Barty looked at the two of them, waiting for an explanation. After a couple seconds he impatiently pushed his way through. Regulus mumbled under his breath at Barty's aggressive nature but Barty ignored him.

He looked around the room and froze at the sight of Evan's occupied green bed. Normally Evan was the last of them to sleep, always keeping busy late into the night hours.

But they'd cut him slack for finally going to bed early, especially after all the classes his father insisted he enroll in, all had major assignments due at the end of the term.

What they wouldn't ever let him live down, was the fact that he, Evan bloody Rosier, was laying practically buried in blankets, cuddling into you like you'd disappear if he slightly let go.

The boys didn't know when you'd come down into their side of the common room without them noticing, let alone pull Evan away from his studies long enough to disarm him in such a domestic way.

"Ha, no fucking way" Barty muttered as Regulus finally moved again, still eyeing Evan as he moved towards his own bed.

"Shh, leave him be" Wilkes shook his head, placing his textbook on his desk.

"I will... For now" Barty quietly laughed, moving to retire to his own bed.

As the three other boys settled into their respective sides of the dorm room, Evan didn't stir once. Which for a hypervigilant and light sleeper like he was, was unusual and unheard of.

Evan Rosier woke up to warmth. Which made his blond eyebrows furrow together, the depths of the Slytherin dormitories were never warm.

He reluctantly opened his eyes, a dim green light shone over the room in the dead of night. He peered up and saw your sleeping face resting against his silk pillow. The feeling of you holding him eased him back to a relaxed state.

He glanced around the room, seeing Regulus asleep, still half sitting up with his arithmancy text book still in his hand, Barty loudly snoring sprawled across his bed almost falling off of it and Wilkes who's drool covered part of his pillow as he slept on his stomach.

Evan rested his head back down in the crook of your neck. He let out an uncharacteristically soft sigh. You shifted below him slightly, waking up from your sleep.

"Sleep well?" Evan's deep morning voice broke the silent softness of the early morning.

You hummed, finally cracking open your eyes with the twitch of a smile on your lips. "Did you?"

Evan nodded, making his hair rustle against your skin. His freckled arms still held you close to him.

Your hand moved to tilt his chin towards your face. You pressed a delicate kiss to his rosy lips. Evan's eyes fluttered shut as your lips moved together in sync.

"Room for one more in there?" Barty's croaky voice called out, shattering the cozy morning atmosphere.

Evan's eyes snapped towards him with an eye roll. "Fuck off, Crouch"

Your light giggle had Evan's attention turning back to you. "Good morning Barty" You called out despite your eyes locked on Evan.

Barty huffed from the other side of the room. "Yeah, yeah, morning" He grumbled, pulling the blankets over his head.

"Surprised there's a decent person willing to put up with you Rosier" Barty's voice was muffled from his Slytherin quilt.

Evan was a breath away from swapping another rude answer but your hand ran through his soft hair stunned him to silence. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to the freckle on his cheek.

As Evan pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips, Barty's faux gagging and complaints echoed through the dorm room.

He only shook his head. And seeing him so drained, so utterly spent, you could not help yourself… guiding his head against your abdomen. Your fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing long strands of dull blond away from his face, calming him with slow, patient strokes.

“I know they were,” you said quietly. “You are not a cruel man. Believe me, I know that better than anyone.”

You felt him fold inward, seeking shelter in your closeness, clinging to it as though it were the last safe place left to him.

“You should despise me,” he whispered, lifting his eyes toward you, clouded with regret. “Being bound to a future where you must wed a ruined prince like me.” His voice wavered. “You are the most honorable lady at court, and yet you are obliged to tolerate me…”

“Tolerate you?” you asked softly, a slight crease forming between your brows at the depth of his self reproach. “You speak as though you were evil incarnate. When have you ever hurt me, or anyone?”

