cw: mdni, afab! reader, suggestive, mentions of blood, mentions on having a boner, and mentions of being drunk, mentions of tits, these are my headcanons !!
notes: i was gonna start with 'how they would fuck you' but felt a little too much for my first post lol. anyway enjoy, i love these men sm !!
── .✦ AERION.
We all know this man is intense. When he kisses you, he does it like he means it — leaving no part of you unconquered. He’ll kiss anywhere he can get his mouth on: your lips, your neck, your shoulder, even in public. He literally does not care. You’re his. He claimed you like a dragon claims his prize, and he wants everyone to know how proud he is of his treasure.
Aerion will leave marks on your skin too — bites and hickeys placed strategically on spots you cannot easily hide. He knows he probably shouldn’t, but he couldn’t care less. A dragon does not concern himself with such stupidities. Why would he hold back, when you're like a feast open for him to take whenever he wishes?
And when he kisses your lips he literally has no mercy. It won't start tender or slow, no, he dives in from the first second, finding any way to make you gasp against his mouth so he can slip his tongue into your wet heat — he might claw at your arm, might bite your lower lip until it bleeds. This man doesn’t mind hurting you a little. He’ll make it up to you later — he always promises between kisses, not even pulling back to talk or breathe properly. He’s so desperate and overwhelming that you can’t help but let him have his way with you.
── .✦ DAERON.
I’d give this man a prize if he doesn’t get a boner within the first two minutes of making out with you. If you thought Aerion was desperate, just wait until you meet his pathetic older brother — grasping at your clothes, trying to silence his whimpers against your mouth. Because Daeron is loud. And messy as fuck.
If he’s drunk enough, he’ll kiss you right there in the tavern, shame completely dissolved in his wine-clouded brain. And gods, he’s touchy. Let your guard down for even a second and his hands will find their way to your tits like they have a mind of their own. If you scold him, he’ll grunt a half-hearted apology against your lips only to try again the moment you get distracted.
Oh, and sometimes he has to pull back from your mouth for a few seconds. He gets so overstimulated he’ll combust if he doesn’t stop — or maybe he’s just trying to keep his dick from straining too obviously against his pants. He’ll stay there with his eyes closed, whispering a quiet curse as he presses his lips to your neck, breathing hard, before diving back in to claim your mouth again.
desperate for more lighthouse keeper daeron. i need to know more about him and reader pleeeease
the way you enabled me, anon…
lighthouse keeper!daeron
cw: mdni, 18+, modern au, f!reader, alcoholism, hallucinations, descriptions of wounds, reckless behaviour, bit unhealthy relationship, darkish daeron, reader is really into him btw
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lighthousekeeper!daeron lives a very simple life. there are not many things he needs, besides his house to be warm, his dog to be fed, and his cupboards filled with alcohol. the seaside life has pros and cons. the air is always cool, salty, and damp, the wooden parts of his cottage have a tendency to rot, and the metal parts to rust. the weather is always foggy, so there is barely any sun, and nothing ever dries out properly. his house is rather cozy, though, dark, some wood say. daeron doesn't really care about maintaining it properly, so it is livable, but nothing more. he really starts cleaning and unhoarding, knowing that now you are in this space as well, and he really wants you to feel good there, homey.
lighthousekeeper!daeron is not a pretty sight most of the time. hair dirty, eyes glassy, forehead covered in sweat. his hands are always bandaged because he often cuts himself while working, bandages are no longer white, just grey with caked blood underneath. daeron's appearance or hygiene is not his first priority. his hair is longer, messy. he is rarely fully shaven, with golden stubble reinforcing the unkept look. his 'uniform' is usually thick wool sweaters over henleys, cargo trousers and work boots. colours that you can’t help see him wearing the most are navy, gray, brown, charcoal, beige.
lighthousekeeper!daeron is relieved and troubled at the same time, knowing you have already seen him at his worst and stayed. he is overfilled with gratitude and quiet, confused love. every time you slide into his lap, or stroke his cheek, or kiss him, there is this boyish awe in his eyes.
lighthousekeeper!daeron is not just tortured, depressed, and pathetic. no, he is also playful, sarcastic, and affectionate. he makes you giggle with his witty comments, makes you swat his arm when he whispers something filthy, and makes you smile at his compliments. daeron will wake up earlier and make you coffee just the way you like it, will make sure you are warm and comfortable, even if that means giving you his extra blanket, will attempt his best at looking presentable, and go to the local pub with you because you mentioned it as one of your favourite places.
