[𝕴]NDEPENDENT, PRIVATE + SEL. daeron targaryen, also known as daeron the drunken, the prince of dragonstone, and the prince of summerhall from a knight of the seven kingdoms, with mixed influence from the book and the show, as well as personal headcanon and interpretation. brought to you by jj, theythem, twenty5+, southeast asian, pacific timezone. rules found below the read more, minors and personals do not interact. this is a sideblog.
basic rp etiquette applies, minus reblog karma. i don't mind if you rb from me or the source. please only interact with my posts if we are mutuals. i will not write with any muns that are under the age of 21.
eternally sporadic activity, characterized by bouts of inspiration. sometimes i'm super active, other times i'm on one of my other blogs! my mind is constantly bouncing somewhere, but in no way does it indicate a lack of interest for threads and connections. it's just how i work! i also work full-time and am mostly active on weekdays.
no zionists, antisemites, transphobes, islamaphobes, racists, nazis, fetishizers— the list will go on and on. just don't be gross. no vagueposting either. call real shit out or handle it yourself. str/nger things or h/rry potter muses, even if 'removed from canon' never interact, you will be blocked. i will also not follow back mcu-based blogs + vivziepop media.
this blog will feature mature content, specifically in terms of nsfw, substance use, self harm, brief mentions of sexual assault, mental illness, talks of gender identity and dysphoria, and more. all will be tagged as 'trigger tw'.
i softblock liberally and in no way is it personal. i will only hardblock if i am sure that i do not have any desire to interact, or if you write any of the following themes out: p/dophilia, inc/st, t/boo. please hardblock me if you do not / no longer wish to interact so i know it wasn't accidental and won't continue to re-follow, as i'm very forgetful about that!
open to plotting via ims or disc, but the primary way to kickstart interactions is via memes. i tend to be very slow with getting back to people and prefer to just write! please feel free to send memes of any kind, even if it's testing the waters of antagonistic or romantic.
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as pathetic(TM) daeron is, i do want to reiterate that, at the end of the day, he is very much an entitled targaryen prince who will leverage what he can to make himself feel better, as well as his family. of course, he is much more open and empathetic / sympathetic than someone as aerion or maekar, per se, but he is selfish. he is petty. he is volatile, especially in his younger years, and that is what makes him dangerous. he is not one that can be easily manipulated nor made to take a knee and should not be reduced into some helpless animal. a large aspect of his character is how much he is reduced and how that only drives him further into this self-fulfilling prophecy and spiral.
the stranger was ill-fitting for a figure known all too well. whether intimately, or in passing, death's touch was neither strange nor unexpected... a mark of the times, tumultuous and unsteady as it was simply characteristic of being westerosi. some houses welcomed its presence with celebration. the beesburys, today, in particular— the entire tent shrouded in song and scent brown ale. whether it was paid respects or the prospect of tankards to be drained surpassed daeron's own judgement, at first. only in his lucidity, now, more alert than he had been in days prior, could speak to truth.
he'd watched the bodies peel away, crowd more sparse with each departure, even the recipient himself and the hive that followed eventually parting ways with their festivities. immobile, maybe stunned, sitting with all that had conspired in hours alone while the eyes of a hedge knight bore into his skull following an unsightly interaction.
daeron didn't know who moved first. whether he was shifting as a result of his own silent discomfort, or dunk's own approach to levy the residual anger— his own, and the wielding of grief for both the beesbury boy and, next, the fallen targaryen whom he called uncle. a willing recipient, the dreamer was; strife aside, ser duncan the tall could allow his blood to run hot, only if the knightling would be on its receiving end.
ANS. [choke], @halfgigas wraps a hand lightly around daeron's throat while their lips are barely apart.
