A successful pairing
Daeron Targaryen x Hightower wife reader
summary: Marriage between Hightowers and Targaryens was not an unheard of affair, it had just been a previously unsuccessful one. However King Daeron the Good decided a marriage between his youngest son’s firstborn and a Hightower lady would be good for unity. Four years into the marriage and a singular son produced it was deemed a successful pairing.
trope: unhappy marriage to an understanding love, with a sprinkle of parenthood
word count: 2,734
warnings: female reader, she/her used to refer to reader, no use of Y/N, only described looks of reader is long hair and Hightower features, consented touching, traumatic birth, fear of infant death, labour, breastfeeding, confusing marriage issues, parental issues, childbirth, alcohol dependency, gentle love, fluff, husband x wife intimate moments, familial fluff, (reader is a legal adult) - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT AND MEDIA YOU CHOOSE TO CONSUME
DISCLAIMER: All themes, plot, images used in general and characters from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms + elsewhere belong to the rightful owners, I hold not rights to the original media - but my writing belongs to me.
𖥧
Aenar Targaryen came into this world on a spring moon three years ago, he had been closed eyed and uncomfortably silent, forcing you to fear your baby had not arrived to you breathing.
“The babe- what is wrong with my child?!” Your voice was unnaturally raw, sweat covered your brow, messy strands stuck to your forehead as you panted. You’d just been split damn near in two, your husband was nowhere to be found and your only companion through the birth had been your fucking father in law. That babe better be breathing. Maekar made his way to the maester who was handling the child, rubbing the small things sternum uncomfortably hard. “My prince the child should be crying.” The maester whispered, fearful you might overhear. “Then make it fucking cry or I will find a hand more capable- give it here.” he took the bundle softly, turning away from you and feigning dropping the baby, forcing a cry from its small throat. “See? How fucking incapable are you.” Maekar was a seasoned Father, six healthy children of his own, his wife unfortunately perishing in childbirth to his youngest, Rhae. He knew how much Dyanna had needed a dependant during her births when no one would listen to her words through her pain, and with his own son Daeron disappearing once your first pains had begun, he had pushed through his fear of childbirth and stuck inside the room as you suffered. There was no other women in Summerhall aside from your maids, whom you had ordered to ‘get the fuck off of you’ and the midwife who had in your words ‘uncomfortably coddled you’ you had left yourself without a soul to help but a maester, who Maekar had ordered not to leave the room no matter how much you screamed, and Maekar himself who had sworn to help you see this through no matter the insults you threw at the Prince. It had been the three of you locked in your large yet stifling chambers for the better part of two long and gruelling days.
He turned to you, how truly small you looked. You looked barely a woman, because you were. “You have a son, he is healthy.” Gently he placed the crying bundle into your arms, adjusting your posture to better support the babe. “I will find my son.” Your tearful eyes met his own, ones that were so different from your husbands, reminding you that it should have been him to hand you your son. “Do not. He is not welcome here.” You were tired, undoubtedly feeling all too much, everything was heavy, except for the babe that had nuzzled himself to your clothed chest. Maekar was not going to argue with you in this state, if his son was unwelcome here then he was unwelcome. That was the end of it.
You allowed the midwife to return to check on you, see to it your bleeding was stopped and the aftershocks of birth had begun to settle in. You did not wish to part from your son, but the midwife insisted it was necessary to clean you properly. You allowed Maekar to take him, “Do not put him down. Promise me.” “He will not leave my arms. I swear it.” His voice was quiet yet sincere. And you believed him. His first Grandson. A joy.
You bathed in the warm waters, blood and other bodily fluids being scrubbed from you with gentle care. A clean shift being granted to you as the maids changed your bed. Maekar stayed true to his word and did not part from your babe. When you emerged and returned to the bed, your midwife spoke, “My Lady, you have not rested in nearly three days. You must sleep for your body to recover.” your bottom lip wobbled lightly, “but my boy.” it was your Father by Law who spoke “I will hold him whilst you sleep. He will not know he is without you for a few hours. You need to rest.” you sighed uncomfortably, before settling into the soft sheets. Maekar returned to the sofa, sitting lightly and just admiring. He could not deny the hurt it brought him that your husband had willingly parted from you, despite the first day of your labours having been consumed by agony and begging for your husband to be at your side. The begging had subsided with time, the pain had not. It had forged into loathing for your husband, not wishing him to enter the room should he suddenly appear- which he had not.
