Pairings: Aerion Targaryen x Targ reader, Daeron Targaryen x Targ reader
Warnings: Incest, smut, vomiting, blood, cheating, swearing
Resting your forehead against the cool wood of the doorway, you silently observe Daeron. It was nearing the hour of the owl, and he was still in the same clothes he’d put on the morning prior, staring absently into the lit fireplace before him. The only time he moved was to take a drink of whatever poison he had chosen for the night.
Mother dead, father lost in his grief and bearing the burden of watching over six younger siblings, it wasn't surprising he isolated himself. For years you wondered if Daeron was haunted by dragon dreams as much as yourself, but the glassy look in his eyes showed the truth of it. The overindulgence in various ales and rich-tasting wines was merely a way to cope.
Your parents had always been so preoccupied with Aerion’s irrational behaviour caused by his dreams of being a dragon trapped in human form that Daeron was often forgotten about.
“How long do you plan on staring at me?”
Daeron turns his head to look at you, and for a brief moment, he looks lost for words. His soft gaze travelling over your form. Hair unbound, barefoot, wearing nothing but a nightgown and robe, it was unbecoming of a princess to be pacing the castle alone like this, but you couldn’t find sleep.
Smile pulling on the corner of his lips, Daeron outstretches his arm, cup in hand. “I presume you could do with this.”
Nodding, you gladly take the drink from his hand before joining him. Taking a large gulp, the sweet flavour hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag. It was vile. Coughing, you shove the drink back at Daeron, pouting as he laughs.
“I don’t know how you can drink this much; it tastes sickening.”
“Well, you’ve never had as much of a sweet tooth as me,” he says, topping up the cup. “The stone floors may be smooth, but you shouldn’t be walking without something on your feet.”
“What if that was my ploy? To hurt it, so I’ll need to be carried around like a spoiled princess.”
“You are a spoiled princess.”
The two of you share a look, then break into laughter. Daeron pulls you into his embrace. “In truth, I sometimes miss you and Aemon coming to my room to hide.”
You smile, although the memories weren’t good ones. Aerion was a happy child once, but not long after his fourteenth nameday he changed and began taking great delight in tormenting his younger siblings. There were countless nights you’d run to Daeron’s room and lock yourself in to hide from Aerion, even when your eldest sibling wasn’t there. Daeron would come back from a night of relishing in whores and wine to find you and Aemon sleeping in his bed and not once did he complain.
It only stopped when you got married.
The room wasn’t well lit; the only source of light was the glow from the fire, which highlighted Daeron’s face. Your eyes move from his glossy eyes and his stubble to the dark smudges on his face. “You’ve got mud on your face.”
“And you’ve got—“ His thumb brushes underneath your bottom lip, “blood on yours.”
Not wanting to explain how Aerion bit your lip so hard while kissing you it drew blood, you shrug, “It’s nothing, I can barely feel it.”
Daeron’s nose brushes against the side of your neck; his actions have a gentleness to them, but his strained voice is full of sadness, “I hoped you reminded the brute you too are a dragon.”
“I’m fine”, when you turn to face him, your lips skim against his jawline, and you notice the way Daeron’s breathing quickens. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“What do you want?” He whispers.
“Many things, but for now, I’m content just sitting here with you.”
You linger together in silence for some time. His hand gently stroking the back of your hair, careful not to pull on it while your own hand strokes his arm. Noticing a tear rolling down his cheek, you press your forehead to his. “I hate seeing you like this. I am here if you wish to confide in someone about your dreams.”
He offers you a weak, tearful smile, though tears still slip down his cheeks. “You smell of mint tea.”
Your lips meet briefly, “please don’t keep the pain to yourself.”
“Do that again,” he pleads quietly. “Please.”
It was wrong, but you kiss him softly, pouring every unspoken feeling into that fleeting moment, but as you go to pull away, he cradles your face, causing you to still. You stare into his eyes, waiting to see if he puts a stop to it, but he crushes his lips against your own.
The kiss is hungry, desperate, and fierce.
