Morpheus

There was still proof of his rage (passion, they called it), on the skin of his mate’s neck, in the quiet mornings, dark bruises spotting the skin that wouldn’t have time to fade before others would bloom. The way his hands would grow talons when people, lords and ladies alike, would make his mate laugh a bit too loud. But it never seemed like the anger was toward the mate, always those who kept their eyes away from Aerion. Maybe it was a father’s wishful thinking, that his son would treat his partner at the very least carefully, with a modicum of respect. 

But Maekar’s mind lingered on how Aerion would let his hands rest on his mate’s hips, or their lower back as they stood together. How his eyes would shine when they spoke between the two of them, how Aerion’s mate would always be cared for with jewels and clothes and food. 

If only Aerion could loose the edge he kept for the whole world, and be soft with everything as he was with them. Then maybe Maekar would not have to worry so much.

Courting to Aerion is performative. His insides tell him that you are it. He’s not one to take no as an answer, but he will play along because he likes the chase, for your sake. However, if he sees you wear the pieces he has made for you, he will preen like a peacock. 

The only way you could find Aerion leaning into his most basic, animal instincts is when he offers his arm when you’re both walking places. When he offers to refill your cup of the best wine at the table. When he retreats into an interested silence when you start to speak, complementing his own tale. 

Not that he would ever admit to any of it out loud. 

Baelor:

Nothing is beyond Baelor’s limit in courting you. Everything you might mention in passing, this man will get you. He will have your favorite fruits brought to the palace, the best jester commanded, the whole castle redesigned to your whim, should you wish it to. 

Baelor is gallant. He’ll slow his pace to accommodate you, always having his hand either on the small of your back or he offers his arm. He will have your favourite food placed closer to you, and if there is something that catches your eyes farther down the table, he will have it brought to you in no time. If you asked him to make the moon hatch, Baelor would find a way to make it happen. He’s always very prude, in public, being the heir of his father makes scrutiny a problem he has learned to live with and ignore. 

Behind closed doors, with only a chaperone to witness (and make it seem like they aren’t seeing a thing), Baelor is more cheeky. He sits closer as you share a book about past kings and heroes. He’ll tuck your hair even if they don’t need to, or remove an imaginary dust from your cheek, just to have an excuse to touch you. 

Daeron:

Daeron has some qualities. But gift giving is not one of them. He relies on his younger siblings to help with wooing you. The one thing he did of his own was to have renamed a particular type of grapes in your honour. And he now drinks solely from vineyards that make wines from it. He will have a portrait of you made, he’s best in showing that you matter to him rather than saying it. His words, somehow, always seem to make things worse for him, at least with his family. 

Daeron is gauche, in both his actions and his words, the alcohol that permits to block the vision muddles his thoughts, too, as a result. He also knows that his cousins are lovelier, his brother has more prestance, really, you’ve had the shortest straw in the bargain with the universe (he got the tallest), having him as a soulmate. So he’ll do as much as he can possibly remember to do to have you at your most comfortable… Oh, no, those pillows are not all to stay in your room, they’re for you to choose your favourite! No, he doesn’t plan on drinking all of this, he wants to know which wine you like so that he can buy it! 

Daeron knows his reputation is not the best, but he will always give you kindness to compensate. He will shield you from the comments of the court, he will go wherever you want to go, do whatever you want to do, he just wants to be with you. The best would be that you share interests, but he will learn to love what you love, don’t worry about it. 

Maekar:

Maekar is famously not good with words. But he is still a prince, and he will make sure he uses this perk to its full potential. If it means buying the most expensive gifts possible to see your smile, then so be it. 

Maekar is the down to earth member of his family, even more so than Baelor, but there is no expense he will skip for the person he’s courting. You want jewels? Weapons? Clothes? Done. You want a larger garden? Also done. Maekar would rename the either Targaryen float for your pleasure. He will bring you to Dorne if you imply that you’re too cold. Nevermind that he’s very warm himself, it’s not proper to touch you so intimately during the courting stages. He would never admit that he’d want you. 

I feel like, as in canon Maekar has like a bajillion children, it would be kind of hard for him to stay proper. He would be very stoic and harsh, to create a separation between the two of you. Though this masquerade would break every time you open your mouth. Of course he’s interested in the words coming out of your mouth and really isn’t just looking at your lips moving… He is also very interested in the words you say, don’t get him wrong, he would never court an unintelligent person. 

Valarr:

The only good thing about this courting, is that Valarr chose you out of a bunch of people. He took one look at you and something inside of him made him choose you. And Valarr, proper, kind, gentleman, Valarr has since never been seen without you by his side. You're the voice he listens to the most, after his father. He will make sure that there are your favourite colours on everything he can have changed. You will have presents, books, trinkets, Valarr brings you everywhere with him. 

