daemon serves himself some food, piling up potatoes and meat on his plate while you idly stare at your empty one.
He begins placing potatoes on your plate, "some beef, dear?"
You shake your head.
"It smells scrumptious," he gives you one despite it, "it will be good for you and the babe."
"I cannot stand the taste," you grimace then finish a cup of water.
Daemon watches. He sighs as you lower your cup then retrieves the meat with a fork, promptly eating it. His eyes remain on you as you heap more vegetables on your plate. After he swallows, he says, "they're apparently very good."
You down some more water.
"The House of Red Hands, I mean."
You turn to Daemon as he silently offers you more food. You let him serve you some stew.
"If you are worried you will be subjected to primitive methods that will yield no results, know that I will personally—"
"Their methods are not primitive, Daemon," you begin to eat.
"Yes, well, I'm saying is if they hurt you, I will whet my sword with their blood," he speaks with a nonchalant sort of seriousness.
You shake your head, "they will not. They are far gentler than most maesters."
Daemon knits his brows at that.
You offer a soft smile, "I have met two in my youth," you bring your fork to your lip, "hired by my father, of course."
He freezes where you begin eating.
A moment passes.
Daemon is no longer interested in his meal though how much his stomach cried for it.
"Your food will get cold."
Your husband cuts up some beef then turns back to you, "will you not tell me about it?"
You shrug, "there is nothing to tell, darling. They came, they looked at me, and left."
Daemon raises his brows and shakes his head.
"I told you my father tried everything," you speak between bites, "I know you find it hard to believe, but you must believe me."
"I believe you," he mutters.
You look at him as he eats some potatoes. You sigh and stroke his hair, "but you cannot believe Otto Hightower tried his best."
Daemon sighs again, leaning into your touch as you rest your hand on his shoulder, "well, he is a fucking cunt, isn't he?"
You stroke his cheek with the back of your hand. You press your lips into a soft smile, "he does love m-"
He groans and rolls his eyes.
"He does," you mutter, rubbing his nape, "just as you."
"You would compare us?!"
You do not respond.
He is thoroughly offended, so much so, he pulls away from you.
You sigh and retrieve your hand, turning back to your plate.
"We are not the same," Daemon bristles, shoulders growing tense, "I would never let you be trampled or besmirched. I would not let your condition worsen."
Though a rebuttal was on the tip of your tongue, when you lift your head, you smile instead and say, "I know."
Daemon, ever so easily placated by your subservience, easily relaxes. He suddenly feels bad that you are inclined to defend your father even in his absence, "you can stop pretending you care for him, you know."
You look at him.
"He cannot touch you here. And even if he could, I will not let him."
As your husband feeds himself, the tears in your eyes grow heavy enough to fall on your lap.
Daemon stops midchew when he notices.
"I don't pretend..." you whisper, lips wobbling, "... I just do."
The prince throat tightens but he brings himself to swallow. He wipes your tears
.
"I thought that-" your voice cracks, "-if I tell myself he hates me," you sniffle, "which he probably does..." you scratch your nose, "now more than ever..."
He mutters your name as he shakes his head, "alright, that's enough. I should not have said it."
"...I thought I could pretend I never felt his love, and deny it is there at all, but I-" you choke, "I do love him," you shrug and chuckle dryly, "I understand why he does what he does."
Daemon scoffs, "you understand why he casts your heart to the dogs to eat?"
"He doesn't," you shake your head, "he plots and plans, and I am a piece in the mind puzzle he's built decades strong. I must be in place, regardless of my condition."
He shakes his head as he looks away, "and my self-awareness is appalling to you."
"But you are the same."
He whips his head back at you.
You gulp and raise a hand, "similar," you correct, "you are more similar than you-"
"I have not once intentionally broken your spirit," he snaps.
"... so.... intention determines innocence?"
"Yes."
"Then why does it hurt more to know you didn't think of me at all when you were in the Stepstones?"
He is caught off guard and it shows with his dry laugh, "but I did think of-"
"Not enough to write back," you blurt, "I wasn't even enough to make you sta-"
He comes abruptly to a stand.
You stare up at him, eyes widening, "but I understand!" you take his hand, "I understand that was the course you had to take!"
"You reopen scars from years ago to defend your father."
"I am not defending hi-"
"Then what?!" he snaps, pulling away from your touch, "you do this to get even with me?!" His expression curls, "I spoke to assure you of my protection and you spit at my face -"
You slowly come to a stand.
"- by likening me to a man you know I detest."
You bite your lip to contain your sob. You press your hands on his chest and shake your head, "you know-" you inhale sharply, "you know I do not ever mean to anger you."