“It is not only me,” he murmured miserably. “It’s this… feeling of being trapped. Every time I come close to understanding it, the worst has already happened. As if some unseen hand were punishing me.” His voice broke, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

You knew the source of this torment all too well. “Your dreams again?” you asked quietly. And when you received no response from him, only silence, you spoke again. “May I lay beside you?”

He released you at once, shifting to one side and pulling back the covers, opening the bedding so you could join him. You accepted without hesitation, slipping beneath the blankets and settling on your side so you could continue to admire his face.

“I am unraveling,” Daeron confessed, his voice shaking as tears finally broke free. “Even the strongest wine no longer soothes me. I believed that if I denied myself sleep, the visions would fade, yet instead my thoughts become infested with them.” He swallowed hard.

Your hands cupped his face with gentle care as you leaned in, pressing soft kisses to his tears, intent on easing him. Your lips brushed one cheek, then the other, your thumb wiping away the dampness left behind.

“I truly believe you did right in telling Egg to flee,” you murmured.

Daeron’s eyes searched yours, pleading. “You truly think so? I was trying… I was trying to…”

“I know,” you replied, offering him a faint smile.

You felt his tension dissolve beneath your touch as he leaned further into your hands. He pressed a kiss to your palm, closing his eyes as he worked to steady his breath.

“I do not deserve this,” he said quietly, though the rigidity in his shoulders had eased. “Not at all.”

“My love,” you whispered. Nothing more. You moved closer, releasing his face to rest your hands at his waist. “Hold me, yes? We can remain awake together. I am not tired at all.”

Daeron gathered you into his arms, clutching your back as though afraid you might vanish, fearing you were nothing more than an illusion conjured by wine, or worse… a dream too kind to ever be real. He buried his face in the hollow of your neck, a soft sob escaping him.

“When I was a boy, after Aegon was born, I would spend hours watching him,” he murmured. “I never dared touch his cheek, not even with a single finger. I only watched.” He tightened his embrace, yearning to be as close as possible to the one thing that felt right. “Even now, when I see him, I still see that baby.”

“He holds affection for you,” you replied gently, your hand slipping beneath his shirt to trace slow, steady lines up and down his back. “I promise you.”

He fell silent then, knowing there was no use in arguing, because you always discovered a way to ease him.

“Will you stay with me? Please?” Daeron asked, brushing a kiss against the skin of your neck. “… please?”

“Of course,” you answered without pause, resting your head against his. “If you need me, I will be here.”

“I always need you,” he admitted openly, without shame. “… would you mind telling me about your home again? We had stopped at the celebration of your tenth nameday.”

“Gladly,” you said softly.

And so, through memories of your childhood, through gentle words and shared warmth, you granted Daeron his first true night of peace in many years. You held him as you spoke, and you did not release him even as the sun of a new morning crept through the windows, your arms remaining secure around him, anchoring him at last in calm.

Daeron pushed the heavy oak-and-iron door of your shared bedchamber open. The amount of force he had used caused the door to swing open, hitting the stone castle wall with a loud bang. You winced at the loud noise, glancing over your shoulder, throwing an apologetic glance at the knights who stood at their posts not far away. You hurried into the room, carefully closing the door behind you.

You found Daeron slumped in a chair, sitting before the fireplace, staring into the flames. A large brown leather wineskin sat clenched in his fist. He raised it to his lips, taking his fill. His sand-colored hair, which you had combed and pushed back before dinner, was now messy and falling into his face. He sat barefoot, in nothing more than a light black undertunic and black woolskin trousers.

Daeron and his father had gotten into another heated argument over supper about Daeron's heedlessness. At one point, it got so tense that your uncle had hauled your husband up to his feet by his collar. 

For a moment, you thought your uncle would strike him. They had stood there, glaring at each other for some time before Prince Maekar released his son from his grasp. No other words were spoken before Daeron had stormed off. You had quickly excused yourself and followed after him. 