This man will take great pride if you come watch him train, and he will show off more because of that. Valarr would be one to offer you flowers every morning, because it made him think of you. He will have the kitchen make your favourite food whenever he can. He will parade you everywhere he can, also. 

Maekar:

Maekar couldn’t care less about what the people thought of his looks and if he could turn or not into a giant lizard. Sure, he would feel better if he could do it, but he couldn’t so there’s that. He was a prince, overlooked in all aspects in favour of his brothers, except in matters of harshness and war. The only thing he truly did have, was you. The pull he felt towards you like the one he’d read from his family’s records, the need to protect, having his body change to accommodate your needs, all of this he kept to himself, and to you, not even his children would learn of those changes. All they saw were the scales, and the horns and the claws, never the reasons. 

Aerion:

Shows off to determine his dominance over you, the knights, the squires, the help, the birds, everyone and anyone who would look at him in the eyes. Aerion is not to be thought vulnerable and weak. He already has a weak brother who cannot be bothered to embrace the gift of dreams. You are his life partner. The one his mind was set on having since he first saw you, the one his heart would stop for if you ever left (not that he’d tell you in any type of way) he is a Targaryen, a prince, he shall have what he desires. But in the dead of night, when he’s exhausted all the anger and the arrogance he could muster, he still crawls closer to you, skin rough from the scales that remains permanently over his hands and arms, and body warm from the flames burning inside of his soul. The reminder of his love is still marked on your skin, in places where only he should see. 

Valarr: 

Like his father, Valarr, contains his dragonshifting tendencies to the best of his abilities, but he also likes them to show a little bit. Having only a streak of white hair to prove his blood relation to the Targaryens, having his bloodline show on him, he likes the confirmation. He also likes how you look at him when he wakes with horns protruding from his head. Like he’s something worth going to war for, worth swearing allegiance to. He would never admit it, and would never let it go to his head, like Aerion, but he basked in it nevertheless. He would never abuse his situation over you like this. But he likes the shivers his claws make when he presses them gently on your skin, at your requests. 

Daeron:

There was only one portrait ever done of Aemond and you with other people. You were not wed yet, it was a simple family portrait, with a few of the children's favourite people or things to have them keep patient. Helaena had her current favourite beetle, Aegon was sat negligently on the chair beside his sister-wife, periodically sipping from a golden cup the painter had been specifically forbidden to show, Aemond was standing behind his sat mother, you were sat on the further most edge of the painting, where two of Aegon’s favourite knights and Ser Criston were standing. The job of entertaining Jaehaera and Jaehaerys befalling on you, not that you minded much. Servants made for poor royal portraits, and the children liked playing with you already.  Their talons and little wings not bothering you in the lightest.

The painter's eyes, poor man, were going to and fro his gigantic canvas, taking in the chaotic mix that was placed in front of him, and with no king, for he was too sickly to keep sitting for hours on end. The discontent in Aegon’s eyes and the threat in the Queen’s making him rethink every decision made in his life, no doubt. How Helaena would tuck herself so to be mostly hidden by one of her wings. But one thing he saw and made a good one for this royal portrait, was Aemond. 

Because if most people in the portrait had retouched expressions to portrait importance rather than annoyance, Aemond’s gaze had been true all along. He wasn’t looking forward, like his brother and mother, nor down, like his sister. He was looking to the side, a soft smile on the left side of his lips. Looking at you. 

For the weeks following the drafting of this portrait, the painter would use most of the time allotted to him for recalling every single details he could to bring Aemond loving gaze back to reality in this portrait. How you were playing with his nephew and niece, completely unaware of his attention, and how the prince seemed to soften. Him who was usually so cold, stiff and closed off. 

The portrait, in its making, made many people talk. Many people came and went to the painter’s residence, just to get a peak of the portrait. Rumours of the prince foolishly in love, spiraled. 

When the portrait was done, and when the queen received it, she let nothing away. Keeping her composure, doing as if everything was normal. It was not. Never had she seen her son so relaxed, so calm, so happy then how he did in this portrait. 

Baela: 

The realm knew that Baela would let nothing come between you and her. The realm also knew that Baela was one of the most joyous people to exist in the Targaryen-Velaryon family. But the royal portrait commissioned by her father Prince Daemon for herself and her beloved to celebrate their union was proof of it, again. 