lighthousekeeper!daeron can be rough. as if something gets into him. it is always visible. you swear sometimes his eyes change, you can see it in the way he is looking at you. you never know if it will be your daeron or... a different one. you always notice him, the other, it slips in the way he talks with you, in a way he touches you, in a way he is watching you, tracking your every movement like a beast ready to pounce. nothing but fogged hunger in his eyes, pupils blown wide in the darkness, you feel all the 'lightness' drained from him the second he looks up at you with the sweetest smile of a predator.
it is especially showing in how he fucks you. it is a wide range with him. in the morning he will worship your body, licking and kissing you all over, making out with your pussy for hours. and in the evening he will bend you over the kitchen table, biting your neck till there is blood, pounding into you and making you whine from pleasure. daeron loves that, no one can hear you there anyway.
lighthousekeeper!daeron is undeniably nice to you, but that doesn’t mean he is necessarily… good. years of torments he was forced to endure, mixed with isolation and loneliness, made him desperate, starved, insatiable. he becomes fixated on one thing - you. is it unhealthy? perhaps. but at this point, there is nothing healthy about him anyway. he never hurts you, of course, no, it is something else. maybe the silent understanding that if you try to leave him, he will stop you. gently. or...
lighthousekeeper!daeron dreamed of you for months before you appeared in his life. saw tons of dreams when you were calling his name, luring him on the cliffs and into the sea. many nights, he watched your silhouette wandering the coast, eyes fixated on you, as you beckoned him closer, slowly shedding your clothes and stepping into the dark water. but everytime he thought he reached you, you vanished and he woke up soaking wet, shivering, and alone. in daeron’s eyes, you are ethereal, to the point that he doesn’t fully grasp the concept of you being real in an outside world and existing for other people too. in his world, you just come to him and then you leave, so deep down, he wouldn’t be surprised if one day he sobers up and realises he imagined you.
lighthousekeeper!daeron's visions are not pretty. you know it by the pained winces with which he wakes up in the middle of the night, by the way his hands shake as he reaches for a bottle. he mumbles your name mixed with the names you never heard of, grips you painfully tight in his sleep, refusing to let go. even when his eyes are closed, you can sense the fear that is coursing through his body.
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a/n: i don’t think anyone needs all that, but i just can’t stop thinking about him...
Welcome to the first part of my little special for hitting 300 followers!! Thank you so, so much for all the love, I wanted to give a little back with a series of modern!au headcanons for these knights from AKOTSK, starting this first part with: Daeron, Duncan & Valarr! Hope you enjoy them.
(Let me know if you want the second part where Aerion, Baelor & Maekar will get their respective modern!au headcanons <3)
These are just my personal dumb headcanons, please remember I’m just a writer so don’t take anything too seriously!! Established relationships: how you start dating them and how your relationship develops over the months!! Mentions of sexual intimacy, rehab, and Dyanna’s passing, but nothing explicit !! pure, pure fluff and… pathetic men in love!! <3
Masterlist | Part Two !
☆ .:* ♫♪ now playing “and i love her” by the beatles!
(❀) ever since a shy dunk invited you out for a pint at some random pub, the two of you have been inseparable. it was meant to be just one night, just some simple and harmless sex. but !! when you woke up the next morning reaching around for your underwear and felt his strong arms wrap around your waist, paired with a raspy “morning, pretty girl…” you were completely done for. being woken up like that most weeks? yeah… that would absolutely make mornings better than ever.
(❀) duncan talks about you to everyone. from raymun during their usual pool nights to when he’s babysitting his boss son: aegon targaryen!! and believe me… egg looks exhausted from hearing dunk go on and on about your perfection, rolling his eyes when he runs out of adjectives to describe your beauty and starts asking him for synonyms.
“how am i even supposed to spelled gorgeous for a text…? god, why does it have so many g’s?” mutters duncan with a phone that looks tiny in his hands.
“it only has two g’s…” grumbles egg, reaching to steal some of the foam from his beer.
(❀) speaking of raymun… double dates with him and his wife rowan are guaranteed. usually cozy dinners at the apartment you share with duncan, opening a bottle of wine and laughing until you can’t breathe over the most ridiculous stories dunk and his friend have lived through. some of them even involve aegon, wait shouldn’t that kid be in school…?
it was almost unfair how adorable dunk looked melting over tiny baby clothes while shopping for rowan’s baby shower gift. those impossibly small outfits swallowed up in his massive hands. you had to bite your lower lip hard to push certain thoughts away. you were too young to think about starting a family right? right?