You bent down, picking up his boots, belt, and everything else he had left scattered about the floor. You put everything where it was supposed to go before you began undressing yourself. You stripped down and slipped into your nightdress. Dinner was over, and the day was done. You left your stockings on to help protect your feet from the cold floor.

Looking over your shoulder, you can see that Daeron hadn't moved from his seat. If anything, he sank deeper into it. With another sigh, you walk over to his chair. Daeron turned his head, glossy blue eyes peaking through messy, loose strands of hair, as he watched you move closer. He moved his arm, allowing you to sit on the arm of his chair. He tilts his head, resting it against your body.

You can feel him tense up as you reach for his head, but he settles down once he realizes you mean no harm. Your fingers carefully thread through his hair, untangling and pushing it away from his eyes. The two of you sit like that for a while, just watching the flames twirl around each other. Your back starts to ache from the lack of support, but you do your best to ignore it. He needs you right now, to keep him from sinking into the shadow of despair that always walked one step behind him wherever he went, waiting to consume him.

Daeron pressed himself closer to you, burying his face into your nightdress. Your hand rests on his head, feeling his body begin to shake, and your nightdress starts to dampen. Your husband crying was not a foreign sight for either of you. Though it had been a while since the last time he had done it. He found that wine and whores served as much better vices. It was easier to keep himself numb than accept his own vulnerability. 

You scoot closer, your free hand moves to gently rub his back. Daeron let the wineskin go, letting it fall to the ground. He pulled you onto his lap, wrapped his arms around you, and rested his head on your shoulder. You let him cry on your shoulder, hug his head close, and whisper that he'll be okay. You don't know if it's true, but you figure it's what he needs to hear.

"I can't be what he wants me to be," Daeron sniffled. "I can't. I tried, but I can't. Without the wine, it's all too much. I couldn't handle it on my own. And no one… no one would listen."

His words echo in your mind. 

The dragon dreams. 

He had told you about them before. You had once asked your father, Prince Baelor, about these dreams. There wasn't much he could tell you. He couldn't recall ever experiencing such a dream, so he could not confirm the validity of their existence. Nor could you. Your dreams had always been just that, dreams.

You didn't understand Daeron's affliction. You've tried, but how could you truly understand something you've never seen or experienced yourself? All you could do was offer him comfort whenever he sought it out from you. As he did now.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. 

You're not sure what he's apologizing for, but it doesn't matter. You held him closer and kissed his head. The action makes him whimper and press his face into your neck. 

"It's alright. I'm here." You don't know if it's what he wants to hear, but you say it anyway. "I'm here." You repeat, pressing another kiss to his head. 

He raised his head, his bleary eyes, looking into yours. Daeron leans forward to kiss you. His warm hand cups your cheek, holding you close. For a moment, you reciprocate, hand holding the back of his head as your tongues begin moving in tandem. It's not until you feel his fingers slip between your thighs that you pull back with a short gasp. Your thighs squeeze together, stopping him from moving any higher. 

This can't happen. At least not now. Daeron was clearly upset; it didn't feel right to let this turn into something perverse. 

Your husband didn't share your sentiment. 

His lips move back to your neck, his kisses warm and wet while he moves his hand from your thighs to your breasts. 

"Daeron…" you gasp, as he toys with your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress.

He lifts up from your neck, kissing your lips again. You grab his jaw, his stubble tickling your palm. You pushed him away, just enough to rest your forehead against his own.

"Daeron, we shouldn't."

"Please," he whimpers. "I need this."

His blue eyes well up again, and the saddest frown you've ever seen tugs at his lips. You raised your hand, brushing back his messy strands from his face. 

What a lovely face it is, you think. So very lovely, yet so sad. Daeron has always been so beautiful to you. Especially his eyes. Those beautiful, torment-filled eyes.

"Fine," you agreed. "But, you'll let me do this my way. Alright?"

He nods, "Of course."