Without breaking the kiss, Daeron pulls you onto his lap as if you weigh nothing. The show of strength was impressive. You gasp, feeling something hard pressing into your thigh, making him smile into the kiss. While your fingers sink into the back of his straggly, unwashed hair, his own hands slowly move from your back to your ribs, then up towards your breasts.
His lips brush against your ear, his warm breath fanning against your skin. “Is this okay?”
A hunger you’ve never felt before becomes overwhelming.
You discard the robe on the ground, then swiftly start to untie his breeches. Daeron lifts his hips high enough to yank the fabric down far enough for his cock to spring free. He rubs the head of his cock against your clit teasingly, then between your soaked folds. Growing impatient, you sink down onto him, letting out a breathy gasp.
You’d never felt like this before: a rawness to devour another person whole.
His lips trace over your throat as you grip hold of his shoulders and start to move up and down. Finding a rhythm, you start to go quicker; lowering the straps of your nightgown, you bring his hand to your breast.
“Stop.” Both hands are suddenly on your hips to still your movements. “Stop, stop, stop.”
You feel sick. Rejected. Voice shaking, you ask, “did I do something wrong?”
“Gods no, you’re perfect. Just… fuck, you’re tight; I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.”
“Isn’t that the point?” You mumble into his neck, breathing in his scent.
“No, sweet girl,” he kisses the crown of your head. “It’s about two people finding pleasure in each other.”
“But—” Tilting your head up Daeron starts to leave a trail of kisses over your face, “I want to savor every moment of this.”
His hands tighten at your hips, guiding you to rock them at a slower pace. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you lean forward and press your lips against his.
The new position puts pressure against your clit, making you whine into his mouth as a wave of pleasure suddenly crashes over you. “I don’t want this to end.”
“Oh, gods,” Daeron grunts as he spills his seed inside you. After a moment he’s regained some sense and wraps an arm around your back, holding you close while stroking your hair with his free hand. “Then stay; stay with me until the morning, before we need to part ways.”
Guilt seeps in as you stand on the stone balcony attached to your private quarters that stares out into the garden of Summehall. It was a beautiful sight, yet you didn’t feel worthy of it.
“Good morrow, your Grace.”
Spinning on your heels, you step back inside, brushing the red curtains aside as you do. “Grand Maester,” you greet, trying to feign confidence. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
“Of course, I came as soon as you summoned me.”
“I have a sensitive issue that needs to be dealt with discreetly. A girl has confided in me that she has… been bedded and does not wish to have any consequences of the union.”
“I see. However, as I have pressing matters to attend to, I will delegate the treatment to an assistant, as I’m presuming the girl you speak of is a servant.”
“How long would that take?”
From gossip you’ve heard over the years from different ladies and handmaids, you knew it shouldn’t take that long. Panicking, you blurt out, “I believe it was a prince she coupled with.”
A look of understanding passes his features, “did she say how long ago this took place?”
“It wasn’t specified, but I believe it was in the last couple of days.” You stare over his shoulder at the black dragon banner of House Targaryen hanging motionless against the far wall. Right now you felt more traitor than dragon; you’ve done both your elder brothers wrong by saying that. “As I said, this matter needs to be dealt with discreetly, as I want to avoid bringing disgrace on the girl.”
“Of course.” The Grand Maester nods. “I will brew it myself, where should I have it delivered to, Princess?”
“Here. Once it’s delivered, I will have a handmaiden summon her.”
The look on the old man’s face was hard to read. “The tea is known to disagree with the gut and can cause many unpleasant side effects. Do let me know if the girl starts to feel unwell.”
The maester lingers for a moment, then leaves without saying anything else.
Your legs start to give way; you stumble a few steps and then land on the bed, collapsing onto the crimson sheets that Aerion chose for your bedding since it reminds him of blood. Your shoulders shake when a sob catches in the back of your throat.
You tremble under the weight of your own sins.