(❀) his biggest weakness? seeing you wear anything that belongs to him. one of his shirts that falls to your thighs while you walk around with messy hair. or one of his caps when you both go jogging in the afternoons. he folds instantly !! wrapping his arms around you from behind, pressing slow kisses along your neck and up to your jaw.
(❀) he prefers casual clothes ! it’s already hard enough finding comfortable pieces in his size that aren’t too tight. not that you complain when a shirt clings to his biceps and he absentmindedly rolls the sleeves up.
a look into his closet? way too many caps, some worn down, plus the new one you gave him for his birthday. straight jeans, a few stained with paint he swears he doesn’t remember getting on them. simple t-shirts, some with stripes or tourist spots he’s visited. a couple belts and one very worn pair of white sneakers.
(and don’t forget his brown jackets, the ones that inevitably end up draped over your shoulders after long nights out)
(❀) no matter your height, dunk will almost always tower over you. so wear whatever heels you want, he’ll never feel threatened. actually, if your platforms bring you closer to his height, he looks at you like he might just drop to his knees and worship you !!
(❀) of course !! your halloween costumes were hercules and megara from that disney movie you watched during one of his movie nights with egg.
egg sometimes stays over at your place when his dad is away on business, sneaking off to hide out at dunk’s apartment. more than once he’s confessed how tired he is of hearing dunk talk about his girlfriend and you just melt.
(❀) unsurprisingly, duncan is an incredible cook. he handles any random craving you have without hesitation. even if he doesn’t know the recipe, he’ll look it up and run to the store, greeting you with a dinner that feels like it came from a five-star restaurant. honestly, what’s better than homemade food cooked by a gentle giant? nothing !!
(❀) in the mornings when you refuse to get up and cling to him like he’s your personal heater, he’ll lift you up anyway. your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bathroom so you can brush your teeth together. even if you refuse to open your eyes because that means letting go of his warmth. in winter? nearly impossible.
(❀) need something? dunk is already handling it. something too high on a shelf? done. your laces untied and you didn’t notice? he pats his thigh so you can prop your foot up while he ties them. wind messing up your hair? he holds it steady so you can fix it.
(❀) he insisted that you should match with him in every single thing !! and i mean everything… pajamas, toothbrushes, keychains for your flat keys. he proudly wears a thin chain with your name around his neck and a promise ring on his finger just to avoid unnecessary attention from other girls.
(❀) your apartment walls are filled with framed photos. from that first night selfie that was supposed to mean nothing, to one of you and egg during a little beach trip. his go-to pose whenever there’s a camera? one arm around your waist, lips pressed to your cheek.
(❀) duncan is the kind of boyfriend who would happily carry you on his back if you’re too tired to walk. and if there’s a karaoke nearby, no one is safe !! he will dedicate the cheesiest songs to you without hesitation.
(❀) and of course, he can knit !! he’s such a dream right?? scarves, gloves, even sweaters in your favorite colors for winter. he’ll sit calmly with reading glasses perched on his nose, knitting while listening to egg talk about his week.
(❀) for some reason, he fully believes in horoscopes. even if your signs technically aren’t compatible, he’ll dig through rising signs and moon charts until he finds proof that you’re soulmates… you still don’t completely understand it, but you love how determined he is to prove it.
(❀) more than once he’s flexed on purpose when he catches you checking him out. both arms behind his head, biceps tightening, pretending it’s casual. he’ll never admit he likes showing off a little, but the satisfied look on his face when you kiss his arm or trace your fingers over his abs says everything.
(❀) his ideal date? the two of you coming back after grabbing a few pints at a nearby pub, fumbling with the door of the apartment because he’s far too busy kissing you senseless. lifting you up without a second thought, your legs wrapping around him as he supports you easily with his hands in your ass and… guiding you toward the kitchen.
he sets you down on the counter, stealing one more lingering kiss before turning to actually cook something proper this time. you just sit there watching him, completely content, while he occasionally turns around to feed you a spoonful of whatever he’s making.
☆ .:* ♫♪ now playing “favourite” by fontaines dc!
(❀) in contrast to his brother aerion… daeron would rather go completely unnoticed. he hates when the press recognizes him and even more when they corner him with questions like “will you be the next to carry on your father’s legacy?” “are you inheriting the family business?” it only reminds him of responsibilities he already feels weighing on his shoulders.
(❀) dirty, worn-out converse. hair a little too long, maybe intentional, maybe just laziness. a look inside his closet? oversized clothes hanging off his slim, faintly defined frame. loose jeans dragging against the city streets, hems stained from being stepped on one too many times. plaid boxers you end up stealing, denim jackets, more band tees and… way too many unmatched socks.