He watches you with bated breath, waiting for your next move. Your eyes dropped down to his soft pink lips, before flickering back up to his. Daeron nods his head, giving you the go-ahead. You kiss him, again and again. He responds in kind, and you pull each other impossibly close, basking in each other's warmth and taste.

You pull away from his lips, trailing kisses along his stubbled jaw. Daeron whines as you lift yourself off his lap. You shush him as you slide between his legs, kneeling before him. Your hands slip under his tunic, pushing it up, exposing his chest to the night air. The feeling of your nails tracing along his sides makes him shiver. Daeron watches you as your hands slide down to the laces of his trousers.

"You don't have to," Daeron argues. 

You shook your head. "I want to take care of you. Will you let me?"

Daeron paused for a moment, haunting blue eyes trailing over every inch of your face, before he nodded his head. His hands rest at his sides. You feel his body tense underneath your touch. He was fond of you being on your knees, serving him, though he rarely asked for it. 

"Don't think," you whisper. "Just let yourself feel."

His hips buck slightly as your lips touch his chest. Your eyes close as you indulge yourself, leaving a trail of warm, wet kisses down his stomach. You can feel his muscles clench under your lips as you work your way down. You don't stop until you run out of exposed skin. 

You look up to find him staring down at you. Your fingers deftly untie the laces of his trousers. He lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them down just enough to free his cock. Your cunt aches with need as you watch his cock twitch, settling against his stomach. It's heavy, long, and thick, with a couple of prominent veins running down his shaft. The tip is red, weeping, and begging to be touched.

Your lips moved lower. Daeron watches you intently as your lips follow the trail of sand-colored hair that leads to his cock. 

"Touch it, please," he begs.

Your hand's already reaching out before he can finish his plea. His hips buck as you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, giving it a few pumps, feeling it harden under your grasp.

"Oh fuck me," he whines.

With a smile, you lean down and suck it into your mouth. You look up in time to watch the way he squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back. The sound he makes is guttural. One of his hands moves to grab a fistful of your hair, not pulling, just gripping it. You moan around his cock, taking him deeper. His other hand grips the arm of his chair. His nails dig into the fabric.

"Seven hells," he groans.

The small whimpers and grunts that tumble past his lips as you continue your work, swirling your tongue around his sensitive tips and soaking him with your spit, leave your cunt wanting. You toy with his balls in one hand, while your other slips beneath your dress. The sensation of your fingers sliding against your wet slit makes you whine around him, jaw slack as you bob your head, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth. 

"Fuck! You take me so well. You're so good at this," Daeron hissed, tip sensitive as you swirl your tongue around it.

You whined, grinding against your hand, as you took him down your throat again.

Praise begins to spill from his lips, "You're so good, so good at this. Such a good wife, pleasing me like this. Taking my cock in that pretty mouth- oh fuck..."

You can feel your peak edging closer and closer. Your fingers are rubbing circles around that spot that leaves you crying out for more. It doesn't take long before you find yourself shaking and moaning around Daeron's cock, which brings him to the edge with you. 

"Fucking hell," he moans, loud and desperate. 

You can't breathe. 

You don't care. 

Not when he's so close. Not when you're so close to making him finish. Daeron gave a few sharp thrusts, making you choke around him. There's no rhythm to his thrusts, just a desperate need. 

"Look at me," Daeron groaned through gritted teeth. "Please, look at me. I need to see you."

You relent immediately, staring up at him with glassy eyes. That's all it takes.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he moans out, waves of pleasure rippling through him. Ropes of his seed shoot into your mouth, his body trembles as the last of it pours out.

You pull yourself off of him, as you swallow it. The back of your hand swipes away the mess around your mouth. You wipe your hand on his trousers before pushing yourself up to your feet. Your knees ache from kneeling for so long.

"C'mere," Daeron murmurs lazily from his spot on the chair.

You take his hand, letting him pull you back onto his lap. He rests his head on your shoulder, and you rest your cheek on his head.