" you would have made a fine member of his guard— " hushed tones, his own bruised lip mirroring that of the hedge knight's, shades of purple echoing each other in cruel reminders of their his dance. the proximity alone had daeron studying each scar, the aspects of a true knight he could never have, even if he had tried. for he was cursed with the blood of a prophet; hardly a swordsman or even the adept rider he'd been groomed as. " for once, i was jealous of my uncle. only once, did i ever dream of rising to his stature. " ripples of dunk's sworn sword reached daeron, of course. anyone would call themselves lucky to own dunk's promise.
daeron really is drunken. victor can only assume that's who this one is———drunk atop a table , with aegon and aerion already ruled out. what's the point of shaving the boys head , IF YOU'RE JUST GOING TO SLUR OUT THE NAME AEGON ANYWAYS ? victor's eyes roll , so hard he thinks they might fall out. ❛ yeah , i located the little prince. ❜ sitting atop the table next to daeron's head , victor locates his drink and steals it , drinking the rest left at the bottom.
❛ its not that he's bald , you . . . ❜ words clip short , trailing off with a tsk. he should actually watch his mouth , now , in the presence of royal blood. there are worse things than being sent to the wall. ❛ you only told me to find your bald brother. i thought you were only some man in a tavern. you didn't mention that you're bloody targaryens. and knowing that , after the shit i've seen , a few silver is not going to cover it. ❜ this is how he has to operate , he knows———but it feels terrible in his chest. MEANNESS DOESN'T SUIT HIM. there's a lot happening at ashford that daeron should know about. but victor needs to eat. he can't squander the chance of having a targaryen's coinpurse to take from. so he sighs again , reaches to tip daeron's head up to look at him again. ❛ he's not blending in at all , anymore. i've got a lot more to tell you , prince , but not for free. ❜
the spy-thief surely had gall, or maybe a death wish, to approach daeron in that tone. vic? victor? should be so lucky to remember his reacquisition was not funded by aerion nor maekar, both of whom would not respond well to their bidding being met with strife. " and? where is he now? " the details were obscured, now. had he been in sound mind, the knight would realize his own shortcomings— the admonition he did not give, but rather, victor uncovered on his own. to him, a far bigger deal, and a pitfall in the knight's own plan. he, too, should count his own lucky stars that aegon was not held for ransom, nor sold to the captivity of those whose honor fall short of the one before him.
he unsheathed a steel dagger now, breeching its leather holster, now waved haphazardly in a hand as loose as it was heavy. it was hardly a threat, peacocking in the way he tended to do when stout settled into his brain's chamber of bravado. " i did not mention that? hm. " his posture turned upright, waving stray hairs from his visage with one hand, while the other waved a peak of steel in victor's airspace. a dragon fetched from his pocket, scrounging around for gold as if it were mere pocket change— the shred of daylight, peering through mosaic window, caught its face, shown as a temptation but, still, withheld by daeron. a reminder of his place, and victor's, in comparison. he, even in this state, would not be reduced to a pawn, nor made a beggar. " you've located him. he is near enough for the kingsguard to retrieve him, i'm sure. " bitter, as if a scorned child, pushing back against their own unslightly tone. " though, i think this would serve your pockets far better than theirs. "
❛ how unfortunate you are. ❜ croons lady mallister, sarcasm light on her lips. it had been quite the sight, the prince laying face down in the mud while his kin toiled and beat each other senseless. it was almost admirable, the audacity, to accuse and lay so; perhaps insolence could recognize insolence, the difference in rank not lost upon her. ❛ i know you are no brute, your grace, i saw it so; though … you fought well, ❜ only a bit of tact from perriane today, though the corner of her mouth couldn't help quirking. she had no intention of humiliating the man, but the irony tickled her so. ❛ have they offered you milk of the poppy?———your fall did not look pleasant. ❜
" the gods have dealt far worse blows onto me— " blasphemy, maybe, riddled in self-pity that he, perhaps, would only allow himself in the comfort of a medic tent. " this is only a sore in comparison. nothing compared to the losses of your own. " frankness, a luxury his bloodline was afforded amongst the westerosi; even as he attempted to cut the dragon from his tongue, its true nature would always remain. nature or nurture? with a father whose temperament mirrors his own, a mother whose disposition now remained buried in the dirt. hardly could he find this degree of introspection at the bottom of a tankard, but, alas... perhaps the knightling would prefer it such. " i take it back— i would rather your disdain than your mockery and pity. "