(❀) he hates hearing his last name, even if it’s the same name that’s given him the freedom to pursue photography without worrying about money. he still keeps a fake id from his teenage years tucked in his wallet, the one he used to get into bars too young. right next to it is a photo of you!! his pretty girl <3
(❀) the media never really dug into how you two met. it happened during a time when daeron wasn’t exactly lucid. what he does remember is that during an intervention, you were there, holding his hand and refusing to let go. he fell even harder for you after that… so now he walks hand in hand with you in front of paparazzi without shame, smiling at them for the first time in his life.
(❀) he’s been to rehab more times than he’s proud of. after losing his mother, and even before that as a teenager. now he’s six months sober, and you celebrate every single day, week, and month with him. for the half-year milestone, you both bought a small cake in his favorite citrus flavors.
(❀) he despises wearing suits. his maximum effort is a dress shirt and slacks, no tie, not even a simple bow despite his father suggesting it more than once. he usually keeps you tucked under his arm at any mandatory event, which inevitably ends with the two of you spinning alone on the dance floor.
(❀) his hair falls to his shoulders. sometimes he ties it in a half-ponytail. sometimes he lets you braid it. and… for formal occasions he slicks it back with gel, makes your knees weak !!
(❀) you are his greatest muse. he even held an art exhibition that traces your story together, from your first meeting to the disastrous third date to the present day living together in his industrial loft. in nearly every photo, your gala outfits stand out, and in the blurred background you’re teasing him, sticking your tongue out or winking.
(❀) he struggles badly with sleep: insomnia, sleep paralysis and occasional sleepwalking that scares you half to death. if he can’t sleep, he distracts himself with video games. he’s had enough paralysis episodes to know how to pull himself out of one. the sleepwalking? …he says he’ll bring it up in therapy.
(❀) he’s changed therapists multiple times since his mother passed. he has the strangest stories about the professionals he’s seen. he’s probably visited most of the ones in the city, sometimes more to annoy maekar, who used to pay for the sessions.
(❀) his father calls every morning to make sure everything’s fine. daeron usually tells him about his weird dreams until maekar demands seriousness and asks to speak to you. you take the phone, and somehow that always works… maekar appreciates you as a daughter in law. he says you help daeron keep a routine and it makes you smile every time.
(❀) he loves being clingy !! covering your face in kisses. buying fresh flowers every week so you can fill the vases around the house. every bouquet comes with a silly note like “the rose red the violet blue sugar is sweet and so are you,” signed with his name and a proud ily!
(❀) huge superhero fan !! really into it… last halloween you dressed as spiderman and gwen stacy / mary jane (your choice !!)
this man would give his life for peter parker…
“if i were spiderman, you’d be the only one who knew,” he says, shoving popcorn into his mouth.
“aww babe,” you reply, kissing the corner of his lips.
(❀) he has a few dumb tattoos he regrets, most done when he wasn’t fully aware of his decisions. he doesn’t pay much attention to them anymore and refuses to remove them. and of course he has your name in his skin after seeing you four times, two serious dates, and dreaming about you once. you discovered it on that disastrous third date.
(❀) he keeps his mother’s memory close. on every birthday and anniversary of her passing, he visits her grave. he can spend hours there, bringing her favorite flowers and talking to her. every time he leaves, there’s still a hollow feeling in his chest that may never fully fade.
(❀) his fridge is covered in magnets holding up every odd photo imaginable. his parents’ wedding !! and photobooth strip of you two where in each frame he’s overly affectionate: in the first he grabs your face and kisses your cheek, in the next he threatens to lick you while you scrunch your nose and the last he captures your lips hungrily.
(there are photos of his brother aegon from childhood to now, flipping off the camera. plenty with aerion on fishing trips. some with his father, daeron mimicking his serious expression. and pictures of rhae and daella as babies !! <3 )
(❀) his dream date? napping with his head on your stomach or chest while you run your fingers through his hair. waking up together and doing a puzzle. attempting to cook something decent for dinner like spaghetti, because otherwise daeron would survive entirely on leftover cold pizza.
☆ .:* ♫♪ now playing “so american” by olivia rodrigo!
(❀) from the very first moment valarr met you, you were his greatest academic rival on campus. the two of you constantly competing over who answered more questions, who finished exams first, who ranked higher on the grade lists !! it was torture made worse by how attractive he found you, more than once biting down on his pencil in irritation as your lashes fluttered sweetly while you answered with flawless eloquence.
that rivalry slowly softened into mutual admiration when valarr offered to help you with your latin pronunciation, and you helped him earn extra credit on his literature paper about shakespeare and the way he writes female characters. before you realized it, you were each other’s favorite partners for group projects… only the two of you truly understood that relentless need for perfection.