"Just give me a moment," he yawned. "I'll do you next."

You let out a soft laugh, "I'll be fine, husband. Rest now."

Daeron hummed in agreement, too tired to argue. You turned back to the fireplace, staring into the dying flames. Daeron's grip around you loosens as his body slumps. He mumbles something against your skin.

You look down at him, "What?"

Daeron doesn't answer. Soft snores tumble out of his mouth. You decide to leave it at that. If he were fortunate, he might actually get more than two or three hours of sleep tonight. You press a kiss to his head before resting your head against his own, staring back into the fireplace. Your eyes grew heavier with each blink until you could no longer open them. 

Hours earlier when you’d been on your way to your Transfiguration class, Barty had a note delivered by Evan Rosier. While the unamused messenger had handed the note over that read that Barty was regretfully postponing their study date they’d planned the day prior, Evan had mainly complained of how ‘absolutely insufferable Barty was being’ all because of a ‘silly muggle cold’.

Fortunately for Barty, you knew Evan had a habit of both downplaying and over exaggerating everything at once. You quickly and rather rashly bribed your fellow housemates to take notes in Transfiguration for you as you rushed over to the Slytherin common room.

It was there, you found Barty slumped back against the green velvet couch, his face was pale and covered in a thin-layer of sweat. His hair was stuck to his forehead and his eyes were red and puffy. Each time his head would uncontrollably crack to one side, his face would scrunch in a wave of nausea.

You ushered him up off the couch and up to his room, ignoring all his protests, feeble arguments and the crude comments from Antonin Dolohov who sat across the fireplace, with a lingering stare and a permanent smirk.

After practically pushing Barty into his dorm room, you swiftly rid him of his blazer and uncomfortable uniform, grabbing something far more cozy for him to wear. Despite the flush of red coated his cheeks down to his neck as you dotted on him, settling him into his bed he continued to swat your hands away assuring you he was fine.

You’d laid beside him in his green and silver coloured bed until his eyes finally drooped into a sick-infested sleep. Occasionally his arm would twitch against yours.

Despite being asleep, Barty never truly seemed to rest, still softly twitching and fidgeting. There was once a time when you’d first gotten together when Barty had been insecure about it, among other things, but you’d merely grown used to it. After all, despite what he thought, he was easily loveable and you didn’t mind having to adjust to fit him into your life.

Originally you’d intended to creep out of his room once he’d fallen asleep to grab a potion for him from the hospital wing, but as you’d silently moved to get out of bed, Barty had groggily whined, more loudly than he’d ever admit to. His brows instantly furrowed as his arm outstretched, searching for you in the bed. 

“Don’t leave yet. Please” He slurred, voice thick with sleep.

With a pout, you’d shuffled back into bed, easing him back to sleep. Thankfully, weeks ago you’d left a stack of your books beside his bed, seeing as he always left his things scattered around your less organized room. Reaching out, you grabbed the top book by its cover and began reading where you’d last left off.

Three quarters through the book, Regulus Black entered the shared dorm, books in hand. He paused upon seeing you muttering under his breath something about the ‘rules of the dorm’ but you merely focused back on your book.

Leaning back against the plush pillows, you silently turned the beige coloured page, getting re-absorbed into the words. It wasn’t until Barty’s breath rattled in his sleep did your sympathy shift to concern.

Instantly, your book was forgotten by your lap as you turned your attention towards Barty’s sleeping form. Every odd breath sounded almost painful for him to let out, listening to it made your face scrunch with worry.

Across the room a deep sigh left Regulus. His intense eyes were locked on you and Barty before curtly getting up from where he’d previously been sitting at his well-stocked desk.

He tugged on the jacket he’d thrown lazily on the edge of his bed, moving towards the dorm’s door as he muttered how ‘ridiculous you were being’ and how ‘you were acting like he was dying’. Upon asking where he was going in a hushed tone, he’d turned and said ‘to get him a bloody potion’.