You fled before Daeron woke, afraid he’d see the pain in your eyes. Not only did you lie to the maester, but you broke a vow of loyalty to your husband. It did not matter that Aerion was cruel or bedded a whore every night he wasn’t with you; it was still wrong. In fact, it made you worse than him because you dragged Daeron into your twisted relationship, all because you couldn’t resist knowing what it felt like to feel truly loved.
The sobs come harder now; warm tears soak the sheets below. You’d probably invented the part of Daeron actually loving you in your mind.
Forcing a smile, you watch Aegon, Daella and Rhae race each other in the gardens. Egg was the fastest but would occasionally let Rhae win.
You’d woken feeling warm and unsettled, and though a stroll in the gardens would help you feel better, your father saw you leaving and instructed you to watch over the three youngest siblings. Usually you didn’t mind, but it was possible the side effects of drinking moon tea the night prior were starting to appear.
“Sister,” Egg suddenly stops running. “You look pale.”
“I’m always pale. Now go back to playing.”
A dull ache had started to settle in your lower belly that morning, but a warm bath had temporarily eased it; however, it was returning with vengeance. Feeling a sharp twist, you press your hand hard against your side.
Not here, please not here.
You’re unsure how much time is passing since you have your eyes squeezed shut and try to zone out the pain. The girls' giggles let you know they are still playing nearby. The bitterness of the tea mixed with bile was lingering at the back of your throat. A new sheen of sweat starts to roll down your forehead as tightness grumbles in your stomach unpleasantly.
You hear your name being called but don’t have the energy to look up.
“Gods,” a strong hand lifts your jaw up and pries one of your eyelids open. “Can you hear me?”
“Aegon came and got me; he said you looked unwell. And thank the seven he did.”
Another intense cramp comes on without warning, causing vile-tasting bile to creep up your throat and spill out your mouth. You barely managed to turn aside before retching onto the grass and merely avoided Daeron, who was now crouching.
“Fuck, Aegon, take the girls inside. Send someone to get father and the maester immediately.”
You try to wave your hand in protest, but you let out a small cry, feeling as if a knife is being twisted inside you. Placing the back of his hand against the side of your face, panic creeping into his voice. “You’re burning. Seven hells, what’s wrong with you?”
“True dragons burn from the inside.”
“Put your arm around my neck,” Daeron says sternly. “I need to get you inside.”
Nodding weakly, you do as he says. When you’re lifted up, you feel a dampness sticking to the back of your thighs and bum. Daeron moves quickly, but you are able to force your eyes open and catch a glimpse of the stone bench you were sitting on seconds before that is now stained with a crimson liquid.
The moment you stir, a loud female voice calls out, “Your Grace, she’s waking up.”
The sound of a chair scraping against the floor causes you to cringe, but feeling a large warm hand brushing hair out of your face puts you somewhat at ease.
“Father,” you sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was supposed to be watching them, but I didn’t know egg had gone inside.”
It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the bright sunlight shining in. The first thing you notice is your bedding; it has been changed and is now white. Then you look up to meet your father’s gaze. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, large bags hung heavily under his eyes, and he was ghostly pale. He looks scared.
You’ve never felt so small and fragile before.
Still stroking the side of your head, your father finally speaks in a soft voice, “Aegon is fine. Aemon took him and the girls to the library not long ago to read to them.”
“The maester can give you more milk of the poppy once he returns.” He looks to the knight standing by the doorway. “Where the fuck are my other sons?”
In other circumstances you would be worried that Aerion hadn't returned from whatever brothel he sulked off to, but right now he wasn’t a concern. But you did wish Daeron was here; he wouldn’t be able to fix the pain, but his presence brought comfort.
You groan, feeling pain starting to bubble in your stomach again.
“Prince Maekar, Princess,” the maester enters the room and approaches the bed.
You do well to avoid making eye contact.
He shifts uncomfortably, making your father snap, “just ask whatever you need to fucking ask and get my daughter something for the pain.”
“Forgive my intrusive question, Princess, but may I ask when was the last time you were visited by the moon?”