(❀) as summer break approached, the question came almost instantly. “come to dragonstone,” valarr whispered, brushing his hand against yours as he passed you a book. it sounded daring coming from him. you nodded without hesitation.
what you did not expect was for dragonstone to be a breathtaking castle. gods. you knew the targaryen family had money, of course, but seeing it in all its splendor was something else entirely. you found yourself enchanted by every architectural detail during your personal tour led by valarr, who smiled at you with a rare softness.
from then on, it was sealed in a silent pact of lingering looks and awkward touches that you would spend every summer by his side. not as a fleeting seasonal romance, but as the only girl who had ever managed to outshine him and, in the process, capture his heart.
(❀) valarr targaryen, the pride of his father. always polite with the press, smiling calmly, never losing his temper, never ignoring them. he even greets familiar paparazzi by name, even if he hides behind dark sunglasses. more than once, the two of you have gone out holding signs for important causes, making sure donation links were clearly photographed.
(❀) his refined masculinity is undeniably appealing !! colognes scented with gardenias, a watch that never leaves his wrist and small sparkling earring that matches his dazzling smile when he picks you up in his convertible.
a look inside his wardrobe? far too many blue shirts, some with subtle plaid lines, others crisp white, often layered with soft navy sweaters. tailored trousers with endless loafers and polished dress shoes, but just one pair of running sneakers. polos in muted shades, straight-leg jeans when necessary and again too many custom suits… now coordinated to match your dresses.
(❀) he has a close relationship with his parents and wait excitedly for festivities where he can see them. it meant everything to him that you and baelor got along, so he was pleasantly shocked when you managed to impress his father. that was it… you were the one. (even more so when he caught you sharing quiet secrets with his mother)
(❀) he counts down the days until summer so he can swim at the beach near his home with matarys or take you sailing on the boat he named after you.
(and it drives you wild to see how gentle and attentive he is with matarys. valarr listens to him seriously, treating him like another adult, asking about school, agreeing to every ridiculous game matarys suggests, even pretending they are mermaids in the ocean waves.)
(❀) at formal events, it is already understood that you are his date. he introduces you proudly to every colleague who approaches him. he makes sure you always have a glass of your favorite drink.
wherever you sit, his arm rests around your shoulders, a kiss pressed to your cheek. do not wear backless dresses !! unless you want him distracted the entire gala with his palm brushing absentmindedly over the bare skin of your back. do not do that to him !!
(❀) you are his first serious girlfriend, so he was shy at first about public displays of affection, especially in front of cameras. can you blame him? during your very first kiss, he was so nervous he accidentally bumped his forehead against yours. he still cringes remembering it, sometimes physically shaking as if to erase the memory.
over time he has relaxed, though he keeps things appropriate. an arm around your waist. his hand tucked casually into your back pocket as you walk together.
(❀) in private? he becomes the most pathetic prince, and you love teasing him. you tilt your head away just as he leans in, making him groan in frustration.
“please. one kiss… just one,” valarr whispers sweetly, a finger beneath your chin. you give him a quick peck, which only makes him more desperate.
“no, not like that. you know how i like it…” and he will keep going until you give in properly.
(❀) he cannot stand disorder. the first time you slept together, he carefully folded his clothes as he undressed, trying not to look too nervous while you sat on the bed in only your panties waiting for him. valarr hates revisiting the details of that night because of how anxious he felt. you, however, will never let him forget it !!
(❀) he adores kisses on his cheek !! they make him feel cherished and melts every time you call him pretty boy in that soft voice of yours. you are the only person who sees beyond his last name, the only one bold enough to argue with him, to challenge him, even to call him ignorant if you feel like it. he would never mind… not from you.
(❀) he carries your bag without hesitation. he loves wrapping you in his arms, stumbling slightly as he chases your lips for a kiss. he really likes lifting you off the ground and spinning you gently, or scooping you up bridal style while joking that you would make the most stunning bride.
(❀) your competitive streak lives on in every sport you play and valarr never gives up easily. if you are with friends, he often insists on being on your team just so he can spin you around if you win together.
tennis is your chosen battlefield when you face off against each other. even smacked him with your racket and you both ended up breathless and sweaty, sharing the same water bottle. as partners, though, you are unstoppable.
(❀) his ideal date? just the two of you on his boat at dawn, sharing a bottle of exquisite champagne and talking about childhood stories, even openly criticizing annoying classmates or professors. no one is safe when you two are together !! valarr laughing freely before leaning in to kiss you as the sun sets over the water.