Your shoulders eased and you looked at the shut door with a gratitude you knew Regulus would never accept.

The potion Regulus brought back had eased whatever sickness Barty was hiding behind his stubborn attitude upon waking up, whenever he spoke his throat sounded raw and pained however according to Regulus that ‘wasn’t necessarily a bad thing’.

You disagreed and mentioned a muggle remedy to soothing sore throats, all you needed was to get to the kitchens. Immediately, Barty protested. Wrapping his arms tightly around you, keeping you locked by his side in a warm, blanketed prison.

You tried to rationalize with him, mentioning how it was for his own good, but Barty didn’t budge. He stared at you with big-wide brown eyes as he croakily whispered ‘But I can’t get enough of you, no matter how much time we spend together.’ 

And trying, and failing to get Regulus onto your side, you retaliate by gently kissing his flushed face until he relaxes against you before swiftly darting out of bed. He sunk deeper into the pillows in defeat, watching you walk across the room with saddened eyes.

You grabbed one of his sweaters hanging off his desk chair. ‘No amount of flattery will get to me, Crouch’ you jokingly taunted as you opened the dorm door, peering over your shoulder at him, still pouting against the pillow.

‘You’re utterly cruel.’ He whined, and you shook your head, turning around to hide the smile on your face as you shut the door behind you.

Now, as you carefully carry the steaming tea down towards his common room. Alexander Wilkes entered the common room at the same time, pausing his steps down as he saw you. With furrowed blonde brows, he glanced at the tea in your hands. 

“For Barty” You answered before he could ask, making him shake his head with a disbelieving smile.

“How is it possible that an angel like you, is with Barty of all men?” Alexander asked, normally you would’ve slapped someone for such a backhanded question, but you knew Alexander had no real heat behind it and was purely in jest of his friend.

You rolled your eyes at him as you both continued your shared walk to the boys’ dorms.

Alexander politely opened the door for you. Looking around the room, Regulus was still sitting in the same position he’d been in when you’d left, hunched over his desk writing away.

But clearly Barty had moved, you could make out the large blanketed mass that was once Barty. Only the odd strands of his hair sticking out of the blankets could be seen. “Barty? You awake?” You lightly whispered. 

You wondered if all his whining had tired him out but then a congested groan immediately answered your question. You placed the mug down on his bedside table, moving the empty potion bottle and your stack of books out of the way.

He lazily emerged from his self-made cocoon. His hazel eyes squinted and bored straight into you. "I think I'm dying" His voice sounded off because of his blocked nose and you fought back a smile.

Sitting beside him on the edge of his bed, you press the back of your hand to his cheeks and forehead. "You're not dying. It’ll be the lingering effects of the fever. The blankets probably aren't helping."

He huffed, shifting the blankets closer to his chest, as if you were about to take them off him. Instead of prying the blankets from his clammy hands, you reached out to brush his messy bed hair from his eyes.

You caught the microscopic flinch he made, making your hand freeze in place. He blinks slowly for a moment, and you have a passing thought to shove the tea towards him in fear of making him uncomfortable.

His eyes softened, relaxing back against his pillows. You slowly lowered your hand, affectionately brushing your knuckles against his pale cheeks.

“I hate being sick” He grumbled after a fit of coughs that only made his twitching increase.

“Try drinking the tea. It’s nice and warm, okay?” You mumble with a soft smile. A tired and thankful look adorned his face.

Barty sniffled sickly as he sat up, reaching for the warm tea. He sniffled sickly. His face was pale and sweaty from the fever, his bed hair stuck up in every direction.

Despite all that, your eyes watched him with utter admiration. He sipped the tea, slowly to start with before taking large gulps.

