✷ summary : daeron's sister hears him weeping after a particularly awful dream. you visit him, intending to comfort him with your body as you have so many times before, but the mood shifts as memories are dug up.
✷ cw : slightly suggestive, targcest, reader is described as looking like dyanna, angst, mommy issues galore, minors do not interact.
✷ notes : posting my first little drabble here on tumblr! i am not fully open to requests just yet but feel free to send in little thoughts or ideas and i would love any sort of feedback. gif by me.
✷ wc : 1k.
"You should not be here," Daeron says. His voice is still hoarse from the remnants of sleep and tears, and the knot in his throat has not yet fully loosened. It feels cold in his chamber, even with your warmth pressed softly against his back. He can feel the curves of your body and your cool breath fluttering against his nape.
"Why?"
You question him in that delicate, sultry tone that usual did wonders to get his blood pumping southward. But not tonight. Not now. Not after his dream, and the darkness he saw encapsulating the capital and the many dragons he saw die. "Because," his answer comes strained. Daeron does not explain further.
"Because," you echo, lips brushing a soft kiss to the back of his neck and then another wetter one is planted to the side of his throat. Your hand, which had found a perch on his shoulder, begins to drift to his front and down the heaving planes of his chest. Your fingers bump against the waistband of his breeches and he stills, and he whines. But he denies.
"No," Daeron whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. The ache he usually feels for his dear sister is gone, overshadowed by a horrible clenching in his chest. His hands find yours, smaller and softer in his grasp, and he gently guides it away from his body. He laces your fingers together, like an anchor of a ship that is meant to keep him in place. "Not tonight, please."
Your brow furrows, lips still gently pressing against the sweaty skin of his throat. Daeron is one to rarely deny the comforts of a warm body. It is unlike him, and it stirs the waves of worry in your gut. You had known tonight had been troublesome for your brother, and you had heard his quiet trembling breaths, but the depths of his prophecies are still a mystery to you. "Daeron-"
"Stay."
Your soft breath of his name is cut off, and he squeezes your hand just a bit tighter. He can feel the shift of your delicate bones and tendons, and he loosens his vice with a shaky exhale. "Just stay, please, sister. The night troubles me and I cannot bear to be alone."
The tension leaves your bones upon a sigh, and you place a kiss - chaste, this time - against Daeron's nape. Gently sliding your hand from his own, you prop yourself upon an elbow and gently nudge his shoulder so as to coax him to face you. He obeys without protest, rolling so he is laying on his back. The silk sheets shift with the movement, scarlet glinting in the moonlight. You cradle his face and he sighs into it, nuzzling against your palm in a way that feels more like need and less like desire. "It is easier with you here," Daeron admits, the words a whisper that could have been lost to the silence had you not been keenly listening.
Your chest aches.
"I will stay," you promise as your touch rises from his cheek to brush sandy-brown hair out of his face. The locks are parted with sweat, but it does not perturb you as you brush through his hair. Daeron shudders. "I wish there was more that I could do for you, brother."
"You need not do more. Your presence is enough." But as he looks at you, lilac eyes half-lidded, he is reminded of a fact that he has noticed so many times. Your gaze is so soft, so loving, and he feels like a little boy beneath your touch. If he closes his eyes, he could travel back to a time before the world felt so cruel and cold. He could go back to hiding beneath his mother's skirts, to being held by her and comforted by her. Her face has blurred with time, but the pain in his chest when he was with her has never been forgotten. It is the same ache he feels now. "You look like her," Daeron breathes and your hand stills upon his scalp. "You look like mother. You have her eyes, and her nose, and her gentle voice. When you touch me, it feels like her..."
The rest of the words are lost on his tongue, too heavy and mournful to say aloud. You feel your own eyes burn. "I do not remember her well," your admittance is quiet. Perhaps if you looked into the mirror, you would see her.
"She used to sing to us."
"Do you want me to sing to you?"
The gentle offer gives him pause. Daeron closes his eyes and his throat clicks with a swallow. The tremble of his lip begins anew, but it is quelled when he speaks again. "No. Just hold me."
You release a small breath, the burning tears in your eyes held back for the sake of your brother. You nod, though he does not see it, and lay down next to him. The next motion is soft, gentle, practiced, as you welcome Daeron into your arms. His cheek presses to your breast, and his hands slide up your back to curl into the fabric of your shift. It is quiet as you place a kiss to his hairline, slow and reverent in nature. The rigidness of his frame dissipates, and you can feel the moment he accepts the comfort that you give. Daeron's heart feels slower, calmed from the aching tightness he had felt for so long.
He can feel you melt against him, cradling the back of his head. A soft hum reaches his ears, despite his earlier decline. It is soft and melodic, a lullaby with long-forgotten words of Dornish roses and warm sunsets and places so far from the confines of his dreams. For a moment - just one - Daeron is that little boy again, safe and sound in his mother's arms.
♰ 𝐄𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄 she/her minors dni occasional writer horse girl horror enthusiast long fic requests are closed but send in your thoughts! media: akotsk / asoiaf