He would smear snot on your skirts often once a week like clockwork. His dreams would frighten him and his only sweetness in life was you.
He would love to just kneel by you while you sat and caressed his head in your lap. His mouth hanging open while he breathed through it due to his nose being too stuffy. Lips catching against the fabric when he would nuzzle closer.
“How can you stand me..?” He would whine, face wet and hands grabby.
“I love you, Daeron..” You would simply say with the softest of voices you could muster. There was nothing else you could say besides this, and he didn’t need anything else. He would climb up onto the bed by you and curl his body around you in a fetal like position, arms wrapped around your waist and face in your stomach.
“‘m so scared, my love.. J’st want it to stop..” Tongue slurred with blood red wine he loved so much, but always promised he loved you more. Despite always choosing to drink.
He didn’t get as many nightmares ever since you two wed and you slept by him in bed at night.
“Just sleep..” You cooed. Hands brushing his hair back from his temple, feeling a wash might become needed soon. Petting him like a cat.
And when you would sing him a slow tune for a few minutes, he would pass out right there and then and not move till the first morning light slit his eyelids open and awake.
a/n: I love this scene sm look at how he and his arms tremble when putting on his helmet, my poor baby was probs scared
I have a few headcannons about Daeron and the events in which he became a knight! (A properly shit one too) PLEASEEE comment ur knight!daeron headcannons
Im not exactly sure how canon complaint this list will be but idgaf!!!!! I was trying to think of fun ways i could play around with his dreams hehehee
I think it all starts in 205 when the King sends Aemon away to be institutionalised indoctrinated trained as a maester at the Citadel
To push his youngest son even further to the brink, he demands that his eldest grandson, Prince Daeron, must also be sent away to complete a term of squirehood
Daeron had just had his fifteenth Nameday. Valarr, 6 moons away from being fifteen himself, was considered a man grown in his grandsire and father’s eyes. His cousin had been married to his foreign bride for over a year, had achieved knighthood, became a father and in that time experienced a stillborn grief so harrowing, half of the city wept at the gates for days.
When Aerion heard that the King was sending his pathetic & docile brother to earn one of the highest rankings that can be bestowed upon a man, he almost spat flames with his fury. Aerion raged as if his Grandsire and brother has conspired to scorn him personally.
“A knighthood, father? Does that title weigh so little? Hold no value? No great honor?” The words were venom on his tongue. If looks could kill, Daeron would have perished under his hateful scowl.
The King’s youngest son, had a strop™- dragging all 6 of the Maekarlings back to Summerhall in his fury.
Maekar had his doubts. But who was he to refuse a Kings orders? He refused to accommodate his son’s ailment. If he acknowledged it, it became truth. Pandering to his drunken babbles and ramblings granted it permission to fester. The dreams were not a sickness and not to be treated as such for a sickness could be tended too with medical intention. In Maekar’s eyes, Daeron was not sick. He was a wine-soaked fool that was too glad to drown himself in his grief instead of suppressing it until it was nothing. A fool. A fool that will change or die trying, his father will make certain of it.
Despite himself, he prays that time away from court and 5 moons worth of physical labour will change his first born's behaviour, finally make a man out of him. No wine, no whores and no fucking dreams.
Maekar had compromised with himself. Selfish and contained and a bargain well struck. His desire to send his son to the edge of the known world fought hard and brave against his desire to keep his son close, ultimately he deigned to send him to Dorne.
Of course Maekar would not send his son far. What if he needed his father? What if he needed to come home? So Daeron is sent to Starfall, the house of his recently deceased Ladywife.
Maekar travels alongside him to Starfall Hall. The Lord of Starfall was more than happy to receive him, blood of his blood. It was a great honour to host and train a the eldest princeling, son of Dyanna Dayne.
Upon arrival, the Lord Edwin Dayne could not believe the likeness carved into the boys face. His mother had since departed this world but left a piece of herself, her soul with this child. His eyes were her eyes, large watery violets. His hair was her hair, blonde like the Dornish sand dunes. Maekar growled impatiently.
Before he departed, Maekar clasped one hand onto his son’s slender shoulder. To onlookers, it was a proud gesture, but the weight of his father’s palm was crushing. “Do not embarrass me, boy” he gritted through his teeth.
Daeron trains in earnest. Dawn until dusk. Dawn until his knees give. Dawn until he tastes metal in his throat. Dawn until the alcohol poisons his blood. Swords, defence, lance, armour.
“Again Ser” Daeron breathes, staggering across the courtyard. “My prince-“
“Again.”