“‘S good?” You asked, raising your eyebrow at the fast rate he finished the tea. His hand twitched under the abundance of blankets as he nodded at you enthusiastically with a giddy smile

You gently took the mug from his other hand, placing the mug back onto the bedside table for him. He leaned forward to whisper to you, making his breath brush against your arm.

“Thank you, for all of this” He sincerely said despite the foggy look in his eyes.

With an honest smile, you pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek. “You don’t need to thank me, Barty”

His face momentarily scrunched either in a tic or in silent disagreement you couldn’t tell, but Barty lightly shook his head looking at you with a mesmerized heat behind his eyes.

Standing from your seat beside him, you shrugged off his sweater, folding it and placing it on the dresser at the foot of his bed. You easily slotted down beside him in bed, snuggling close to him as he generously gave up half of his blankets to shield you from the biting chill in the air.

“Bloody hell, you’ve domesticated him” Evan loudly observed as he entered the dorm, looking at you both cuddled close together.

Barty’s head twitched to the side as he rolled his eyes. “Fuck off, you lonely prick” Barty retorted harshly depsite it sounding coarse. 

From behind the text-book Alexander was reading, he snorted. “Aye, he’s got quite a lonely prick, old Rosier” 

Evan’s attention was now solely on his new opponent, much to Barty’s pleasure as he held you a tad tighter.

Each young prince of House Targaryen was known by their defining trait.

Valarr was honourable, Matarys was troublesome, Aerion was cruel, Aegon was clever, Aemon was sweet, and Daeron was lazy. That and drunk, they were rather interchangeable, despite the changes he has been trying to make.

Maekar preferred to combine the two, regardless.

Moral of the story; Daeron was the family disappointment. He was unimpressive, unschooled, undisciplined and uninteresting.

"A waste of resources", according to father during a conversation with uncle Baelor. He had thought his son was gone from the chamber, but clearly not far enough away to be free from his criticism.

The prince's worries were always brushed off, his dreams denied as child's play when they plagued him to the edge of madness. And they wondered why he craved oblivion so.

Daeron was your brother, not even a year older. You were two halves of the same whole; attached at the hip, never apart. You had always loved one another.

Since childhood, he crawled often into your embrace after a minor inconvenience, seeking your presence to aid his shaky resolve.

No one understood him as you did, no one cared as you did.

It was not a difficult decision when your father offered you the choice of nuptials between he and Aerion.

The marriage you fostered was a love affair. Gentle, considerate, and true. A net of safety within the sly keep, a bubble of peace within your mad family.

The sheets were crisp yet warm, the air the same as Autumn slowly gathered outside of the thick castle walls.

Your husband's golden hair was tousled gently by your practiced fingers, his head laid in your lap desperately.

"I had a dream last night." He murmured quietly — sounding like a guilty child, fiddling with the plain white cotton of your shift. The tension in his neck released slightly as he tilted his head, burying his nose into your thigh.

The prince was sober tonight, something he had tried fervently to be since your marriage just a year ago. He didn't wish for you to go to sleep in sweaty arms as he saw stars; he had to make a change for your safety and comfort.

Though his awareness only made his visions more clear.

The tone of his voice was low and whispered. "Much blood… Valarr's armour."

Heavy eyelids fluttered, beginning to rub your fingertips along his scalp. Daeron's visions always came true; but not usually as plainly as he saw them. While you had no doubt they were genuine, you never made too much of a fuss. Not wishing to make your brother feel prisoner within his own head.

"I am sure our cousin just won his tilt." You said softly, curling your back uncomfortably to kiss his head, then straightening up once again, scratching at his nape.

The prince shut his eyes at your kiss, and nodded against your leg, gripping the flesh tightly at first but letting his fingers relax.

"Yes.."

There was stiffness in his body, you could see it in just the way he laid, legs tucked up as if they would be snatched. Your father had called him for a word.

"What did he want of you?" You asked, knowing he would catch your meaning.

A sigh left the man in your lap as you looked down at him, letting your free hand trail and trace along his bare back.