“That’s good,” he nods. “It means we can rule out a mis—“
A loud ruckus coming from the hallway grabs everyone’s attention. When you flinch at the harsh voices on the other side growing louder, your father squeezes your hand. Glancing downwards, you notice a red blotch starting to appear on the bedding. Tears burn behind your eyes.
“Out of my way!” The door swings open, and Aerion bursts into the room. “Where is she? What is wrong with my wife?”
His hair was tousled, his cloak torn, and there was blood dribbling down his chin coming from what looks like a fresh cut on his lip. Your eyes lock, and you’re at a complete loss for words by how worried he is.
It was the first time since your mother died that you’ve seen tears in his lilac eyes.
Teary-eyed, you stare at Daeron.
“We’ve never spoken of what happened, and I’ve never pushed to remind you of it because I don’t want to remember how scared I was of almost losing you,” using the pad of his thumb, he wipes away fallen tears from under your eyes. “I know the maester brought you tea.”
“You must think as little of me as father does.”
Holding your face, he sternly says, “never, nothing has changed; you are still the same person. And father was just afraid. You bled for nearly two days, and he never left your bedside.”
“I dread to think what would happen if Aerion found out; he’s warned me before that I cannot do such a thing without his per—“
“Shh,” Daeron attempts to comfort you as more tears fall. “He will not find out. Father may suspect, but the maester would never confirm it. I imagine the old man values breathing too much. And you have little to fear from me; I do not wish to be flayed alive.”
Silence fills the room, and you use the opportunity to take in Daeron’s appearance. He was more frazzled-looking than normal. His eyes were heavier, full of a darkness that wasn’t known to him.
“What do you see in your dreams?”
He lurches back as if your question causes him physical pain. Narrowing his vision on the one spot on the floor, Daeron looks lost in thought. His nose scrunches as he mumbles, “Is the weight of these secrets so heavy that you are willing to endure being humiliated by our brother? There was once a time you’d challenge him, but your fire burns low.”
“I do not wish to be at war with him.”
Scoffing, he shakes his head. “I worry for you and the babe.”
“He’d never hurt them. Aerion may not love me, but he does love them.”
“It’s the way things are,” you bring a shaky hand to your bump. “I’m scared that they will be ripped away from me. The gods will punish me, and I will die after giving birth like our mother did, and my own child will grow up cold and motherless.”
You chuckle slightly. “His? You cannot possibly know if it’s a boy or girl.”
Although he was right in front of you, you still missed Daeron. Your relationship wasn’t the same as before, and you did mourn it. This was the first time you’ve spoken the truth, and if anything, it was a distraction from your dream.
The door opens, and Aerion struts in chewing loudly, barely acknowledging either of you.
Daeron stands, “is there any word of Aegon?”
Aerion shrugs, then tosses the apple core into the fireplace. “Who?
“No need to state your purpose for being here; I’m bored already.”
“And what brings you back so soon, little brother? Surely not concern for your wife or unborn child.”
Rolling your eyes, you lie back down on the bed and roll to face the wall. “I’m going to sleep; have your dick-measuring competition somewhere else.”
Daeron chuckles, then bids you goodnight. You stare at the wall, listening to the shuffling sounds of Aerion undressing. It’s not until you feel a dip in the bed that you snap, “where’s in God's name did you go? You’re the one who insisted I come here, and yet you abandoned me.”
“Pray, save your theatrics for another audience.”
“If keeping me company for a couple of nights is such a hard task, I shall return home in the morning. I’d rather be with our sisters than watching men fight.”
In a flash he is beside you, his icy glare burning into you. “You’ll do no such thing. I will not be made to look like a fucking fool and have decked-out oafs and servants whispering that my wife isn’t there. They must know the dragon remains strong and united.”
Sighing, you turn away from him; Aerion never saw any further than his own thoughts.
Groaning like a child, he rests his chin on your shoulder while reaching to feel your bump, and if the babe knows who it is, they start to kick. “See, my boy is desperate for his father’s comfort. I will do well in the lists tomorrow for him.”
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