He knows he is not a Sword Of The Morning. He knows he lacks fight, he knows he lacks bloodlust, he knows he lacks the desire for violence. His honour need not defending, a mans life need not taking. Dawn comes again and Daeron finds himself in the stables.
The horse spooks at his approach. His father always said that horses are dumber than dogs and only know command and the crop. Horses are intelligent, he thought, intelligent enough to be frightened of him. He was frightened of himself. The horse calmed and Daeron released a shaky breath. “Im sorry” he spoke low and ashamed. “Im sorry for startling you”. He imagined the furious contortion of his father’s features, conversing with the beast let alone apologising to it.
The first few nights at Starfallhall, Daeron cried and wailed in his sleep, writhing in terror. The lords and ladies were cautious of the boy, whispering about his sleep, drink and rumoured whoring habits. The maesters intervened, of course. Herbs, pastes, teas, ointments, spells and rituals. Nothing invasive, not like the Grand Maester back at the keep.
Daeron screwed his eyes shut. He remembered what he could of that night, what was left of the fractured memory. Incense, a balm massaged into his pulse points, leather shackles and a wine-drenched rag between his teeth. He remembers asking him to stop, he remembers crying. He remembers the feeling of the metal instrument pierce the veins at his wrists. He remembers fire and the smell of blood and pain. He remembers the slamming of a door, the clanking of steel tools, frantic footfall and a thunderous crack somewhere in the room. He thinks he remembers his father’s voice but he isn’t sure. If his father was present that night, he never spoke of it. He cannot remember how he came to be in the Grand Maesters chambers nor what happened after.
The maesters that served House Dayne were curious but attentive. One maester urged him to pen his visions, cement them in ink, to dare them to take course. The other maester declared that these premonitions were demonic and he was to forbid them truth, banish them from his minds eye and pray to all seven of his Gods. Dragon dreams, another called them, A recessive Targaryen trait. History has neglected these dreamers but he supposed that all historians are prophets looking backwards. They claimed a thousand scrolls lay sealed in a vault at the citadel. Each roll of parchment scorned and scribed with a fate, an outcome, a variable of what was to be of this world. Some were warnings, some were fables. Glass candles and dragons and krakens and a night that would never end.
Daeron understood a cursed truth, that his dreams were not like the dreams of others men, his dreams came true. Blazes of fire and screaming and death and dragons emerging from the ashes of cities- his dreams were prophecy. The night truly was dark and full of terrors, the red God had promised him so.
There was a dream from his childhood, singular in its horror. A dragon, a giant, magnificent creature with scales that looked as though they were made of oily black slate, lay unmoving before him. As Daeron approached the beast, he realised that he was wading through a pool of its blood, dark and sticky and he was sinking. A million squirming Maggots had begun feasting on its steaming flesh, its wing bones snapped and sprawled across the ground, the fleshy wing membrane torn, shredded. A hot, thick wretched smell consumed him, the stench of rotting bodies. Daeron saw that the dragon’s ribcage had been split open, a streak of silver bone was exposed, pulled taught by ribbons of raw pink muscle- Targaryens had been dragon masters once. It was hard to believe. The dragons are gone and the dreams are all that remain. At that thought, rats, thousands of them burst from within the beasts belly. He gagged, the vile, sickening smell of death making him retch. He opened his mouth to breath or vomit or scream only to find his jaw unhinged, asphyxiating on the dragon’s blood, drowning in its heat. Daeron awoke choking on his own vomit, spewing all over his feather bed. The smell. He would never forget that smell.
He looked to his desk, a flurry of discoloured parchment and spilled inkwells- sloppy handwriting and smudges across the pale oak bureau. He had not been dreaming of death and dragons as of late. His dreams have become much more indecipherable. Perhaps he is lost without the rigid certainty of morbid symbolism within his nightmares, frightened when the dragons appear and conflicted when they do not.
He did not always dream of dragons at Summerhall either, but the dreams were not oft sweet. He is no oracle, he is not a mouthpeice to the gods, should the Gods wrench the world from its heading and set it upon another course altogether at his request? Should he beg mercy? He holds no magic yet where stands the sorcerers? Where stands the dreamer and his dream? His dreams were tragic and melancholy under the domed roofs of the sunlit palace. The dreams left him empty, weeping and filled with a sadness he could not verbalise rationally without wine. He dreams of fire, red, angry and unforgiving yet he wakes up cold, damp and shivering. Among all forms of mistake, prophecy is the least gratuitous. The smell of burning flesh became so unbearable, his mother had Daeron move Chambers 4 times to escape what his lord father nor brothers could not smell.