"And yet-" he laughs, taking your hands, "here we are, my love."
You try to place your hands on his cheeks, but he does not let you. Though it frustrates you, you do not force yourself, "Daemon... I only wish that you understand my-" you shake your head, "I mean that I understand. It is the order of things. I understand that I am either with you along the way or I am in your way."
His eyes twitches, "you are my wife."
"... I was speaking of my father."
He wipes his face roughly and slowly steps back.
It agitates you, "Daem-"
"Do not call me," he raises a finger.
So you don't. You grit your teeth as he walks off. You chest grows tighter the farther he steps away.
Abruptly, he stops and turns, "I AM NOT LIKE THAT CUNT!"
You only stiffen at his words. You do not flinch. You were used to it. Your father shouted at you often like this.
Daemon turns again and starts walking away.
You no longer try to dampen your cries when when he disappears into the corner. You clutch your belly as you sit back down. Stupid, stupid girl. You promised not to speak back, remember? How could you fucking forget?
Daemon hears your cries and rips at the hair by the sides of his ears. He grits his teeth, pacing back and forth angrily down the hall before heading off.
You gasp when your chair is pulled back. You lift your gaze and try to stand when you see your husband before you. He prevents you from moving and moves your chair until he can kneel before you.
He grips your skirts then bites it through a groan.
Your lips wobble as you frown, "Dae-"
"I told you not to call me," he quips, squeezing your skirts until his knuckles were white, "I cannot bare it right now."
You sniffle and bite your lip. You tentatively try to reach for him. When your hand finally touches the crown of his head, he perks and grabs it, bringing your wrist to his mouth.
Daemon is visibly distraught as he forces your flesh against his lips. A few moments later, he's biting you, teeth digging deeper and deeper.
You gulp as the pain slowly amplifies. Soon, you cannot contain your whimper of discomfort.
He releases you then yanks your chair closer. He brings his hands to the small of your back, then rests his chin on your belly. He looks up at you, not actually putting any weight on your form. His eyes are pink. You smoothen out the messiness of his silver hair.
"I have no appetite," he mumbles.
You shake your head, "neither do I."
"You cannot afford to skip another meal."
"Yes but..." you gulp, "I do not want to eat without you."
"I will not leave," he says, "I spent the whole day pleasuring you so that you would be too tired to go to those orphans you love more than me."
"My heart," you whimper, "I do not love them more-"
"I know," he cuts you off, "but you visit them so often I am jealous anyway."
"They have no one to help them. Teaching them what I can will hel-"
"I know," he cuts you off once more, "yet all the same your generosity makes me jealous."
"D-" you cut yourself off and cover your lips with your fingertips.
He takes your wrist again. He kisses it then bites it again, "call me... and eat. Please."
You nod, brushing his hair, "Daemon." He moves your chair again.
He remains sat by your feet as you consume your meal. You wipe your philtrum and realize you were starving after the first bite
Daemon perks when you bring your fork to his lips. He silently eats the beef then rests his head on your lap as he chews.
You both decide to meet the midwives and healers after, and though you could tell your husband's pride was still stinging, he held your hand the entire time, especially when the old men from the House of Red Hands decided they wanted to examine you. Daemon's eyes never leave you as they feel your belly, count your heartbeats, and question you about your affliction.
It was appalling then to be asked to leave when you suddenly went into labor. At first, he was calm enough to decline the midwife who asked him to step out of the room, but when you looked at him with your fearful, beady eyes, all hell broke lose.
What started out as low threats became full on declarations of apparent murder when the midwives insisted Daemon to exit the room. It only added to the pressure on your already tightening chest to watch him terrorize everyone.
It was the senior healer from the House of Red Hands that realizes you were slipping out of consciousness, and it was he that risked his life reeling the wrothful prince out of the room.
Daemon shoves him away upon reaching the door, and, in all his self-importance, readies to slay him where he stood, but the healer's words caught him before he could draw his blade.
"She has lost consciousness."
Daemon's fury is replaced with trepidation.
Before he could approach you, the healer yanks him by the arm and quips under his breath, "her heart is weak! She will not survive if you continue to insist on your way!"
Daemon ripps his arm out of his grasp.
"You must listen to me, boy," mutters the healer harshly, "I have seen greater men succumb to heart pains. You should be grateful your wife had the strength to take your child to term. If you cannot hold your peace and mean to throw another tantrum, get out," he looks walks off, "that is, unless you wish to hammer the final nail on her coffin yourself."
He doesn't get to reply as the healer is already by your your side, trying to help you regain your senses.