Three days after the birth of your son, whom you had named Aenar, Daeron finally appeared, stumbling into your shared chambers as moonlight flittered through the gaps in the thin curtains. He stopped at the cradle at your side of the bed. The babe had many of your gentle features, but was adorned with his colouring. Eyes included. He was perfect. Slowly Daeron reached a finger to touch his face, “If you touch him I will see to it your hand is removed.” Your voice was unusually cold, a tone he rarely ended up the end of. Yet he knew, he had done an irreparable damage by forcing you to labour alone, and suffer the lack of his presence atop of that.
Daeron’s eyes squeezed shut. “My Father said you have named our son.” It seemed as though your eyes had been permanently tear-stained since your labours had begun five days ago, and ended three. Though the tears had not stopped. “Aenar.” he pursed his lips, “perfect.” fell from them, yet you scoffed. “You have no kindness left for me, I do not blame you.” Daeron cast his eyes to you for the first time, your hair falling naturally to frame your face, eyes bloodshot, your bottom lip between your teeth so tight he saw the first droplets of blood begin to leak through.
“I needed you.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I.”
He stilled entirely, “you had my Father. He helped my Mother through six, he would be able to comfort you more than I ever could.” Whilst he believed it was true, you needed your Husband. It was his child, you were his wife. It was unheard of for a father by law to be the rock of his daughter in law through her labours, yet Maekar had willingly endured it anyway. “Your Father was scared. The last birth he witnessed was your Mother. I did not want your Father, I wanted my Husband. I wanted him to rub my back, I wanted him to brush my hair from my face, I wanted him to be the first man to hold his child. Instead all fell on your Father to comfort me, he held your son for six hours whilst I slept after birth because I refused a cradle.” Each admission cut Daeron deep, made him bleed silently where he was weak. He knew all of it had been true, but he had not wished to hear of what had occurred in his absence.
“My Father barred my entry. I returned over a day ago.”
“He barred your entry on my order. I did not wish to see your face. I still do not.” He removed his outer clothes, placing them properly where they belonged- unusual for him. He was trying. He then settled himself to sit next to you on the bed. “We are not okay. We are not going to be okay. Not after this.” He sat with that for a while, nothing to say. He would grovel eventually. But not tonight.
“Please may I hold my son.” Your eyes refused to find his, instead you gently lifted Aenar from the crib for his nightly feed. Daeron watched you prepare softly “You refused a wet nurse.” You watched Aenar as he fed silently, little hands squashed tightly into fists. “I did.” he nodded softly, watching his son move for the first time. No more words were spoken whilst he fed, the only sounds being the quiet and new mumbles, squeaks and hiccups of your young babe.
You rested him against your shoulder as you readjusted your nightdress and patted Aenar’s back. After a while he returned to his settled state, newborn bliss, as Maekar had called it. The age where they did nought but sleep, eat and cry. Daeron sat patiently and watched. You spoke to break that silence “You are not holding your son until you are done with drink.” Daeron did not protest, “Would you like me to sleep in guest chambers tonight.” “No.” You spoke, you wanted him to see what you had been doing every night he was not there since the birth of your son.
Every cry he awoke, every time you moved, he watched, everything you touched, he saw. But he didn’t dare intervene, if you wanted him to watch, he would watch you.
It had taken a long and uncomfortable year to return to any normalcy in marriage after the birth of your son. But it did come, with time and patience, and several momentary returns to drink. You knew Daeron was never going to completely pull himself from his cups, however if he was trying and there was a notable difference, you accepted that. He had been welcomed back to your bed and your affections by your son’s first name-day. You were less cold and more understanding, your actions in the days after birth had been harsh, but not unjust. But you felt cruel nonetheless and had pushed Daeron away in shame for what you had done to him, you had to remind yourself that your reciprocal bitterness had not been borne from nothing, it had come from months of neglect and days of agony without your husband doing his duty. Daeron, did never blame you. He could not, he knew he was wrong the moment he let the chamber door slam shut as you knelt on the floor, arms on the bed, rocking yourself through an early contraction. He had not looked back with mercy, so when he returned you gave him none either.
Now you stood in your temporary bedchamber in the Red Keep, a floor length mirror in front of you as a handmaiden tied the back of your pale green gown. It was your son’s third nameday, the King had wished to celebrate. “Mummy! Mummy I can’t find my dragon!” Aenar shouted, childish distress embracing his features, “Argh.” Daeron groaned, rolling over in the large canopy bed, still very much in his bedclothes, “I’ve found it, fret not my son.” His large hands encased the wooden figure he had hand sculpted for his boy, it was very detailed, and very beautiful. A simple wooden dragon would have sufficed for the boy to play with yet Daeron had taken the time to carve intimate details into the wood. He had made many-a-toy for Aenar once he was old enough to grasp the concept of playing, it kept him from his drink late into the evenings, kept his wits about him and his hands occupied. A good trade, you thought.