"Aerion and Egg fought last night." His position suddenly grew uncomfortable.

"The sister jape again?"

"Yes." He huffed sharply, pushing himself to sit up with arms that felt heavier than iron. Those same arms gripped your shoulders to push you back against the down-filled pillows, and your husband accommodated himself by laying his ear over your heart, nuzzling his face into your breast.

The action was not unwelcome, you simply let it happen and resumed your caresses of his tresses. "He wanted you to resolve it, then?"

"I know not. Regardless, I was no help." He muttered weakly, fingers occupying themselves with the nervous habit of twisting your chemise's chest tie around them.

You nodded 'no' despite the fact that he could not see your face. "Nonsense… you brought Aegon comfort."

"Aegon looked at me like I was the one who threatened to slice off his cock, not fucking 'Brightflame'." He mocked — both himself and your younger disease of a sibling — bitterly, winding an arm around you and intertwining your legs to trap you beneath him.

The prince often found himself oddly jealous of his brother. Aerion was so mad that his dreams had little effect but inflate his ego.

It was funny how the gods dispersed characteristics amongst family. Dragon dreams made Daeron spiral, Aerion hope, Aegon befuddle, and Aemon smile.

It seemed that you were the only one who had been lucky enough to escape the curse.

The warmth of his body made yours react with a hum of contentment, allowing your nose to press into his blonde strands, inhaling both his scent and your own, from the oils you rub into his hair after you bathe together.

This year had been the most visceral of his lifetime. One truly misses emotion when the senses are dulled by drink.

Three moons ago, your daughter was born. His decision of sobriety was only made more final by that fact.

Little Vaella, the light of his life, looked just like her mother and even giggled the same.

"Thank you." You smiled at her nursemaid, taking the squirming babe from her arms and letting her depart, laying the sweet thing on your chest beside her father's head.

Daeron's somber expression turned to a smile, his hand raising to rub her back, eye to eye with her. He pulled a funny face and she laughed, wide eyes looking at her father like he were the sun.

Such innocence, he thought. Such blind love, even when he was undeserving.

A lazy grin was on your lips, holding your world in both of your arms, yawning contentedly.

Your husband straightened up at that sound, not wanting to get in the way of your rest. He sat back against the heavy head of the bed and scooped the babe into his arms instead.

The sheets rustled as you lay on your side, pressing your cheek against his middle as sleep began to take you.

The man beside you still had a fond smile, and kissed his palm before cupping your head with that same hand.

Simultaneously, the babe cooed, rooting her head around her father's chest in search of milk, despite being fed.

He huffed in amusement, and looked down at her, rubbing her back gently, his large hand covering the entirety of it.

Vaella continued to grunt and mewl, making sounds like a kitten would.

"What is, princess?" He asked in a whisper, chin squished against his collarbone to look into her eyes.

Once again, she made a bubbly sound, the corners of her mouth wet with spit. Her head lifted for a moment, and her arms flailed.

"Strong girl, well done." He praised tenderly, leaning his head closer to hers, uncaring to the risk of being spit up on.

Chubby fingers reached up to his face, muffled raspberry noises leaving her mouth as she tapped his lips.

A low chuckle left him, and he gently guided her hand to his cheek instead.

Soon after, she got bored and sleepy, and found rest on his chest.

There were not many things that made Daeron feel worth or purpose. All his life he had endeavoured to become something, even if the effort had not been there.

Finally, in the comfort of your bedchamber, he realised that he had a role. Husband to his beautiful sister, father to his sweet daughter.

More powerful, more miserable men could have throne, he did not need it.

He had all the happiness and love any man could need within an arm's reach, something he would never take for granted.

Daeron Targaryen m.list

i HATE this - i'm genuinely so sorry exams are frying my brain and i cannot write to save my life. also pls forgive me for any typos/general nonsense.

i hope you enjoy it tho <3 requests open

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