It quickly dawns on Daemon, that he, in fact, could not hold his peace. He paces around, restless and worried as he watches the midwives scramble around the room. He eventually decides to leave, but just as he does, he realizes he cannot do that either.
He is stuck walking to and fro from the room to the hall with agitation that could suffocate one even as large as Caraxes.
It worsens when you begin to scream.
More so when you begin to scream his name.
It is the most terrible sound in the world.
He does not come to you.
He cannot.
He is mortified.
He is paralyzed outside the door.
His heart racing.
Time eludes him. He doesn't know how long he just stands there curdling at the sound of his own name.
Suddenly, the fear of this being the last time you call him makes him run to your side. He freezes the moment he gets past the door.
You are sweaty, face is twisted in pain, leaning into the shoulders of two midwives. Daemon, who has run head first into war, hesitates as he walks over to you.
He calls out his love in his mother tongue.
You do not hear.
He raises his voice, "iksan kesīr. Iksan kesīr, ñuha jorrāelagon." I'm here. I'm here, my love.
You manage to look at him and immediately reach out.
Daemon takes the place of the midwives and you lean on him as your contractions persist.
It is a grueling affair. It takes two hours and some for you to crown. Your screams are heart wrenching and brings Daemon to tears. He rubs your back and hushes you, but it does nothing.
The silence that comes when your babe finally does come is equally relieving and worrying. When you close your eyes, it becomes apparent you are not strong enough to stay awake, much less to hold her.
"A girl?" Daemon mutters, tears streaming down his cheeks as the midwife's announcement. His joy battles with his concern as the healers pull you away from him.
He nearly fights them off, but thankfully does not act rashly.
Someone says something to him, but he does not hear, as he is too busy watching you bleed on the bed.
He flinches when someone tugs his arm.
The midwife offers him a smile... and his daughter.
He stares at the tiny thing— she is unbelievably little. He chokes up as she groans and fusses in his arms. She stole his face. Daemon looks up at you, filled with mirth as he calls your name, "she stole my-"
Your pale face and limp body make him go silent.
Had it not been for the midwife still beside him, she might have dropped his daughter. She tries to get him to focus. "What will you name her?"
Daemon turns to her, to his daughter, then back to you, "I- I... I don't know."
The woman rubs his shoulder, "you'll know soon enough."
He doesn't.
He leaves the girl unnamed for days, intent on waiting for you to rouse before deciding on anything.
Guilt grips him after three days of simply calling her babe.
Then soon, a moon passes.
The girl can hold her head up and smile back at him. The healers now tell Daemon if you do not wake soon, you will not wake at all. He refuses to believe it.
He points to you. His child looks. "bisa iksis muña. Iksis ziry daor gevie, Aelina." This is mother. Is she not beautiful, Aelina.
Aelina fusses. She is hungry.
Daemon struggles with himself before deciding to let the babe nurse on your breast instead of her wet-nurse this instance. He was told that it might help you wake, but there was something awful in how your involuntary form continued care for your babe while being unable to care for yourself.
Aelina immediately calms and sleeps against your bossom.
Daemon holds her in place. Aelina does the same with his sanity. He was her burning torch, her light during this time, just as her name meant.
Ever the fickle thing, the babe begins to fuss again and moves atop your chest.
"Shhh," Daemon rubs her back, "it's okay, kepa has you-"
A groan cuts him off.
He freezes, heart racing in anticipation. He calls out your name.
He realizes then that it was not Aelina that was fussing, but you.
Daemon's heart leaps into his throat when your eyes open. He breaks into a full on sob when you manage to reach for his cheek. You are disoriented as he helps you sit up. You soon follow in tears when you see the babe at your breast. Your lips wobble, "is this..."
"Aelina," he mutters, helping you hold the babe. He brushes your hair out of your face the moment you have your hold on her, "I named her Aelina."
You sob some more, unable to see her fully through the tears, "beautiful Aelina."
Daemon kisses your neck, kneeling beside your bed, watching you watch your child in wonder.
You can hardly breathe as you sob, but your joy keeps your grounded. You chuckle when she releases your nipple and you finally see her face, "she looks just like you."
He laughs, heart swelling the the sound of you, "she stole my face."
You lean into him, unable to pry your eyes of your babe as he is unable to pry his eyes off you. You sniffle, snot dribbling down your nose, "she's so beautiful."
"She is," he wipes your nose, "so beautiful."
You finally spare him a glance. You find him smiling through tears.
"I knew you would wake. I knew it," Daemon mutters.
Your lips wobble, "I'm glad I did."
He presses his lips on your temple, "so are we," he kisses you repeatedly, "so are we. Thank you, my love."