“Yes Daddy! Thank you!” his little hands clasped around it, taking it with that toddler force that often surprised the pair of you something so tiny could muster. Aenar was beginning to grow into his features now, he embodied the Hightower appearance subtly, in the curve of his nose, purse of his lips and the shape and dimension of his eyes and eyebrows. Yet his pallet was entirely Daeron, sandy blonde hair and dark, very un-Targaryen, eyes. He found his own appearance startling, it was not that he found himself hideous, it was rather he preferred not to see what others sought to understand. Yet when watching his son, seeing the mix of yourself and his own within the boy, it brought him comfort, that something he had created was so gentle and kind, and so far untroubled by dragon dreams. Daeron’s eyes resembled that of his own Mother’s, something he found insulting when pointed out by others, as if they were wounding him, you possess her eyes yet not her heart nor nature. Nobody would dare explicitly say that to the Prince, yet he felt the distaste in the supposed compliments. However finding those of his own son, resembling what his mother carried through to him, then he to his own child. It was a comfort. That perhaps she could live on in the subtle memory of his boy instead of just him, that people would one day admire his son, and tell him he had his grandmothers eyes and spirit, something his own Father, Maekar, had already established with a smile.
Your handmaiden finished tying your gown, you gave her a kind smile before she removed her presence from the room without word. Your hair fell down your back, smaller cut strands framed your face as you watched your husband and son interact through the reflection of the mirror, “would you like to get dressed. Daeron.” Daeron’s eyes cast to you, a hazy smile gracing his face, “I would rather watch you, you are beautiful.” You rolled your eyes lightly, turning to face the smug pair who still resided in their bedclothes amongst the chaotic mess of bedsheets. The dress was not a harsh green, it was pale, subtle, it stood out against your skin and complimented your eyes. Green was not the official colour of your house, it was the colour the beacon flame turned when calling banners. However in a sea of reds and blacks and greys amongst the Kings Landing court, green made you a sight. A green flame amongst the orange embers of your husband’s house.
“Mummy come to bed.” Aenar called, standing unsteadily as the bed dipped under his little weight, arms outstretched. “The family is expecting us to break our fast with them my darling. So you and Daddy need to get dressed.” The groans that escaped the pair of them could have quite literally been a singular sound from one. They were too identical. Aenar flopped dramatically back into the pillows, “but Mummy. We have to do games today. My dragon cannot be kept waiting.” He spoke well for a boy of barely three, it made it all the more amusing when he said things unbecoming of a young Prince, for a boy so literate in every other sense, hearing him mumble “oh fuck!” when dropping his toys in a corridor was rather hilarious.
“But Aenar! Your Grandfather and your Uncles and Aunties are waiting to see you! I’m sure if you ask Daella and Aegon nicely they will play with you!” You mimicked his earlier tone, before offering your compromise, Daeron rolled onto his side and brought an arm around Aenar, whispering something in the huffing boys ear. Whatever Daeron had said, had worked, for Aenar shot up and near enough fell onto the discarded pillows on the floor at the foot of the bed, and into the bathroom. At your confusion you did not move, “Mummy I’m waiting for my clothes!”
You cast your eyes to Daeron, who muffled a laugh into the comforter, “What did you promise your son.” Daeron smirked “Perhaps cake for breakfast, my dearest love?” the roll of your eyes only made him laugh more. “Mummy!” “Yes my love I’m coming!” you called, scooping up his clothes from a chair and swatting Daeron with your sons socks as you walked past. When you entered the bathroom Aenar had already done a half-arsed job at cleaning his teeth. You praised him nonetheless and got him ready, hoping that when you emerged Daeron would be up and dressed.
When you emerged. Daeron was not in fact dressed, nor even up. You picked up your son when you were close enough to the bed and threw him playfully, he landed next to Daeron’s arm which he grabbed and shook “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. There is cake to be had. Daddy.” Daeron groaned loudly, “hm. Oh. Yes. Cake.” “Daddy!” Aenar whined, finally watching as his Father sat up in bed. “Daeron. We are going to be late.” With another groan at your words he finally got himself dressed as you sat with Aenar in your lap, tying his little shoes. Finally. How your Mother in law had ever wrangled an army of children and a husband you did not know, for you had your hands full with a singular toddler and a childish husband.
A/N: hello helloooo, I know this isn't anything to do with my Lyonel story but a Daeron x Hightower reader dynamic was just on my mind and I wanted to word it before I forgot it. If anyones interested in further parts (with backstory + future) for this pair, plsplspls let me know. As always, requests are open, likes, comments, reblog and interactions are always appreciated!! take care everyone!!
𖥧
general akotsk taglist:
@noone1233nobody @antobooh