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aerion folds into the space at daeron’s side. close enough now to study him properly. the smell of wine clings heavily to his brother, sharp against aerion’s senses; his nose wrinkles faintly before smoothing again into composure. for a moment, he simply watches. unblinking, lilac eyes studying his brother, a gnat drowning within a wine cup. head tilts, pale hair slipping forward as eyes trace daeron’s unfocused expression, searching for something beneath the drunken haze. seemingly empty. no prophecy that matches his own. ❛❛ close your eyes now, lēkia. ❜❜ he is too close for comfort, voice languid and honeyed, a siren. ❛❛ let us see if the wine truly frightens the dreams away. ❜❜
a hot-blooded brother with an energy that far precedes his already-present tongue. daeron did not need sound mind nor body to feel the younger's approach, already stirring from the moment he'd stepped into a now-emptied tent. he'd been in a daze, overboard with festivities within a space whose lordship he did not know— beesbury, fossoway, maybe even a baratheon for the night; daeron remained unsure, and uncaring more so. his nose only followed the faint trail of ale, spilt and souring the soil as ichor would when sunrise approaches the morrow. " mmmh?— " a grumble, posed as a question, as if aerion, himself, could decode the goings on of a mind so clouded. " it's late, " he muttered, limp hand casting away a strand of tawny that shaded his eyeline. " father is surely looking for you. pay me no mind— i have slept on far worse. "
she closes in on him, light on her feet, skirts whispering over stone, posture near that of a warrior on the defence, waiting to strike. something conspiratorial glittering in violet so dark it inspires a starless sky, preparing to disarm her eldest brother. her arm hooks in his, kept in pace, surely he was meant to venture beyond the keep and the prying of their grandsire's white cloaks. ❛ take me with you. ❜ her fingers catch in his sleeve, a first rooting as they walk. threaded through the lightness of her tone is something closer to a plea, a waking melancholy that spells a future far closer than before. daella will be offered to another lord as a pearl of influence and certainty of the continued reign of their house. ❛ i’ll be good. i won’t start any duels this time, won’t steal any horses, and i promise to never tell father. ❜ to her credit, she had not meant to incite the intoxicated contest between the two vying for a dance. ❛ you are my last hope for an ounce of freedom, dearest, most beloved, and favourite brother of mine. --- please. ❜
flattery had been a well-wielded tool amongst their household, swimming with siblings, all vying for one thing or another— attention, respite, praise; the list could go on for this branch of the targaryen household. daella, in particular, a sweetness that contrasted aerion's own self-imposed venom, had a talent for convincing. never mind the nature of chaperoning, a feat he'd undergone many instances prior. at times, encouraged for all purposes securing alliances between households, enticed by the prospect of love or lust amongst an already spirited crowd of tourney-goers. " i am inclined to not believe you, sister. " she could take care of herself, easily. more so than he could. but, with his own spirits already low, a morale so far underground it could be given its own dishonorable wake, daeron did not so much as desire to have his head on a spike for keeping daella, too, out of an iron hold. " watching you is one thing, something we have both outgrown, ourselves. but, ensuring the safety of others from your own dalliances? now, that, is what i'm afraid of. "
palm; you give and give. you are a gentle heart, broken but still standing… always lending a hand for those who need it, expecting nothing in return. you deserve someone taking your hand and kissing your open palm, the hands which have selflessly helped so many others.
hi all i had a dream about daeron last night so it's easy to say that i miss him but i have mostly been hanging out on @virtuosixth as a respite between moving plans (t minus three weeks before i move!!!!!) so i think i will add his sideblog to that blog too so i can be with my favorite blonde boy...... miss u all
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hiiii just another lil' starter call update: i turned it into a permanent starter call, those of which i'll be getting to (eventually) so pls don't unlike or delete your comment until i get to it or if you decide you don't want one anymore <3 i am very excited to get to write with you all in due time!!!