Riches were to be expected for a royal wedding portrait. Especially a Targaryen one, but nobody was prepared to see the tones used by the painter. Between red and white and blue, with the sea as background, and pearls adorning each of you. People said it was to show appartenance to the Velaryon’s side of your bride. Others scorned over the barbarity of your clothing, no fit for royals, they thought. But no one could disagree over how much Baela seemed to love you. White flimsy clothes that took with the wind, and yet stuck to your skin because of the water.

There were red lines over your face, a barbaric ritual from the Targaryen and Velaryon’s ancestor and their land, a wave having wet both of you earlier during your vows, the painter was determined to show how natural, how raw Baela’s heart burned for you, and yours for her. Your clothes stuck to your skin letting the red burn of her hand hinted, just a little over where her hand rested now. Her eyes looking into yours, her head cocked to the side as she smiled, your expression mirroring hers. 

The portrait had taken a year to finish, the artist cursing everyday where he couldn’t seem to catch the right way your eyes gleamed with happiness, and the way the water clung to your clothes. How Baela's tail wrapped around your legs like a snake around her prey.

That portrait would still be hanging in one of the rooms when Daenerys Targaryen arrived in Dragonstone, the names of those it depicted long erased, but the love in their eyes still very much present. 

Jacaerys: 

Royal portraits for nameday gifts were commonplace for the rich. It was common for the Targaryen, also, especially for Rhaenyra and Daemon’s stitched-up family. For it grew a little bit more every year, it seemed. Rhaenyra liked to have her family depicted as it were, crying children and laughing parents and sibling-cousins-spouses. She liked the perfection of imperfection in her family, having them look like the normal people, for her father. 

Jacaerys was of the same idea. The year before, he'd held Aegon, while you were sitting next to Joffrey and Rhaena, his mother still heavy with little Viserys at the time. He remembered looking annoyed in the painting, leaning sideways to see beyond Aegon's little wings, stretched out, his own tucked behind his back like the well-taught heir that he was.

So there they all were now, sitting and standing in various positions, circling Rhaenyra and the gaggle of smaller children surrounding her, with Daemon standing tall and proud in the background. Jace to the left of his mother, one hand on the pommel of his sword, like Daemon, but had eyes only for you. His other hand was resting on your shoulder, as you sat, lower than his mother and Baela on her left, but still high enough to show your status in the family, in his family. 

He had you wear one of his grandmother's, Aemma -whom he never knew- hairpiece that his mother had gifted him to give to his mate. It’s a very beautiful thing, the golden effigy of his family crest. It rested on your head like a crown, proud and loud in telling everybody who you were leaving your heart with. The artist depicting the moment made sure to show the proud glance Jace kept giving to the back of your head. How he was leaning slightly forward instead of tall, like Daemon at his side, how his hand was just a little closer to your neck than your shoulder proper. He placed the prince’s thumb peeking from under your ear, a movement Jacaerys never stopped doing while they were all reunited in front of him. 

The numerous drafts the painter had penciled during his time with the royal family was enough to give him material for two pieces. The royal portrait requested, and another, with just Jacaerys and ‘his jewel’. 

The prince was leaning forward, nearly bowing to reach your ear, speaking secrets into it that had you smiling, and Jace’s eyes were burning with a happy fire. The artist could not resist the call for this scene to be immortalized. However, this second piece was never finished, as the artist died of old age soon after finishing up the royal portrait. His apprentice sent the drawings and with it, a small aquarelle painting of Jacaerys and his mate, entitled The Heir and its Crown. 

Now, most of it is lost, the details of your face, leaving only your silhouette, and the surroundings depicted in the painting faded too, from either time of humidity, but Jacaerys happiness remained etched on the paper, for anyone who would find it to see. 

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Baelor’s got his mate, the parent to his children, the one who helps keep his calm and his sanity, his respite in the chaos that is his kingdom. 

Maekar’s got a mate, also parent of his children, a mate he found in Dorne and that his father encouraged, as it fortified the Targaryen’s alliance to the realm. A mate he cherishes more than anything. 

Valarr and Daeron share the same mate. But that mate was with Valarr before they were with Daeron, much like in Canon. I think that Valarr pack-bonded with his mate, but Daeron really had a mating with them. 

Aerion… well, as hard as it is for Maekar and Baelor to admit, Aerion is mated, but they are fearful for his mate. He is not an easy man to satisfy in any way, nor is he the most gentle. He doesn’t lack passion, that is for sure. 

Aegon is very much pack-bonded to Dunk, but as of right now he’s but a child and nobody wants him to have a mate just yet. 

Aemon did not have a mate, and he broke his pack-bond with everyone but his little brother Egg. 

Matarys is way too young and obsessed with his hobbies to even think about looking for a mate or a pack other than his family. 

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