At the Red Keep, the princeling dreams of violence and savagery. The bloodstone walls of the castle, the jagged Valyrian steel of the throne, the unspeakable horrors in which his family have suffered and caused- haunt him all the same. He has seen it all, past and future. White hot blinding images flash behind his spasming eyes, body flailing and seizing in terror. Blood. There is always so much blood. Staining the tapestries, carpets, bedding. There is a chorus of voices, screaming at the top of their lungs. There is always screaming. It’s probably wrong to believe there can be any limit to the horror which the human mind can experience and the most terrifying question of all may be just how much horror the human mind can stand and still maintain a wakeful, staring, unrelenting sanity? Daeron isn’t sure. His body convulses, his eyelids open yet unseeing. Shadows and figures stalk the dark edges of his peripheral vision, threatening him, tormenting him. He cannot reason with the shadows, cannot bargain, cannot beg, cannot ask forgiveness. When he awakes from such night terrors, he assumes his ears have bled from hours of sharp, violent ringing. His ears ring all day, quieter but enough to make him nauseous. Was it proximity to the dragon bones? Was it proximity to legacy? Was it proximity to the gods that made his dreams worsen at the Red Keep?
His dreams had changed. There was no more screaming, he did not awake to the stench of blistering skin. No fire, no blood. He dreamed of falling stars, silver white horses, comets, and a glowing magical stone. He dreamed of glass candles and a lemon tree. He dreamed of his mother. There was something strange at Starfall, something mysterious and unnamed. Or was it a feeling? Starfall felt unlike the Red Keep or Summerhall. Something ancient, unmoving- something omnipresent existed in the walls of the castle. Daeron was unmoored and unfamiliar with the connection he felt to the milk white stones. Was it knowing his beloved mother had walked these halls, her hands once where his hands lay? Wearing her house colours in place of his blood coloured satins? He dreamed of the summer sea, he dreamed of winter wolves and an endless night- he dreamed that magic would return to the land. Will the world end in darkness because it is foretold? Or because there will be those who believe it so strongly they will make it so, he wondered bitterly. The strangest dream of all began with the sound of a baby crying, quiet and gentle in its despair. Daeron’s feet moved on their own, an instinct of one could call it such. Aegon, perhaps? Crying for his wetnurse? He would check on him anyway. The sun, lazy and warm in its afternoon blaze shone through silk drapes, a soft pink hue enchanting the room. His body was behaving before his mind could approve, nothing he was not fabled for in light of his drinking habits. But his movements in this dream were well rehearsed, natural even. He reached into the wooden crib and lifted the child to his chest. The child lay heavy and against his shoulders, the warmth of their face pressed into his neck. The baby had stopped crying, satisfied with their results and pleased to have finally been held. Daeron smiled. He placed himself, as if rehearsed a hundred times, upon the wooden chair sat in the corner of the room, angled against the flowering ivy dancing across the stone cracks. When Daeron peered down, the child had not been Aegon or Rhae, but a small baby girl with large dark eyes, browned skin and ringlets that bounced with every babble. His fingers stroked her cheek, soft and curious. Her own tiny fingers reached to attack, an excellent show of force against her opponent. Daeron chuckled this time, low and true. The babe in his arms giggled toothless and gummy at him, her eyes widening at the sight of his teeth. He awoke slow, groggy, cheeks flushed with colour and a strange feeling in his chest. The prince listened for infantile distress only to be met with the sound of servants rushing about their duties. He could feel her skin under his finger tips, he could still imagine the weight of her pressed against his chest. He could not produce a name for such a peculiar feeling, the feeling of having lost, misplaced, or missing something that does not belong to him.
He is knighted, his father is somewhat placated. He returns home taller, broader, stronger. More muscular. The Lord of Starfall told him he had the body of a warrior should the desire to apply himself present. Daeron just smiled. His ward understood. His ward understood in 5 moons what his father could not in 14 years. When he returned to the red keep, the graphic horrors returned. The Dornish red dulled his senses and the whores listened for gold. He asked his father to send him back to Starfall as a permanent ward, to be raised under Dayne banners the way his mother was. His father whipped his feet until they bled. He thought about running away, but he already knew he was marked for rot for he was a bystander in his own suffering. A man, at last.
Yesterday during my usual pervert activities I saw a video of a tattoo artist cock warming (and eventually fucking) his client while tattooing her coochie and all I could think about was a modern au!daeron
He gives 75% discounts if he can smash #community dick
Don’t ask me for the link cuz I didn’t add it to my likes so it’s lost forever afsgdh
